Джеффри Арчер - The Prodigal Daughter

‘There was no suggestion that I supported you, Jessie, though I reluctantly admit to gaining considerable pleasure from your victory. Now I must catch up with the Group’s European forecasts before I switch off the light on my side of the bed.’

‘I do wish you would slow down a bit, Richard.’

‘I can’t, my darling. Neither of us can. That’s why we’re so good for each other.’

‘Am I good for you?’ asked Florentyna.

‘In a word, no. If I could have it all back, I would have married Maisie and saved the money on several pairs of gloves.’

‘Good God, I wonder what Maisie is up to nowadays.’

‘Still in Bloomingdale’s. Having given up any hope of catching me, she married a traveling salesman, so I suppose I’m stuck with you. Now can I get down to reading this report?’

She took the report out of his hand and dropped it on the floor.

‘No, darling.’

When the first session of the 94th Congress opened, Speaker Carl Albert, dressed somberly in a dark suit, took his place on the podium and banged his gavel as he gazed down into the semicircle of members seated in their green leather chairs. Florentyna turned in her seat and smiled up at Richard and her family, who had been allocated places in the gallery above. When she looked around the chamber at her colleagues, she couldn’t help thinking that they were the worst-dressed group of people she had ever seen in her life. Her bright-red wool suit, in the latest midi fashion, made her conspicuous by exception.

The Speaker asked the House chaplain, the Reverend Edward Latch, to pronounce the benediction. This was followed by an opening speech by the leaders of both parties and an address by the Speaker. Mr. Albert reminded all the congressmen that they should keep their speeches brief and to refrain from making too much noise in the chamber while others were on the podium. He then adjourned the session and everyone broke to attend some of the dozens of receptions given on the opening day.

‘Is that all you have to do, Mummy?’ asked Annabel.

Florentyna laughed. ‘No, darling, that’s just the opening session. The real work starts tomorrow.’

Even Florentyna was surprised the next morning. Her mail contained one hundred and sixty-one items, including out-of-date Chicago papers, six ‘Dear Colleague’ letters, from congressmen she had yet to meet, fourteen invitations to trade association receptions, seven letters from special-interest groups, several invitations to address meetings — some out of Chicago and Washington — three dozen letters from constituents, two requests to be placed on her mailing list, fifteen résumés from hopeful job-seekers and a note from Carl Albert to say that she had been placed on the Appropriations and Small Business committees.

The mail looked manageable compared with the ceaseless telephone demands for everything from Florentyna’s official photograph to press interviews. The Washington reporters from the Chicago papers called regularly and Florentyna was also contacted by the local Washington press, who were always intrigued by new female additions to Congress, especially those who did not resemble a heavyweight boxer. Florentyna quickly learned the names she should know, including Maxine Cheshire and Betty Beale, David Broder and Joe Alsop. Before the end of March she had been the subject of a front-page ‘Style’ interview in the Post and had appeared in Washingtonian Magazine ’s ‘New Stars on the Hill.’ She turned down continual invitations to appear on ‘Panorama’ and began to question where the proper balance lay between gaining visibility, which would be of use in influencing issues, and losing all her free time to the media.

During those first weeks, Florentyna seemed to do nothing except run very fast trying to remain on the same spot. She considered herself fortunate to be the Illinois delegation’s choice for a vacancy on the powerful Appropriations Committee, the first freshman in years to be so honored, but discovered nothing had been left to chance when she opened a scrawled note from Mayor Daley which simply read, ‘You owe me one.’

Florentyna found her new world fascinating, but it felt rather like being back at school as she searched the corridors for committee rooms, sprinted to the subway to the Capitol to record her vote, met with lobbyists, studied briefing books and signed dozens of letters. The idea of getting a signature machine grew increasingly appealing.

An elderly Democratic colleague from Chicago advised her on the wisdom of sending out a constituent newsletter to her 180,000 households every two months. ‘Remember, my dear,’ he added, ‘it may appear as though you are doing nothing more than papering the Ninth District, but there are only three ways of assuring your re-election: the frank, the frank and the frank.’

He also advised Florentyna to assign two of her district staffers to clip every article from the local newspapers that referred to a constituent. Voters began receiving congratulations on their weddings, births, community achievements — and even basketball victories now that eighteen-year-olds had the vote. Florentyna always added a personal word or two in Polish where appropriate, thankful that her mother had not always obeyed her father’s every word.

With the help of Janet, who was always in the office before her and still there when she left, Florentyna slowly got on top of the paper work, and by the July 4 recess she was almost in control. She had not yet spoken on the floor and had said very little in any committee hearings. Sandra Read, a House colleague from New York, had advised her to spend the first six months listening, the second six months thinking and the third six months speaking occasionally.

‘What about the fourth six months?’ asked Florentyna.

‘You’ll be campaigning for re-election,’ came the reply.

On weekends she would regale Richard with stories of the bureaucratic waste of the taxpayers’ money and the lunatic way America’s democratic system was conducted.

‘I thought you had been elected to change all that,’ he said, looking down at his wife, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of him, clutching her knees.

‘It will take twenty years to change anything. Are you aware that committees make decisions involving millions of dollars but half the members haven’t the slightest idea what they’re voting on and the other half don’t even attend but vote by proxy.’

‘Then you will have to become chairman of a committee, and see to it that your members do their homework and attend hearings.’

‘I can’t.’

‘What do you mean, you can’t?’ asked Richard, finally folding his morning newspaper.

‘You can only become the chairman of a committee by seniority, so it’s irrelevant when you reach the peak of your mental prowess. If there is someone who has been on the committee longer than you, he automatically gets the job. At this moment, of twenty-two standing committees, there are three committee chairmen in their seventies, thirteen in their sixties, which leaves only six under sixty. I’ve worked out that I will become chairman of the Appropriations Committee on my sixty-eighth birthday, having served twenty-eight years in the House. That is if I win the thirteen elections in between, because if you lose one, you start over. It’s taken me only a few weeks to work out why so many southern states elect freshmen to Congress who are under thirty. If we ran the Baron Group the way Congress is run, we’d have been bankrupt long ago.’

Florentyna was slowly coming to accept the fact that it would take years to reach the top of the political tree, and the truth was that the climb consisted of a long, hard grind, known as ‘serving your time.’ ‘Go along and get along,’ was the way her committee chairman put it. She decided that if it was going to be any different for her, she would have to turn the disadvantage of being a freshman into the advantage of being a woman.