“I like the idea, but let’s hold off until we see what the Appropriations Committee does.”
“Hold off … when do the gloves come off Elliott? This is a beautiful bill as written. Are we simply going to watch it die? We can’t let it die.”
“It won’t die, Paul. And the gloves will come off, but we must pick the place and time.”
In disgust Elliott turned off the computer and went out onto the deck to read the Wall Street Journal. He read it religiously every morning, but this morning his mind wandered.
Elliott set the paper down on the wooden deck and stared into the distance for a moment. The President’s phone call had disturbed him more than he let on. He recalled the stark numbers; only two Discharge Petitions in the last fifty years had led to a bill being signed by the president. A Discharge Petition with SB 1190 sitting in three separate committees was never going to work. They’d been lucky in the House with the Discharge, but could not count on such luck in the Senate.
Pondering the situation he realized he needed to reach out to the public, to the good people of the land and somehow let them know what was taking place in the Halls of Congress. Much of what their congressional leaders did was hidden from the view of the public. There may be no legal way to introduce a National Referendum, but the next best thing would be to have a show of force in support of SB 1190. The text messaging had been a success. It had made people aware of what the bill contained and how it would change their lives, but the American public had a notoriously short attention span. He needed someone with connections, someone who could awaken the land, someone with the tenacity of a tiger. Suddenly a beautiful face appeared in his mind. Laughing blue eyes framed in a halo of auburn hair. He stood up and went back inside and pressed the on button of his computer.
“No National Referendum,” he said aloud. “Maybe we’ll go for the next best thing. This calls for someone with a special means of getting things done.”
He opened his online rolodex. He stared at the number for a full minute before dialing. He’d not spoken to her in several years and now suddenly he wished to hear her voice.
Stephanie Wells had been a House Representative for the state of Wisconsin, while he was in the Senate representing the state of Colorado. They had sat on several special committees and sent several Joint Resolutions to the floor together. When her husband suddenly passed away ten years ago she had turned to him for solace. For each of them it had been an epiphany of sorts. Neither of them believed they would ever love again and yet their feelings for each other grew. They went to dinner, plays and carriage rides around D.C. together. The tabloids had a field day, but the two of them didn’t care. The National Enquirer ran a front page piece asking, “Is the most eligible bachelor in Washington off the market?”
They began holding hands together and even kissed several times when they knew the cameras were watching. One time Stephanie laughingly suggested she felt like a high school girl again. The truth of the matter was they had both fallen very quickly in love, but the business of governing was beginning to wear on her. She’d grown tired of the congressional backbiting and squabbling. After a second term she retired from the House and took a position with the Board of Regents for Harvard University. Elliott had beseeched her to stay in D.C. and even suggested he’d retire and they could move to his Colorado ranch together. Stephanie told him she would have nothing to do with ending the career of one of the most beloved and successful politicians to walk the Halls of Congress. Elliott grew angry at her stubbornness and said he would never speak to her again if she left him. She left, and true to his word he stopped returning her calls and eventually she stopped calling. But Elliott had followed her career as closely as he could from afar. She was still the activist she had always been and she chaired several political committees on campus, educating and nurturing future politicians. She was still in the seat of power and in a position to pull off exactly what Elliott had in mind.
She answered her cell phone and sounded a little irritated. “Hello, this is Stephanie Wells.”
“Hi Stephanie, this is Elliott,” he said trying to sound light hearted.
A sharp intake of breath whispered through the line.
“Elliott, my dear Elliott, it’s wonderful to hear from you. How are you?”
“Fair to middling. And you?”
“I’m fine. I was just about to hop in the shower.”
“I can call back if you wish?”
“No, no it’s okay. Just let me set the phone down for a moment and put my robe on.”
A moment later she was back on the line.
“There, that’s better. Now where were we?”
“You just said you were fine and I was remembering all that auburn hair surrounding those deep blue eyes and those little dimples of yours thinking fine isn’t the word for it. Something more like breathtaking would apply a little better,” Elliott replied with a smile.
Stephanie laughed gaily. “Ever the charmer. Obviously you haven’t seen me in a few years. So how are things on the hill? I know you’ve retired, but I can’t imagine you’re not in touch.”
“Sadly, if anything they are worse than ever and that’s part of the reason for my call. Are you still in touch with all the taxpayer groups? You know, Common Cause, Taxpayers for Common Sense and Citizens against Government Waste?”
“Yes, and several others.”
“Here’s what I was thinking. I’m afraid SB 1190 is going to go down in flames.”
“Are you behind that? I’ve been watching it. What a wonderful bill. I’d sign it in a heartbeat.”
“No, I’m not behind it, but I’d like to see it passed. Maybe you could send an email or something to all those watchdog groups with a proposal. I’d like to suggest those who have RV’s to execute an assault on the Capitol. I’ll pay for banners reading ‘Pass 1190 or else,’ or something along those lines. I’m not really sure how to execute it, but you get the idea. I’d like something in the way of a major show of force by the people of our good land.”
“You don’t need to send any money for banners. We have a lot of Betsy Ross types out there who can make banners. I can send an email announcing the event to all those groups and they can start a letter writing and email campaign to their legislators, but I’ll do you one better, how about AARP? If I’m right, the bill provides for funding of Social Security once the national debt has been extinguished. They are the ones we should be contacting. They’ll hop in their RV’s and head to Washington in a heartbeat.”
“That’s brilliant. Yes, the Baby Boomers, this is right up their alley. They can re-live the protests of the sixties.”
“And they are retired so they have the time to make the journey,” Stephanie added.
“I knew I was calling the right person.”
“Is that the only reason you called?”
“Yes, I knew you were still very involved politically. And you’ve always been an activist where government waste was concerned.”
“Okay Elliott, I’ll buy that, but if you want to you can come visit me.”
“I’d like that. I’d like it very much, but I’ve got a lot of work to do.”
“A lot of work to do, he says. Elliott, I know you’re behind this. It’s funny, when I read the first few news flashes about the bill your face suddenly popped into my mind.”
“I think of you every day,” Elliott admitted as his voice softened, “but there is another group I’d like to involve in support of SB 1190 and that is the young. They are the future, and whether they know it or not they are in deep trouble.”
“Hmm. Okay, he’s changing the topic she said to herself.”
Elliott laughed. “No I’m not. I would love to see you, but I’ve got a lot on my plate right now.”
“Alright, the young, I’ll bite. The first thing that comes to mind is what the banks and Sallie Mae have done. You know, reducing their interest rates. As I understand it this is just a temporary effort to help jumpstart the economy.
Today’s kids are the most indebted generation in history, at least for that age group. But they are the flip side of the social security play. It’s a ‘get out of debt free’ card for future generations so they don’t have to pay the retirement bill for the elderly. You need to play that up.”
“That’s exactly what I told Paul,” Elliott exclaimed.
“Paul who? Paul White? You’ve been talking to the President. I knew you were behind this!”
“No, it wasn’t Paul White. It was Paul, Paul …”
Stephanie giggled. “You are the worst liar.”
“Okay, it was Paul White, but I don’t want that to leak out. Please don’t repeat that to anyone!”
“If you don’t agree to visit me I can guarantee the media will get hold of that information somehow.”
“Blackmail, will you stoop so low?”
“I will.”
“The truth is I would love to see you.”
“That’s better. I won’t press for an exact date for our rendezvous at the moment, but I want you to give it some thought. It’s something we should do. We aren’t getting any younger, but back to the matters at hand. I saw a YouTube video rather like the old Uncle Sam poster, ‘I WANT YOU!’, but with a young woman as the speaker. It seemed to be effective. I suggest you contact a photographer and film a video announcing the event. You know, dates and times to be in Washington for the vote. By the way, when is the vote?”
“It’s just been submitted to several committees, but as soon as I have a firm set of dates I’ll let you know,” Elliott promised.
“I’ll contact the various taxpayer groups and AARP and start the letter writing campaign and wait to hear from you.”
“Okay, thanks for everything. I’ll be in touch.”
“Elliott? I meant what I said. I would love to see you again. Are you in Washington or Colorado?”
“Colorado.”
“I want you to promise me you’ll call me when you are planning to come to D.C.”
Elliott glanced at the calendar on his desk and noted he had another dose of chemo to deal with in ten days.
“I promise you, Steph. I would love to see you. I still love you. I’ll always love you.”
“Oh, Elliott,” Stephanie cried and hung up before he could hear the tears in her voice.
Elliott sat staring at the phone. ‘He probably shouldn’t have said that,’ he thought. It was not fair to Stephanie if he were to reignite their passion for each other right before he … before he … left. The thought was not a pleasing one.
Suddenly Elliott felt very tired. He yawned and glanced at his watch. It was only noon, but a siesta seemed like it was in order. He went to the bathroom and brushed his teeth. As he brushed he studied his eyes, the yellow orbs staring back at him spoke of the stress his liver was under. They were slowly changing color to match the solid gold handles on the sink in front of him. The eyes, underlined with dark circles, sat in a face growing more hollow cheeked by the day. He also noticed that his hair was starting to thin due to the Chemo treatments. He’d grown so accustomed to the dull pain in his side that he barely noticed it anymore, but a new pain in his right leg just above his ankle was beginning to worry him. He pulled the brush from his mouth and noticed a faint pink to the bristles. After he rinsed his mouth he studied his gums and pulled at a tooth or two. One seemed loose and he noted blood seeping around the gums. For a moment he leaned heavily on the countertop and then in anger he spat a crimson glob into the sink.
He couldn’t let Stephanie see him this way. As much as he longed to see her, yearned to hold her once again, the person he was slowly becoming was not the one he wanted her to remember him as. They had always laughed and poked fun and simply enjoyed each other’s company. After a moment together she’d know instantly something was desperately wrong. It could not happen. In fury he threw the toothbrush at the mirror and retreated to the dark solace of his bedroom where he pulled a picture of her from his nightstand and sat holding it for a long time.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The following morning a fleet of chocolate brown mail cars left an old warehouse yard and sped towards Capitol Hill, the Beltway and the Senate offices. James Lally had briefed the men about how he’d approached the job and felt they would perform admirably. They were given three addresses each to visit. The senators in question had been chosen because they were seated on a committee or subcommittee that was going to be deeply affected by the proposed legislation and therefore were likely to be in a position to vote or amend SB 1190. According to the thick dossier compiled on each of them they had certain weaknesses that might be exploited, but this was to be the initial salvo; a simple invitation.
Each man carried a parcel which contained a glossy invitation to a brainstorming session at the Four Seasons hosted by American Defense International, Rodesta Group and Potomac Advisors. The lobbying companies had been chosen because they represented Lockheed, Raytheon and a number of other major players in the defense industry as well as the powerful big banks. The invitation spoke of a general evening of fine food and strategy sessions dealing with current affairs of special interest to senators. The first went to Jim Johnson, Democrat from South Dakota who sits on the Appropriations Committee, and specifically on the sub-committee for Military Construction, Veterans Affairs and Related Agencies. Another invite went to Robert Durbin, Democrat from Illinois who sits on the Financial Services and General Government Committee, and another to Brian Nelson, Democrat from Florida who sits on the Armed Services and chairs the Emerging Threats and Capabilities Sub-Committee. Brent Conrad, Democrat from North Dakota who chairs the Budget Committee, and James Bingham, Democrat from New Mexico who sits on the Fiscal Responsibility and Economic Growth Committee were invitees as well. All told fifty eight senators, all sitting members on key committees such as the Appropriations, Finance, Foreign Relations, Armed Services and the Banking, Housing and Urban Affairs received the gaudy invites for the meeting at the Four Seasons two nights from now. At the same time they were signing the United Parcel receipt book a microscopic bug was dropped on each of their desks near the phone. The feeds from the bugs were set up to transmit to ‘Backspace’ Conner’s set of servers down in Atlanta. Within an hour of the invitations being delivered, Senator Jim Johnson called Senator Brian Nelson and his secretary immediately patched him through. ‘Backspace’ was listening in.
“I saw your name on the invite guest list. Did you open yours yet?”
“Yeah, just did,” replied Brian. “What do you think?”
“I’m not going to miss it. I’m sure the food will be terrific, and those guys are some heavy hitters. It could pay some big time dividends down the road.”
“It seems a little strange to me. What does ‘dealing with the current affairs’ mean? Normally these invites are a little vague as to the topic, but this is down right mysterious.”
Jim laughed. “Now what do you think they could be hinting at with that wording? Maybe it’s the only topic on every ones mind in Washington. What is the one thing on the tip of everyone’s tongue?”
“SB 1190?” Brian suggested.
“Bingo, my good man.”
“And then to mention a ‘Strategy Session’? That seems odd.”
“Pretty bold, but I think these guys are shaking in their boots. Make no mistake about it. This is a meeting to map a plan of attack on SB 1190. The base closures will cost some big companies a fortune. The transaction fee on stocks and currency trades; I’ve already heard from some companies concerning the impact to some of the big players that trade millions of shares a day. And this whole prison thing down in Texas. I’ve heard they have so many escapees showing up and now parolees showing up they’re referring to it as the new prison model. Complete rehabilitation. The ‘for profit’ prison is going to be a thing of the past.”
“Was that in SB 1190?” Brian asked.
“It was added as a rider at the last second when the House passed it and will ultimately save the Federal g
overnment billions and save the states millions as well, and put the ‘for profit’ prisons and all their suppliers out of business.”
“Somehow I missed that part of it,” Brian Nelson admitted.
“Don’t worry about it. If you blinked you could have missed it.”
“Well, I’m going for sure,” Brian stated.
“My wife loves these dinners. She’ll be upset if she can’t go. There’s an R.S.V.P. phone number here. Maybe I’ll give them a call.”
“Go for it,” Jim suggested. “If there are any earth shattering revelations, let me know?”
Brian hung up and called the number on the invite.
Backspace had anticipated the possibility and knew he would need someone to help with the phones. He paid his ex-wife a queenly sum to handle the phones for a few days. Archie and Goldie had first met when he was on a photo shoot for a Dallas Cowboys Calendar. He’d noticed her right off. Not simply because she was astonishingly beautiful, but because of a quirky smile she had with deep dimples and a willingness to laugh out loud at his silly jokes. They’d hit it off from the moment they met, with Goldie pulling his moustache and saying he looked vaguely like Sam Elliott. Two years later they were married. But with her traveling schedule and his shooting assignments they saw little of each other. Two years later they were divorced, not because they were no longer in love but because it was so difficult on both of them. It was with sadness they slowly gave up trying to make time for each other. Archie always thought when they were at a different point in their lives they might re-approach the idea of marriage and felt Goldie still loved him. She had opened a pastry shop in Dallas with a couple of her cheerleader friends, which was a great success, and soon had several dozen shops across the southwest. He was living in Atlanta pursuing his freelance photography, video and general high tech career. When he asked her to help with the phones, she had initially refused, but he sweet talked her into believing she needed a few days away. He also had to promise a couple of nights out on the town in Atlanta as well as a free flight.
The Return of Elliott Eastman Page 13