by Greg Fields
“Lupus. He’s growing progressively weaker. It’s eating away at him and he’ll never get better, as you know with this type of thing. The doctors seem to have slowed his deterioration a bit. On some days, in fact, he says he feels strong and wants to go home. But then another spell hits and it’s always worse than before. It breaks my heart to see him like that. I want him to be comfortable wherever he goes. So you see, I’ve come back as a means of assuring him that he’ll be well cared for when he gets here. And to reassure myself, too, I suppose.”
Carrecker paused again for several seconds, and looked away at a nearly blank wall. When he turned back to Finnegan, he spoke slowly and with great deliberation, measuring each word fully before letting it go. “Mr. Finnegan, why do you wish to harm my little business?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I asked, sir, why you wish to harm my business.”
“I don’t understand your question. I mean you no harm.”
“Whatever game you’re playing must come to an end.”
Finnegan’s cheeks blushed hotly. A deep shade of red grew from his mouth to his forehead. He had always blushed on those rare occasions when he had been caught in a lie. It was involuntary, and he could not begin to control it. He was a lousy liar.
“I still don’t understand you. What are you saying?”
“After our first meeting, where I injudiciously broke my personal policy of never giving impromptu tours, I became somewhat concerned that my hastiness to accommodate you might come back to haunt me. Consequently, I did some checking. There is no one named Finnegan on the faculty at Georgetown, neither regular faculty nor graduate assistant. There is, however, a Conor Finnegan employed by a United States senator. If this person is indeed you, then you have devised the flimsiest of gimmicks to get inside my facility.
“Even so,” he continued, “I believe I have nothing to fear from you, despite your clumsy and juvenile efforts. You and your senator are of little consequence. Here we comply with the laws as they are written and enforced. If you seek to change the laws, we shall comply with whatever you come up with. And you have no enforcement power.”
“But I might call down an enforcement body upon you. Have you considered that?”
“Briefly. But I am a man of many friends, some of them quite well placed. They would let me know well in advance of any melodramatic gesture. One does not prosper in this profession without learning some tricks of self-preservation.
“I hope,” he continued, “that you have learned something from this little charade. And now I shall tell you that if ever I see you near my premises again I shall have you arrested for trespassing and harassment. And if ever the senator or another member of his staff chooses to pick up the torch you’re now dropping, those charges will be applied to them. That would no doubt prove quite embarrassing to a man of his stature, don’t you think? The press would love to hear all about it.” Carrecker smiled menacingly through his paper-thin lips. Finnegan stared him in the face without response.
“And now, Mr. Finnegan, it’s time we part. I shall have two of my orderlies show you out. Gentlemen,” he called, and two large, unsmiling gorillas stepped into the room. They had evidently been just outside the door throughout all this.
“Show Mr. Finnegan to his car. Mr. Finnegan, good day to you. Remember my words. I mean them sincerely.”
Finnegan rose, mortified, wanting this humiliation to end as quickly as possible. He walked out of the office in front of the orderlies, both of whom were taller and wider than he was. Each appeared quite capable of beating him to jelly. Where they had no doubt spent most of their time tying down weak, defenseless old men, they might actually enjoy a spin with a younger target who could be more of a challenge. Finnegan did not look at them, and he did not speak. He kept his eyes straight ahead. He wanted to do nothing to provoke them.
He reached the door, one of the orderlies reached around him to open it, and he was back out in the parking lot. The perspiration had returned to his forehead and run down his collar. The cold air dried it; he felt clammy and stale.
Finnegan drove back to Capitol Hill sullenly. His battle had been lost, and the way the loss was recorded offered neither glory nor honor. Losing, difficult to accept, difficult to reconcile, stung him deeply.
When he returned to his desk he found atop his mess a note from the senator. “See me when you get in.” Finnegan’s first reaction was that Carrecker had put in a call. He stared out the window to collect his thoughts.
’But no,’ he reasoned. ’Unless Carrecker called immediately as I left, the senator has no idea of what went down. And why would Carrecker do that? He’s already won his victory. He’s too clever to keep this thing alive, in any form.’
Having reassured himself, Finnegan walked back to the senator’s office. “Is he in, Joyce? He asked to see me.” Months of working alongside this red-haired goddess had not reduced his appreciation of her elegant beauty, or quelled his simmering lust. The staff speculated on what services she might be providing their man over and above the call of duty. Everyone knew that the senator was not fanatical about his marriage. Finnegan, for his part, shared in the speculation and secretly envied his boss for his access to whatever sensual pleasures this gorgeous young woman might bestow.
“Yes, he is, Conor. Go right in.”
The door to the private office was open. The senator sat behind his great desk reading legislative briefs. Finnegan was surprised to see him wearing reading glasses. He would never do so in public.
“Senator, you asked to see me?”
“Yes, Conor,” he said, looking up and putting his papers to the side of his desk. “We have a project ahead of us that I’d like you to handle.”
“Of course. What’s up?”
“Partly due to your enthusiastic work with the elderly, Griffith thinks we can score major points with this constituency if we conduct a series of hearings on one of their central issues. He believes we should look into their housing conditions, where they live, what they pay, where they’re coming up short, all of that. You’ve already put together some statistics on this, he tells me?”
“Yes, sir. According to HHS definitions, more than 30 percent of all people over seventy lived in substandard of dilapidated housing last year. The percentage is higher in certain areas, northeastern states in particular. And this group spends a disproportionate amount of their income on housing expenses. The absence of affordable housing combined with predatory rental and housing control practices have forced huge numbers onto the edges of real poverty.”
“Right. We can build on that, I think. It’s a humane issue that few people realize, and as long as we keep it noncontroversial, we should be well received. I want two days of hearings in mid-March. I’ve scheduled one of the hearing rooms in the Russell Building for the 19th and 20th, from 1 to 5 each day. Work around that schedule. You fill up the time for me. Find me some storytellers. I don’t want witnesses who’ll quote figures all day. Figures are dull, and no one would pay any attention anyway. Find some people who’ve lived it, who can bring a tear to your eye. We’ll coordinate the hearings with opinion pieces on the topic in the major California dailies, so we need to make it compelling.”
“Are we looking for legislative solutions? I could bring in some of the directors of senior agencies and associations. They’re loaded with ideas.”
“Perhaps. If anything obvious comes out of this, we’ll follow it up later. Mostly I want pathos. Little old ladies who look like everyone’s grandmother telling how they eat cat food twice a week because they can’t afford to pay their rent, that sort of thing. Keep it varied, too. Different types of people, and make sure you throw in some minorities. Put together a tentative roster within two weeks and let’s review it. We’ll still have plenty of time to make changes then, if we have to, and to coordinate testimony. I’ll want complete outlines of each witness’s statements. You’ll have to draw up relevant questions that correspond to their stories, that fi
ll in the gaps and build out the impact. I don’t want any surprises. And don’t promise anybody anything.”
“Would these hearings include institutional care facilities?”
“No, Conor, they would not. We’re likely to offend some folks I’d rather not offend if we go down that path, and that’s not what we’re out to do. It’s also complex as hell. I’m not even certain that would be an issue in any case. Institutionalized care is adequate, from what I can tell. We want something everyone can sympathize with. Stick to private citizens trying to get by on their own. Keep me posted on your progress.”
“Senator, I’d like the chance to sit down with you after these hearings are done to evaluate what we do in response to them. If we can show some definite action, legislative or otherwise, stemming from what we’ve brought forward through those two days, then their impact on the voters will be multiplied. Also, we’d be extending any media coverage to include our own responses.”
“We’ll see what happens, Conor. Let’s get them together first, then see how they go. It’s too early to talk about what we’ll do afterward.”
“I know that, Senator, but I think we should be aware of their potential going in.”
“I am aware of that. That’s why we’re doing them at all.” The senator smiled. “I know you’ll work hard in setting them up, Conor. Find me some people, and let’s put on a good show.”
“Thank you, Senator. I’ll do everything I can.”
“I have every faith. Check in with me in a few days to show me what you’re doing.”
Finnegan walked back down the hall to his own desk, jammed in a corner of the crowded suite where the middle-level staffers were corralled. The assignment, he knew, meant something special. The senator still had confidence in him. That was important, especially in light of that day’s earlier fiasco. He might have a future in this profession after all, he mused, particularly if he could do a good job with these hearings. He spent the rest of the day drawing up an outline of whom he wanted, then speaking with his contacts in the field to feel them out about housing issues and asking them so submit their thoughts on the most pressing impact points. He needed to sort through the various ideas, devise an agenda and go back to them for their help in uncovering suitable messengers. Be systematic, he told himself, and involve a lot of people.
As the day wore on, Finnegan’s Friday mood brightened further by Glynnis’s impending arrival. While she spent most weekends with Conor, her visits never failed to fill the young man with anticipation. The little boy in him emerged at the thought of being with her. He could not possibly be casual about it, nor did he try. He swore to himself that he would never take his time with her for granted. She would be taking the train again, and she’d be with him in five hours, in four hours, in three hours. He counted the time, and the afternoon slowed to a crawl as Finnegan’s anticipation quickened.
At 5:30 he went into the men’s room down the hall, shaved with an electric razor he kept in his desk for such occasions as evening receptions or his lover’s arrival, then splashed on a fresh coat of cologne. He relished the quick transition from professional to personal, so quick that the two overlapped. That was as it should be. He enjoyed making himself fresh at the end of the day, and he enjoyed projecting the simple comforts that lay ahead.
His renaissance complete, Finnegan walked out into the cold night. The lights of the federal buildings bit through the darkness. The angular green dome of the Library of Congress and the brilliant lines of the Capitol stood out sharply against the black sky. ’What future societies will view the ruins of these great structures,’ he found himself thinking, ’and what will their thoughts be as they find these mossy stones? Will they have grace and power and dignity to match our own, or when these buildings fall, as they inevitably must, will those concepts fall with them? Are we destined to be philosophers or scavengers?’ Finnegan reached his car, climbed in and drove the short distance down the hill to Union Station.
For a Friday evening, the great station was remarkably uncrowded. Most of those waiting for trains were young. The businessmen and government officials had already gone home. Students, poorly or casually dressed, carrying well-worn travel bags, their hair shaggy, shuffled through the high and echoing cavern. Finnegan looked at them with a certain envy: they were where he had been just a few months before, and that time had been glorious. He had passed that stage, and it had locked shut behind him. Finnegan was not commonly given to nostalgia, but he knew that as the years progressed he would come to regard the marvelous, expansive days of college with increasing fondness. As long as he could continue to infuse his current existence with wonder and novelty, he might be able to keep that nostalgia in check. He was certain, though, that it could not be eliminated, nor would he want it to be. It was all part of growing older.
Finnegan stood by the track where Glynnis’s train would arrive. He still had a few minutes. He always liked to get to the station early. There he could gently stoke his anticipation through quiet time with no expectations, and nothing to do but watch others go by.
Glynnis’s train steamed in on time, the massive iron torpedo crawling down the tracks with a gnash of metal and the clanking of its brakes, its cycloptic eye shining its path. It stopped with a perceptible groan, an old man whose bones protested both stopping and starting. The doors swung open; Glynnis stepped from one of them several yards down the platform.
She looked, as always, radiant. The softly molded features of her delicate face shone out from beneath her winter cap. Finnegan considered her most beautiful in winter. In contrast to the cold around them she exuded serenity and warmth. The brisk air instilled a gentle glow that rose from some deep well within her body. Finnegan relished those winter nights when the two of them stayed inside against the cold, nestling in a warm spot in defiance of the brutal assaults of the harshest seasons.
Glynnis spotted Conor and smiled softly. God, he loved her smile, its sly curve, its inference of wisdom and hint of mischief, its inherent quiet splendor. She walked to where he stood, put down her bag, and they embraced. On the way to the car Conor told Glynnis about the upcoming hearings while Glynnis informed her lover that nothing was new, that, indeed, she had plodded dully through the week.
The clear night air allowed the magnificent sights of the capital to sparkle almost translucently. They seemed artificial, fanciful creations that, if touched, would sprinkle apart like snow.
“I didn’t tell you,” said Conor, “but Dan’s gone home for the weekend. We’ve got the place to ourselves.”
“Oh, I was looking forward to seeing him. He’s hardly around anymore when I’m here.”
“He’s a busy guy these days. It turns out he has to be a real student, or they’ll kick his formerly lazy ass out of here. Besides, I’d think the obvious advantages of his absence might soothe your disappointment somewhat. I love being completely alone with you,” and he smiled.
“It’s too bad he picked this weekend to go home,” Glynnis replied, slowly and with a bit of a halt.
“Why do you say that, Glyn? What’s so special about this weekend? Aside from your being here, of course.” He reached over and squeezed her gloved hand.
“Conor,” Glynnis spoke deliberately, the words rehearsed several times over. “I want to go back tomorrow night. There’s a train that leaves at 6:00, okay?”
“You’re kidding. Why in God’s name do you have to do that?”
“There are just some things I have to get done. There are some things I have to do.”
“I’ve heard that before. Could you be more specific, please?” Annoyance was creeping into Finnegan’s voice despite his best efforts to suppress it. But it was an acid etching through gentle tissue. This all made no sense to him. Glynnis’s evasive response would only provoke him further.
“A lot of things. There’s a project I want to finish, and I want to do some writing. Letters and such. I’m so out of touch with everybody.”
“And that can’t wait u
ntil Sunday night? Why do you feel compelled to slice our weekend in half? In less than half? This all seems pretty flimsy.”
“Oh, Conor,” Glynnis sighed. This was so difficult. Conor’s trusting, boyish innocence, now offended, only made it more so. “I don’t get time to myself during the week. Not enough. I suppose I just want some time to devote to myself alone, with no expectations and no one to attend to. To be honest, I was hoping to spend a quiet weekend doing simple things. I like being in the studio with no one around, and I like reading books I don’t have time for during the week, and I like sitting at my desk writing letters with music in the background and the wind outside. There’s just been too little time for that, Conor, and I’d like to devote at least one day to being uncluttered.”
“At the expense of spending time together. There’s been too little time for that as well, so there’s something of a price to pay for this ’uncluttered’ state you prize. Can’t you carve some time for yourself during the week?”
“There are enough demands so that I can’t. And even at the end of the day when I do get some time, I’m so tired that all I want to do is go to bed. I know I’m not being fair, Conor, but please try to understand. I had my heart set on a day completely alone.”
“And I had my heart set on the two of us for the entire weekend. Jesus, Glyn, things can be tough enough down here without you pulling surprises on me. I spend my whole week thinking about you, about our time together. Lately that time has been too limited anyway, and now you want to slice off a weekend for some vague notion about having time to yourself, about being uncluttered, whatever the hell that means. I would have thought you’d prefer to be with me.”
“Now who’s being unfair?” said Glynnis lowly, but Conor kept on.
“Besides, what the hell do you do on those too-frequent weekends when we’re not together at all? Doesn’t that provide you with enough time alone? Or are you really alone?”