by Reed Sprague
The general election in November produced no serious challengers to Perez, so he won easily against a few fringe candidates who somehow managed to get their names on the ballot. The former child field laborer from Idaho was on his way to a freshman seat in the congress of the United States of America.
Dominici was sick on a regular basis now. Kathy stayed with him all day, everyday, beginning late in the evening of 25 November. It had only been two weeks since the November election. Christmas was approaching, and Kathy was determined to spend this year’s Christmas Day with the father she had wanted to forget about just a few short months ago. He also wanted to spend Christmas Day with her.
Kathy and Alex had become inseparable as well. Alex had fallen deeply in love with his new hero’s daughter, and she was deeply in love with Alex. Together they cared for Dominici.
At three fifteen, Christmas Eve morning, Dom awakened to severe bleeding from his mouth. Kathy called the ambulance and had him transported to the nursing home. She and Alex held vigil over him in his small room. They were joined by a stainless steel utility table, a small, cheap artificial Christmas tree, a bed, one guest chair and a light overhead that was turned off. It wasn’t needed. God was there as well. Kathy was convinced of it.
At four eighteen in the afternoon, Christmas Day, Dom gagged and coughed and gagged and coughed, then finally succumbed, ending the physical torment that brought about his death. Kathy and Alex had read and heard about the peace of death. This was not peace. This was disturbing. It was sad. It was now Christmas Day, and Christmas Day wasn’t supposed to be this way. Still, Kathy and Dom’s wish came true: They spent Christmas Day together.
Dom’s passing was sad and his memorial service was depressing. His pastor from years earlier, his casket, the two grave diggers, Kathy, Alex, Alejandro Sr. and Felicia were there. That’s it. Dom’s pastor said a few words of remembrance, Kathy read a poem she wrote over the years of her childhood, adding lines to it from age eight to sixteen, then skipping fifteen years, then adding a few lines in recent months, and several more over the last few days. It was a poem no one had ever read or heard until the memorial service.
My Daddy is very important to me, you see
My Daddy is big and strong and he loves me and he cares for me.
He can do anything, he’s very important to me; one day you’ll see.
My Daddy protects me with his big muscles and he provides for me.
He can do anything, he’s very important to me; one day you’ll see.
My Daddy would rather be with me, though today he’s not, tomorrow he will be.
He can do anything, he’s very important to me; one day you’ll see.
Tomorrow’s now today and my Daddy’s not here; but tomorrow he will be.
He’ll wrap his arms around me and we’ll hug tightly; one day you’ll see.
Today my Daddy misses me and I hope he’s not alone like me.
Tomorrow we’ll be together and forever we will be, you’ll see.
I miss my Daddy today and I know he misses me.
I’ll cuddle with my blanket tonight, I’ll be protected, secure I’ll be; you’ll see.
My Daddy loves me this I know and today I clearly see.
I wish I could be with him, though; he’s very important to me, you see.
My Daddy helps good people in the government; and he’s also very good to me.
I miss him and I miss him; tomorrow we’ll go to the park; you’ll see.
My Daddy’s not at the park today; tomorrow he will be.
I’ll see him then, and we’ll play and play; this you’ll also see.
I finally saw my Daddy today; he’s as wonderful as can be.
We hugged and hugged and hugged just as I said we would, you see.
I know now more than ever that my Daddy loves and cares for me.
It had been years, so you gave up, but I did not, you see.
My Daddy never stopped loving me, across time and space and anger, you see.
He can do anything, he’s very important to me; and now you can plainly see.
Of Daddy I’m proud because he reconciled with me.
No blanket tonight, no loneliness, no dreams, just time and Daddy and me.
Farewell Daddy, sleep forever tight and secure and free.
I can now do anything, because, like you, I can now and forever see.
Felicia cried, because she always cried when experiencing situations like this. The others cried as well, though. Kathy gently laid her blanket, neatly folded, on top of the casket, her only copy of her poem on top of that, and then a single rose. The casket was lowered into the ground, and the diggers immediately began to shovel the dirt over it. The preacher said a final prayer. The service ended.
Kathy and Alex went home and reflected. From that day on they were inseparable. Dom, known to Alex for less than a year, had done more to bring about Alex’s success than UF, the FBI and the military combined. Alex’s parents were grateful for all Dom had done for their son. They embraced Kathy and came to love her almost as much as Alex loved her. Felicia and Alejandro were naturally appreciative, but both were eternally grateful for Dom’s work with Alex and for his faith in the American political system.
A once discredited American hero and tireless public servant — an old Florida cracker — went on, into eternity, his life over on this earth, a hero once again. Before he left he made certain that he produced a protégée who could help bring about an entirely new beginning for America.
Monday, 5 January 2015. Alex and Kathy were married at a small wedding chapel in Jacksonville. Alejandro and Felicia were in attendance. Felicia cried, but not for the usual reasons. She cried because her son was supposed to have been married in a large Roman Catholic church, a cathedral perhaps, by a bishop who was known for presiding at weddings for American big shots. Felicia learned to accept, though, and her tears soon began to flow for a better reason: She was happy.
Things were looking up. But Alex and Kathy would soon realize how much they both missed Dom. They arrived in Washington, D.C., to a reality that neither of them was prepared for. Dom was not around to instruct Alex on the rules of the Washington political game. He and Kathy would have to learn the hard way. That painful process was about to begin.
CHAPTER FOUR
8 JANUARY 2015
“Welcome, Congressman Perez. Welcome to Washington,” the inviting man with the broad, permanent smile said to Alex, all the while completely ignoring Kathy as she and Alex entered the auditorium. Cameras flashed as official pictures were taken, hundreds of them, of the hobnobbing of Washington insiders with their newly elected government officials.
“This is sort of your initiation, your orientation. Come on over here. I want you to meet some friends of mine,” the man continued, yet to introduce himself. Finally, and almost as an aside, the man said, “I’m Sam Gregory. I’m your host. There are many others here like me who want to bring you on board as quickly as possible. Who’s the Mrs.? What’s your name?” he said to Kathy with all the respect, courtesy and grace reserved for greeting one’s pet lizard.
“This is my wife, Kathy. And you are—?”
“I’ve already told you my name. I’m Sam Gregory.”
“No, I know your name, but who are you?”
“Did you receive the notice for this event?” Gregory asked.
“Yes.”
“Then you already know how things work here in D.C., don’t you? Weren’t you able to gather from the invitation that we do a good job of bringing you on board here? Within two hours tonight I’ll get you in the know with more people who can help you than you would be able to get to know in ten years in this town. Just relax, agree, and smile a lot. Remember that cameras are flashing and important people are watching.
“Katie, you need to stand up straight and present yourself as a good dutiful wife. None of that independent woman stuff here tonight. Place your left arm under his right arm. That’s right. Hang onto him but allow hi
m to lead. Everywhere you go in this room, he’s to be slightly ahead of you. Now come on, we’ve got to make our rounds. Keep a good profile. Make sure you fit in. Let’s go.”
“My wife’s name is Kathy.”
Alex and Kathy were swept along throughout the auditorium, from one banquet table to the next, meeting various people about whom they knew little, and for whom they were on display without knowing exactly why.
“Your campaign was brilliant,” a stranger who introduced himself as Timothy Danielson, said to Alex. “I’ve never seen any candidate promote that sincere crap the way you did. You should have been a used car salesman,” Danielson said, as he laughed hysterically at his dumb joke. “Dom was your campaign manager, wasn’t he? He still had what it took. Right to the very end. That poor bitter bastard never should have left politics for twenty years. Think of all of the elected officials who could have been. Nobody — and I mean nobody — shoveled that sincere manure the way Dom did. And nobody ever will. He was an artist. Now the S.O.B.’s dead. Died before we could get others like you elected. What a waste.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Danielson, what exactly do you do here in Washington?” Alex asked.
“You’re joking, right?” Danielson had enjoyed far too many drinks; he blurted out, “I give you money for your work, Mr. Congressman. That’s what I do in Washington. I pay your salary. I’m your boss, along with all the other bosses here in this room. Don’t worry about having so many bosses, though, because we’re easy to work for. All you do is take money and do what we need to have done.”
The waiter walked by carrying a tray of drinks. Danielson stumbled toward him and grabbed a fresh drink from his tray.
Matching Gregory’s social grace, Danielson turned to Kathy and said, “you must be Mrs. Alejandro, or maybe ‘Mistress’ Alejandro,” as he laughed awkwardly, stupidly. “Either way, I’m not your judge. Just keep smiling. No one here asks personal questions—if you know what I mean.”
“Please allow me to introduce my wife, Mr. Danielson. Her name is Kathy Dominici Perez. Kathy is Cole Dominici’s daughter. Kathy, this is Mr. Danielson, Mr. Drunkard Danielson, I believe is his full name,” Alex said.
Danielson didn’t get it. He knew something was wrong with the introduction and the conversation that had just taken place, but he couldn’t set it all together. He stumbled and stammered, slouched to the side, fell over his own feet, grabbed a chair, which prevented him from slamming all the way to the floor, then slithered off to another part of the auditorium.
The auditorium was filled with lobbyists. The hard liquor flowed freely throughout the entire place. Like drunk locusts the lobbyists swarmed over the new arrivals.
Members of the media were there as well—newspaper reporters, photographers, cable news program producers, including Thompston from Brighton’s program. A group of reporters had decided to sneak into the auditorium and work undercover. The politicians and lobbyists had no idea the reporters were in the room with them. Thompston couldn’t have been more satisfied. She and her photographer took a lot of pictures and some film footage as well. Alex and Kathy, the new Mr. And Mrs. Messiah, were caught on video cavorting with the dreaded D.C. lobbyists, lobbyists who were drunk no less, staggering around the room, “planning their next bribe.” At least that’s how it would play out in the next day’s newspapers and television news programs.
Newspapers across the country the following day carried articles and displayed pictures of the event. “Business as Usual in D.C., Even for the Sincere Florida Farm Worker,” was the headline on the front page of Jacksonville’s Florida Times–Union. The Gainesville Sun front page headline was not much better, “Farming for Gold” read the banner across the top of a picture of Alex and Kathy as they embraced well–known crooked, and clearly inebriated Washington lobbyists Sam Gregory and Timothy Danielson. “War Hero Fights the Crowds to Get Next to Lobbyists,” was the headline for the story on page two of the Washington Times.
Thompston and Brighton’s revenge was to be sweet. Thompston couldn’t plan fast enough to broadcast footage of “The King and Queen of District Three” swooning and rubbing elbows with the detested compromisers of D.C. politicians. She met with her boss, Brighton, and instructed him that that night’s show could not be nice. It had to be tough. Perez had to be exposed as a fraud. And so he was. Brighton was uncharacteristically tough that night, even brutal. His face was red with anger. Thompston’s words blazed across the Teleprompter and were read by Brighton just like the good parrot he was.
Hancock was enraged. He spent a full five minutes at the beginning of his program that night slamming away at Perez. Hancock reported that “Perez’s now famous campaign notes were obviously nothing more than meticulous secret code for where to go to get bribes as soon as Perez set his feet on the tarmac in D.C.”
“He probably went straight from his private jet — in his luxury limo, of course — to his luxury hotel suite, to his throne in the banquet room, hobnobbed with his media buddies, and picked up his checks from the thugs who will be pulling his strings for the next several years,” Hancock blasted out during his diatribe.
The whole thing was a media disaster for Perez, and there was no easy way out of it. It seemed that the Washington machine had consumed him as soon as he departed his plane a few nights before. It was as if he had been unable to avoid the machine’s influence because it seemed that he actually wanted to be consumed by it. Dom was not around to prevent this media disaster and he was not around to fix it. Alex and Kathy were on their own now.
Kathy began to plan.“Go directly to Hancock. Avoid Brighton and Thompston. Ignore them. They’ll get angry and report things that are untrue, and, when they do, we’ll expose them. They’ll be easy. They’re not very smart. We’ll get them.
“The one we have to deal with is Hancock. He’s filled with righteous indignation, but not blind anger. There is nothing that speaks louder than righteous indignation. You don’t refute righteous indignation. You don’t deny it. You join in. You become indignant yourself. Nothing will disarm the indignant against us better than becoming one of their own,” Kathy said while she and Alex tried to enjoy dinner at their townhouse.
“We have to use them, even Hancock. We have to use him. We know we’re right, that we did nothing wrong. We have to explain that without coming across as victims. We were caught off guard, and we were taken in because of our naivete, but Hancock will never allow us to be the victims. He’ll eat us alive if we explain things in that context.”
“What do we do then?”
“We — rather you alone — go on his show and simply tell the truth. That’s all we can do. He’ll continue to blast away at us if we just try to ignore him. We have to engage him.”
“What’s with engagements in your family? Your father used to talk about engaging all the time, too.”
“Well, it works, doesn’t it? So maybe we should stick with it.
“Here’s what we’ll do. You have to meet with Hancock first to give him a chance to blow off at you. He’s got to let the steam off at you privately. That way he will have gotten most of it out of his system before you go on his show for a live interview. I’m not saying that it’ll make the interview a piece of cake, but I do believe that it’ll give you a chance at a reasonable interview, a less confrontational interview,” Kathy explained.
“You do know that to Hancock ‘letting off the steam’ means he’ll blast me. It’ll be abusive,” Alex said.
“Yes, and you’ll take it. You’ll just sit there and take it. Then you’ll go on the show — that same night — and you’ll calmly walk Hancock and the rest of America through the events of our orientation night, about how you and I take full responsibility for being there, that you’re sorry, and that you assure the American people that you will not be controlled by lobbyists. You’ll bring Hancock and America back to your side. We’ve got to do it soon, though. We can’t make it look as if we’re hiding.
“You need to fly to New York Mon
day morning, meet with Hancock in the early afternoon, and go on his show for the live interview Monday night. It’s that simple, and it will work. For good or bad, you’re big news right now. He’ll make room for you Monday night if you just show up.”
Perez flew to New York and showed up in Hancock’s office to talk and to ask to be interviewed. Before there would be a civil conversation, though, there would be venting, just as Kathy had predicted.
Hancock flew off the handle, but not out of blind anger. He was truly indignant. “What in the hell are you trying to pull, Congressman? I gave you honest and straight–forward coverage during your campaign. I believed that you were sincere. Then you pull a stunt like this. Do you know what I look like now! Do you realize what a fool you’ve made of me? The American people embraced you as a sincere politician because of my show. My reputation was on the line, and you smeared it with your filthy mud that you gathered when you rubbed bellies with your swine lobbyist buddies.
“You show up here and ask to be interviewed, but the real question you need to ask is, Do you have the guts to come on my show and have it out with me? Not just a standard interview, but an old–fashioned slugfest! Do you, Congressman? And I mean without the gloves, Congressman. I’ll have you on tonight, if you’ve got the backbone to do it. Do you?”
“Yes. Set it up and I’ll be there. No limits. You can ask me anything you want and I’ll answer honestly and directly. I have one request, though.”