The Killing Vote

by Bette Golden Lamb

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Now you see what I mean? I knew you’d say that. Kind of takes the fun out of things.”

  Wilson listened to the click-click of the scissors speed up even more. That too was predictable.

  “You know, Leonard, you only have to push the right buttons and you can get people to do damn near anything. I mean, take this woman I know.” He laughed wickedly. “You take her. I don’t want her.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “The woman works like a dog, keeps such long hours that her personal life is a disaster. She’s spent most of her days dedicating herself to what she thinks of as public service. Then someone like me comes along and not only threatens to take it all away, but flush it down the toilet.”

  “Yes, sir. You sure you don’t want me to touch up some of this gray? It’ll make you look a good ten years younger.”

  “Maybe so. Maybe so.” Wilson patted his flat abdomen. “But I think my disciplined lifestyle and working out does more to keep me younger looking than any bottle of dye.” He continued to listen to the rhythmic scissors. “If only they had a pill we could swallow, eh, Leonard?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Anyway, this hard-workin’, dedicated woman made one little slip in her teens. Hell, you and I know that’s what youth’s all about—it’s the right time to slip up here and there, if you’re going to, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I mean, it was after that sixties-seventies crap—demonstrations all over the country in an uproar over Vietnam. Damn, I was too steeped in gettin’ my education or I’d have jumped right into that war.”

  “I’m sure you would have, sir.”

  “Actually, kind of feel like I missed out ... not goin’.” The clicking of the scissors caught him up again for a moment. “Still, the whole country was a little screwy then—even marijuana was acceptable in most crowds.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Ever try that stuff, Leonard?”

  “No-o-o, sir. Can’t say that I have.”

  “Give me a good shot of bourbon, anytime—sets you right back on your seat. Besides, don’t know how anyone could stand the smell of that stuff.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Still, it’s amazing how just a little slip-up all those years ago can come back to haunt you.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Ever slept with a man, Leonard.”

  “I’m sure you know the answer to that, sir.”

  “Right about that, Leonard. Anyway, this woman I’m telling you about was, shall we say, a tad indiscrete in her youth.”

  “Sir?”

  “You know what I mean. But then, some youthful mistakes can be overlooked.” He cleared his throat for emphasis. “Others merely become useful.”

  “I see, sir.”

  “I doubt it.” He was quiet for a moment, then added, “Hardly had to dig very deep to find the dirt. Surprised no one beat me to it.”

  “Sir?” Leonard delicately ran a finger against the grain of Wilson’s chin. “Doesn’t look like you need a shave today, sir.”

  Wilson shook his head and held still as the barber put a puff of foam around his sideburns. “You know I’m a man of my word, Leonard. But if I wasn’t, I’d sure enjoy helpin’ the media mess up that little lady’s reputation.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Her and her plebian ideas about care for the poorer members of our society. You and I know you only get what you pay for.”

  “That’s certainly the truth, sir.”

  “Life’s a bitch, isn’t it, Leonard?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And then you die.”

  Chapter 24

  Gabe Harrington ignored the intercom buzzer even though he knew Dawn seldom used it except for urgent matters. Most of those emergencies always seemed to be related in some way to his wife, the esteemed Sen. Angelle Savage.

  “Not now, for Christ’s sake,” he muttered.

  Tomorrow’s 10 a.m. deadline for his architectural review of the Escobar Condominium Complex was like a sledgehammer poised over his head. The half-billion-dollar project would not only provide much-needed housing for low income residents of Las Vegas, it would also have a substantial impact on the area’s way-above-average unemployment stats.

  His basic problem was that he’d found too many discrepancies—substandard materials, construction short-cuts, and inflated building costs—indicating the ECC developer hoped HUD wouldn’t be looking too closely at the specifications.

  But there was a lot of heavy pressure to see the project through to completion, starting with the entire Nevada congressional delegation. And, the HUD director had emphasized over and over that he expected to make the project a showcase partnership between the department and a coalition of faith-based organizations.

  Caught in the goddam middle again. Should never have allowed Angelle to talk me into coming to Washington in the first place.

  The intercom finally stopped buzzing. He exhaled a long sigh of relief, but before he could refocus his thoughts, Dawn barged into his office. He looked up into her blazing eyes.

  “We had an agreement,” she said.

  “Yeah, yeah.” He nodded toward the crystal quartz clock on his desk. “I’m running out of time. I’ve got to pull this stuff together.”

  “She’s on the line—called three times already. I can’t put her off again.”

  He slammed a hand down on the desktop, clawed a pile of paper into a wad and tossed it across the room.

  “Does what I want, or who I am ever amount to more than a rat’s ass around here?”

  Dawn stood her ground, but her blue eyes were wide, on the edge of spilling tears.

  He flushed, threw up his hands. “I’m sorry, all right?”

  She stared at him, silent.

  “Look, don’t worry about it.” He came around the desk, put his arms around her and kissed her on the neck.

  She smiled, her lips barely moving, looking like a child—smooth, peach cheeks, pale blond hair

  With an encouraging nod, he nudged her toward the door. “Tell her I’ll call back in a few minutes.” Dawn’s satiny blouse fluttered with her rapid breathing as she took her soft curves, her dewy skin, and left.

  He knelt and gathered up the mess of papers from the rug, flattening and setting them in order next to the telephone, which seemed to sit glaring at him.

  Again he sat down, closed his eyes, and tried to ease the tension in his neck—it was getting harder and harder to do. He forced himself to look around the tiny office. He’d given up fancy decor when he went to work for the U.S, Department of Housing and Urban Development three years ago.

  Toeing open the bottom desk drawer, Gabe peered into an array of odds and ends before reaching for a photo buried deep inside. He carefully lifted out the framed 8x10 and propped it up in the middle of the desk. There they were the happy couple, fifteen years ago; Angelle’s face radiant, with dark, long, silky hair framing her heart-shaped face; he was all teeth and curly hair.

  After a long moment, he gently tucked the photo back into the drawer and slid it shut. The phone continued to glare at him. He either called her now or nothing would get done.

  He stabbed the auto-dial button.

  The first ring was cut short with Angelle Savage’s voice, heavy with menace. “Where have you been?”

  “Right here—”

  “I can’t talk on this line. Anybody could be listening, especially that ditzy female assistant you sleep with.”

  “Cut it out, Angelle.”

  “I need to see you at home. Now!”

  “Can’t do it.”

  His wife’s voice slid into a softer pitch. She wanted something. Wanted it badly. “Gabe, I don’t interfere with your private life--”

  “—and I don’t interfere with yours.”

  A silent emptiness stretched between them. Finally she said, “I can’t do this myself. I need your help, Gabe.”

  “
You’ve never needed my help.”

  “That’s not true. And whether or not you believe it, I still love you.”

  “Only when you want something, Senator.”

  “Look, I’m not the one carrying on an extramarital affair.”

  “This is a boring conversation, Angelle. Tiresome and repetitious. I’m on a

  deadline for the Las Vegas ECC Project. I can’t rush off right now.”

  The weight of silence expanded, seemed to crush his chest. He would have to meet with her.

  * * *

  Gabe saw he’d arrived first—her car was nowhere to be seen, which told the tale since she never took the time to put it in the garage. Out of spite, he’d planned to ring the doorbell, wait for her to answer. But he couldn’t do it. A neighbor might pick up on it, use it against her in some obscure way. Washington was cold and uncompromising. They were supposed to be a loving couple even though he’d heard the second-hand rumors that they were separated. It was a joke to think no one knew.

  He pulled out his key, but before he could use it, Angelle opened the door and threw her arms around him.

  “I’m so glad you came,” she said, holding him close.

  His heart took a runaway beat; he hated himself for the power he allowed her to hold over him. “Finally learned to park your car in the garage, I see,” he said, gently disengaging himself.

  “Oh, no. I simply decided the time had come to get a chauffeur. He puts the car in the garage.” She took his hand and ushered him to the sofa in the large, two-story-high living room

  He gave her a knowing smile. She’d only done what he’d suggested a long time ago.

  “Hey, I’m not selling out. I need the extra time to work.”

  “Angelle, you don’t have to explain anything to me except why you dragged me away from a project that’s so vital—well, let’s just say that for me, it’s one of those do-or-die things.”

  “I know, the Escobar condos; the Las Vegas low-income project,” she said.

  “I’m flattered you remembered.”

  “Remembered? You just mentioned it on the phone. Besides, I have a vested interest in seeing that one through to completion, as you well know.”

  “Sorry. It’s become a problem child.”

  “Getting you into urban planning was the best thing that could have happened. Escobar is one of the most practical developments we’ve seen in years. I can’t imagine there could be problems with it that you couldn’t overcome.”

  He didn’t know how she did it, but she had the capacity to always catch him off guard, put him in an untenable place. He looked around the room, stalling. Each time he came into their Georgetown home, there was some additional piece of furniture, either antique or modern, but always in keeping with her uncanny sense of making opposites work together.

  What had once held tasteful contemporary furnishings that reflected the Bauhaus school had evolved into a hodgepodge of what should have been clashing themes. In just a month since he’d last been in the place, a brocade drape with a sculptured valance had replaced simple, straight-line drapes.

  “I hardly recognize the place,” he said. “Is this what they call political chic or is it some designer’s dream of heaven?”

  She sat down on the sofa next to him, put a hand on his knee. “You’ve been gone for almost three months; back here no more than twice since then. What did you expect?”

  “Angelle, I don’t know what to expect. But being with you makes me sad and I’ve got too much to do for that. Just tell me what you want.”

  She stood, took off her suit jacket, revealing a shimmery red blouse. He noticed her hand was shaking as she took a cigarette from a sterling silver box on the mahogany side table. She gave him a guilty glance before lighting it with a matching silver lighter. She took a drag and held up one hand, palm out. “Don’t say it. I know we gave up smoking. Together.” Her eyebrow lifted, eyes turned dark. “But we’re not together, are we?”

  “Angelle, if you want to smoke, smoke. Just tell me why I’m here, and then we can get on with our make-believe marriage.”

  She took two more quick hits and stubbed out the cigarette; she sat down next to him again.

  “I had lunch with W. Wade Wilson today.”

  He could feel the blood rise in his face. “What the hell could you possibly want from that bastard?”

  “Exactly! I don’t want anything from him. It’s what he wants from me.”

  “That man is poison—”

  “Don’t play back the obvious to me.” Her voice had a tautness to it. “I’m well aware of his reputation.” Her face collapsed into grief—the same face he remembered when they lost their two-year-old son. He had no choice: he grasped her hand tightly.

  “What is it? Tell me!”

  “He knows about my relationship with Joanne Paige. Politically, the worst part is that she’s a prostitute, has been for many years.”

  “Joanne Paige?” As the words escaped his mouth, he remembered: “That scamp you grew up with in Virginia City?”

  “How can you be so judgmental? You didn’t grow up in that hellhole; you went from birth to maturity in a single leap, no real bumps on the road. That scamp, as you put it, saved my life on more occasions than I care to remember. That scamp also killed Harlen Davis so he wouldn’t kill me.”

  “Harlen Davis?”

  “A big hulk of a guy who decided he was going to put a bullet through me if I didn’t spread my legs for him.” She shook her head and smiled weakly. “We both know how primitive that sounds so far removed from that corrupt little town in the West. But everything is basic there—eat or be eaten.”

  He wanted to say it wasn’t much different than Washington, but he didn’t. He had to get out, get back to his own life, his own world. “What does that have to do with Wilson?”

  “I couldn’t refuse her.” She covered her face and began to sob. “Don’t you understand? All she wanted was me.”

  * * *

  Gabe Harrington’s eyes drifted opened. He’d been dreaming about Billy again. Always the same dream: tossing his son playfully in the air; loud giggles as he caught him. The peal of laughter usually awakened, haunted him, as his mind’s eye saw a small, silver casket being lowered into the cold, hard ground.

  The details seemed to fill in with more intricacy over the years: white long-stem roses resting like a thorny spread on the coffin, large flakes of white snow falling on an already alabaster landscape; Angelle’s pasty face streaked with rivulets of tears, her hair dusted a powdery white. Everything was pure. Everything was crystalline white.

  Everything but his heart. It had turned black, vacant as the deepest hole in a far, empty stretch of space.

  He turned to find Angelle studying him. She reached over to rake her fingers through his chest hair, then leaned over and kissed his neck.

  “I’ve missed this,” she said, her hazel eyes more green than brown.

  He studied the deep lines in her forehead; she seemed exhausted. “I don’t know how you manage to reel me in like some doomed fish whenever you want to.” He slid a finger from her throat to her navel. “This isn’t going to change anything, you know.”

  “I don’t care what you say. It wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t want it to.”

  “I’m not so sure of that.”

  “You know you love me, Gabe.”

  “Loving you has never been an issue.”

  “Then what are you doing in bed with that Dawn something or other. Do you love her, too?”

  “She has nothing to do with us.”

  “Do you think she feels that way?”

  He thought of Dawn’s baby blue eyes with their look of betrayal every time he spoke on the telephone to Senator Savage. “No. You’re probably right.”

  “Looking for a younger woman? A younger body?”

  His temper flared. “Why do women always think that men want a younger woman?”

  “Isn’t that the way it is?”

 
“Maybe. For some men. But I think it’s needing to start with a clean slate.”

  “Clean slate?”

  “Yeah. None of that emotional baggage that makes you feel old, beaten.” He looked at the bedside clock. “I’ve got to get out of here. I’m going to be working half the night to get that project ready.” He swung his feet over the edge of the mattress.

  “Gabe, I need you.” She took his hand. “Please help me find Joanne.”

  He stood and began picking up his scattered clothes, most of which were intertwined with hers. He snatched up her blouse, along with his shirt. Before he could stop himself he buried his nose in the silky material.

  When he looked up again, he said, “You have a large, efficient staff, Angelle. Get one of them to act as your gofer. I’ve got my own busy life to live.”

  “A staff member? Have you forgotten what this is all about? Once the relationship is discovered it will create a media frenzy.”

  “So they’ll think you’re gay. So what?”

  “They’ll use it against me, make it harder for me to be effective. I’ll be eaten alive by the media.” Her nails dug into her arm. “Worst of all, it’ll give them an excuse to toss another woman out of the power arena. Something they’ve been way too successful at already.”

  He turned and continued to stare at her as he finished dressing. “I’m sorry you’re in a difficult place, Angelle, but our climbing into bed hasn’t changed anything between us.”

  Her eyes shifted from velvet to stone.

  When she turned away, he stood only for a moment before he moved towards her.

  Chapter 25

  A sinking feeling of emptiness awakened Melissa Yost.

  Her eyes blinked open. Her hands reached up. Nothing.

  Sudden pain rushed at her, curled around every muscle, every joint; a sharp chemical odor lingered in her nostrils and throat. She tried to turn, but it brought the burn of bile to the back of her throat.

  Was she lying at the bottom of a black pit?

  Confused.

  Was this a bad dream?

  She flung out an arm, felt around for Ted.