by Melody Clark
His cell phone rang. He didn't even need to answer it to know the caller. His old friends and colleagues at Ways and Means were nothing if not profoundly punctual.
"I'll be right there," he said, without a greeting or a goodbye. He shut down the phone and slid it back into his pocket.
And he made his way through this intersection of history and modernity, leaving behind for the moment his unsettling funhouse of memory.
"Where are you?" T.J.’s voice burst out of Jack's cell phone as Jack escaped the utter act of futility that had been the committee meeting.
"Walking back to my office," Jack replied stiffly.
"All done with our meeting, are we?"
"No, I always conduct meetings on city sidewalks. Yes, T.J., we are done with our meeting."
"Excellent. Where are you now?"
Jack glanced around, not entirely certain. "Near the Rotunda, why?"
"Perfect. I'll pick you up. We have 5:30 reservations at Della Collina."
Jack flinched a little, spotting T.J.'s car in its approach. "We're actually, really doing that?”
"Yes, we are. Actually and really," he said over the phone before shutting it down and pulling the car into the loading slip. He popped open the passenger door and called over to him, “Now get in. I've got news I'm dying to tell you."
Jack slammed the door behind him and then fastened his seatbelt. "What news?"
T.J. grinned mysteriously. "Oh, I can't tell you yet. It must wait until after dinner, though the wait will be excruciating."
"All right," Jack said shrugging, "suit yourself."
"You aren't the least bit curious about what it is?"
"Of course, but you won't tell me about it so why continue the topic?"
T.J. smirked back at him. "Damn you and your infernal pragmatism. You're no fun at all."
"I'm sorry if your sadistic thirst feels cheated of the delectable juice of my agony, but that’s just the way of things, me bucko."
"Oh, we'll get to the juicy stuff later, I promise." T.J. then guided the car out of the walkway depression and into the moderately sane braid of traffic. "So what did Mendelsohn say?"
Jack rolled down his window. "That his life is over if word gets out."
"Oh, such passionate melodrama,” T.J. said.
"Your compassion stirs my soul."
"Oh, stop. Yes, yes, it's so hard to be gay. I manage very well, thank you, and have all my life. I've never hidden a thing from anyone. As long as you don't wear a pink sequin-studded thong down Main Street at midday, nobody gives a rat's ass. Sometimes, in your working class hero circle of acquaintances, it's harder for me to be a Republican than gay. Of course it will be harder for him coming from where he does, but with the risks come great rewards."
"Says the one who doesn't have to take the risks and already has the rewards."
"My family didn't all receive me with open arms. I lost friends when they found out, too. But it's a handy filter. Those are people I wouldn't want to have had as friends anyway. Losing bigots from your life has many advantages." T.J. grinned in his direction. "Not to abandon one of your crusades ... okay, in order to abandon one of your crusades ... guess which couple is the new talked-about item in the rumor mill."
Jack smirked back at him. "Based on the fact your secretary is the veritable water wheel of the rumor mill ... and the fact he hates me and knows being gossiped about would bug me ... that couple would be you and me."
"Lee does not hate you."
"Yes, he does."
"You think everybody hates you."
"Everybody does."
T.J. moaned a desperate sound of frustration. "I don’t hate you. Taneesha doesn’t hate. If we don’t hate you, there are a lot of others who don’t hate you. Thus, that is merely your persecution complex at play and nothing even approximating reality. And yes, we're the couple."
Jack squinted back at the road. "Not to be a driving nag ... okay, to be a driving nag ... are we going to the restaurant via Fredericksburg or something?"
"Of course not, why?"
"Because we just passed the Ambassador Road turnoff and the only thing of note that way is Maryland."
Having successfully navigated the slow-moving molten lava that was DC’s early evening traffic, T.J. finally sidled up the car to the curb of Della Collina. "Before you say a word, yes, we're doing valet parking today. Yes, I insist, your proletariat sympathies will just have to adjust for an evening."
"Did I say a word?" Jack said, climbing out.
"No, but you were thinking several of them," T.J. said, coming around the side toward the curb and handing the keys over the suited valet while the young man was focusing on Jack.
"Hey, you're Jack Paulson, aren't you? The Senator who bitches everybody out on CSPAN."
"Yes, he is," T.J. said, looking approvingly over at Jack. "You see, you do have fans."
The young guy scowled noticeably. "Oh, I'm not a fan. I hate his guts. He comes off like the biggest jerk in the world on TV."
"What was that about my persecution complex?" Jack said to T.J., yanking the call slip out of the valet's hand.
"That is reprehensible," T.J. replied sharply, looking back in the valet's direction as Jack kept pulling him to the door.
"Ignore it,” Jack said. “Happens all the time."
"I should talk to your employer!" T.J. yelled back once more to the valet.
"Don't bother, that’s Michael, he's the owner’s nephew," Jack said, pushing their way into the restaurant. “Santo’s sister makes him employ the little jerk.”
The Della Collina customer base consisted of Capitol Hillbillies, administrative officials, and the occasional wayfaring layman.
The internal construction suggested a series of private cubicles centered on the circular tables. The room wore a kind of feathery chartreuse-gray, almost the money-green of a Yankee buck, with walls adorned by large etchings of various government buildings from a myriad of periods of time.
T.J. looked full circle around to the other man. "You wanted to speak to the chef about your imaginary food allergies, did you not? Go on in then. I'll wait here to have a word with Santo about his reprehensible nephew."
"T.J., don't bother."
"I'm sorry, right is right. You know I'll gnaw at it unceasingly unless I talk to someone about it as I know you'll obsess all night about MSG if you don't speak with the kitchen staff. So let's both satisfy our compulsions and I'll meet you back here."
Jack looked at him with eyes of suspicion. "Okay ... I guess ...” he said slowly and circumspectly. He moved through the swinging waiter gates into the bright, white kitchen beyond.
"I'm sorry, Senator," the owner T.J. knew as "Santo" said as he approached him from the other side. "I heard what he said through the breezeway. He's my only sister's only child. He is a lost cause. What can I say?"
"Yes, I can well understand your plight, believe me," T.J. said, lowering his voice as he looked for signs of Jack watching from the kitchen. "However that was just a convenient excuse I gave my friend. I needed to ask if you were able to take care of the ... issue with the meeting room."
Santo thought for a moment. "Oh, that. Yes, I put up a standing screen as you requested but I must ask ... it is a beautiful relief. Many customers ask to sit near it, in fact. What is it about it you find so objectionable?"
"I find nothing objectionable, I think it's beautiful, but Senator Paulson has ... issues with Mount Rushmore."
"Who in the world has issues with Mount Rushmore?"
"Senator Paulson, I'm afraid."
"Who's afraid of Senator Paulson?" Jack asked, walking back through the swinging kitchen gates.
"The real question is who isn’t," T.J. replied with a grin, pointing him in the direction of the room that was waiting for them.
"So who are we expecting?" Jack asked, as they entered what was predictably labeled Meeting Room.
"Well, it's not the sort of occasion you send a respond card to, is it? I sent
out messages to everyone but the No-Homos crowd. Ten of them replied. We'll see how many of those actually show up."
"Well, if somebody calls you to say you're on some naughty list somewhere,” Jack said, sliding into a chair at the primary table while T.J. sat down on another, “I guess you might think you're being conned or smoked out or something. They may not want to come at all. But maybe we'll be surprised."
"Speaking of surprise," T.J. said to someone he was looking at behind Jack. "Eugene, what the hell are you doing here?"
The last person in the world Jack would have thought would walk through that door had just walked through that door. He found himself gawking at Eugene Broslin, the most wholesome and virtuous man in the free world.
Broslin stood tall and smiled with the world's straightest, whitest teeth, all of which had come from a lifetime of excellent dental health and not from the dentist chair. His hair was always perfectly combed. His suit was up to date but not garishly stylish. He had been married for a zillion years to the same virtuous, well-respected woman. They had brought into the world numerous honor roll candidates plus one new Midshipman at Annapolis.
Gene was a Big Brother, a Boy Scout leader and had been Father of the Year in the Senate more times than Jack could count. The only time Gene had ever missed a vote was when he had to pinch-hit teaching Vacation Bible School when his best friend was nearly killed saving a child. Broslin's nickname in the Senate was Saint Gene. And it had not been borne altogether out of humorous overstatement. And on top of it all, he lived by all that judge-that-ye-be-not-judged, do-unto-others liberal theology. There just wasn't a dog in the world mean enough to bite the man.
Broslin shrugged and dragged his muffler off all at one time. "I dunno why I'm here. I had a friend ask me to come and represent him and some of his friends. I don't even know what any of this is about. I'm flying blind here."
"Send someone no one would suspect of anything and whom they know won't tell a soul," T.J. said aloud. "That was one cowardly option I'd considered."
"What the hell is this about? The guys sounded frantic." Gene tossed his overcoat on the chair across from Jack then sat down. "They wouldn't even give me a hint."
"Clearly, they trust us to be too embarrassed to tell you," Jack said, shaking his head.
"Or they don't think that we have details." T.J. removed a document from inside his jacket. He pushed the folded pages across to the new man at the table. "We've blacked out names and identifying details. From the rest of the content, I think you'll see what the meeting is about. This is a list that we've obtained a copy of. We're trying to keep it out of public hands. I'm sure you'll see why when you read the list."
Broslin removed his reading glasses from his top coat pocket then narrowed his vision at the unknown text. His eyes widened a little more as he appeared to read down the page. "Oh. My. God."
"That was our reaction, too," Jack replied.
His face rumpled in confusion. "But doesn't an otter have claws?"
"Which was my question," T.J. said. "For obvious reasons, we need to keep this as quiet as possible. So we're informing those we know are of like mind about the existence of the list."
"That sounds downright dangerous,” said a new voice from the entry.
Jack had only known Miller Alexander as slightly as any Senator might know another Senator. But he knew that T.J. didn't like him at all and the bad blood between them ran long and cold. From the set of his friend's shoulders, he could plainly see nothing had changed.
"Funny that I don't remember inviting you or your co-conspirators to this meeting," T.J. said.
"Co-conspirators, are we?" Miller said, growling out a laugh. "That sounds downright ignoble."
"That would be one word to describe the No-Homos," T.J. said.
Jack added, "I'd be happy to share some more colorful ones."
"I am not a NoHomo," Miller said sharply to them all while saddling a chair at the far end of the table. "I'm a networker."
T.J. laughed darkly. "You say networker. I say opportunistic thug who'll bargain with the devil if you think it'll get you ahead in life, including No-Homos. No matter who or how many you harm in the process. So long as you get yours, you'll do a deal."
"Like the rabbi said, if I am not for myself then who will be for me?" Miller said, smirking.
"Yeah, you're some rabbi," Jack added.
Thomas stared Miller down with a hard, sharp stare. "And in point of fact you always ignore the other end of that saying. If I am only for myself, what am I? However, I think we all know what you are."
"And who are you for, Delaney," Miller said, yanking a breadstick out of the bread dough flower vase, “If you're subtly but legally blackmailing people into supporting your fucking legislation."
"My legal last name is Jefferson now. I'd prefer you use it or I'll opt to call you my preferred name for you and it's not nearly as nice. As for your absurd contention, you would see it that way. It wouldn't occur to you that people might do something for the greater good."
"Oh, you'll look the other way if certain people mind their manners when it comes down to the vote. You'll fan the list around a little. Your engine has been running really rich ever since you arrived up here. You're trying big things way too fast. You're ruining an old and well-established order."
"An old and well-established inertia that helps no one but the people whose pockets it lines."
Miller laughed loudly, chucking away the rest of the breadstick. "Shit, you've really fallen for your own notices. You're beginning to even believe this Jefferson lineage bullshit."
T.J.'s eyes aimed straight at Miller. "My lineage is very real."
"Sure, it's real ... if you don't mind a few white trash bastards in the mix. The old Founders Committee didn't even want you in their stupid club. You only got in because Senator Sunshine over there bought old Mrs. Franklin a high-def television set."
"You've said enough," Jack snapped loudly, standing out of his chair. As Santo entered the room in response, Jack called over to him, "Santo, we have a party crasher. This is a private function and this guy's not invited."
After a moment, Santo said firmly while pointing toward the exit. "If you will accompany me, Senator?"
"No need to set the hounds on me, Santo, I'm leaving. I never did like your dive anyway," Miller said, standing to follow the owner to the exit. He slung a look back at the other man and pointed toward a temporary wall of shojis. "Although I always did like that beautiful Mount Rushmore relief. Don't know why you hid it behind a screen." With a final mocking laugh, he left the way he had come.
"Mount Rushmore?" Jack said, staring accusingly at the standing screens while he walked across to them and pulled them aside -- unveiling an artfully rendered southwestern toned bas relief of South Dakota’s most famous national monument. "Wonderful. Just wonderful."
"I did not carve it, Jack," T.J. said. "It's not my fault. And I tried to have it obscured so it wouldn't upset you."
"Why should Mount Rushmore upset you?" Eugene said, having finally broken his apparently stunned silence.
Jack glowered in Eugene's direction. "That is a three-dimensional affront to my ancestor, that's why. It's a mountain of Presidential insult. Two of those people were important founding fathers who later became President. As usual, Thomas' ancestor Jefferson is remembered and my ancestor, John Adams, is ... also as usual ... forgotten."
Eugene shrugged. "Franklin's not up there either."
Jack shut his eyes as if holding a tight rein on his anger. "Benjamin Franklin," he said slowly, “was never President."
"He wasn't?"
"No. He wasn't."
Eugene frowned in thought. "But he's on money -- "
"So is Alexander Hamilton. He wasn't President either. Thank God.”
“He wasn’t?”
“No. What state are you from again?"
"Arkansas."
"Oh. Never mind." Jack looked around the nearly empty room. "Well, T.J., it looks
like this early warning party is an early bust."
"I fear you're right. The only people here on time were two people who weren't invited and only one of those two knew why he was here." T.J. stood slowly and tossed a fistful of tip money onto the table. "Thank you for at least showing up, Gene. Feel free to take the censored list to your friends. If you like, stay and have dinner. It's on me."
Eugene rose slowly from his chair and shoved the pages into a pocket. "I think I'd just as soon go home and have pot roast with my family ... if I have any appetite left after reading this list. See you tomorrow, guys."