Private affairs : a novel

by Michael, Judith

  Behind Elizabeth, Saul sat perfectly still to avoid breaking the mellow mood, watching as she wove her web. Her soft voice murmured innocuous questions in a rhythm almost hypnotic, and then, so casually Saul almost missed it, she changed her questions from the past to the future. "Of course the U.S. Senate is an awesome place, especially for someone from a small western state. ..."

  "No, no! Well, now, awesome. That is true. The Senate of the United States of America. But you're not suggesting that someone from New Mexico, specifically Thaddeus Bent, experienced and respected, can't handle the responsibility."

  "I'd never suggest any such thing," Elizabeth said warmly. "You know your way around. I'm sure everyone thinks you'll be a superb senator."

  "That is true. They're lining up to help, in fact. Big people, big money. We'll send out the standard campaign letters, of course, and the dollar bills and sawbucks will come drifting in, but that's mainly to know who's going to vote for us. The real money, in the hundreds of thousands, comes from the big men."

  "Big men are attracted to big candidates, Thaddeus."

  "By God, that's good! Can I use that? Can I put it in my brochures and posters? And speeches?"

  "It's yours," Elizabeth said graciously. "My small contribution to your campaign. What about my co-contributors? Are they from New Mexico, too, or have you swept the southwest?"

  "Well, now, of course we like to be supported by fellow New Mexicans, but so far the biggest contributor—confidential, now, off the record—is from California/'

  "I know some political brokers in California," Elizabeth said. "Some of them are notoriously fickle. . . ."

  "Ah, but not this one! I have his word! You wouldn't know him; he keeps very quiet."

  "Could you tell me his name? You're probably right that I don't know him, but if by chance I do, it might be helpful to you. I've spent a lot of

  time lately in Los Angeles, you know, meeting a few people in television and movie circles. ..."

  "Ah. That is true. Well. Ballenger. Terry Ballenger. He is quite big, I am told; in fact, his associate, a Texas businessman, Chester Colfax by name, tells me Ballenger is big in the entire southwest. Very solid, Colfax assures me. And solidly behind Thaddeus Bent."

  "Terry Ballenger." Elizabeth frowned slightly to hide the excitement of discovery running through her. "I do know the name. But I don't think he has much money, Thaddeus. He buys land for others. And how can Chet Colfax work with him? He works in Houston."

  Bent scowled. "No, no, my information is impeccable. Terry Ballenger bought the whole Nuevo Valley; he's building a resort there; that takes more than a few pennies. And Chester is working with him. You have your facts wrong. But that isn't what we were talking about. We were talking about . . . what were we talking about?"

  "Your contributors. Thaddeus, this is confusing. The reason I've heard of Chet Colfax is that he and my husband both work for Rourke Enterprises in Houston. I can't believe Chet didn't tell you that."

  "Well. Most likely he mentioned it and it slipped my mind. Rourke Enterprises. Houston. That's Keegan Rourke, isn't it, a very big man. Chester and Rourke . . . well, of course he told me. That's not a small thing, after all."

  "But there are still some things I don't understand, Thaddeus; maybe you can help me. You see, we found out the other day that Chet was the one who ordered that article on me in the Albuquerque Daily News. He did it so the legislators wouldn't take my story on Jock Olson seriously— you know the one; it suggested the legislature set aside part of the valley for a new town. The editor has confirmed that Chet ordered Artner to write it and ordered the editor to print it. As you said, it was mean-spirited. Now, if Chet represents Rourke—"

  "Now wait! Elizabeth! I have great respect for you, but you have got your facts wrong! That is true! I know the facts and you are wrong! I'd like to go on to another subject and finish the interview quickly. As you know, I am a busy man."

  "I do know it, Thaddeus; I don't like to keep you from your work. But I want to have my story correct. I'm in trouble over that Daily News story, and I can't take any chances. May I tell you what else I know? Then you can correct me where I've got my facts wrong."

  Reluctantly, he nodded. His body had withdrawn into his chair. Besieged, Saul thought.

  "Well, then." Elizabeth leafed through her notebook. "This is what I

  understand so far. Terry Ballenger's company, Ballenger and Associates, bought up most of the land in Nuevo, to build a resort, and he's donating the land along one shore of the future lake for a state park."

  "That is true. You have that part right."

  "But according to Chet Colfax, Keegan Rourke owns ninety-eight percent of Ballenger and Associates, which means—"

  "WHAT? WHAT'S THAT?" Bent was out of his chair, his face working. "Terry owns that company!"

  "I don't think so, Thaddeus. We can double-check it—I could be wrong —but I think—"

  "WELL YOU'D BETTER DOUBLE-CHECK IT, YOUNG LADY!"

  "I will," said Elizabeth softly. "But for now, shall I go on with what I've put together?" Without waiting for an answer, she continued, "If Keegan Rourke owns most of Ballenger and Associates, he owns most of Nuevo and he's the one building the resort. So, when Jock Olson suggested a hundred acres be given to the people, and when voters began sending money, and volunteering to help build a new town, Rourke would be concerned that the legislature might do just that: take some of his land, and he'd probably try to convince key legislators to prevent it. He might even try some form of bribery, but of course you would never tolerate that. So what else could he do? He could make me, and my interview of Olson, look bad by having someone on his staff plant a story smearing me. Chet came and planted it. Chet works for Rourke."

  "Stop. Just stop a minute." Bent was pacing, his face contorted with a scowl. "Forget all the shit about a story; it doesn't affect me and I don't care about it. All I care about is Chet's promises. He said Terry was behind me; said he'd formed a Political Action Committee—"Land Free for All" it's called—and when the time came they'd take out paid ads, do mailings, arrange transportation for my campaign . . . I believed him! Does he have the money to do all that or not?"

  "Chet? Or Terry?"

  "Terry! Terry! Chet said if I made sure that—" He missed a step in his pacing, caught himself, and went on. "Chet said when the time came, Terry would support me. That is true!"

  "If you made sure of what, Thaddeus?"

  "Nothing. Some minor matters; nothing to talk about."

  "Well, that's surprising," Elizabeth observed. "Terry Ballenger and Keegan Rourke don't usually leave anything to chance. I would have thought they'd have approached you last year about helping along the Nuevo dam. After all, they know how much power you have—everyone does. I imagine you're inundated by people who know how many bills

  and recommendations you could control if you thought they were good for the state."

  "Inundated." Bent frowned, trying to adjust to Elizabeth's swift transition from the present time to a year ago. "That is true."

  "It must be difficult. All that pressure. . . ."

  "Well. It goes with the job; you get used to it. If you know what you're doing, you can handle it."

  "But didn't Chet or Ballenger or Rourke know that? I mean, if they didn't ask you for help on Nuevo, years ago when the studies began, and last year when it was voted on, they must not have recognized how much power you have, and what you could do for them."

  "Of course they recognized it! You said it yourself: everybody does! I don't know why you'd say that when you know how well-known I am. That was why they came to me in the first place—not to make a deal, I never make deals, a man in my position doesn't make deals—but to discuss how Nuevo would help the state: jobs, tourism, flood control—and how we could get it approved without problems—"

  "Or publicity," Elizabeth slipped in quietly.

  "Publicity has harmed more worthy projects than you can shake a stick at, Elizabeth. It might have
killed this one."

  "But you didn't let that happen."

  "There are ways," Bent said vaguely. Elizabeth said nothing; she watched him pace, her clear eyes direct, fascinated, unwavering. Bent found the silence excruciating. "If you know your way around, you can get research studies lumped in with other bills, nothing wrong with that, of course, just a method to keep things moving along. Otherwise people slow them up . . . slow them down . . . whatever. . . ."He cleared his throat. "So we did all that, but now I ask myself, How can Terry finance my campaign if he doesn't have money or even his own company?"

  "I don't know, Thaddeus. What do you think?"

  Bent pondered it. "Chet was absolutely positive. So he knew the money was there." His face brightened. "Rourke! If you're right, and he owns Ballenger and Associates, then Chet was speaking for him! I don't know why he couldn't just come out and say so, but it's Rourke who's going to support me! That is true! I should have seen it right away. And he is a hell of a lot bigger than Terry!"

  Elizabeth looked up curiously. "You're talking about the next election?"

  "No, no, too soon. I'm just getting started. The one five years from now. We need to line up money, delegates, endorsements . . . Chet ad-

  mired me for that: knowing how to bide my time. Pm running for Greene's seat, when he retires."

  "But Thaddeus, didn't you know?" Elizabeth hesitated. "I feel terrible. I don't know how to tell you. ..."

  Saul held his breath. How nice to have a bombshell, he thought.

  Bent's eyes were narrowed. "Tell me what?"

  "About Rourke's support," Elizabeth replied. "I'd think if he supported anyone, it would be his son."

  "His son?"

  "Tony Rourke," Elizabeth said helpfully.

  "/ know his name! But what the hell are you talking about? His son's on television; he's a big star with his own show; I don't have to tell you that; you were on it. I used to watch you."

  "But I'm not on it anymore. It isn't doing well, you see. I was told it's being canceled at the end of the season. Then I understand Tony will move to New Mexico to establish residency. . . . Good heavens!" she exclaimed abruptly. "The resort! I didn't think of that! He'll probably run it for a few years, meet all the local politicians, make a name for himself in the state . . . he's an actor; he could do it superbly."

  "Canceling?" Bent asked. "Canceling his show?"

  "That's what I heard," Elizabeth said. "Of course with television no one ever knows until the last minute, but as far as I know, it's being canceled. And Tony will be ready for a new job."

  A heavy silence fell. Saul's foot kept doing a little dance and he kept pulling it back under his chair, telling himself to be calm. Elizabeth sat quietly, head bowed, writing nonsense words on her notepad. Bent leaned against the wall, supporting his suddenly shaky body and fumbling in a pocket for the cigars he used to keep there, before his wife talked him into quitting.

  Suddenly, into the silence, his voice burst out. "Goddam son of a bitch!" He took three steps to his desk and rang the intercom for his secretary. "Get me Andrew Greene in Washington. You're wrong!" he roared to Elizabeth. "You'll see! Hear! You'll hear it for yourself!"

  He slammed his fist into his palm while he waited. "Never heard a whisper about Rourke," he said to no one in particular. "Hard as hell to keep secrets in politics; he sure knows something I don't."

  He turned to Elizabeth. "Where's that husband of yours? Working for Rourke, you said. In Houston? Without you?"

  "At the moment," Elizabeth said evenly.

  Bent shook his head. "Doesn't sound good. He the only one in the family working for Rourke? You're not?"

  "No," she replied.

  "Who are you working for?"

  "Myself, Thaddeus. You may not be interested in Artner's story, but it damaged me and I'm going to do something about it. I'm proud of the work I do and the name I've made for myself and he dragged my work and my reputation through the mud, trying to make me look like something I'm not. And I intend to get the truth out, and my name cleared."

  "What truth?" he asked, peering at her.

  "I'll tell you when I'm sure of it."

  "You're doing it for yourself? You just work for yourself?"

  "And the Chieftain. And the people of Nuevo. I'd like to see justice done."

  "There's no such— They had justice. Compensation. Help in resettlement."

  "Of course," Elizabeth said demurely, and waited.

  The intercom rang. "About time! Now you listen to this!" Bent switched on the speaker phone and paced as he talked, raising his voice to reach the speaker. "Andy? How are you? Listen, I've got—"

  "How've you been, Thaddeus?" Greene's voice, slightly metallic, echoed through the office.

  "Fine, just fine, listen, I've got—"

  "Good. It's good to talk to you. Been too long. What's new in your part of the world? Cherry blossoms are gone here; too bad you couldn't see them. . . ."

  "I've got a question! I'm talking to somebody in my office about the election, you know, when you retire, and I said, because I remember this clear as day, I said you gave me your word you'd endorse me and tell the party leadership to back me. Right?"

  No answer came from the speaker. The small black box with its black grill seemed to stare at them from a dozen blank eyes.

  "Andy? That's right, isn't it?"

  "Well, now, Thaddeus." The joviality was gone from the metallic voice. "I do recall we talked about it, last year, before the election. But surely you don't think I'd promise an endorsement this early in the game."

  "I don't think! I know! You gave me your word!"

  "Well, now, no need to argue. Everybody hears what they want to hear, you know that, Thaddeus. First lesson of politics."

  "I hear what I hear and I remember what I remember! Listen! Do you know ... do you talk to Keegan Rourke?"

  "Well, of course I do; his papers have always supported me. Even last year, old and feeble as I was"—his chuckle echoed through Bent's office

  —"Keegan helped me stay in action instead of rotting away in a home for has-beens. He's a friend; I'm indebted to him."

  "Right. Indebted. A friend." The pencil in Bent's fingers snapped and he threw the pieces at the wastebasket; they missed and bounced on the floor. "And he's got a son."

  "Indeed yes, fine young man, made a real name for himself on television. One of our finest young—"

  "He's fifty if he's a day. Andy!"

  "We're all at least fifty, Thaddeus. Tony is an excellent young man; I've known him since he was a toddler; he's outstanding at whatever he undertakes. Does his father proud."

  "And he will in politics? Is that what you're getting at?"

  "Wasn't 'getting at' anything, Thaddeus. But if young Tony ever chooses politics, he'll be a credit to any state he represents."

  "And you'll endorse him."

  "Did I say that? I told you I'm not making any commitments; it's too early—"

  "You gave me your word!* 1

  "—and I don't like being pushed. I'm a statesman, Thaddeus; statesmen aren't accustomed to being pushed or accused of going back on their word. I'm a man of honor. And right now I'm being noncommittal on who takes my seat in this proud chamber."

  "It's not enough! Dammit to hell, being noncommittal isn't enough! You promised me: now you're backing out. Just because Keegan Rourke pushed your wheelchair back to Washington and plugged in your hearing aid and pacemaker and whatever else holds you together, you think you owe his fucking son —" A loud click came from the speaker. "Andy? Andy, goddammit!"

  Bent grabbed the speaker and flung it at the wall; its wires jerked it back and it fell to the floor and shattered. His face was beet-colored and his breathing was harsh as he kicked the plastic pieces in all directions. "Maybe the son of a bitch had a heart attack." Pacing, breathing in gasps, he looked at Elizabeth from under lowering brows. "I didn't—handle him -right."

  "He was very provoking," she said sympathetically. "What wil
l you do now?"

  "Son of a bitch. Son—of—a—bitch. The only thing I ever wanted was to be a senator. You didn't know that—nobody does—but that's it, that's my whole life, and that fucking bastard has just—thrown it in the trash can. God, I'd like to kill him, but I can't. I'm a peaceful man. Son of a bitch! Took my life, everything I've done . . . you remember my son's wed-

  ding? And my daughter-in-law? Sweet girl, but what I liked best about that marriage was her background; she's related to all the right people in this town. Everything I've done ... all these years. . . . Jesus."

  "And now?" Elizabeth asked.

  "It's gone! That's what I'm telling you! There isn't a fucking thing I can do without Andy Greene; nobody's going to promise anything until that bastard gives somebody the nod, and we know who's going to get it, right? And it ain't me! Right? Right. So I'm out. Just like that. Years of service to my state and concern for my fellow citizens, and somebody else gets the prize."

  He paced to the window. "Christ, what I did for them!" He spun around and met Elizabeth's eyes. "Knocked myself out for them and the whole time they knew they weren't going to keep their promises. Can you believe it? How can men be so dishonorable?"

  Softly, Elizabeth said, "Did they make their promises before or after you helped them write the resettlement report on Nuevo?"

  "Before. A long time before. We'd already hired people to write the ones on irrigation and flood con—" It was as if a knife blade had sliced the word neatly in two. The beet color faded from Bent's face. "Who told you about that report?"

  "Chet."

  "Chet? He didn't. He couldn't. He was always so afraid somebody'd find out; always talking about locked file cabinets and safes. . . . The little fart! What did he tell you?"

  Elizabeth evaded the question. "He even kept the draft version, with your name on it; we have it now. And he bugs offices; have you searched yours lately? His hobby seems to be collecting information he can use on everyone."