"Sure. I've love to take you. I'll just put on a suit and tie."
"Oh … we don't need to go."
"No, no, don't worry about it. I just don't like to be on the hill in casual clothes. I like to look like I'm working-even if I'm not."
"Are you sure you don't mind?"
Jim got up and put his hand on his father's shoulder. "I want to take you around town. I wear a suit and tie everywhere. It's my uniform."
Charles smiled at him. "A little different than California, huh?"
"Very. Washington is very stuffy. Very proper and traditional, too. People on my staff make fun of me because I wear Italian suits and shoes. Most of my colleagues buy American." He smiled. "One of the perks of not running for office. I don't have to wear a single-vent suit and an oxford-cloth shirt like all of the other guys."
"Hey! I wear a single-vent suit and an oxford-cloth shirt!"
"Only because you won't wear the shirts Catherine buys for you."
Charles made a face. "They're too nice. I hate to eat a bowl of soup if I'm wearing one of them. And they have to be dry-cleaned. My housekeeper can just run an iron over my oxford-cloth shirts."
"Well, I guess it doesn't matter any more. Catherine won't be buying our Christmas and birthday presents any longer. I'll try to think of something you'll really like, rather than something I think you should like."
A bit awkwardly, Charles gave his son a one-armed hug. "Bringing me here was the nicest present you could have given me."
Jim and Charles exited the hotel and stood in the bright sunshine for just a moment before their car arrived. The doorman helped them in, saying, "Have a good day, Senator."
Seated in the comfortable sedan, Charles asked, "Was it hard to get used to being referred to that way?"
"I still turn around sometimes to see where someone important is," Jim said, laughing. "I really haven't settled in like I would if I were gonna be here long."
The trip to the hill was relatively short, and they both spent the trip admiring the flowering trees that dotted the streets of Washington. "I sure would enjoy having lovely trees like this," Charles said.
"Yeah, there are some definite benefits to living in a cold climate. But I wasn't crazy about the slush and sleet we had. Even though I didn't have to walk in it very much," Jim added, chuckling. "I'm practically carried everywhere I go."
The driver guided the car through a gate, showing some credentials to a uniformed officer. The man looked into the window, smiled and said, "Good morning, Senator Evans. Have a good day, sir."
"Thank you," Jim said, smiling.
Charles looked ahead, seeing a few black cars lined up. "Private entrance, huh?"
"We'd never get to work if we had to go through the main entrance. This makes things move along." The driver stopped and another police officer opened the door, once again greeting Jim by name.
The two men started to walk up the stairs together, but Charles stopped about halfway up. He smiled at his son, and patted him on the back. "I never thought I'd see the day my boy was a member of the senate."
"I wasn't elected, Dad. I was just picked out of a small crowd."
"Don't be modest," Charles said. "It's quite an accomplishment to be in that crowd, and you know it. And no matter how you got here-you're here-and I'm damned proud of you."
Jim smiled broadly, beaming with pleasure. "I hate to admit it, but I really wanted you to come so I could show off a little. I don't feel like I belong, but it's a fun club to be in-even for a short time."
When they got to the door, Jim could have sidestepped the security process, but he stayed in line and went through the metal detector with his father. They passed through a few doors, and entered the marble-clad halls of the United State Senate. "I haven't been here since … gosh, I think it might have been when I was still in college," Charles said.
"Let's go look around, and then I'll take you to my office."
"Sounds good to me. Show the way, Senator."
They spent a few minutes in the old senate chamber and took a peek at the president's room, which was now used for interviews and photo opportunities. The senate was in session, and as they got closer to the chamber, more and more people bustled past them. "Can we come back during a break?" Charles asked. "I'd love to see where you sit."
They were nearing the door and Jim said, "We're going in now. Follow me." Jim said hello to the guard, who opened the door for them. They didn't walk very far, since Jim's desk was close to the back, on the right side with the other democrats.
Charles eyes were wide, and he looked around like he was afraid he'd be thrown out. Jim could tell he was uncomfortable, so he said, "Take a good look at how few people are listening to the guy who's talking."
Charles looked closely and saw that over a third of the desks were empty. Of the senators who were present, many of them were chatting with colleagues, some were reading, and some appeared to be dozing. Wide-eyed, Charles asked, "Is it always like this?"
"No, if we're debating something important, nearly everyone shows up. But even then, there are a million things going on." A young man approached and nodded to Jim. He put a pile of papers on the desk and started to turn away. "Jason, got a minute?"
"Uhm … sure." It was clear the man didn't have much time, and equally clear he didn't want to be rude.
"Just a sec," Jim said. "I'd like to introduce you to my father. Dad, this is Jason Farlington. Jason works with me."
The young man stuck his hand out. "Good to meet you, Reverend Evans."
"Nice to meet you," Charles said. "Did you come from California?"
"No, I'm an Iowan. I've been here for over six years now. I was with Senator Somers. Senator Evans was kind enough to keep me on."
Jim laughed. "Jason was kind enough to stay on and keep things running. I'd still be looking for the dining room if it weren't for him."
Jason snuck a look at his watch. "Don't believe him, sir," he said, addressing Charles. "He's a very quick study. It takes most people a full term to really feel comfortable here."
Jim patted the man on the back. "Don't let us keep you, Jason. You look like you've got your hands full."
"Got a meeting with some lobbyists from the California Cotton Growers Association. Don't want to keep them waiting."
"Good to meet you," Charles said quietly, still nervous about talking in a normal tone of voice. As he watched Jason leave he asked, "Is that what your staff does all day? Take meetings?"
"Yep. A lot of the day. Everyone wants their share of the pot of gold."
"There's gotta be a better way," Charles said.
"I'm sure there is, but I don't think any country has found it yet."
They left the senate chamber just after Jason did. Just outside of the room, Charles pulled Jim to a halt and stood there for a moment. "You had a pretty impressive office at the law firm, but it was nothing compared to this. I'm a little awestruck."
"If you think my desk at the back of the room is nice, wait'll you see my office. You'll want a tax refund!"
They took a shuttle from the Capitol to the Hart senate office building, where Jim and forty-nine other senators were quartered. The building was modern-much more modern than Charles had imagined. "This hardly looks like a government building," he said. "I thought there'd be lots of worn marble and statuary."
Jim twitched his head at the huge Alexander Calder sculpture in the center of a soaring atrium. "This building's not even twenty years old. We have nearly the same number of senators that we've had for the past hundred and fifty years, but now we need three buildings to house us."
They took an elevator to the third floor and entered a rather unimpressive door. A fairly typical office layout filled the space. High modular walls created fairly private workspaces for about ten people. They walked past the cubicles and went through another door, and Jim grinned when his father's eyes opened wide. Suddenly, they were in a large, opulent, high-ceilinged room-decorated in navy and a warm buttercrea
m yellow. A woman, sitting behind a magnificent desk, spoke quietly into a nearly invisible headset. She gave Jim a friendly wave, then started to write on a notepad. "Nice digs, huh?" Jim asked.
"Good lord! What was that other room? The place where the people who polish the wood take a rest?"
Jim turned and pointed up. Charles followed his instructions and saw that there was a second floor above the office they'd just left. The upper floor had a huge glass window that would allow the people on that floor visual access to the reception area. "My staff is on two floors. All of the senators have sixteen foot ceilings, and the staff quarters are divided in two to save a little space. The upper floor has all of my legislative staff and the lower floor has my schedulers, personal assistants and the press staff. Then I have a bunch of people who work in the mailroom. I get a lot of mail."
"I had no idea," Charles said, stunned.
"I've got over 8,000 square feet. That's a damned big office!"
"I'm almost afraid to see where you sit," Charles said. "Or do you lie on a pile of gilt cushions?"
"I'm working on that," Jim said. "But for now, I just have a desk." He opened the heavy, painted door and escorted his father inside. "But it's a nice desk, isn't it?"
"Nice?" Charles put his hands on his hips and did a slow turn, taking in the huge desk, two velvet sofas and wooden table with six chairs. "I'm paying for this!"
"And for the fresh flowers," Jim said, indicating two elaborate arrangements. "Those come every other day."
"Your office in San Francisco looked like a phone booth compared to this!"
"I know. This is part of what makes people want these jobs. You get used to being important, and everyone here makes you feel very, very important." He gestured to one of the sofas. "Have a seat and I'll get us something to drink."
The words were barely out of his mouth when his secretary knocked and poked her head in. "Tea? Coffee? Soft drinks? Bagels? Danish?"
"Whoa!" Jim said, laughing. "You're going to make my father think I'm always treated this well."
The woman winked and said, "You are."
"Margaret Aimes, this is my father."
"Reverend Evans, it's so good to meet you," Margaret said, shaking Charles' hand. "It's so nice to put a face with a name."
"Same here," Charles said. "It certainly looks like Jim's being very well taken care of."
"We just love him," Margaret said, looking entirely sincere. "He's so much easier to get along with than Senator Somers." She clapped her hand over her mouth and said, "Forgive me for speaking ill of the dead."
"I can't forgive sins," Charles said, "but as sins go, that one barely registers."
"Oh, I can see where Senator Evans gets his charm from," Margaret said.
"You must pay her well," Charles said, laughing.
"Not well enough. And I'd love some juice, Margaret," Jim said. "How about you, Dad? Margaret can magically make anything you want appear."
"I don't want to be any trouble. Coffee's fine."
"What do you really want?" Margaret asked. "It's no trouble. Really."
"A decaf cappuccino?" he asked tentatively.
"Back in a minute," she said. "What kind of juice, Senator?"
"Surprise me," Jim said.
Margaret left, and the men sat on opposing sofas. "If I were you, I'd hole up in here and refuse to leave in December," Charles said.
"I'm ready to go," Jim said. He looked contemplative for a moment, then said, "I'm even more ready than I was a short time ago."
"Why's that?"
"Oh, things are … not going well between Kayla and me."
"Mmm." Charles just nodded. "I was wondering if you were still seeing each other."
"Yeah, we are. But she thinks she'll stay in Washington when my term's up. I … I thought we might go back to California and live together or at least work together. I really rely on her, Dad. She's …" He looked away, and shrugged his shoulders in an oddly adolescent way.
Margaret knocked on the door and brought in a tray with a tall glass of pineapple juice and a steaming cup of cappuccino. She left before they could finish thanking her and both men chuckled at the words that hadn't been said.
"Tell me more about Kayla," Charles said.
"It's not just Kayla. It's … all of the women in my life."
"There are … others?"
"Oh! No, no, just Kayla. I mean that I'm having a hard time with Kayla and Catherine and Jamie. I used to think I knew how to treat women and what they wanted, but in the last year … I've either gotten stupid or I was deluding myself."
"I don't think you've gotten stupid, son," Charles said, looking at Jim over the rim of his coffee cup.
"Smooth, Dad. Very smooth. So you think I haven't ever known how to deal with women?"
"Oh, you and your mother got along very well. Maybe too well."
"That's a little Freudian. Care to elaborate?"
Charles nodded. "I don't mean to analyze you. But you could do no wrong where your mother was concerned. I'm not sure it was good for you to be able to sweet-talk her into anything you wanted."
Jim took a drink of his juice, his forehead creased in thought. "I don't remember it being like that."
"It was. It certainly wasn't intentional, but I think we set you up to be a very successful man. Your mother treated you like a little prince and I set goals for you that you could never quite reach."
Waving him off, Jim said, "Don't be silly. You were great parents."
"No, we weren't," Charles said, his voice somber. "I was consumed by my career when you were young. Power and prestige meant everything to me. I put those same warped goals on you, son, and you did your best to make me proud of you."
"So you set goals for me. What's wrong with that?"
"I think you believed that I'd love you more if you met those goals," Charles said. He looked like he was about to cry. "And to be honest, I might have. It's only since I've had my spiritual awakening that I've realized love can't be attained or earned. It just is."
"Come on, Dad. You're being silly. There's nothing wrong with the way you and mom raised me. You have nothing to apologize for."
"You're wrong, Jim," Charles said. "We both made a lot of mistakes. And I think some of our mistakes have contributed to your problems with the women in your life."
The younger man got up and went to his window, looking at the expansive view of The Mall. "That's a lot of psycho-babble, Dad. I don't believe in coming up with excuses for why I do things. I've made my mistakes and I need to learn from them."
"I can't argue with that, son." He paused for a moment, waiting for Jim to look at him. "But if you've learned from them, why do you keep making them?"
His face flushing, Jim asked, "What does that mean?"
"You heard me. You have a very difficult time allowing the women in your life to have their own lives … their own opinions … their own needs."
"Oh, Jesus," Jim snapped. "Now you sound like Kayla. Or Jamie."
Charles settled back into his seat and looked at his son until Jim reluctantly made eye contact with him. "I'm not a psychic. How would I know that Kayla felt that way?"
Jim grumbled quietly, then walked back to the sofa and sat down heavily. "Damn it, Dad, what am I supposed to do? How do I change?"
"I'm not sure," Charles said. "But I think you have to."
That night, Jim and Charles went to one of the restaurants populated with Washington insiders. Charles was not-so-discreetly looking around, trying to see if he recognized anyone. Jim joined him, his lips pursed. "Mmm … a couple of congressmen and a bunch of lobbyists. All those guys do is go out to lunch and dinner. I don't know how they don't all weight five hundred pounds."
"Then I'm with the most important man in the place," Charles said, with a teasing smile.
"Yeah, you're a lucky guy." The waiter came by and took their drink orders, and when he left there was a stilted silence.
"You've been pretty quiet this afternoon," Ch
arles said. "Is everything all right?"
Jim didn't answer right away. He was obviously debating whether to reply, and he eventually let out a breath and said, "I'm thinking about what you said this afternoon."
"Mmm."
"I have a hard time believing you don't have any suggestions for ways to change."
Charles held up his hands. "I don't know of any shortcuts. And I'm sure you know the difficult ways to change behavior."
"What? Therapy?"
"That works for a lot of people. But it's a waste of time if you're not motivated and ready to be brutally honest."
The server stopped and set their drinks in front of them. Jim took a sip of his Manhattan, smiling slightly while he savored the expertly made drink. "I take it you don't think I'm motivated," Jim said while he played with the cherry stem sticking over the lip of his glass.
"I didn't say that." Charles sipped his wine, an enigmatic smile on his face.
"But you do think it."
"No, I don't. I don't have any idea how motivated you are, Jim. Only you know that."
"I could get motivated if I thought it worked," Jim said, scowling.
"Therapy does work-for the right person-in the right circumstances. It's worked for me. It's worked for Jamie."
"Yeah, it's made Jamie into an entirely different person! She was a fantastic kid before she got involved with that lesbian class and started seeing that shrink."
"Ryan's not on your list of evil influences?" Charles asked lightly.
Jim smirked at his father. "I honestly don't think Ryan has influenced her as much as that therapy has. Ryan seems like she wants Jamie and me to be close. She really seems to value family."
"She does," Charles agreed. "But she's been an integral factor in a lot of Jamie's changes."
Looking frustrated, Jim said, "Oh, the changes aren't all bad, and you know it. It's just that Jamie's so short with me. It's like she's ready to jump on me for the slightest thing. I don't think she and I ever had a serious argument before this last year, and now it seems like all we do is fight."
"Maybe you're making up for lost time."
"What?"
"It's not normal for parents and kids to have a perfectly smooth relationship. If you're not having some ups and downs … someone's hiding something."
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