“All right now, Nat, you keep on top of it, and let me know what’s going on out there, hear?” He hung up the phone. “Morning, J.T. How was your trip to New York to see the folks? Did you give my regards to your daddy?”
“Yes I did, Senator. How did everything go here?”
“Very smoothly, thank you. I was more involved in politics than anything else. I guess you can tell that it’s still pretty hectic from my conversation just now.”
“How’s your campaign going?” J.T. asked to be polite.
“Damn well, J.T., damn well! We’re starting to pick up more support now than we had before the election. Particularly in the South and West, where people, frankly, aren’t happy with a Roman Catholic president. Those people are entitled to a president of their choice, too.”
“You think that prejudice is strong enough to defeat Kennedy the next time?”
“That prejudice has been strong enough to beat everyone before, except Kennedy. I’m inclined to think it was just a weak moment in history, one that can be turned around.”
“I don’t know, sir. These political things are a little beyond me.”
“They’re not really that complicated, once you get the hang of it,” the senator observed. “But these campaigns are really like working in the salt mines.”
“I can see that,” J.T. commented, again politely.
“What’s on your mind this morning, J.T.?”
“I was just wondering, sir, how much longer you think these hearings should continue.”
“Why, until we root out every crook in the country, parade them before the folks at home in their slimy splendor. Frankly, J.T., I wouldn’t mind if these hearings continued all the way to the next election. Why do you ask?”
“Well, sir, quite candidly, I was just thinking that the hearings can’t last forever, and with you on your way to bigger and better things, I was wondering where I’d go from here.”
“The future, you mean? Well, hell, son, there’s always room in the White House for a bright young man. Maybe as counsel to the president, something like that. There’ll be a spot for you—if we get there, that is,” the senator added quickly, to give the conversation a balance of humility.
“That’s very kind of you, Senator, and I certainly appreciate the confidence you have in me.”
“Even if we don’t make it, there’s always a place on one of the staffs, chief counsel to a committee. I don’t think you’ll have to start looking for a job, J.T. No, sir. You’ve won your spurs already.”
“Thank you again, Senator. It’s just that I was thinking about getting back to New York, going into practice with my father, maybe running for something myself. This political fever is catching, I’m sure you know that, Senator.”
“I’ve known that for years, J.T. That’s how I got here myself. Started out knocking on doors, getting out voters for other candidates. And one thing led to another—alderman, supervisor, commissioner. It’s something that gets in your blood. The excitement, the action.” The senator smiled. He seemed just about to fall into another folksy reminiscence. But J.T. didn’t want to be sidetracked.
“That’s why I was wondering how far you wanted to go with the hearings,” J.T. pressed.
“I guess we’ll just have to keep at them until we’re finished. The coverage hasn’t hurt either one of us too much, eh?”
“That’s certainly true.”
“I think there’s still a lot more mileage to the hearings, isn’t there?”
“I’m not so sure, Senator,” J.T. said slowly, thoughtfully. “I mean, we’ve had a lot of witnesses who took the Fifth Amendment. We’ve had the charts, the names of the families, the personnel of organized crime paraded before the committee. We’ve had our inside informant, complete with bag over his head. What else is there to go into that we can justify as necessary in order to start drafting legislation?”
The senator pursed his lips. “Well, I’ve been relying on you so far. And I’m going to leave it that way. If you tell me there’s not much more we can get out of the hearings, then there isn’t. How much longer do you think they can run?”
“Let me put it this way, Senator. I’m not running out on you. I’m staying with the committee as long as the hearings go on. But after that, I’d like to try the private sector.”
The senator thought for a moment.
“Tell you frankly what’s involved, so you understand the true picture, J.T.,” said the senator. “I’ve been trying like one son of a bitch to raise enough money to get a presidential campaign going. It’s tough, I don’t mind telling you. Going to parties, talking to people, trying to sell myself. That’s not easy. I can sell banana oil in the Senate. But to go out and sell yourself, tell people how wonderful you are, ask them for money, that’s tough. Frankly, I don’t expect I’ll be able to raise enough money to go the long haul. So my plan has to work out in the next couple of months or I’ll run out of steam. And if that happens, I’ll look like some fool with egg on his face. That won’t happen, though, J.T. I mean my looking like a fool. I’ll walk out gracefully before then.”
“What is your plan, Senator?” J.T. was listening carefully.
“To make a long story short—if it’s not already too late—it’s this. I know I can’t maintain a presidential campaign. I know that as well as anyone. But I also know the political game pretty well. Kennedy will buy me off with some kind of high position—Supreme Court, ambassador, something—before my purported presidential campaign catches the fancy of some sugar daddy who wants to fight the papists to the death. Kennedy can’t afford to let my steamroller build up steam. Understand, son?”
“Yes, sir, I do.” J.T. liked the senator’s craftiness. “If there’s anything I can do …”
“I know that, son. I know that. And don’t think I don’t appreciate it. Or all the other things that you’ve been doing. The hearings are the only things that got me this far, I’ll tell you that. And I appreciate it. More than you know, believe me.”
“You carried the ball, sir. I just inflated it.”
“Hogwash, J.T. You did the whole goddamn thing yourself.”
J.T. smiled appreciatively.
“Can we keep the ball rolling until something breaks, one way or the other?” asked the senator. “I mean, let me tell you. I know I’ve got a tough shot. But it’s a real shot at immortality, son. Supreme Court of the United States, ambassador to Spain, something. I’ve got to go for it. It’s the culmination of a dream. Even if it doesn’t work out, I’ll have come a hell of a lot closer than most people. You see the picture I’m drawing for you, J.T.?”
“Yes, sir, I sure do.”
“If it doesn’t work out, I still have my Senate seat. But if I can just hold on long enough to become a thorn in somebody’s side … you get me, J.T.?”
“I understand perfectly, sir.”
“Will you stay with the hearings? I mean, keep the hearings going until then?”
“I will.”
“And then, son, you’ll have one powerful friend in me. I mean that. One powerful friend.”
“I can use all the friends I can get,” said J.T., smiling.
The senator grinned. J.T. was his kind of folks.
September 12, 1961
The driveway of the Reynolds family estate in Locust Valley was a long tunnel of huge, closely planted fir trees. Near the house, the stand of trees ended, replaced by wide, manicured lawns. A circular driveway cut perfectly into that lawn, led to a huge Tudor mansion.
“This is quite a place—for a weekend, that is,” J.T. kidded.
“It’s not a bad way to live, Otto,” replied Marty.
“It is one of the nicer estates,” said Courtnay. “You should see their apartment in New York. It’s really wonderful. On Gracie Square, just over the river. A triplex.”
“Lovely, lovely,” J.T. said softly. He was indeed quite impressed.
Marty stopped the car at the front entrance. A uniformed police officer in a short
leather coat pointed to the car. Marty rolled down the window.
“I’ll take it, sir,” the officer said. Most small-town constabularies will keep the traffic flowing at big parties. In the Reynoldses’ case, this was choice duty.
“Thank you,” said Marty, getting out from behind the wheel.
The front of the house was illuminated with spotlights, and planted with trimmed shrubs and bushes. Fall leaves had all been carefully removed by the groundskeeper. J.T. thought back to another season, the year before, as he’d sat at the desk of Senator Anders’s, when spring and his career were dawning on the Capitol. That seemed so long ago; so much had happened since then. The hearings, his days in Washington, all had come and gone. J.T. smiled inwardly at the thought of all the progress he had made in those eighteen months. A servant in black livery opened the door to the Reynolds mansion.
“Good evening,” said the servant.
“Mr. Wright and Mr. and Mrs. Boxer,” announced. J.T. Marty helped Courtnay off with her coat. The servant took it, then took Marty’s and J.T.’s coats.
“Cocktails are in the library,” said the servant.
“Thank you.” Courtnay led the way across the marble floor of the large, two-storied foyer complete with winding staircase. Another servant in livery opened the door to a huge room warmed by an enormous fireplace.
J.T. scanned the room discreetly. He recognized Chauncey Delafield first; then, sweeping the room, over the fifteen or so guests, he saw Dana in a chair near the fire, talking to a couple on a small loveseat. The room was decorated as if it were in Palm Beach, with green rug and white furniture with flowered upholstery.
Dana saw her three friends, and rose and walked toward them. She greeted Courtnay, kissing her on both cheeks, and then did the same to Marty. She wore an exotic perfume, J.T. thought as Dana touched his right cheek with her cheek. It was actually not a kiss, it was more the brushing of his cheek and the sounding of a kiss.
“I’m glad you three finally got here,” Dana said warmly, leading them into the mainstream of people. She began introducing J.T. to the other guests. He made careful note of each name and face. There were faces he had seen at the party in the Crawfords’ Palm Beach cottage. Courtnay’s mother and father were there, as were Frannie and the Count. He met Chauncey Delafield’s wife, a rather thin, austere-looking woman wearing little makeup on her angular face. She was drinking a martini, straight up.
“Dad, this is J.T. Wright,” said Dana.
Archibald Reynolds was heavyset, with dark hair; he wore a mustache that was waxed to points at the ends, and a tuxedo with an impressive set of diamond studs.
“Pleasure to meet you, J.T. Dana speaks of you often.” Reynolds placed a proud, fatherly arm around Dana’s shoulders.
“Care for a drink, J.T.?” Reynolds asked, signaling to a servant, who moved silently through the room carrying a silver tray.
“You can get him all the Scotches with a splash of branch water that you want, Archie,” said Uncle Chauncey, joining the group, “but he doesn’t drink worth a damn. Hello, J.T.”
“Hello, Mr. Delafield.”
“You made it just in time,” Dana said to J.T. “Angelo was starting to go into one of his frantic states,” she said as an aside to her father.
“Angelo is our magnificent chef,” explained Reynolds. “He goes into hysterics, however, if his magnificent creations aren’t served exactly on time. And, God knows, we don’t want our chef to get frantic. Did you want that Scotch with a splash, J.T.?”
“I’d rather have a Perfect Rob Roy.” That was the latest fancy-sounding drink that J.T. was willing to try.
Reynolds sent the waiter to fetch J.T. a drink. Marty and Courtnay drifted off to speak with other guests.
“So you’re starting in private practice with Stevenson & Stetinius on Monday, eh, J.T.?” said Reynolds.
“Yes, sir, thanks to Mr. Delafield.”
“It was really Dana,” said Delafield. “She was your biggest supporter.”
Dana looked pleased.
Reynolds looked admiringly at Dana again. There was no question she was the apple of his eye.
“They probably won’t pay you what you’re worth,” Reynolds said to J.T. “But I’m not sure that’s bad.”
“Don’t you have that a little mixed up, Archie?” said Delafield.
“The hell I do. Nothing better for a young man starting out in the world of business—and the law can be considered a business—than to work hard and not make enough money. Forces you to learn how to work harder, be independent, self-sufficient. That’s the trouble with kids these days—they don’t know or even want to know how to work. They want it all given to them. World’s all mixed up.”
“Before you get into all of this, Archie, can I get myself another drink?” Delafield said lightly.
“Kid all you want, Chauncey, but our way of life is finished. You wait and see what’s going to happen. I mean it.”
The servant returned with J.T.’s drink.
“Get me another of these,” said Delafield. “And make sure that Mrs. Delafield gets a refill too.”
J.T. sipped. Christ! he thought to himself. Scotch was mother’s milk compared to this concoction.
“You were saying, Archie?” said Delafield, a mischievous grin on his face.
“Kid all you want, Chauncey. But people nowadays don’t want to work. Can’t get people to take on jobs on which people just a few years ago raised entire families, sent kids to college—bootblacks, gardeners, factory workers, field workers. You can’t get them. You can’t get anybody who wants to be a domestic—”
“Aha, there’s the rub. Probably lost a couple of housemaids and can’t get anybody to replace them. Is that it, Archie?”
Reynolds grinned. “Well, that just happens to be true, but it doesn’t change any of the things I’m saying. If people refuse to work, yet want even higher salaries for less work, if we can’t produce goods at competitive prices, what do you think is going to happen to the economy?”
“You’ll retire and live off your coupons and stock options, Archie,” said Delafield.
“Hell, Chauncey, stocks will be worthless. So will money. Inflation is going to be a major problem.”
“Shall we announce dinner, dear?” asked a tall woman, her hair pulled back into a French twist.
“Margaret, did you meet J.T. Wright?” asked Reynolds.
“How do you do?” Mrs. Reynolds allowed without a smile. “Shall we go in to dinner now?”
That wasn’t exactly a warm welcome, J.T. thought to himself as he placed his almost untouched drink on the nearest servant’s tray.
The guests were ushered into a large dining room with three separate large tables, each adorned with vases of tall flowers, each set with a different exquisite pattern of china. A place card held by a small golden cherub stood before each plate.
“J.T., you sit here.” Dana indicated a table where her father was seated. She sat to her father’s left, J.T. to his right. Mrs. Reynolds sat at the head of the second table. And Chauncey Delafield headed the third.
The guests all found their places and the servants brought out the first course. It tasted something like raw fish, but J.T. had no idea what it really was. He watched the others to make sure that he picked up the correct fork, waiting to see that the others eating this creation didn’t die.
“How does it feel now that you’re not in the government?” Reynolds asked J.T.
“Fabulous, sir.”
“Those hearings must have been thrilling,” said a woman seated two seats away. “Those sinister people and everything.” She, too, spoke through her teeth, hardly moving her lips.
“It was exciting at times,” J.T. replied.
“Which times were those?” asked a man sitting next to the woman who spoke through her teeth.
Reynolds was looking at J.T.
“Tell us about Gentleman Johnny,” urged another woman sitting on the opposite side of the table.
“Gentleman Johnny was right at the beginning of the hearings,” said J.T. as a servant took his appetizer away. At least I didn’t have to eat whatever it was, he thought. “And he was quite impressive.”
“He seemed rather suave, in a greasy sort of way,” slid through the first woman’s teeth.
“I don’t know if suave is really the right word, darling,” slid from the second woman. “Wasn’t it more like sinister?”
Dana glanced at J.T. with a hint of amusement on her face. I’m glad she thinks this is funny, he thought.
“Well, I did say greasy.”
“Perhaps greasy suave is sinister,” said a man sitting next to the first woman. He was thin, with glasses.
“Tres amusant, Booth,” said the second woman.
A servant approached Reynolds’s left side with a plate that held an entire fish, head and all, on a bed of rice, mushrooms, and parsley. Two large silver utensils were on the plate next to the fish. Reynolds took a portion and the servant moved toward J.T. He watched the servant’s approach with dread, then looked at the fish. Its glassy eye was staring up at him.
J.T. picked up the silver utensils and put a portion on his plate.
The servant moved silently on.
Strolling violinists came into the room and began to play. J.T. saw Marty and Courtnay at the table with Chauncey Delafield. The servants brought out bottles of white wine in silver ice buckets. They poured for everyone except Delafield, who discreetly ordered a gin martini.
The servants then brought out vegetables, each in a silver serving plate. There was some sort of asparagus and potatoes in a thick, creamy sauce.
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