The Last Virginia Gentleman

by Michael Kilian

  While Deena and the Moodys’ maid attended to cleaning up the mess, Bloch used the occasion to suggest that he and Moody step out onto the balcony for a cigar. Moody didn’t smoke, but got the message. Bloch had the incurable habit of lighting up his Dominican Imperiales wherever and whenever he wanted. Now he wanted something else.

  A jetliner roared by close overhead as they stepped outside. The warm wind was from the south, requiring planes landing at National Airport to use a Potomac River approach that took them by the Watergate and the adjoining Kennedy Center just above rooftop level.

  Bloch, leaning on the railing, cupped his hands to light his cigar, waiting for the jet and its noise to pass by.

  “Bobby,” he said finally. “I still have a problem with that horse.”

  “I’ve already told you. I don’t want you messing with May over it. I’d like to get back on her good side one of these days. Friend that you are, Bernie, you’re just going to fuck that up for me.”

  “May? You just said it, Bobby. We’re friends. Friends for life. I’d never do anything to get her riled up. The thing is, she sold the horse. From what I’ve been able to find out, the same goddamn night she bought it. She took it away from me, and then got rid of it, just like that.”

  “Like I told you, Bernie. I’m sure she didn’t have the faintest idea you wanted that horse.”

  Another jet was approaching, its landing lights making it look like a circus floating in the sky.

  “Yeah, well, maybe not. Take your word for it. Anyway, she sold it to a horsewoman out there named Percy, and guess what she did with it?”

  Moody let him answer his own question.

  “She sold it to that gray-haired jockey. David Showers. Captain David Showers. The guy in the State Department.”

  Moody was beginning to feel haunted by the man. “You’re sure of that?”

  “You bet your ass I’m sure. The sonofabitch has filed a complaint with the Thoroughbred Association, and another one with the auctioneer. He’s asking for an inquiry. There was some minor error in the veterinarian’s certificate, and the guy’s making a federal case of it. The vet was one I use sometimes. Used to use. Vicky Clay’s husband, the dead guy. He was as big a junkie as she was, and he fucked up the certificate. So now this Sir Lancelot is causing me a problem.”

  The jetliner careened slowly by, lower than the first one, its engines screaming.

  Moody waited. “How is he causing you a problem if you weren’t involved in the transaction?” he said finally.

  “I’m involved, because I’ve got to have that horse.”

  “Look, Bernie. This has nothing to do with me. And if May sold it, like you say, it has nothing to do with her. It’s a horse, for God’s sake. You’ve got dozens of horses.”

  “I wasn’t buying the horse for myself, Bobby. It was for a second party. I gave my word, to some very important people. They don’t care anything about anything except that they get the horse. Like I promised. I don’t know how well you know the racing business, but …”

  “I don’t want to know anything about it.”

  “All you need to know is I’ve got a real serious obligation here. I promised somebody that horse. And thanks to you, it got away from me. I’ve got to deliver. This is as important to me as any deal I ever made. I’ve got to have that horse.”

  “Why don’t you just go to Showers and make him an offer? I don’t think he’s got a lot of money. Make him a decent offer. Whatever the horse is worth to you.”

  “I intend to make him an offer. Only I’d like you to make it to him for me.”

  “Me? Look, Bernie. The man’s a career foreign service officer. They’re like the Vatican over there. A priesthood. An outsider can’t screw around with them. I can’t lean on him because of some horse deal of yours. He could start some official proceeding. Anyway, I owe him. He came through for us on the treaty in a really big way.”

  “Bobby, I came through for you on that fucking treaty. And in a very big way. You know how generous I was to the party in the election? Well, I kept on being generous. I laid down a lot of money on that treaty. A hell of a lot.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Just campaign contributions, Mr. Straight Arrow. All on the up and up. Didn’t ask for nothing. They know where my sympathies lie. What you ought to keep in mind here, Bobby, is that I intend to keep on being generous. I’ve got a lot of friends on that Senate floor now and you’re going to need every one of them.”

  “I don’t want to hear this.”

  “Maybe you don’t, but listen good. I really, really need your help. You’ve gotten my help when you needed it, don’t forget. You asked for it, and you got it. And not just when we were starting out. I got that TV time for you and your president when you needed it before the Illinois primary. I took care of those guys who were going to sell your man out for Reidy. Hell, I took care of Reidy. I’m just asking for a little giveback. Only I’m going to count it as a really big favor, the biggest of my life. And I’ll pay you back in a big way, a way that’ll really count.”

  “What do you want me to do, Bernie?”

  “I want you to talk to this guy Showers. Tell him you don’t want your daughter caught up in this trouble he’s stirring up. Tell him it was all a big mix-up. Tell him the truth, that you were supposed to bid on this horse for me, and you fucked it up because you had to get back to Washington for God and country. Tell him I’m real sorry it happened and that I want to make it up to him. I’ll pay him whatever he wants for the horse. Offer him fifty thousand. He might think it funny if you offer much more, but if he presses, make it whatever he wants. Everybody’s got their price, right? Everybody. Even those snooty bastards out in horse country.”

  “Can’t you do this yourself?”

  “No. I’m not the one to talk to him about your daughter getting mixed up in this. And I’m not the one to bring up something else. You say you owe him one on the treaty? So offer him a little something extra, a sweetener. He’s in the State Department, right? All those guys live for is to become an ambassador. So make him one. Or offer to make him one. Hell, you’ve been handing out those plums to fucking car dealers. The Washington Post was screaming at you the other day about that. Here’s a chance to make a first-rate career appointment. Just make it to some country far away, one where he won’t have any use for horses.”

  Bloch relighted his cigar. The lights of yet another airplane appeared in the murk to the northwest.

  “There’s nothing illegal about this, Bobby. You could get in more trouble for the logrolling you’ve been doing on the treaty.”

  “I don’t know, Bernie.”

  Bloch puffed, causing a large cloud of smoke to gather about his face. He let the breeze slowly disperse it, then took the cigar from his mouth.

  “If I told you my life depended on it,” he said, “would you help me out?”

  The jet’s approach was high, but its noise was even louder than the others. Moody looked hard at his friend but the man kept his eyes on the river.

  “Okay, Bernie. Let’s go inside.”

  The spilled food had been cleaned up. The two women were seated in opposite chairs, Sherrie holding a refilled drink, babbling on; Deena staring at her coldly. The stereo was playing some very saccharine “beautiful music.” It seemed starkly inappropriate.

  “I forgot to tell you,” Moody said to his guests. “I’ve got you on the list for the next state dinner.”

  In bed that night, Deena gave him another very good time. Afterward, they lay on their backs, her head on his outstretched arm.

  “Are you going to help Bernie?” she said softly.

  “Do you know what he wanted?”

  “No. Just that he needed an important favor.”

  He gazed at the ceiling’s empty darkness.

  “I’m going to do what I can for him.” He prepared himself. “Deena. About the Kennedy Center board. I had to give the next spot to Sorenson’s wife. It sewed up his
vote.”

  He felt her shoulder muscles tense, then relax. She rolled over and kissed him on the cheek.

  “That’s all right, darlin’. There’ll be another. First things first.”

  Nine

  Showers had come to the office wearing what, by the dress code of a foreign service establishment, were unpardonably casual clothes—a lightweight sport coat, frayed white button-down shirt, old striped tie, khaki trousers, a dusty old pair of loafers. His boss had given him a few days off as a reward for his contribution to the successful vote, and he planned to drive over to West Virginia that morning to meet Alixe, after spending a few minutes in his office going through his mail and clearing up some neglected paperwork. Before he could escape, he received two telephone calls.

  One was from his cousin, Jack Spencer, who sounded a little husky from drink but otherwise alert and cheerful.

  “So, hurray for our side,” Spencer said. “How does it feel, finding out you actually made a right decision once in your life?”

  “What are you talking about, Jack?”

  “The triumph of the Forces of Good,” he said melodramatically, “and all thinks to you.”

  “All I did was work up a few reports, and testify before the committee a few times—along with several hundred other people.”

  “I’m not talking about the U.S. Congress, old sport. I’m talking about the Japanese. I thought you’d have gotten the news through official channels by now. It’s on the wires. The Japanese Diet has taken up a ratification bill. Our Tokyo correspondent is calling it ‘a surprising turn of events.’ Needless to say, I wasn’t surprised. First thing your side of the family has done without consulting your ancestors. Unless you count our little chat at the Willard.”

  “A ratification bill? You’re sure?”

  “We make up a lot of our copy, but this is a statement of fact. Made me proud to be an American. At least, proud to be related to the Showerses.”

  “I’d rather we weren’t having this conversation.”

  “I’m the soul of discretion, mate.”

  “I doubt what I did made any difference at all,” Showers said. “The Japanese ambassador went to the White House. No one knows what they said there, but I’m sure that’s what got the Diet going. Nothing to do with me.”

  “Much too modest, cousin, as always. You and I will always know otherwise. That piece of paperwork you showed me …?”

  “No such paper. It doesn’t exist. At least, not anymore.”

  “That was wise. I thought you bureaucrats always made endless file copies of everything.”

  “Jack, I really wish you’d change the subject.”

  “Righto. Anyway, are you clear of this now?”

  “My work from now on should be extremely dull and routine. They’re even giving me some time off to go out to the country. You ought to come out this weekend. Give your liver a rest.”

  “Dandytown is the last place I’d go to rest the old liver. Not to speak of the old libido.”

  “Well, you’re welcome anytime.”

  “It’ll be a while. In any event, well played, cousin. You surprised me.”

  “Goodbye, Jack. Take care.”

  “You, too.”

  The next call, coming almost immediately after, was from the White House—a summons, unexplained and imperative. He was to report to the West Wing lobby at once. The woman calling did not say to whom he was to report. The directness, lack of courtesy, and air of mystery gave him a fair idea as to who wanted to see him.

  There were some new environmental reports on fishing-catch depletion in his hell box. He put them in a briefcase to take along.

  That and the suitcase he had brought with him went into the back of his Jeep Cherokee. It had rained that morning and the traffic was backed up and moving slowly. Preoccupied by his thoughts, he nearly had a minor accident weaving among the numerous double-parked vehicles along F Street near the Old Executive Office Building. He found an empty space in a “government vehicles only” stretch of 17th to which the State Department sticker on his bumper entitled him. The Jeep would not be molested.

  He presented his department identification badge to the guard at the White House northwest gate. His name had already been given clearance and the uniformed security officer behind the bulletproof glass buzzed him in immediately, delaying him only to look through the briefcase. A television crew preparing to do a standup alongside the driveway beyond stopped their work to take a careful look at him, but apparently dismissed him as no one important. As with all visitors, the marine sentry at the West Wing’s double entrance doors came stiffly to attention and gave him a crisp “Welcome to the White House, sir.” The receptionist inside checked his name against a list on her desk, then asked him rather brusquely to take a seat. He did so on a couch beneath an early nineteenth-century landscape.

  A pretty young woman dressed conservatively in a long-skirted suit appeared before him almost immediately, saying “Please come with me, Mr. Showers” before he could even rise. No one else in the lobby paid him any attention.

  He wasn’t at all surprised that she took him to the office of Chief of Staff Robert Moody, but he was surprised at the enormous size of it, calculating it must be larger even than the president’s. Moody, wearing a dark, pinstriped summer suit, came around the desk and greeted him politely, leading him to the group of large comfortable chairs in the corner. Hot coffee was brought at once.

  “Maybe you’re getting tired of running into me,” Moody said, after coffee was poured and his secretary had left.

  Showers was struck by how quintessentially American the man’s ruddy, bony face looked—a face out of a frontier painting by George Caleb Bingham.

  “Not at all.”

  “I’ve an official and an unofficial reason for asking you here this morning,” Moody said, sitting back a little stiffly, his dark eyes fixed measuringly on Showers’. “The official one is that we’re pleased around here with the way you’ve performed on the treaty. Real damned pleased.”

  “I heard about the Japanese this morning.” Showers wondered if he should be addressing the man as ‘sir’ in this circumstance.

  Moody’s back stiffened further. “Yeah. Well, let’s not go into that. I don’t anticipate you’ll be dealing much with the Japanese again. Ever again. If you get my drift.”

  “I believe I do.”

  “Good. You’re a smart guy, Showers. There’s a lot of education over there in State, but not a lot of smarts.”

  That Showers let pass.

  “Anyway, we feel you’re being wasted over there in what amounts to a staff job. We also feel we ought to be making more career ambassadorial appointments than we have. The president is very concerned about this, but he’s also made it clear he wants the very best. What I’m trying to tell you is that we’ve put your name at the top of the list—for a vacancy that’s just opened up.”

  “For ambassador?” Showers couldn’t restrain the thrill that ran through him. His father had disdainfully predicted that such a thing would never happen, that he’d end his career as an obscure civil servant laboring in some dusty bin.

  “U.S. ambassador to the Republic of Iceland. I believe that’s a country where you have some background, and a few friends. None of them Japanese.” He smiled, but not genuinely. The expression seemed misplaced on his dour face.

  “Yes.”

  “Well, then. Do you accept?”

  “Accept?” There was a worrisome doubt nagging at him, but he couldn’t stop his words. “Of course, sir.”

  Moody’s smile softened and became more natural. He leaned forward to take a drink of his coffee, then sat back, much more relaxed now. Showers sensed he was being sold something.

  “Now for the unofficial part. You’ve met my daughter May?”

  “Yes sir. Briefly. Out at the steeplechase in Dandytown, the weekend you were there.”

  “In fact, you bought a horse from her.”

  The thrill became a chill.
“I bought a horse from a friend who bought it from your daughter. It was a little irregular, I’m afraid.”

  “In fact, you’re raising a stink over it, right? An official stink?”

  “Mr. Moody. The horse’s papers were not in order. I’ve asked for an investigation. Your daughter’s not really involved.”

  “The hell she isn’t. This amounts to a charge of fraud.”

  “Not at all, sir. Not as far as she’s concerned.”

  “Look, Showers. We’re both busy men. I shouldn’t be taking up our time with this. But it’s got me a little … steamed. I love my daughter, very much. We’ve had some differences. But I love her. She’s my only child. She’s had some troubles recently, and I don’t want her to get involved in any more.”

  “Mr. Moody—”

  The other man cut him short with a commanding chop of the hand. “Listen to me. This whole thing is my fault and I feel really bad about it. May used to ride when she was a girl, and she’s owned a couple of horses. But she doesn’t know a hell of a lot about the horse-trading business and I don’t think she was really aware of what she was doing at that auction. I was supposed to buy that horse that night, for a friend.”

  “You mean Mr. Bloch.”

  The dark eyes began to burn. Moody’s voice became quieter. “I was the only one who was allowed to leave the inn that night because the sheriff was questioning people about what happened to … to those two unfortunate people. He let me go because, well, you don’t detain the chief of staff of the president of the United States. As a favor, I promised to stop by the auction and bid on that horse for Bernie. But, like you, I always put my job first. We had that trouble down in Belize that night and I skipped the goddamned auction because I wanted to get back to the White House as soon as possible. You understand why I had to do that? The country first, right?”