Nothing Ventured

by Roderick Price

  It was nice. Everybody smiled at her. She fit right into the group. Hilton bought her lunch. She was home in plenty of time to welcome the girls back from school.

  CHAPTER 16

  Taylor had returned from northern Wisconsin a few days earlier and had spent the time painting her master bathroom. She had lived in the old house now for a little over eight years. When the realtor first showed it to Taylor, it had been beat up, and divided into two student apartments. Still, the dovetailed wood siding and the hardwood floors and the turrets that towered over West Washington Avenue had won her over. From the east turret she could look right up the avenue to the Capitol dome. No matter how many times she found herself looking at it, she found it inspiring. Sometimes at night she would sit for hours, alternately gazing at the Dome and reading the seven newspapers she subscribed to from around the State. It wasn’t the best neighborhood in town, especially after dark. If she wanted, she would still walk the eight blocks to work in the morning. Even though she was somewhat of a celebrity in the city, everybody in the neighborhood left her alone.

  She was upstairs just getting out of the shower when she heard the deadbolt click in the front door. Jason had let himself in. Taylor could hear him walk to the kitchen in the back of the house and rustle the ice cubes in the icemaker. He always showed up twenty minutes early when they were going out. Taylor knew she’d find his coat lying across one of the chairs in the living room. He’d be drinking a vodka tonic and watching CNN on the small television on the bar in the kitchen. She had bought that little TV at Arnie’s when she was in college. She had gotten a free ten-speed bike to go with it. Now the cheap old bike was long gone, but the TV was still serving her pretty well.

  She picked the beige suit tonight; the one with the dark brown, suede collar and lapels. It was formal enough to fit right in, but it was casual enough, if she ended up somewhere else for a drink later on. She spent an extra few minutes on her hair and let it fall free. In reality she would be working tonight, but this look was not for the office. In her public work she pulled her hair back and wore glasses with tortoise shell frames. But tonight, Governor Conlan wouldn’t let the photographers within a mile of the governor’s mansion. The mansion was over on the east side of Lake Mendota and Taylor knew there’d be a big crowd. Conlan was up for re-election in the primary and he had invited anybody with big money in as his guest tonight. In November, there had been a lot of legislative action, particularly in the Wisconsin Assembly. Conlan was milking it for all it was worth.

  Taylor could hear an outcry from Jason over some bit of news from CNN. There was a burst of laughter. Undoubtedly, Jason’s ruthless sense of humor was at work. She could hear him in the ice machine again. Apparently, not all had gone well with the staff in the late afternoon. Jason had probably lost his patience. He was getting a good start on the evening’s festivities. Taylor found herself hurrying with her make-up. It was best if Jason didn’t get too far ahead of her. The outcomes were not always so positive when Jason started giving people his honest assessment of political matters.

  Taylor had actually gone to modeling school one summer in Milwaukee and had gotten borderline expert at putting on makeup. Now just a little Pimento Spice lipstick as she moved down the big open staircase. Jason didn’t even look as she entered the kitchen. He was trying to get the market wrap before they left for the party. A few minutes later and they were moving briskly toward the mansion in Jason’s 1988 Saab 900 Turbo.

  “I swear,” Jason said, “if Conlan has the house full of pulp heads tonight, I’m hiding all of the toilet paper when I go to the john.”

  Taylor laughed right out loud at the thought. “Don’t call them pulp heads. They’re paper companies. You know they are the largest single employer in Wisconsin?”

  “I swear to God, they’d be better off if they just dumped all their stuff in the river without even trying to treat it. Last week, Brownie was going over the toxin reports with me on the upper Wisconsin River and I almost got sick to my stomach. Oil companies and paper companies. I love my job.”

  The pulp and paper industry had been tough ones, even for Taylor. She had met with their best chemists and environmental people. They all agreed that none of their remediation options were very attractive. Even Taylor didn’t have the heart to put somebody out of business. Most of them were doing the best they could. Unfortunately, together, the paper and pulp industry had put more than 300,000 tons of particulates into the air and water in the last two years and it wasn’t going to get a lot better than that.

  “You know,” said Jason, continuing, “last year at this event, one of those idiots suggested to me that if we could be even half as cooperative as the people they were working with in Indonesia, that they would be willing to make a much more substantial investment in Wisconsin. Like we want the state blanketed with paper mills!”

  “Jason, you need to be more understanding of your capitalist brethren,” Taylor taunted him. “Those are, after all, the people who are paying your salary.”

  “You are so right, Master,” said Jason. “If only I was as politically astute as you, I would have a future in front of me.”

  It was classic Jason. He was stitched close enough to the lining to risk an unraveling. “Well, I am sure you will be in fondest company this evening with your capitalist supporters.”

  Taylor smirked. “You do know that it’s the capitalists that have the money for campaigns, right?”

  Jason had been with her for a little over four years. When they had first started working together, he had been mad at everyone, including her. He was vehement in his dedication to the environment. Typically, in internal staff meetings—even meetings with outside companies seeking a variance—Jason would turn out to be the only one in the room that had actually analyzed all of the documents. On more than one occasion, it had been downright embarrassing when Jason would take apart an entire corporate team of lawyers and executives. They would have a license request or an environmental impact statement that had huge holes or inconsistencies in it. After letting them talk for an hour, Jason would nod in Taylor’s direction and take charge. He would propose a dozen or more solid recommendations that would typically make the proposed venture more palatable to both the business and the state.

  On big public reviews, like the one going on with the oil companies’ Superior project, Taylor would debate with Jason for hours. Each of them would take alternate positions of the state of Wisconsin DNR versus the Oil Company’s point of view, and then really go after each other. Then they’d switch sides and debate again until they were so exhausted, they couldn’t think of another new thing to say. Like Taylor, Jason’s job was his life; at least for now. They had a rare combination of both love and respect for each other. Not love, love. Just love and respect.

  There were valets swarming all over the front entrance at the governor’s mansion. The valets were from some fraternity house where one of the fathers had a connection to Governor Conlan. Jason and Taylor were running a little late. The crowd was large, even by Conlan’s standards. The mansion was huge, right on the shore of Lake Mendota, sixteen thousand square feet. Fifty years ago, a banker had sold it to the state for $47,500. It was one of the few governor’s mansions in the country located on a lake, not on the grounds of the capitol.

  “Looks like Conlan has a good hatch,” Jason commented dryly as they walked up the steps to the grand foyer. Taylor thought for a moment for an appropriate comeback and then let the remark drop softly in the cold dead air of early winter. She stepped through the oversized doors and felt the rush of stale warm air fleeing past her, out and up to the stars. Taylor cut a narrow path through the clusters of business suits and dinner jackets toward the old hand-hewn bar in the back of the grand dining room. The room overlooked the length of Lake Mendota. The shimmering images of the attendees were reflecting on the large single-paned windows. She could see the lights on the north shore. Directly west she saw the sprinkling of security lights
on the new running path that wound itself all the way out to Picnic Point. Back in law school, she would pack up her books and ride her bike out there on fall afternoons. The lights reposed patiently in the satiny black darkness.

  Governor Conlan, as always, was tucked securely into the alcove just to the right of the bar. Taylor knew she would find him there. He used this alcove as a kind of harbor where he could reach out and shake hands with anyone he wished. If needed, he could also step back into the privacy of his adjacent office and discuss more private matters with a special friend or wealthy donor.

  Taylor leaned against the bar with a drink. Jason knew that others would begin to gather around her. She was in her element. He needed to get out of the way. After a few minutes, he nodded to her and then disappeared into the crowd. Jason could work a room, too. He would carefully share a snippet or two of rumor and fact. He’d also take time to cross-check his stories with colleagues in other departments. Along the way, he would take time to commiserate with friends on the evils and shortcomings of the political process.

  After an hour Taylor was warming to the evening. The huge fire was burning mightily under the ancient, oversized stone hearth. Unfortunately, Sheldon Mack had stopped by and tried to make small talk. Taylor knew right away the old gizzard was out of character, drunk and bitter. Addressing her as Ms. Thompson, he added an extra sampling of Z’s to the Ms. Finding he had humored himself; he had abruptly shared the thought that Taylor certainly did look like “a cute little thing this evening.” Taylor did her best to ignore him. She turned back to visit with a friend, but Mack just continued on talking, saying he guessed that Taylor “just plain enjoyed getting her picture on television.” He was obviously baiting her, hoping to get her to her boiling point. She looked away again and her eyes met Conlan’s. He had been watching the interchange and he nodded for a conference toward the side stair. When the governor was well out of the room, Taylor told Mack she needed the ladies’ room and graciously excused herself. Returning from the restroom, she took a turn up the stairs. The library was directly over the dining room, where they always met. The library had a second-story balcony that looked wonderfully out over the lake. She and Conlan had met there often when they were working through natural gas deregulation plans last summer. The two of them would step out on the balcony together and make sure they were in agreement on key points of the regulations. Conlan was a chain smoker, so it was a natural spot for him. Even in the wintertime, she and Conlan would still meet up in the library, although usually with a couple of politicians or businessmen who were trying to work a deal. Before she entered, she heard voices; fairly loud voices. She grabbed the worn, scarred, brass doorknob, turned it and walked into the room.

  She had always taken pride in her ability to see things coming. This time, Conlan blind-sided her. It was Sheldon Mack from Arbor Energy and Dick Jansen from Empire Oil. They were both smoking cigars, perched on the arms of the big, overstuffed leather chairs by the fireplace. Governor Conlan was with Ricky Amery, the head of the Finance Committee for Conlan’s reelection campaign. This conversation was going to be about money. Taylor had come up here alone, thinking she and the governor were going to have one of their pow-wows. Jason was downstairs, debating the issues of the day with his buddies. Nobody else even knew where she was, unless they were looking for her in the lady’s room. Just for a second, she thought about turning right around and going back out the door, but Sheldon Mack had already taken a shot at her earlier in the evening, and she relished a go at him in private quarters.

  Conlan talked first. “Thanks for breaking away, Taylor. I thought you would want to be in on our discussion.”

  “Nothing like mixing business with pleasure,” said Taylor smoothly. “What have you got on the agenda?”

  “Taylor,” said Mack, his speech slurring ever so slightly. “Despite our efforts to work cooperatively with you and your people, we don’t think you are listening to us on the Superior deal.”

  “We’re listening,” said Taylor flatly. “It just so happens that so far you haven’t had anything to say.” Taylor was rather pleased with herself for jumping right out ahead of him.

  “Now Taylor,” said Mack, “before you start getting your panties in a wad, I want you to know that this project is very important to Arbor Energy. It’s even more important to me personally. I have raised certain expectations at Arbor that I’m going to deliver on this one and now everybody is asking me when. If we keep going where you’re leading us, we aren’t going to end up where we need to be. I assure you; such an outcome will make us all very, very unhappy.”

  The room grew suddenly still. Taylor could see the deep blue smoke roll slowly off the men’s cigars. It floated aimlessly toward the high ceiling. Taylor glanced over at the fireplace. On the mantle was a vintage Carmody horse clock, mounted on a varnished mahogany block of wood. On one end of the base was the clock, on the other end was a bronze statue of a saddled horse, standing upright on all fours. The bridle of the horse was a stainless key chain that looped through the horse’s mouth and hung loosely over the saddle horn. It was Taylor’s turn to speak.

  “Look Sheldon, if you want to send some people over Monday to work with Jason on some modifications, we can do that. But I am not going to stand here and tell you that the fundamentals of the deal are changing, because they are not. Gazing over at Jansen, she continued. “We know you guys are already making a fortune off that plant because we’ve run all of our own models to prove it. The development tax credit the governor gave you three years ago will let you make all of your capital improvements without spending a dime of your own money. When do we get something back, Sheldon? When?”

  It was Jansen’s turn. He was a quiet one, but he had been in the business a long time. Taylor knew he was dangerous. He eased off the arm of the chair and walked slowly to fireplace and stared at the Carmody. He angled himself toward the group, being careful not to face anyone directly and then he slowly exhaled smoke out his mouth and nose at the same time.

  “Look Taylor, we think you’re damn good at what you do. Honestly, I wish we had you on our side. We’d like to see the governor get re-elected. In fact, we think Governor Conlan and you would make a great team as governor and lieutenant governor of the state. When Empire Oil feels good about something, we go out of our way to show our support, if you know what I mean.”

  In an instant, Taylor got it. Money and power. Money, that’s why Amery the campaign finance guy was here. She shot him a quick glance, but he was looking at Conlan. When she looked back at Jansen, he had followed Taylor’s look over to Amery too. When she looked back at him, his eyes met hers in a heartless, expressionless stare.

  “Taylor, all they’re asking for is that we be flexible,” said the governor. The governor wanted her to back off on the Superior refinery expansion. “We could be a great team if you have an interest in being my next lieutenant governor.”

  “What does your current lieutenant governor think about that?” Asked Taylor. “Does he think I’d be great in his job as well?”

  Conlan shifted uneasily back in his chair. “Look, I know you’re close to the lieutenant governor, but I’d appreciate you not telling him this quite yet.”

  “So officially, you want me as your running mate?” asked Taylor. “Do I have to cave on this refinery deal to run with you?”

  Amery spoke up, “The truth is, he’s a loser, you’re a winner. All the polls tell us that. Even if he ran for governor next time, he wouldn’t make it through our own party primary.”

  Conlan rested his elbow on the arm of the sofa. He was tense. His head dropped sideways resignedly, and he rested his chin onto the back of his knuckles. The long hours at government meetings and long evenings had taken their toll. He knew it was not easy to get Taylor to do something she did not want to do.

  “‘Loser’ is probably a fair description,” said Jansen. “We’ve been running a few polls ourselves, and Governor Conlan himself is looking
at a pretty tough battle just to win this election. We’re not sure he can win it without you, Taylor.”

  “So, I say “yes” to Superior,” said Taylor, “and you throw your financial backing to our ticket.”

  “We’re not asking for the moon here, Taylor, but you got to ease up,” said Jansen. “You know we’re talking to the “Kensington for Governor” team, right? Representative Kensington, your buddy from Milwaukee, has been talking to us consistently about his ideas for a ‘Commitment to Commerce’ program. He doesn’t have any problem with the refinery expansion. Compared to some of the treatment we’ve been getting from your DNR, we find some of Kensington’s ideas very intriguing.”

  Kensington was one of the few politicians in the state to successfully attack Taylor in public. She had taken a lot of hits from him on the Kickapoo Valley Dam Project. She had finally gotten the Corp of Engineers to shut down the project. But several hundred farmers had been thrown off their land. Now most of Vernon and Sauk and Dell counties were mad as hell at her. First, the feds and the state had condemned all of the farmland behind the proposed dam. Then the farmers had been thrown off their land and Taylor got the project stopped. Now the land was just sitting there idle, while the DNR and federal government were trying to figure out what to do with it. They’d been working on it for more than three years. Kensington had gotten time on Nightline, not six months ago, and he had roasted Taylor as the villain. He was leading a “grassroots” effort for reopening public hearings on the project and giving the land back to the farmers. If Kensington beat Conlan, the first thing he’d do is put Taylor out on the street. The governor appoints the head of the DNR.

  “At any rate, “Jensen continued, “when we don’t know where you stand on key issues like this, Taylor, it puts us in a very difficult situation. That’s why we wanted to get the attention of you and the governor this evening.”