Chapter 1

Of course one has to wonder what a grad is doing working a ticket counter at a bus terminal, but Simon Sample had graduated from indeed. As a top scholar, Simon was tailor-made for. He went to Exeter too, a top scholar there as well, not a nerd, but one of those well-rounded individuals – smart as hell, a back-up center for the ice hockey team, a member of the drama club, and attractive enough to make the girls swoon.

Prior to, Simon attended the. While there he met the love of his life, the pretty Miss Caitlin Hadley. She studied at Spence nearby. They stayed together as a couple, even through college. The distance between them was tough. Caitlin attended in, while he studied at in. He liked that she went to an all-girl’s college, as Simon was quite smitten with Caitlin, and it wasn’t exactly convenient for her to find another man. The guys visiting from didn’t turn her on the way Simon did. On vacations, they both returned to, a middle ground for their long-distance love affair. Simon kept a spacious apartment on the upper West side. After the relationship survived their college years, they moved in together. They were, by standards, the perfect couple ever since childhood.

People envied them and for good reason. They made a good team, financially and socially. They went to parties, the elegant kind where social etiquette meant everything. They were of the traditional cloth. Simon wore dark suits and blue woolen blazers. Caitlin liked elegant evening dresses, not too flashy, but more conservative. At most one could see her neck, shoulders, and her long milk-white arms. She belonged to a very traditional family, and reserved her sex appeal for their bedroom.

She donned earrings in front of the bedroom mirror when Simon noticed Caitlin all over again. She looked good in her silk bra, her panties barely covering what Simon could have lived with the rest of his life.

“Honey, do you think these earrings work, or do the other ones work better? I can’t decide.”

He put his arms around her.

“Simon, what are you doing?”

He kissed her at the nape of her neck. It excited her, but they were getting late.

“We have to go,” she giggled.

“Not if I don’t want to,” he said.

“And what would your father say if we didn’t show up?”

“He’d think we ran off to to get married.”

He kissed her full lips. Time was running short.

“C’mon, we better get dressed,” he said.

“You drive me mad when you do that.”

Simon donned his tuxedo. He tied the bow quickly, and it came to a perfect knot. Caitlin slipped into a black, silk dress. She put on the earrings she’d been deliberating over and also a diamond necklace her parents gave for her twenty-third birthday. They looked themselves over. Caitlin brushed lint off of Simon’s lapel, and after all was done, they admitted they looked stunning. A good pair they made.

The car service met them downstairs, and they were off to a residence, the home of Dennis Rawlins, a manager for a fund that invested in municipal projects. They passed the and the Planetarium. People on the street milled about, some of them tourists, but a lot of them residents who kept close to the park. Simon guessed they had upbringings very similar to his. They were sheltered, protected, and would turn out like their parents. Not such a bad thing, considering most people had a tough time of it, and those that had a tough time were always out to take what they had. People discriminated against the rich too, and if a man didn’t protect his wealth and his woman at the same time, some bandit would come out from underneath a rock and steal them from him. He didn’t think badly of the bandits, but that’s just the way things worked the world over. People stole. People fought for dollars, and if they didn’t, they got crushed. The only process that gave them a chance was the political process: a more civilized way of fighting. The poor protest, and that’s how they get their way. The rich use politics to defend their wealth, and somehow everything works out – the poor stay poor, and the rich keep their neighborhoods. Everyone belongs in their own places. Like attracts like.

Simon thought he had a flair for political reasoning. He learned it at. It’s no wonder that right out of college Simon took a post as a political fundraiser for one of his Dad’s friends.

In the plush of the car Simon’s eyes wandered over Caitlin. She was the type of woman only few men could afford. She loved the way she looked – a body like a swan’s. Smart too. She attended book clubs and rode horses and engaged herself in charity fundraisers, mostly for Spence, but for other causes as well. Simon had his Bouvier, and one day she would make a great congressman’s wife – his wife.

“What are you staring at,” she said as they sped through.

“Just thinking.”

“About what?”

“About us.”

She put her hand to his cheek. Her eyes were of the deepest blue. She belonged with him. She had his protection from hard realities, and in return she made love to him, took care of him, would bear his children, and run the household. She could work too, but that didn’t matter. In the end, he was the man she came running to when insecurity set in.

“You think too much,” she said.

“I have a lot to think about.”

“Like what?”

“Our future,” he smiled.

“Oh, Simon, you’re not saying what I think you’re saying?”

“Yes, darling. You’ll be the prettiest one at the party tonight.”

She gave him a poke in the ribs. He liked to tease her about their eventual marriage. They kissed for a spell. Her body had curves where they were supposed to be, her translucent skin perfumed and powdered, her lips like wild strawberries. She was Simon’s crowning achievement.

Many financiers were expected at Dennis Rawlin’s fundraiser. The incumbent congressman William Briarwood would be there with his entourage of politicos. Simon was his chief fundraiser, and Simon’s father a big contributor to the Briarwood reelection campaign.

Pressing palms and getting to know people had always appealed to Simon. As a young college student he was part of a political dinner club, always meeting people and making connections, always the merry host. Dennis Rawlins would take care of most of the meeting and greeting this time, leaving Simon to focus on the big game – the retirees and the ex-chairmen who wanted to keep the same flavor in the district. They were good men and also very powerful men, their sons and daughters following in their footsteps. They needed to keep property values high, crime low, taxes to a minimum, their neighborhoods safe and clean for the new crop of grandchildren. The nouveaux-riche, the immigrants, and liberals as risky as handouts invaded the old money on all sides. Briarwood campaigned to keep these people out. The party’s interests matched Simon’s. He wanted what they had, enjoyed their company, and in the hazy future he saw himself representing them on Capitol Hill. He did have an understanding of the poor situation, and the best way to take care of them involved charity and faith-based initiatives, not taxation.

He rehearsed these positions in his head in case he wandered into conversation with someone who might help him down the road. It was important to be clear about these things. He constantly prepared and polished his rhetoric, even for a party.

The doorman let them in, and they were surrounded by portraits on the walls, leather club chairs, and a three-tiered stone water fountain. It was delicately quiet in the lobby. It relaxed his mind. The slick marble floor paired with the fountain hinted of the. They could have been in a museum.

The elevator opened to a wide space with women in evening dresses and men in tuxedoes. Dennis Rawlins greeted them near the elevator doors. He looked healthy, fit, and a bit young for his age.

“Well, if it isn’t Simon Sample,” he said with a gruff. “So glad you could make it, and Caitlin you are as beautiful as ever.”

They exchanged handshakes and kisses. Simon and Caitlin moved into the thicket of conversation. Simon looked for Stewart Briarwood, the son of the congressman, the campaign manager, and the soon-to-be chief of staff. He found him talking to a younger girl, probably still in college. Simon couldn’t say what the two had in common, only that Stewart often had a string of one-night stands, and he’d land the girl all too easily.

“Well, well, well, look who’s here,” smiled Stewart, shaking his hand.

Stewart gave Caitlin a peck on the cheek.

“You look stunning this evening. You wouldn’t mind parting with her, would you buddy?”

“Only if you bring her back the way I found her,” said Simon, laughing.

“Hush, you guys,” she pouted. “Come with me,” she said to the young girl. “These men have no idea how to talk to a lady.”

The women walked off and chatted. A waiter served the men a couple of drinks. They clinked glasses.

“She’s looking very good, Simon. You’ve obviously made a happy woman out of her.”

“And you must be making plenty of women happy by the look of things.”

“It’s experience, Simon. One day I’ll show you how it’s done.”

Simon and Stewart were roommates at. It was hard to separate the two, but as far as differences go, Stewart preferred the fast lane, while Simon veered towards the slow and steady. They liked that about each other. They balanced each other out. Their fathers saw that they stuck together like brothers. Stewart was a couple years older, so he always had the upper hand in the relationship, but besides that, they had the same philosophies. Both wanted careers in, both were very ambitious, handsome, and successful at a mighty early age. Put the two together, and they could one day take over the government, not as outsiders, but as influential insiders, swaying their counterparts on the Hill and safeguarding mutual interests. They did have a rivalry going, a very polite one to see who would be more accomplished than the other. They climbed together, egged each other on, and played it out on the racquetball court at the City Athletic Club. Their games were long, and they both hated to lose.

“You may want to talk to Rawlins tonight,” said Stewart, “and also your father. They’re ready for another contribution. My Dad’s flying to early next week. He’s been worried about his attendance record lately. The liberals will probably use it against him.”

“What do the numbers look like?”

“I wouldn’t be drinking so much if we didn’t have a good lead going into this, but one thing we’ve learned over the years: you never take the numbers too seriously. We’re up, but the fat lady has a way of losing her voice right before her high note.”