Chapter 6

He woke up on the sofa with a bitter taste in his mouth, his tongue dry and his throat scratched by some demon who came into his dreams and sowed ideas of revenge. Revenge, and its best friend Anger, motivated him more than the dire consequence of confronting Stewart and his own father. He called both of them from the apartment that morning and made dinner arrangements. He stayed away from the club, as that’s where they wanted to go. Simon knew a scene would erupt, and so he skillfully made reservations for supper at the Carlyle. None of their cronies would be there. A completely different crowd, less political and more aristocratically chic, the Carlyle was Caitlin’s kind of place. She gave a dinner party there a year earlier attracting many of ‘s young and wealthy, just out of college and already placed in some of the most lucrative positions in.

Simon had a lot of champagne that night. He couldn’t remember the interior of the Carlyle, only the music of the band, the women in strapless dresses, clean-cut men in tuxedoes, their talk of travel to exotic places, their knowledge of each other, how alike they all were despite their varied occupations. There were people from the art world, the financial world, also the political, a few psychologists and psychiatrists thrown into the mix. They chatted about the most superficial topics, as Simon lost himself in political theory. Yet there was unity in the diversity of the crowd, yet not a single person of color in the crowd either. Most of them knew each other, it seemed. They connected like a noisy tribe. He remembered feeling superior to them, because at least he sought something a bit nobler. Representing their interests someday, yes, but also making a statement on responsibility at the same time. He saw himself as their leader, protecting them but pushing them further. And with the way Caitlin looked in the elegant shadows of the room, East Coast glamour draped over her ledean body, holding a flute of Dom Perignon, he knew he couldn’t be stopped. It was such an irony that a place once holding a sweet memory now became a damp cave where a showdown would take place.

He didn’t know what to make of his father. He still trusted him. He still believed that he acted in his best interests, but he never expected him to be corrupt. Simon had always been in awe of him. Now he saw him as just another man who not only sold out his son but also used the same methods of corruption in other business deals, getting his money unfairly and unethically. He couldn’t believe that about his father just yet, though. Perhaps there were circumstances beyond his control. Perhaps Simon witnessed the last of these transactions. He racked his brain trying to find good in what the two of them did. He couldn’t. He tried to find justification. He couldn’t.

He took a cab to the Carlyle on. By the time he arrived, Stewart and Charlie Sample were already seated in the Café. The whimsical murals by Marcel Vertes were unable to quell his anger. They were dressed professionally since they just got out of work. Simon, in his first couple of days without a job, looked unprofessional. He hadn’t shaved. Politeness and congeniality wasn’t a priority anymore. He was a bit out of tune with the rest of the people gathered there. He had been furious the entire ride over, but he made sure to give the two ample room to explain what had happened, to see if they would lie their way out of it or simply tell him the truth. He wanted to hear that this was all part of some master plan. Wonderful if that were the case, but he didn’t count on it.

His father always kept his cards close to his vest. Simon didn’t know how much he was worth, for instance, or how many properties throughout the nation he owned. There must have been a lot of low-income housing in low-income neighborhoods to justify paying off Briarwood. Money, it turned out, really was power, one of those rudimentary facts that he avoided all through childhood and adolescence only to discover it much too late in life when the choices had narrowed so finely that he doesn’t have any options any more. All the stuff we learn – how noble government can be – is replaced by the omnipotent knowledge that it’s the best government money can buy, the best system of justice money can buy, and the best army money can buy. It seemed like everyone but Simon already knew this.

Stewart and Charlie were curious of the idea of having dinner with Simon, especially at the Café Carlyle of all places. The place even smelled familiar to him, not of food but of a light and airy perfume that wafted over them, the drizzle of piano commingling with it. It made it hard to concentrate. The surroundings weren’t exactly conducive to a showdown. He felt like drinking and palling around with them like he used to do – a slap on the back, stories about wild days at Princeton, money moving markets, people they met recently. They betrayed him, yes, but he wanted them back. He loved the same people who caused his world to fall apart.

They all shook hands and ordered drinks.

“Simon’s always been a good sport,” announced his father.

“Yes,” said Stewart, “these are really tough times. We miss you around the office, Simon.”

“What’s everybody saying?”

“About you? Well, the fundraising team is suffering the most.”

“I take it they’re adjusting to Sarah?”

“We’re all adjusting to Sarah. She’s quite a go-getter.”

“Enough about business, boys,” said Charlie, taking out a cigar. “I want to hear where Simon and Caitlin are heading off to.”

“We haven’t decided yet, Dad, but you’ll be the first to know.”

“So what’s the occasion for this dinner, if I may be so bold to ask.”

“I feel as though I’m looking at you two for the last time,” said Simon.

Both of them chuckled.

“C’mon,” said Stewart, “we’re still part of the same club. We’re still buddies. I’ll see you every now and then.”

“And I’m still your father. You’re not getting rid of us that easily.”

“Maybe I’d like to.”

They looked at each other for a moment, and then a silence.

“Are you okay?” asked Stewart.

“I’m fine, but from what I can tell, you two are doing much better than I am.”

Stewart and Charlie again stared at each other.

“Look,” said Stewart, “I know you’re still pissed off about the job, but really, you’ve got to get over it.”

“Not this again,” sighed Charlie.

“I’m not going to explain it again.”

“So tell me, how long have you two been at it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Stewart.

“Don’t insult me. I’m not stupid.”

“What has gotten into you?” asked Charlie.

“Being hung out to dry by my best friend is one thing, but by my own father is quite another.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Simon, but one thing I don’t like is your fucking tone of voice.”

“What’s the matter, Dad? Can’t talk? Too many strategies going on in that corrupt head of yours?”

“That’s enough,” seethed Stewart.

Charlie put his hand on Stewart’s wrist, calming him. He smiled and hailed a waitress.

“Let’s have another drink, gentlemen,” said Charlie. “I’ll have a vodka martini, and the boys will have scotch and waters, isn’t that right boys?”

Finally he had seen the darker side of Stewart, the part that betrayed and double-dealt, hidden by a suit and tie and his pearly-white smile, the side that snorted cocaine and fooled around with bimboes in the shadows of a dance hall.

“So tell me – why didn’t you let me in on it? He’s my father, Stu, not yours. I happen to be his son, not you. At least you could have told me the truth about your little operation.”

“Settle down, boys, just settle down. We are, after all, at the Carlyle, remember?”

“You’re right, Dad. You better tame your pet before things get out of hand.”

“You’re such an idiot,” said Stewart. “You’ve always been an idiot.”

“Settle down, Stewart, settle down,” said Charlie, relieved when the drinks arrived.

Amazing how cool and calm his father was. He seemed to be enjoying himself.

Stewart took a deep breath, and Simon had a long sip of his drink. It made him less nervous, more honest, and more confident.

“What do you think happened with your job?”

“You were bribing Briarwood, the opposition found out about it, and they went ahead and published it. In case the story hit the big press, you guys needed a patsy to take the blame, so you let me go as a precaution. You also didn’t want me to know about it, thinking that I would do something stupid and blow the whistle.”

Charlie Sample smiled and took a sip of his martini.

“Y’know, son, that type of thinking can be harmful for your career.”

“Coming from a man who has just bribed a congressman, I’d be more concerned about your career.”

“What are you? A priest?” said Stewart, a snarl on his face.

“Can you prove your theory?” asked Charlie. “It seems a little too fantastic to be believed.”

“What? That you’re bribing Briarwood?”

“Yes. A little too farfetched, wouldn’t you say?”

“His head has always been in the clouds,” said Stewart. “Building bridges in the sky.”

“Yeah, I went so far up in the clouds that I found out about your little business enterprise. And to think you could do such a thing. With my own father.”

“Hey, son of mine, the way I do business clothed you and put you through college. You have no right to judge me or how I do my business, got that?”

Charlie straightened his tie and swept what remained of his hair into place. His father rarely got angry with him. He was as bad as Stewart, a hidden personality that erupted when something affected his wallet. These were sides of them he had never before seen, and these sides didn’t scare him so much as bewildered him.

Simon wondered why he had never developed such a passion for money, or never found a darkness that he could rely on when circumstances threatened his welfare. He didn’t exactly want to be in league with them but wondered instead what set him so far apart – all of this crap about justice and legality and service, and in the back of his mind, morality really did seem like crap. This wasn’t grammar school. It was a dangerous lesson on how the system worked and what happened when politics and money collided. He had been under the illusion that policy was the result of sound thinking, but considering Stewart’s fixed gaze, like he wanted to kill him, he had to consider that at heart a politician protects himself, and a wise policy is the result of keeping his enemies well fed and his friends loyal. The people are secondary to the organism, and Stewart and Charlie were a part of that organism, an apparatus that fed just like any other creature.

“C’mon, Simon,” said Stewart, “let’s stop this. We’re not getting anywhere.”

“Admit it then. I’m not stupid. Why don’t you just admit it.”

“Admit to what?” asked Charlie.

“The truth. Why don’t you let me in to your little plan for my future.”

“Walk away from this,” said Stewart. “That’s all you have to do. This is the last time we’re going to ask you.”

“And what if I don’t?”

“We’ll just see what develops, that’s all.”

“I want my job back. It’s what I’m good at. I can’t function without my job. It’s who I am.”

“In future we’ll bring you back.”

“How long?”

“Soon.”

“How soon?”

“It’s too difficult to tell.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“And what are you prepared to do about it?”

“I can do quite a bit – of damage.”

“So it’s come down to this?”

“You’re giving me no other choice,” said Simon.

“Let’s see what he does,” said Charlie. “This is your last warning, Simon.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

“You’ll wreck your entire career.”

“There’s a right way and a wrong way to go about things. At least I’ll go to my grave knowing that there’s a right way, and I did things the right way.”

“Then I guess your future is in la-la land, because you, my dear boy, have no idea what you’re getting yourself into. It’s a long way to your grave.”

“You foolish sonofabitch,” said Stewart. “Don’t you dare go to the press.”

“Don’t worry,” said Charlie, “he’s always learned things the hard way. And we’ve got one important advantage: we know what he’s going to do.”

His father said this with a smile. It infuriated him. He didn’t know much about how his father worked. Actually he didn’t know much about him at all, only the kind, generous man who always supported him and always pushed him, not all the time but at intervals in his life, when he came home from Exeter, for instance, or when he saw Caitlin and they needed the luxury of a good meal, or when he needed money to help out a friend. The cruel understanding that his father was a cold-headed businessman never really found him before. Perhaps his father saw Stewart as a better son to him than he ever was. They certainly had more in common, as Simon always played dumb to the real world, while Stewart, it seemed, had his knees deep in it. Stewart and Charlie made a good pair, and by the looks of things they were going to make a formidable challenge to whatever ideals he had developed over the years. And then he considered that maybe he alone flew too high for his own good, all this shit about justice and tradition and the death penalty for murderers. What he sought seemed a little vague, a little too high a reach for his grasp. It scared him that they pulled him down to a gritty reality where neither vision nor ideal mattered. Only the organism for which they hunted mattered.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out about it?” asked Simon.

“All you have to do right now is walk away,” said Stewart. “That’s all you have to do.”

“Son, you’re hurting me right now. I feel hurt by this scandalous accusation, and you’re biting the hands that are feeding you.”

“Just walk away,” said Stewart.

“And to think my own father did this to me.”

“No one has done anything to you. It’s a vacation. And if you go to the press, don’t expect me to bail you out. Don’t call me your father. Don’t expect anything but dire consequences.”

“You were never going to tell me, were you? You were going to put the blame on me if it ever hit the papers.”

“Walk away, Simon,” said Stewart. “This is not the time to be pondering hypothetical situations.”

“You take that vacation and take it quietly, or you’ll never work in this town again.”

“I think I’ve said all I need to say,” said Simon, finishing his drink and then leaving the Carlyle.

When he got home a half-hour later, he found Caitlin pacing the room.

“Where were you?” she asked, a lit cigarette between her fingers.

“I was out with Stewart.”

“I don’t like this one bit.”

“Don’t like what?”

“That you never tell me where you’re going or what you’re doing.”

“I just told you where I was.”

“Fine, Simon, fine. You did tell me, but you never tell me anything. You run around and make all these plans without me.”

He sat her down on the sofa. She shook with anxiety.

“When are we going away?” she asked.

“I can’t do that. I can’t go away right now.”

“But we agreed.”

“I can’t, darling, I can’t. I have to fight this. And if I don’t fight it, it will always be there in the back of my mind, telling me what a weakling I am.”

“A weakling? You? What is this, some kind of test of your manhood or something?”

“Nothing like that at all. We have to fight this.”

“Fight what?”

“It’s complicated, okay? It’s very complicated.”

“No, Simon, you’re making it complicated. That’s all you do is build complication upon complication. Life turns one way, you turn the other. Who cares about what happened? So it happened. We move on.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Yes it is that simple. Stewart is your best friend. Charlie is your father, and he loves you.”

“Who said anything about my father?”

“What?”

“Who said anything about my father?”

“You’re avoiding the issue. That’s what you do, you avoid the issue, complicate matters, and then when it comes time to do something, you do nothing at all.”

“They called you, didn’t they? Well, you were bound to find out sooner or later. This time I’m doing something about it.”

“Yeah, they called me. You’re biting the hands that are feeding you. And what will come of it, really? You’ll make enemies out of your dearest friends, and you won’t become a congressman, that’s for sure, not to mention what will happen to our lives.”

He considered it seriously now. It was just like him to be flaky when it came to decision-making. He always asked for advice, and as soon as he heard it, he delved into complicated scenarios of what could happen, and more often than not he thought himself into a box, the kind that undertakers shovel dirt on.

Stewart and Charlie acted like they were possessed by some demon feeding from their darkness. They looked like animals ready to eat flesh, and his father was an animal, but an animal glazed over by years of playing hardball. Surely his father had enemies. As of yet, though, Simon had no enemies, and the thought of making enemies out of the ones closest to him manifested itself in the beads of sweat gathering at his brow, the hot, feverish delirium that comes with knowing that in order to get anywhere, one had to have enemies, that one always had to step on somebody’s toes, or to take it to an extreme – one man’s death became another man’s breakfast. Whether or not he could be so bold befuddled whatever intentions he originally had. He just wasn’t that strong. His version of battle was something out of King Arthur’s court, a war so well-mannered and dignified that sportsman’s-like conduct warranted a shaking of hands afterwards. Stewart and Charlie wouldn’t fight that way. Money, it seemed, made enemies out of these people, and where there is money, there’s an awkward legitimacy to corruption within a gargantuan political machine. He should have expected it, but at the same time he couldn’t believe that he of all people got stuck in the middle of it.

“It’s the way of the world,” said Caitlin. “Can’t you just go along with it? It’s foolish. You’re acting like a dumb fool.”

“Yeah, but then I can’t live with myself.”

“Who the hell appointed you God?”

“No one did.”

“You have to give a little bit. We all collaborate. This is a free country, Simon. What you see as corrupt are just unwritten rules. You’ve already gotten away with a lot by confronting them. I’m begging you, stop this. We all have to compromise. This is not a perfect world, and you know that.”

Then the flutter of his own heart. They could devour him alive. But what of his moral strength, and the assumption that good does win out every time? He was no saint, either. He too drank a bit much from time to time. A couple years back he cheated on Caitlin. He didn’t give a damn about the poor – thought them lazy in fact.

He left the conversation at that, his mind already made up. He would expose this corruption even though it may derail the Briarwood campaign. Hell, he could become the darling of the press corps, maybe even run in Briarwood’s place. They would find it tough to win an election in the midst of such scandal. And part of him did want to prove something after all, prove to Stewart that he was no chump, no whimp who just did what he was told, that he could be a monster too, just like them.

They didn’t make love in the darkness of their bedroom. They both stared at the ceiling for time, and then Caitlin rolled the other way, leaving him to wonder what might happen to them. He did have a responsibility to her. A scandal would reduce her status and throw her butterfly-world into chaos. If he fell, she too would fall. The longer they stayed together, the more attached he became, and maybe they were getting too close. He would have liked to keep work a separate issue, let her do her own thing and he his. And as he reached out to touch her velvety skin, she pulled away. She could be cruel when she wanted to. She was unhappy with him. He felt her unhappiness. The last thing he wanted was to disappoint her. An absence of struggle, it seemed, had always kept them going as a couple.

The sunshine blared into the room shortly after he fell asleep. The heat on his body pulled him out of an uneasy slumber. He reached for Caitlin through the tangle of sheets but found only the warmth of where she had lain. Apparently she left in the early hours of the morning, an unusual departure, because Caitlin always slept later than he did. Simon figured she had some thinking to do and took a walk around the reservoir, in spandex no less. She did it more for the fashion statement than the exercise, and while something about this tickled him, it also conjured up images of lonely men trying to pick her up and the attention she gets, as though all of mysteriously bowed to her or any beautiful woman running in spandex. What they talked about really didn’t matter to her. She always carried on as blithely as ever.

He put on a coal black suit and a black striped tie. He liked the feel of it on his body. The last couple of days he had been in rags, it seemed, and his change of appearance, clean-shaven and all, brought him a lightness of mood that touched upon a belated self-assuredness. He wanted to impress Angela Ruiz, not only with his grammar but also his native good looks, not necessarily his charm and his wealth, but his intelligence, as conservatives can be just as intelligent as those loud liberals who want to change everything. He looked responsible, not moral but devilishly smart, not preppy but city slick as though something within him had graduated. Perhaps he felt the sting of being suckered, and his willingness to fight made him more of a man, more seductive and street-wise.

He strutted into the office of the liberal paper hoping to attract the attentions of the women hunched over their desks and reading horoscopes. The receptionist responded to him immediately.

“I need to see Angela Ruiz.”

“Right this way.”

She must have smelled his cologne. ‘The man of my dreams,’ she must have thought.

Angela stared into her computer screen. She wore rose-colored glasses and looked like she just finished a class on meditation or the healing arts.

“Sit down,” she said, surprised.

“Don’t worry, you won’t need the security guard. Are you busy?”

“What can I help you with, Mr. Sample?”

“Call me Simon.”

“Okay, Simon.”

“I’ve been thinking things over.”

“And?”

“Well, let’s just say that I want to come clean about the Briarwood scandal.”

“As of right now there is no ‘scandal,’ but obviously you’re going to make it one.”

“You’ve already made it one,” he said. “I’m just here to be interviewed.”

“What’s my next question, Simon?”

“You want to know why I want to widen a scandal that so far doesn’t exist. And to answer that, I’ll tell you straight up, that it isn’t any of your business.”

“What is my business then? What’s your side of the story?”

“That my father is bribing Bill Briarwood.”

“And I can quote you on that? Wouldn’t Daddy take away your monthly allowance?”

He got pissed off at this remark but played it cool.

“Not when my monthly salary is so paltry that it amounts to your yearly salary.”

She smiled at this. Simon knew right away that she labored hard for the Hispanic opposition and that her reporting served as some sort of cover.

“So you’re telling me that Charlie Sample is bribing Bill Briarwood – theBill Briarwood – and I can quote you?”

“Yes.”

“How long have you known about this?”

“After your brilliant article I did a little investigating myself and found that you were right.”

“The tax credits too?”

“I didn’t get that far. All I know is that my father has been bribing the congressman.”

“But it’s your own father.”

“Let’s just say that he likes to test me.”

“You’re playing a game with him?”

“This is no game,” said Simon, leaning back. “I just knew it had to stop.”

“And you told him it had to stop?”

“I told him that it was wrong. That’s not the way government should be run.”

“I see.”

“It really shouldn’t. Listen, there will always be money in politics, but bribing a congressman for tax breaks, well, that’s not my brand of government.”

“You are talking about a very powerful congressman -”

“– who’s about to win an election by a landslide, I know.”

“I’d say you’re crazy,” she said, her wild hazel eyes hungry for more. “How much has your father been paying him?”

“I can’t say, but it’s a lot. Briarwood’s getting a little old, you know.”

“So Briarwood himself may not know?”

“Or he’s forgotten about it. He doesn’t know where the money comes from. That’s my job, and I ran a tight ship. We complied with every regulation, really we did. I made sure of it. I reported directly to Stewart Briarwood.”

“So Stewart Briarwood knows.”

“He does a lot more than know these things.”

“You mean he orchestrated this whole thing?”

“I wouldn’t say that, because I don’t know where this all started, honestly. I don’t know what started it, but it’s been going on for a while.”

He believed he knew what he was doing. And in the midst of talking to Angela, who by this time perked up and hung on his every word, he couldn’t help but think of where the time went. A moment passed before him in which this huge confession tumbled out of his mouth without his paying attention to it. His surroundings had been suspended, and he couldn’t help but think about Caitlin circling the reservoir in spandex. Perhaps he had been too hasty. Things used to be much simpler – just go to school, drink beer with lots of women around at some basement bar, the music jamming and nothing to worry about except getting up at the next day. While talking to Angela he didn’t understand why time moved on in this manner. One minute he toasted the Manhattan skyline on his best friend’s boat, and then the next minute he fought bitterly with him, becoming a greedy and needy person, trying to drive a point home or changing the world to his liking.

He knew Caitlin before the world got in the way, and the more he talked, the more this netherworld closed like an aperture that zeroed on a kiss and then squeezed it into darkness. He missed her already. He missed Stewart already, and perhaps he made a foolish mistake. He never wanted to cross his father and never wanted to disappoint Caitlin. It all seemed like such a tragic mistake just as the most damaging corroboration hit Angela’s ears.

“We’ll go to print as soon as possible. You understand that, right?” she asked.

“Right,” he said, exasperated.

She slid over a business card and told him to call if he wanted another interview. The entire event saddened him, almost like a complete defection to the other side if only to prove a point, if only to flex his muscles for two people he thought he knew.

He kept it from Caitlin. She was as cold as a fish when he tried to explain. She didn’t want to hear it. She ignored him, even though he tried hard to warm up to her.

“How about dinner tonight?”

“I’m tired.”

“So where are you going?”

“I’m seeing a friend of mine.”

“Whom?”

“Lucy. She’s picking a gift out for her brother’s birthday.”

“But why can’t we go to dinner? You see Lucy all the time.”

“She’s leaving for, and I don’t want to miss her.”

It went on for several days, this fishy coldness, refusing to tell him directly, giving mixed signals in and out of the bedroom. He tried talking to her in the darkness, rubbing his cold feet against her legs, as he had always done.

“Let’s take a vacation,” he said, rolling into her.

“I’m trying to sleep.”

“C’mon, let’s take a vacation. How about?”

“Too much to do in the city.”

“How about Vegas? Remember when we lost all of our money?”

“I’m not inclined to lose money.”

“How about? A lot of my old buddies are in. We can look them up and go sailing on the.”

“Please, I’m trying to sleep.”

“How about or? I’ve always loved cornfields and penguins.”

“Now you want to go on vacation? Now? Don’t be ludicrous. You made your bed, and now you sleep in it. Next time you decide to ruin our lives I’d like to be considered.”

It ended like this several nights in a row, and Simon worried himself to death. How long would she stay mad at him? She swung the other way, far out from under him. They were two threads unraveling. Every time he brought the issue to her attention, she got annoyed with him. They were no longer living it up like they used to.

Simon refused to see Stewart and Charlie and also felt the pang of separation, as though a huge chunk of him fell out. He missed going to the club and hanging out with them, smoking cigars and talking politics. They were always more realistic, and in retrospect he had little idea where his sense of purpose and moral justice came from. The other two always talked about free markets and how most people were stupid – ‘the masses are asses,’ Charlie kept saying. And he missed his father. He felt sorry for hurting him, but Charlie hurt him first, and he did it in the worst way. He deceived him knowingly and willfully. Hell, he missed Caitlin, and he slept right next to her.