Echo House (26 page)

"Your father and I are in the same business, more or less. Remarkable man."

"Business?" Alec asked innocently. All his life people had confided that they knew his father, pronouncing the words solemnly,
your father,
never
Axel.
And they grinned when they said them, as if acquaintance with this remarkable man made them both remarkable men, with shared values, such as absolute discretion and hard-won knowledge of the way the world worked.

"Politics," Red Lambardo said easily. "And lending whatever support and expertise we can to the fine new team at bat. I saw him in Palm Beach yesterday. Sitting in the warm sun with the President, everyone in shorts and polo shirts and your father in his dark suit and white shirt, bow tie, black shoes. Jack says, Axel, don't you ever relax?' And your father takes off his wristwatch and puts it on the table. Jack laughed like hell. We all did."

Alec admired the opening gambit, Red Lambardo establishing his bona fides; it was the sort of remark the President might make, if he had said anything at all and if Lambardo had actually been there to hear it. You listened to stories about "Jack" all the time, what he liked to eat and drink, witty remarks that he made, his prowess on the golf course, his aches and pains; and other stories, none of them verifiable. Probably the same thing was true of the Pope or Chairman Mao, mysterious personalities whose offhand remarks proved that they were only human after all, with good close friends to prove it. Red was smiling and shaking his head, all the time looking inquisitively at Alec, apparently expecting a reply of some kind, perhaps an anecdote in return, a lively anecdote that might up the ante. But Alec only turned to Leila and raised his eyebrows. Isn't it time to go? Shall we get out of here? Lloyd was still conferring earnestly with Hugo Borne. André was staring into the middle distance, sipping wine. Wilson Slyde was casually eavesdropping.

"Jo said you were a friend of Leila's and might be along after dinner. So I'm glad we have a chance to meet and say hello."

"Red, darling," Josephine said. "It's late."

"In a minute," Red said, leaning forward and flexing his fingers like a pianist. "You would have liked it in Palm Beach, Alec. The weather was superb and everyone was friendly and relaxed. Lots of pretty girls around. The enthusiasm was infectious. La Bella Figura was there with your father and she had brought her sister. She's an actress also; isn't that right? They look so much alike we called them Una and Due. Hard to keep our minds on business with those two going through their paces, Una on the high board and Due on the low. Even so, Allen's threat assessments were sobering. We're playing a hot hand right now but the enemy hasn't gone away. He's only underground, planning some crisis we can't even imagine. What do you do, Alec?"

"Lawyer," Alec said. Paulina went everywhere with Axel, but surely he would have drawn the line at Palm Beach, if not with Paulina at least with her sister. Axel did as he damn well pleased, but this was hard to believe.

"Only the other day the President was saying we need some fresh blood, people who know where their loyalties lie. The Attorney General was emphatic on that point also. Folks like Leila here, and Jo and Hugo and our new friend, Wilson. Foreign policy's the key, of course, and we still have too many square pegs in round holes. It's such a simple thing, loyalty, but you'd be surprised how quickly people forget the simple things. The campaign'll be hard fought and fortunately we won't have that bastard Nixon to worry about. Of course we're looking for the best people, loyal people with brains and initiative, people who can be trusted, tough people, can-do people who enjoy their work. You'd've loved Palm Beach, so groovy." He smiled wistfully. "So you're a lawyer. Ever think about politics?"

"My father takes care of the politics in our family."

Red Lambardo chuckled; of course he understood about the father. "The great thing about the law is that it's fungible and you can practice it anywhere. It's fine training. It rewards precision and thorough preparation. And of course discretion."

"He works for me," Lloyd said suddenly.

"My God," Red said. "Of course that's right! Axel mentioned it when Jack asked after young Alec here. Jack knew he'd been to the law school and done well, and it was only a matter of time before he went into the family business, ha-ha. Axel said you've got quite a firm on that La Salle Street there—"

"Red," Jo said.

"Later," Red said without looking at her. "So you've got Alec here as a partner."

"Not a partner quite yet," Lloyd said.

"Ah," Red said, turning again to Alec. "All in good time, I would imagine."

"So would I," Lloyd said.

Alec listened to this with growing disbelief, wondering how much was fact and how much fiction and how much fantasy. He reckoned it worked out in thirds. Red Lambardo was making quite an effort, and he did not look like a man who often made efforts, at least to thirty-year-old Chicago lawyers. He wondered again if Lambardo had actually been to Palm Beach; and if he was as loose as he sounded or if this was the satiric first act of his own two-act play, the tragedy arriving in act two.

"Thing is, with private law, it's a hell of a long apprenticeship and you're as old as Gepetto before you're making the shoes; do you see what I'm saying here? It's the wills and the trusts that get a man down, the title searches and so forth and so on, while so many young men—and women, too!—have come to Washington to work for our administration. Public service, that's the thing. But of course you know all that."

"You were an economist," Alec said.

"Am," Red said. "Still am."

"Working then at Treasury?"

"No, they're monetary over there. I'm fiscal."

"I see," Alec said. "The House Ways and Means Committee?"

"The House of Representatives? No, they're slow on the Hill. They're tortoises; no place for a man who likes to get things done lickety-split, no fuss, no broken dishes. No, I'm in another activity altogether—"

Act two, Alec thought.

"—Fact is, I'm over at State heading up a working group on the Caribbean. Me and three others and a small staff to push the paper around, cryptology and so forth and so on, procurement..." Alec noticed that Lloyd had begun another conversation with André and Hugo Borne, and Leila was preoccupied with Jo. Wilson Slyde was listening hard to Red, and from the expression on his face he did not like what he was hearing. Red motioned for Alec to lean close so that he could talk without being overheard. "And we have need for an outside man, someone who can speak with authority, someone who can brief the reporters, Diplomatic Correspondents they call themselves"—Red looked up and grinned wolfishly—"and this man must be absolutely trustworthy, a man who knows the score, wasn't born yesterday, and's been around Washington for more than a minute and a half. Knows who counts and not only because he can read newspapers. He knows who counts because he knows them personally, has been inside their homes, knows their wives and children. This calls for a man who knows that in Washington even the skeletons have skeletons; and he's made their acquaintance, rattled their bones. Are you in the picture? This isn't something that's going to last forever, at least I hope to God it isn't going to last forever, because I hope to move on in a year. A reform of the tax code leading to a redistribution of wealth is my special interest, and I know it's yours as well, and when I move on my team will move with me. And I'm reporting to Highest Levels, Alec, not some la-di-da flunky in the State Department. See, we all have to get our feet wet sometime, don't we?"

"You want a press spokesman."

"That's correct, Alec."

"Without any experience," Alec said. "At all. Nil."

"Without the wrong kind of experience," Red said. "The trouble with most spokesmen is that they have too much experience, none of it pertinent. Most of them are retreads with drinking problems and too many friendships, and the kind of cynicism that comes from sitting in the bleachers too far from the field. They're sun-struck. They've been looking at things in the glare for too long, and don't know how it is up close, six or seven decent hard-working men sitting around a table trying to get something done, move the country forward. It's
our turn
and the old farts have got to step aside. We need people who understand the modern world and aren't afraid of it. Who understand also the world beneath the bleachers, where things aren't so pretty, and where the sun never shines."

Red sighed heavily and pinched his nose, closing his eyes; what a long day it had been, doing the nation's business. "They're old," he went on. "They don't like to work on Sunday or their wife's birthday or the long Labor Day weekend or when their kid has a piano recital, and they don't know how to function as a team with a single objective: help the man the American people elected President. They've been stenographers for so long they don't know how to
think.
They're still worrying about the evening deadline and the lead of the story and what kind of fancy splash they can make if it's on page one with their by-line front and center. Thing is, Alec. Loyalty's not their long suit. But it's my long suit. And it's the President's and the Attorney General's long suit. And I'm betting that it's your long suit."

Alec looked at him, allowing the silence to lengthen. "Did you speak to Axel about this?"

"No," Red said, looking offended. "Of course not. Would it make a difference if I had?"

"What's in the Caribbean?" He wanted to hear Red's version.

"A dictator, worse than Stalin. Who's defying the President of the United States."

"And your 'working group'—"

Red Lambardo shook his head, no details on that; he pushed his fists together, meaning that the facts, whatever they were, were tightly held. "I can tell you that Wilson has been acting as our press spokesman, doing a fine job, although there hasn't been much to say so far. As you can see, Wilson's young and we need someone with more experience or, as I've said, the right kind of experience. Everything depends on the presentation. That's the
test,
you see." He glanced at Wilson Slyde, who was staring sullenly at his empty wine glass. "Sometimes you need merely a wink and a nod, especially now that things are going to get complicated. Controversial, even. Sometimes just one word does the job, if it's the right word in the right ear. So that's where we are. Interested?"

"Not really," Alec said, looking sideways at Wilson Slyde, whose expression had not changed, except that Alec had mistaken sullenness for fury. God alone knew what effort it had taken Wilson Slyde to make a place for himself at the table, and now it was about to be snatched away. "It's Wilson's job. Let him do it."

"Mistake," Red Lambardo said coldly. "Big mistake; you don't know what you're missing."

"Yes, he does," Wilson said. "He knows what it is. It's a field hand's work. Leave it to the field hand. Leave it to the nigger."

Red smashed his fist on the table and snarled, "Never use that word again in my presence, Wilson." Red flicked an imaginary ash from the lapel of his jacket, stretched, and got up stiffly, shaking the creases from his trousers. On his feet he looked nothing like a cowboy. He was stoop-shouldered and uncoordinated, with the beginnings of a pot belly. Jo rose at once and Lambardo went directly to her, pausing to lay a brotherly hand on Wilson's shoulder, squeezing harder than he needed to. He whispered something in Jo's ear. She laughed and executed a little shimmy, turning to say goodbye to Leila and Hugo, nodding at Lloyd and André. She did not look at Wilson or Alec. She seemed suddenly very young and vivacious, not at all stürmisch. When he first saw Jo, Alec thought of a drill sergeant. Now she looked like a starlet. Red Lambardo took her by the arm and they swept from the room.

Alec said to Wilson, "Isn't he a peach?"

"Mr. Red is a man with many friends and convictions to match," Wilson said.

"What is he doing here?" Alec said to Leila.

"He represents some people who have an interest in our work. Jo brought him."

"What's he offering? An invitation to Palm Beach?"

Leila smiled demurely. "That's not the half of it."

"Time to pack it in," Lloyd said. "If I could have a minute alone with Alec?"

They stood in a corner of the room and Alec explained that the negotiations were stalled, the young publisher in a panic and the senator only slightly less so. They wanted Lloyd Fisher in person, not Lloyd Fisher's assistant. I was going to call you, Alec said. When Lloyd raised his eyebrows, Alec added that the matter of the television license was more complicated than he thought, meaning more political; and he felt he was not fully in the picture. Lloyd nodded; that was true and he apologized for it. In fact the senator felt that Alec had not been adequately briefed on the importance of the case. No complaints about your lawyering, Lloyd said; no complaints about your grasp of the facts of the case. Question here of getting a piece of paper from an in-box to an out-box, and lawyering doesn't come into it. There were subtleties involving two members and some staff of the commission, where the matter would eventually be decided. Private discussions were necessary. As you know, Lloyd said, it was an absolute must that the television license be awarded to the publisher, because the publisher was the senator's ally and around election time put all his resources, financial and editorial, to work for the senator. A television license added mightily to the resources, guaranteed them, as it were. And it all came down to moving a piece of paper from an in-box to an out-box.

Damnedest thing. Television's like the Hearst press in the old days. You make money faster than you can count it, and then you elect a man to make sure you keep it.

You've done a good job, Lloyd said. Don't worry about it. But for the next week or so the negotiations would get contentious, and he, Lloyd, would handle that end himself. He smiled and threw a fatherly arm around Alec's shoulder. You need a linguist's knowledge of the subjunctive voice and full command of the many verbs that march up to a subject without quite surrounding it, a different climate altogether than Chicago's, less raw, less windy, more humid. They'll do anything in this town; they just don't like to admit they're doing it. You'd say it's a simple matter of not wanting to get caught and of course that's true. But it was also true that if you explored a matter with subtlety, a sort of formal reconnaissance in force such as the Chinese are so fond of, then one plain fact could assume many identities—a bribe became an impropriety, the impropriety an irregularity, and the irregularity a misunderstanding. Many suits of armor, as it were, depending always on the verb that doesn't quite surround the subject. In any case the clients demanded his personal intervention. Principals only, he added pointedly. I'll give you an oral report, he said. I'll fill you in on all the grammar, since you'll be doing it yourself soon.