When Love Calls (9 page)

“I could have saved her. If I’d only known, but he didn’t want me to, he wanted to control her.”

“Grandma…”

“He was the wrong man for her,” Allie insisted.

“He was the man she chose.”

“I don’t know why. The man is trash.”

“Grandma, my dad is a part of me. How can you love all of me and hate him so much?”

Allie reached over and touched her granddaughter’s face, seeing her daughter’s eyes shining back at her. “Sweetheart, you know I love you, you’re everything to me.”

“Then how can you hate Dad so much if you love me?”

Allie’s eyes teared up and a shadow of sadness covered her face. “I wanted so much more for her. Her future was limitless, but all they wanted was to be in love. I tried everything to stop it.”

“You mean, you tried to break them up?” Alyssa asked, hearing this for the first time.

“Destiny always gets its way. But I know what being in love is like, the pain, the hurt and despair. It’s never worth it.”

“But you were in love once. I mean, what about Grandpa?”

Allie smiled and nodded. “He was a sweet man, but love, I don’t really know…”

“What do you mean? You had to love him. You married him and had Mom with him. How could you not love him?”

“It was a different time.”

“What does that mean?”

She looked off across the room with pain in her eyes. Alyssa didn’t know what to make of her. She’d heard the horror stories about love so many times she could recite them in her sleep, but this new look of sadness and loss was different.

“When your mother married your father, it broke my heart, but she loved him fiercely and he loved her. Unlike so many others, their love was meant to be, but not meant to last.” She continued, staring a moment, then started talking about when her mother was a teenager.

“I wish you knew her,” Allie said, reaching over to hold Alyssa’s hand and squeeze.

“I wish I did, too.”

Alyssa smiled. Katherine was her mother, and as always, her grandmother didn’t remember a thing from earlier. It was as if it never happened.

Chapter 6

W
ith footfalls echoing in perfect harmony, two men walked through the immaculate halls of the Capitol Building. Its pristine walls of marble and slate reflected the grand achievements of the past and the ghosts that still haunted, begging their due. This was the birthplace of independence. This was Congress, the Senate Building.

Past lines of pillars and portraits, they continued into the inner chambers where lawmakers performed the enormous tasks of changing laws and governing “we, the people.” It was late, but the building was still crowded.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say we were being conned by the good senators,” Randolph said quietly as they walked.

Senator Andre Hart smirked then chuckled. “Of course we’re being conned, this is the federal government. Every lobbyist’s dream is to have a senator in their pocket.”

“Cynical?” Randolph said, smiling knowingly. His friend’s aversion to lobbyists was well known, and rightly so. His second wife, now his ex, was a lobbyist who loved, married and divorced him all to further her career. In doing so, she nearly destroyed his reputation. The experience completely blindsided him, leaving a bitter aftertaste.

“Just a little,” Andre responded sarcastically.

Randolph chuckled. “I don’t think the Appropriations Committee will give senators Goode and Hastings much backing for the program they’re proposing. After all, they can’t even rally enough support from their fellow committee members.”

“They’re just making noise. More than likely, what they really want to do is deflect media attention away from Senator Goode’s legal troubles. The Senate Ethics Committee is still convening testimony. The two senators go way back, and I’m sure Hastings is just trying to lend a hand,” Andre added.

“I can’t see that making much of a difference,” Randolph said. “The Justice Department is all over him. Tax fraud, obstruction of justice, interfering with a federal investigation.” He shook his head. “If he’s indicted and reprimanded again or caught with his hand in a lobbyist’s pocket, the Ethics Committee will fry him.”

Andre nodded. “Not to mention that extramarital affair and heaven knows what else he’s got his fingers in. The man’s way past shooting himself in the foot. He’s on to political suicide.”

“But that’s insane. Even members of his own party are steering clear of him. Keeping a lid on this controversy is impossible. It’s spinning out of control and his press aide is constantly under siege by reporters.”

Andre nodded. “It’s a political crisis of his own making, but nobody ever said that politicians were sane.”

“True, that,” Randolph agreed.

The two continued walking, talking in hushed tones discussing the ramifications of the meeting. “I think I’ll give the good senator my opinion first thing tomorrow morning,” Andre said.

Randolph chuckled. “What, and let him off the hook that easily? I don’t think so.”

“I just want to be done with it. The last thing I need is for the little twerp to be on my case for the next two days.”

“But letting him sweat over the weekend would be…” Randolph began, stopping in front of Andre’s office.

Andre laughed out loud and nodded. “Would be…just perfect. Yes, Senator, I like the way you think. Why should he have a good weekend? Think I’ll follow your lead and let him sweat it out a bit.”

“That’s what I’m talking about,” Randolph said. “Still, I’m wondering why they came to us. We’re not exactly partial to this issue, and the fact that we’re sponsoring the lobbyist reform bill should have given them pause.”

“Hastings is still testing the waters and trying to put a positive spin on it. The election is in three years and his name is already on the ballot, been there since 1980. He wants to appeal to minority voters, and lassoing two African-American senators would look great for photo ops.”

“Now, wouldn’t that be a picture?” Randolph said. “I’ll have to dig out my dad’s old dashiki and Afro pick.”

“Think I’ll let my hair grow and get it braided.”

The two men broke up laughing. They continued laughing as several aides hurried by, barely breaking stride.

“I know the word is out, but I get the feeling Hastings’s heart just isn’t in it,” Randolph said.

“I agree, but he’s backed into a corner,” Andre added.

“Most definitely.”

“Family expectations are the worst motivations,” Andre concluded.

The two stood a moment longer, talking off topic and more about their weekend social plans.

“So, how was that event you attended last night?” Andre asked.

“Interesting, very interesting, you should have gone.”

“Tickets to a Nationals game trumps a political event any-day, you know that.”

“My bad,” Randolph said, smiling.

“Looks like you enjoyed yourself.”

“What makes you say that?” Randolph asked.

“I don’t know, possibly that huge smile plastered on your face. If it got any wider, you’d have to register it in another district.”

Randolph chuckled, then smiled even wider. “You know me too well. Let’s just say it was an extremely memorable evening.”

“How so? No, wait, let me guess. There’s a woman, isn’t there?” Randolph started laughing. Andre nodded. “Yep, there always is.”

“She’s different,” Randolph defended.

“Really, what does she do?”

Randolph laughed again. “She’s a lobbyist.”

Andre shook his head. “Been there, done that. Suicide, man, political suicide.”

“Hey, you guys hanging out in the hallways nowadays?”

Randolph and Andre turned and acknowledged another senator, Bob Wellington, coming down the hall toward them.

“Don’t you know the offices are all bugged?” Andre said jokingly. Randolph chuckled, more at Bob’s not-so-sure expression, knowing of course, that he’d get his aides to do a full sweep in the morning.

Randolph and Andre shook Wellington’s hand, and then the three men spoke briefly.

“All right, check you later,” Andre said, shaking Randolph’s hand, then adding the little extra they always did in brotherly camaraderie. Bob again stuck out his hand quickly grasping Andre’s and clumsily mimicked the gesture.

“Have a good weekend,” Randolph said, as always, amused.

“Nice guy,” Bob said as he followed Randolph, who continued walking down the hall again.

“Indeed.”

“Were you good friends before coming to the Senate?”

“We met occasionally when I was in the House,” Randolph said vaguely.

“You were a congressman, too?”

Randolph nodded. “Yes, for two terms.”

“Interesting. The reason I ask is that I haven’t seemed to be able to gain his trust yet and I’d like to. Do you have any suggestions?”

“Maybe you should start out with gaining his respect and his friendship.”

“Oh, yeah, that, too, of course, respect and friendship, sure,” Bob said.

They continued walking, footfalls completely out of sync with each other.

“That was an interesting hearing,” Bob said.

“Indeed,” Randolph answered, never missing a step.

“So, uh, what are your thoughts about the meeting, Randolph?”

“Too soon to tell. I think I’ll mull it over and see where it leads me. There are several interesting points to consider and I’d hate to jump to the wrong conclusion.”

“Sure, sure. I’m gonna do the same thing. But you’d have to admit, Senator Goode made some very interesting points. The facts were right there. And anything else might be considered splitting hairs or nit-picking.”

“Really,” Randolph said rather than asked.

“Oh, yeah. I tell you, sometimes we are faced with challenges that make this job seem almost impossible, but every so often, we get something that is so plain and simple that it makes it all worthwhile.”

“You think so, huh?” Randolph said.

“Oh, yeah, definitely,” Bob said, readily agreeing.

“And influence?” Randolph asked.

“Oh, that’s nothing, really. Lobbyists only go as far as you allow them. You just have to know how and when to say enough. For the most part they have little influence.”

“I’d say more like significant influence.”

“Ah, you’re giving them way too much credit.”

“Or maybe not enough,” Randolph said, then smiled. The games played on Capitol Hill should be Olympic events. Javelin throwing into an opponent’s back, high-jumping and pole-vaulting on morality issues, long-distance running from election to election.

“Be that as it may, we can’t—”

“You’re right,” Randolph interrupted, “we can’t resolve this tonight.”

“That’s just what I was about to say,” Bob lied.

Randolph slowed and stopped in front of his office. The two men stood in the hall as several staffers hurried by.

“How’s the family, Bob?” Randolph asked, ending the discussion. The name Wellington had been etched on the door of the Congressional Hall since the early twentieth century. The only changes were what came after it—senior, junior, the third and now the fourth. Every thirty years, the reins passed to the next generation.

The original Robert Wellington elected in 1918 was a U.S. congressman. His son, Robert Wellington Jr., followed in his father’s footsteps to become a U.S. senator. His son, affectionately called J.R., opted for a seat in the Senate, then served as Secretary of Defense. And now, there was Bob. Always nervous and seemingly stressed, groomed from birth, he aimed at the top seat of power, the White House West Wing.

“Well, very well, thanks for asking. Patty and the boys are coming in this weekend. I thought I might consider driving over to Annapolis so the boys can maybe get a taste of the old navy swagger.” He laughed riotously at what he assumed to be a hilarious joke. “Did I tell you I received a yacht? It’s anchored there, so maybe I’ll drop it in the water and see if it floats.”

“A yacht. Nice toy,” Randolph remarked.

“Actually Father got it for me as sort of a birthday gift.”

“Nice birthday gift. Happy belated,” he said.

“Oh, my birthday’s not for another three months, but he knows how much I love sailing. Patty and the boys are excited to try it out. Actually I am, too.”

“I’m sure they’ll enjoy it.”

“Definitely,” he said, then glanced at his Rolex watch. “Wow, is it really this late? I’m exhausted. I think I’m gonna call it a night. Hey, how about us guys stopping at The Capital Grille to grab a quick bite to eat?”

“I’m gonna have to take a rain check on that, Bob. There are a few things I’d like to finish up before I close down shop for the night.”

“Sure, sure, see you Monday. Hey, maybe we can grab a quick round of golf or a quick game of racquetball in the gym next week.”

“Sure, sounds good. Give me a call and we’ll schedule,” Randolph said, knowing of course, that it would never happen, but as in most offices, white lies and promises swirled like cream in coffee.

“Great, I’ll set it up,” Bob said, then continued walking down the hall. “Have a good weekend.”

“You, too.”

Randolph unlocked the door to his suite, walked through the open reception area, then went into his private office. Small but suitable, the office was warm and inviting and he felt more than at home here. Decorated by a friend’s mother, renowned artist Taylor Evans, the room had been enlivened with paintings and classic furnishings, blending comfort and function.

He removed his suit jacket, grabbed a bottle of water from the small refrigerator then walked over and sat down behind his desk. After a few swigs and a deep reenergizing sigh, he loosened his perfectly dimpled tie, then unlocked his computer and opened his message box.

He had been half a beat off all day long, and knowing that lack of rest would never affect him, he came to one conclusion: something or someone else had.

There were fifty-eight messages since late that afternoon that required his attention, not at all surprising. Down from the usual seventy or so, the messages had been read and scanned, then divided into categories—senate priorities, constituents, personal and nonwork-related and lastly, deferred. His secretary was extremely diligent in her duties. Deciding to skim through, he opened a few, answered a few and deleted others.