Gay Place (42 page)

“Yes it sure is all right,” he said to the girl. He looked round at the newsmen: some were writing in notebooks; some were grinning and perspiring; some others simply gaped in awe at the crowd filing out into the lobby. A man carrying a camera hurried toward the press table.

“Downstairs …” he said, grinning, showing his poor teeth. “… Downstairs … In the lobby …”

The reporters looked up at him, exhausted, not really wanting to know anything about what was downstairs.

“Old Edwards is holding a news conference … Or trying to … So far he’s just got some photographers and a couple of kids from the college …”

“Oh Jesus,” somebody groaned.

The reporters got slowly to their feet and headed toward the back elevators.

“Will you do something for me?” Stanley asked the girl.

“Yes … What is it?”

“Follow those reporters downstairs and try to get what Edwards says. You have a pencil and paper? Here — just write when you see them writing …”

“I can take shorthand. I’m very good at shorthand.”

“Fine … Take down everything then. I’ll meet you in the lobby as soon as I can.”

“All right.”

Elsie trailed the reporters. He stared after her for a moment, liking the soft shape of her legs, until she had disappeared into the crowd. Then he headed toward the exit into which Neil and the Governor had fled. He had an idea where the Governor had taken them — the hotel management kept a suite reserved for Fenstemaker the year round — and Stanley hurried down the narrow stairs. When he knocked at the entrance, Andrea’s father showed his face for a moment, closed and then opened the door. The Governor lay on a couch, a drink in his hand. Neil had his shirt off and a towel slung round his neck. He was pacing up and down and talking aloud, half to himself, partly to the others.

“… How in the hell … How in the goddam hell could I let that jackpine messiah force me into this … The last thing I wanted to happen — it
happened.
How come? He picked the time and the place and he
made
me — he practically
owned
me in there. Why’d he do it?”

“He’s insane, Neil,” the Governor said. He held his amber glass above his head, staring at the ceiling, until an assistant came to retrieve and refill it. “He’s psychotic — always has been — it’s just that civilization is finally gaining on him …”

“He’s holding a news conference downstairs,” Stanley said.

“Repeating what he said earlier with amplification,” the Governor announced, accepting the fresh drink. He pushed himself higher onto the arm of the sofa so that he could get the glass to his lips, although the maneuver was not entirely successful. Some of the liquid dribbled down the corners of his mouth, and he tucked a pocket handkerchief along his collar to stop the flow. “Edwards is just now climbing down out of the trees,” he said. “He’s way ahead of some of his people, but what he doesn’t know is that most of us came into town one Saturday a few years ago and stayed … We’re urban, by God. All of a sudden the people in the metropolitan areas outnumber the rednecks … They come into town — they buy little houses and color television and Volkswagen cars. Edwards is still pitching to the Church of Christers and the pickup truck crowd …”

“There’s no difference,” Neil said. “There’s really no difference, though. They’ll listen to what he says. Everybody’ll listen and they just might by God believe him.”

“They would, Neil, they would if he were talking about anybody else but you. But dammit, boy, it’s
you
he’s saying these things about. Not some quivering intellectual — not some big-nosed, frog-voiced, bucktoothed goon who just stepped off a picket line. Hell! Look at yourself. You’re right out of the Coca-Cola ads — the
Saturday Evening Post
covers. You know how long it took for that committee in Washington to convince itself Chambers was telling the truth and Hiss wasn’t?”

“No.”

“I don’t either. But it was goddam long. They couldn’t believe Chambers — nobody could — because he wasn’t very pretty. And Hiss was gorgeous. A nice Havard type …”

“He’s right, Neil,” Andrea’s father said. “The Governor’s right — I don’t understand half what he says, but he’s sure right about that sonofabitch Edwards. Nobody’s goin’ to believe him.”

The old man put a cigarette into a silver holder, then struck a kitchen match on his thumbnail. He wore a two-hundred-dollar suit and there was an antique diamond stickpin in the middle of his handpainted tie. His freckled hands trembled slightly; his red nose was peeling, and he stood there, scratching himself, pulling at his crotch, looking at the others. He had once got himself elected to the Congress — just for the hell of it — until he decided he could send someone in his place to do the job just as well. For many years he had run an empire, a kind of feudal barony, involving land and cattle and oil wells and sulphur ventures in Mexico, and if he no longer exercised such vast power it was simply because he himself had lost interest. He was the last of them, Neil thought; his contemporaries might resign themselves to bridge playing and martini parties and bargaining with football coaches, but the old man represented a last thumping flourish of individualism among them, a reflex, possibly, isolate and exotic: something for the sociologists’ exhibit boards.

Neil went into the bathroom, soaked the towel with water and rubbed his face and neck and shoulders. The Governor was on the telephone now, on the long distance, talking with editors and publishers.

“… I thought you’d enjoy hearing about it, Jake,” he was saying. “It was really something — I’m telling you that boy grabbed old Edwards by the ass and just trundled him right out of there like a load of garbage. And Neil — he wasn’t mad. He actually was smiling all the time. He had this hilarious grin on his face. I mean after all, look what Edwards has been
sayin’
about him. And today it got down to his family … The speech? Well it wasn’t much — it wasn’t
supposed
to be, of course. The main event was Edwards and Neil finally paired off against each other and Neil’s announcement. He’s in it now … To hell and gone … It was what you might call a
pretty
speech, a nice sensible speech. It made people think. He talked sense to ’em like old Adalay. You could play hell out of the whole thing — it’s a natural … I
know
it’s Saturday afternoon. What’ve you done — joined your own damn printers union? Just get your man on the phone and make sure they get the story right, that’s all. Don’t let ’em put those goddam lies of Edwards’ up at the top … You don’t have some quotes I’ll get my man to call you and
give
you some quotes … Don’t worry, he’s got it all down. We’ve got it on tape …”

Stanley moved next to the Governor’s assistant. They were about the same age: never really good friends but always aware of each other all through college. The assistant was named Jay McGown. He had a movie star wife, or rather a wife who had left him and subsequently become a movie star. There were some few friends who felt he might ultimately have become Governor himself in ten or fifteen years — if the wife had not outmanned him. He was a quiet and occasionally morose fellow and Stanley regarded him as rather a bore.

“You taped all this?” Stanley said to him.

“Ummn,” McGown said. “If we did I wasn’t aware of it. He’ll have me inventing quotes — re-creating the whole damn scene — if one of those birds asks for it. Jesus, I hope not … It
is
Saturday afternoon, and I was up till three this morning.”

“Doing what? A party?”

“Yeah, a party. Right up there in that red granite monstrosity. He had me writing editorials. Endorsements. Every kind you can imagine. Conservatives endorsing him, liberals endorsing him, old hard-nosed columnists endorsing him, weekly newspapers, big dailies, free traders, protectionists, segregationists … You name it — we’ve got a pitch already prepared.”

“For whom,” Stanley said. “Editorials for whom?”

“Neil.”

“But this was last night? Early this morning? He didn’t even
announce
till half an hour ago.”

“The Governor seemed pretty sure of it. I thought they’d probably talked privately and decided on today. That is, if Edwards showed up. It was never really certain whether he would …”

“You mean he
expected
Edwards to show?”

“Well, hell …
I
don’t know. I
think
he did. Who the hell knows what goes through their heads? The Governor keeps his own council.”

“But —”

“Jay — you and Stanley come here.” The Governor had finished one call and was waiting for the sequence operator to ring back with another. Andrea’s father mixed himself a bourbon on ice. Neil reappeared, buttoning his shirt collar.

“Jay — you get the limousine and take Stanley over to the Secretary’s office. They’re waiting for you over there. You can park outside the Capitol while Stanley runs in and hands over the filing fee. That’ll make it official — they’ve got the forms all filled out and waiting … How much is that check, Neil?”

“Five thousand.”

“Write another — you only need fifteen hundred. And I doubt if they have change.” The Governor made a cackling sound, choked on his drink and swore to himself, gasping and laughing between breaths.

“I don’t have that much money,” Neil said.

“What?”

“I can’t write a check … I don’t have fifteen hundred in my account.”

“I’ll write you one, then,” the Governor said. “I’ll write you two or three if you want it. I collected a whole piss-pot of cash for you this morning.”

“I’ll write it, I’ll write it,” Andrea’s father said. He already had his gold fountain pen out and was scribbling on a book of checks. He tore one out and handed it over to Neil.

“Here,” Neil said, accepting the one from his father-in-law and offering the other in exchange.

“No … No. No. Keep it. Keep it.” The old man backed off, waving his arms as if battling insects.

“But I can’t
accept
this. You’ve already given me this one check. I can’t take any more …”

“Put it in your account,” the old man said. He drained off his bourbon and poured another. “So you’ll have some. I heard you was overdrawn.”

“Where did you hear that? Did Andrea … It’s all taken care of now and —”

“Christ almighty, Neil … I’ve owned that bank twenty-five years. Didn’t you know that?”

“No … I didn’t … And I may just change banks.”

“And I got controlling interest in two of the others. You might have a hard time picking the
one
out of
three
I
don’t
have anything to do with … And if you happened to pick that one, I just might buy into it … I set the bastards up in business just after the war. Hell! I’m interested in your goddam welfare!”

The Governor was on the phone again. He put a hand over the mouthpiece and motioned at the two younger men. The old man handed over the check, like a headwaiter about to deliver the big surprise. Stanley and Jay McGown headed out the door.

“… Listen, Howard,” the Governor was saying into the telephone, “get up off your ass and do a little work. Have I ever laid down on you? Hell no! This is just a matter of putting a little fire under your own boys. I’ve got some editorials coming to you Monday, in addition, and …”

In the hallway, waiting for the elevator, Stanley said: “I’m supposed to meet a girl downstairs. She’s taking notes on what Edwards says.”

“We’ve got a man down there, too.” McGown thought a moment. “Listen — do you have to came back up here for anything?”

“Not that I know of. I’m supposed to meet Neil later tonight.”

“Well listen — I’ll take that thing by the Capitol if you like. And then I can call from there and tell the Man you’ve gone on home and mission’s accomplished and all that crap, and maybe I can get out from under. I mean if I have to come back up here, I’ll never get loose. And I won’t have to come back up if you don’t … Understand? This other way, I’ve got half a chance … At least I can get a nap on the couch until the Governor decides something. … Okay?”

“Fine.”

They rode in silence on the elevator. In the lobby, Stanley waved goodbye but then turned and caught up with McGown.

“Listen … What you were saying about Edwards …”

“Forget it … I’ve got to run, really … I’ll talk to you later. I was just popping off — that’s all … I don’t really know.”

McGown waved and moved through the swinging doors. Stanley wandered through the lobby, looking for the crowd gathered round Edwards. Elsie appeared from behind.

“Hello,” she said. “It’s all over.”

“What’d he say?”

“The same thing all over again, except a little more. Most fantastic feeling — he was standing there talking about
me,
and I was right next to him taking notes and he didn’t know who I was and I kept interrupting and correcting him. He made some mistakes, you see. About my birthplace and my religion and my father’s family. Finally, he got impatient and wanted to know how I knew so much and what paper I represented. I said I represented myself and had rather a unique interest in what he was saying. When I told him who I was, all the reporters suddenly wanted to interview
me
and just lost interest in Edwards. Just left him! We all went into the coffee shop and talked.”

Stanley stood in the lobby, grinning at her. “Well what finally happened to Edwards?”

“Nothing. That I know about. He started to follow us into the coffee shop but then apparently changed his mind. He just turned around and walked away … Is that all right? My notes aren’t very good, because I kept listening to what he was saying about me instead of writing. But he didn’t really get very far. You think it’s all right?”

“It sounds wonderful,” Stanley said. He had her by the arm and they were moving through the lobby toward the street. “Would you like a drink?” he said. “My hotel’s just across the way, and I’ve got a bottle. Or there’s a private club if you’d prefer that. But we’d probably run into Edwards and some of those reporters. He’s probably waiting for them, hoping to buy a round.”

“I ought to go home,” the girl said, smiling, looking at him with wonderful dark eyes. “Where is Neil? How is he?”