Authors: Robert B. Parker
”There is a crisis in this land,“ Alexander said. ”Nearly half of the marriages in this nation end in divorce; what God has joined, any man can now put asunder at will.“
I was leaning against the wall of the auditorium, near the stage, beside a window. When I looked out the window I could see the Merrimack River break over some rapids and drop in a waterfall before it moved off toward Newburyport. I had heard that someone caught a salmon in it not long ago. Or maybe that was another river, and I was being optimistic. At least it hadn’t caught fire like the Cuyahoga River in Cleveland.
”My friends, nearly eighty percent of the video cassettes now sold are pornographic,“ Alexander said.
Some kid in the back of the room said audibly, ”Right on.“
Tom Cambell was on stage, in the wings, and Fraser was at the back of the auditorium standing beside the campus security chief, who had a walkie-talkie.
”Nudity and sex are big business. Any small grocery store in the land will sell magazines that twenty years ago would have landed the seller in jail. Television sells jiggle, newspaper columnists routinely suggest that any form of sexual excess is acceptable, that abortion is simply a matter of personal preference-as if the slaughter of unborn children were no more significant than an upset stomach.“
The audience was a mix of students and faculty, with a few citizens of Lowell who were interested. Outside the auditorium there were pickets representing gay liberation, NOW, NAACP, the Anti-Nuclear Coalition, Planned Parenthood, and everyone else to the left of Alexander. Since, as far as I could tell, there was no one to the right of Alexander, it made for a considerable turnout. They were quiet by the standards I had learned in the late sixties and early seventies, but campus and Lowell city police had kept them at passive bay.
”The family, the nucleus of civilization, is under attack from the spread of feminism, from those who council a form of rebellion under the deceitful rubric of ‘children’s rights,’ from drug pushers who would poison us, from those who would urge homosexuals to marry, from an intrusive government whose social workers all too often violate the sacred web of family with their theories of social engineering.“
Beneath my window, on the grass, a young woman in a plaid skirt sat, leaning her back against a tree. A young man lay flat on the ground, his head in her lap. Each was reading, and as they read, her left hand absently stroked his hair.
”My candidacy is not merely political. I am striving not only to change laws, but to change the assumptions of a nation, to reinvigorate the purity and sinew of a younger America. To call forth the inherent decency in the people of this country, united under God, to refortify the resolve of this nation to stand firm against Godless communism. This is beyond legislation. I am calling upon all of you to join me in a crusade, to help me find America reborn.“
There were four or five reporters down front who traveled with Alexander’s campaign, heard him say America reborn, and opened their eyes, closed their notebooks, and stood up. They were halfway down the aisle before the applause sounded. Most of the audience stood to applaud and the applause seemed heartfelt. Here and there a professor shook his head, but the overwhelming body of the audience seemed to love what it had heard.
Alexander shook hands with the college president, who had introduced him. He faced the audience for a long minute with both hands above his head, then came down the stairs at the side of the stage. Tom Cambell came behind him and I closed to his side as we went up the aisle. Outside on the steps, there were some pictures taken of Alexander holding Ronnie’s hand. Then into the cars and away from the campus.
Looking back out the rear window of the car, I saw the young man and woman who had been reading on the lawn standing holding hands watching us go.
Twenty minutes later Alexander was sipping a cup of tea with milk and sugar and eating a pineapple pastry and telling several members of the Haverhill Republican Women’s Club that the interference of the Internal Revenue Service with Christian schools was intolerable, as was our abandonment of Taiwan and our loss of the Panama Canal.
Ronni smiled, helped pour the tea, spoke briefly on the sacredness of the marriage bond and her conviction that her husband was all that stood between us and the arrival of the anti-Christ.
During this, Fraser circulated, keeping liaison with the local fuzz. Cambell and I tried to stay roughly on either side of Alexander. The only danger to him that I could spot were the pastries. I tried one and they tasted like something you’d swallow to avoid torture.
A smallish woman with short blond hair asked me if I was with Congressman Alexander. She wore a sensible gray suit and a corsage.
”Yes,“ I said.
”Well,“ she said, ”we’re all behind him up here. He’s the first politician in this state to make sense since I’ve been voting.“
”This is the only state that voted for George McGovern in 1972,“ I said. ”You think a conservative can get elected in Massachusetts?“
”Absolutely. Massachusetts was just a little slower to come to its senses. But it has. Liberalism is bankrupt.“
I was looking at her corsage. You don’t see a corsage all that often, especially during the day. It was an orchid.
”Don’t you love my corsage? Donald, my husband, gave it to me last night when he knew I was going to meet the congressman. I kept it in the refrigerator all night.“
I smiled. ”It’s certainly attractive,“ I said.
We left the Haverhill Republican Women’s Club in time to get to the Raytheon plant in Andover for the shift change. Alexander stood at the gate and shook as many hands as he could as the workers came out heading for the parking lot. More than half the workers brushed by Meade and Ronni and ignored the outstretched hands. Some others shook hands without any sign of recognition. Most of the workers were men, and most of them turned after they’d passed Ronni and looked at her. A bearded worker in a plaid cap said, ”Nice ass.“
As soon as the four o’clock shift had stopped admiring his wife’s backside, Alexander was back in the caravan and heading for a shopping mall in Peabody.
Alexander took up a position outside a Jordan Marsh store, across from Baskin-Robbins, and shook some more hands. Fix Farrell and Abel Westin kept herding people over toward him, and Alexander shook hands and smiled, and Ronni stood beside him and smiled.
A short woman with her gray hair tightly permed asked Alexander what he planned to do about the ”darks.“
Alexander said, ”I beg your pardon?“
She said, ”The darks. What are you going to do about them? They’re getting in everywhere and we’re paying for it.“
Alexander said, ”I feel the government has no business in education.“
The woman nodded triumphantly. A young woman in over-the-ankle moccasins and gold-rimmed glasses said, ”You’re opposed to public education. You wish to abolish it?“
Abel Westin slipped between Alexander and the young woman. He said, ”That’s too complex a question for a forum like this, ma’am.“
”But he said the government had no business in public education.“
Alexander smiled. ”We’re preparing a position paper on that, my dear. When it appears I think you’ll be satisfied.“
”Good question though,“ Westin said.
The young woman said, ”Bullshit,“ and went over to Baskin-Robbins for an ice cream.
From the shopping center we went to a reception at the Colonial Hilton Inn in Lynnfield. Alexander met with the Christian Action Coalition in a function room where jug wine, cheese spread, and Wheat Thins were served from a small buffet table along one wall.
Alexander sipped a small glass of wine, nibbled a Wheat Thin, and smiled graciously at the adoration that eddied about him like steam in a soup kitchen. All the men in the room wore suits and ties, all the women wore dresses and heels. There was a liberal sprinkling of gold jewelry among the women and a fair number of expensive wristwatches among the men. As the candidate spoke with the people, there were no questions, only shared certainties.
”You know what they’re buying with food stamps? Cupcakes. I saw a woman in front of me at Star Market…“
”Do you know what they were reading in my kid’s English class? Girls and boys both? You ever hear of Eldridge Cleaver?“
Ronni Alexander had a glass of wine.
”As long as the private sector has to compete with the government for money, the interest rates will stay up. It’s simple supply and demand…“
I noticed that Ronni Alexander had finished her wine and gotten another.
The smoke thickened in the room. Born-again Christians didn’t seem to sweat lung cancer.
”… even have a Christmas pageant in school this year. Some Jew complained…“
Fix Farrell said to me, ”Okay, we gotta get going. Ronni’s started on the wine.“
Ronni was getting her plastic cup refilled at the buffet.
Farrell muttered to Westin. ”Make the fucking late announcement.“
Westin said loudly above the room noise, ”Excuse me, excuse me, folks.“
Farrell moved over beside Alexander and whispered to him. Dale Fraser went out to get the cars brought up.
”Meade would stay here all night if we’d let him. But someone’s got to be the bad guy. We have to get him to bed. So we thank you for coming, and if you’ll just hold still a second, I know Meade will want to say good-bye. Then I hope you folks will stay and enjoy the wine.“
Alexander stepped beside Westin and his smile freshened the thick air.
”I thank you all for coming. Remember me when it’s time to vote. Listen to your conscience, and God bless.“
Then he took his wife’s arm. She smiled brilliantly, and with Farrell beside them and me and Cambell behind mem, they headed out of the room and toward the waiting cars. Ronni had brought her plastic cup with her. One for the road.
Back at the hotel in Boston, Fix wanted everyone to eat in their rooms, but Ronni wanted to try the new dining room, Apley’s.
”Francis,“ she said. ”I’m tired of being shut up in one room or another. I want some elegance.“
Alexander nodded at Fix. ”I’m sure it will be fine,“ he said. ”Mr. Spenser can join us, if you’re worried about security.“
Farrell shrugged. ”Your funeral,“ he said. ”I don’t eat that French crap myself.“
The maitre d‘ recognized Alexander and found us a table for three without trouble. Apley’s was mirrored and elegant. A woman played a harp near the middle of the room. The menu was aggressively nouvelle cuisine.
The waiter took our drink order. I had beer. Alexander had a martini, and Ronni had a Jack Daniel’s on the rocks.
Ronni looked at the menu and then smiled at me.
”Do you mind eating here, Mr. Spenser?“
”No. I like it. I eat French crap a lot.“
The waiter brought the drinks. Alexander lifted his martini and smiled at us.
”Cheers,“ he said. We drank. ”How do you like campaigning, Spenser?“
”On the whole, I’d rather be in Philadelphia.“
”It can be tiresome, I suppose. Ronni and I have gotten used to it. And I must say there’s a lift from…“ He made a gesture with his hands as if he were packing a large snowball. ”From being with the people. From actually seeing the voters.“
”Including the young woman who asked about your stance on public education?“
Alexander smiled his splendid smile. ”Politics is compromise, Mr. Spenser.“
”You saw how she was dressed,“ Ronni said. The’s’s slushed just a little.
”To try and articulate my position at that time, in that place, would not have been wise. She was obviously unsympathetic. The press was there. They’d like nothing better than to describe how I got into a shouting match in a shopping mall.“
The waiter appeared. ”Excuse me,“ he said. ”May I tell you about our specials this evening.“
Alexander nodded.
”First you can get me one more drink,“ Ronni said.
”Certainly, ma’am.“ The waiter took the glass, looked at Alexander and me. We shook our heads. The waiter departed.
”Tell us a bit more about yourself, Spenser. We know only that you come highly recommended, that you are unmarried, and agnostic.“
”That says it all,“ I said.
”One of Francis’s sources said you were, how did he put it, an ironist.“
”That too,“ I said.
The waiter returned with Ronni’s bourbon. She drank it while he explained about the specials. The explanation took a while and I wondered, as I always did when people recited a menu at me, what I was supposed to do while they did it. To just sit and nod wisely made me feel like a talk show host. To get up and go to the men’s room seemed rude. Once in Chicago I had tried taking notes in the margin of the menu, but they got mad at me.
When the waiter got through, Ronni said, ”Is that duck good?“
”Yes, ma’am.“
”How about the stuff with the green peppercorns?“
”The game hen? Yes, ma’am, that’s excellent.“
”Which do you think would be better?“ she said.
”Both are excellent, ma’am.“
Alexander said, ”I’ll have the tenderloin of beef, please.“ The waiter looked grateful. He looked at me. I ordered duck. He looked reluctantly back at Ronni. She finished her bourbon.
”I don’t know what to have,“ she said. The waiter smiled.
”If you’ll bring me one more little glass of bourbon, then I’ll decide.“ The last word sounded suspiciously like deshide.
”Anything for you gentlemen?“
I had another beer. Alexander shook his head. The waiter departed. Ronni was studying the menu.
”I assume you have done police work at some time, Mr. Spenser?“
”Yes.“
”You didn’t like the police?“
”Yes and no,“ I said. ”Like everything else. The work is worth doing, most of it. But“-I shrugged-”too many reports. Too many supervisors who never worked the street. Too much cynicism.“
Alexander raised his eyebrows. ”Too much cynicism? I would have thought you a cynic, Mr. Spenser.“
I shrugged.
”You’re not?“
”Not entirely,“ I said.
”What do you believe in?“
The waiter came back with Ronni’s bourbon and my beer.