“I mended that fence,” Earl snapped. “I stumped this goddamn state from pea patch to picket fence for your good fren’ Fournet.”
Huey was nodding. “Yes, you did. Much ’ppreciated.”
“Anyway, I know you’re considerin’ candidates for governor…and I remember what you tol’ me back in ’32, when I asked you to gimme the lootenant guv’nr slot.”
“That’s right,” Huey said. “I said I couldn’t use ya, ’cause I didn’t want people talkin’ ‘Long dynasty.’ We got enough stupid damn dictator talk goin’ as it is.”
“So, then, I’m not bein’ considered.”
“Not at this time, no, Earl.”
Earl was lighting up a Camel. “Who is, then?”
“I’m leanin’ toward Dick Leche.”
“Leche? A goddamn state’s appeals judge?”
“He used to be O.K. Allen’s secretary. He knows how to take orders.”
“And I don’t.”
“No. You’re my brother, ain’t ya? Or is it true Mama found ya on the porch in a picnic basket?”
Earl shook his head sullenly, and paced and smoked; he held his cigarette tight between thumb and forefinger.
“You got somethin’ else on your mind, Earl?”
Earl stopped pacing and came over and sat by his brother. “I don’t think you oughta be gerrymandering Judge Pavy outa his district, ’long about now.”
“You don’t, huh?”
“No.” Earl shook his head. “Huey, things are just a little bit too hot and little bit too tense right now. I think it’s a bad idea to even have a special session at all, at this here time.”
Huey shrugged. “Horse is out of the barn, Earl. Too late to stop ’er now, even if I wanted to.”
Earl smiled; was there sarcasm in it? Or maybe envy? “You can do anything, Huey. You’re the Kingfish.”
Huey smiled back at his brother; patted him on the leg. “You go on up to Winnfield, if you cain’t stand it, and listen, here-nothin’s gonna happen. Things ain’t that hot or that tense.”
Earl studied Huey for what seemed like forever; then he sighed, nodded, crushed out his cigarette in a glass ashtray, stood, waved his brother farewell, and went out.
The next subject to gain admittance to the Kingfish’s court looked more like Huey’s brother than Earl. He had the same oval face, similar earnest features, even a cleft chin (if not as prominent as Huey’s); as with Huey, the visitor’s imposing figure gave an impression of bulk that disguised strength.
The Kingfish remained seated on the sofa casually, as the visitor-immaculate in a lightweight tan suit with a brown tie, holding his straw hat in hand, a supplicant with head bowed-paid his respects.
“What brings you by this afternoon, Dr. Vidrine?”
“I just wanted to thank you for seeing that Charity Hospital got its full appropriation, Senator.”
Huey beamed. “Well, you’re welcome. You been doin’ a fine job there, and, more importantly, I couldn’t be more tickled with the way things are workin’ out, out at LSU.”
Vidrine’s smile was shy. “There were a lot of skeptics who didn’t think either one of us knew what we were doing.”
“Them aristocratic snobs on the board at Tulane, what the hell do they know? They were overcrowded, and Louisiana needed goddamn doctors! Maybe Rome wasn’t built in a day, but it just took me sayin’ so, and, whiz, bang-we had a new medical school. And now what? Just four years later? What’s the enrollment this fall?”
Huey gestured with a hand for Vidrine to sit next to him, and he did.
“Nine hundred,” Vidrine said, humbly proud.
“Increased the enrollment times nine in only four years. Damn! Now, that’s an accomplishment.” He patted the doctor on the shoulder like a child who’d performed well. “When I appointed you super’ntendent of Noo Awlins Char’ty Hospital, I wanted to show the worl’ that a back-country doctor like you was ever’ bit as good as any big-city sawbones. Thanks for not makin’ a liar outa me, son.”
Vidrine nodded and smiled sheepishly; he was behaving like a new priest in the presence of the Pope.
“Got your pretty little wife along?” Huey said, and suddenly rose, and so did Vidrine, who sensed he was being dismissed.
“Yes, I do….”
Huey walked him toward the door. “You put tonight’s dinner at the Hunt Room at the Heidelberg on the ol’ Kingfish’s tab, y’hear?”
“That’s not necessary….”
“Don’t insult me, now, by rejectin’ my generosity.”
“Yes, sir,” Vidrine said, smiled, nodded and went out.
I was shuffling the cards. Quietly, I asked Murphy, “What’s his background? Seems like a kinda unassuming type to be holding such fancy administrative jobs.”
“Dr. Arthur Vidrine-former general practitioner from Ville Platte,” Murphy said, as if that answered my question.
“What’s Ville Platte?”
“Bump in the road, over Opelousas way.”
I began dealing, Black Mariah again. “How does that qualify him for anything?”
“Gimme a damn spade, would you? He captained the Long campaign in those parts.”
No further explanation was necessary for this Chicago boy.
A little later another unassuming character entered for an audience with the Kingfish. Heavyset, crowding six feet, he made himself seem smaller by hunching his shoulders and holding his straw fedora in front of him with two hands; under eyebrows that seemed perpetually raised, two squinty slits appeared, and a nervous smile curved beneath a nondescript beak. The overall impression he gave was of bemused embarrassment.
“You wanted to see me, Kingfish?”
“Yeah, come in and sit down!” The Kingfish was on the couch again.
“Who’s this guy?” I whispered to Murphy.
“Jim Smith-president of LSU,” he whispered back.
“Now what the goddamn hell is this about a ridin’ academy out at the college?”
Smith shrugged, hat still in his hand; the little smile remained embarrassed. “Thelma likes to ride. I bought her a thoroughbred, and she likes wearing those cute outfits. She thought the coeds might enjoy…”
Huey was shaking his head. “When I hired you, on the advice of a stationery salesman I might add, the idea was to get rid of them goddamn highfalutin suckers over at the university, and put in some down-to-earth folks. Now your wife is havin’ fancy parties and puttin’ on airs and at her biddin’ you’re usin’ my funds to start a fuckin’ ridin’ academy?”
“Well…as I was saying, it’s a nice activity…”
“For the coeds. Right. Well, I see in the paper where two girls fell off them horses on their fannies, last week.”
The smile got more nervous. “Do I have to tell you about the lying press, Senator?”
“No, you don’t. I have three words for you: sell them plugs.”
“Senator?”
“Sell them plugs! Get rid of them horses! No more ridin’ academy. Besides which, my people tell me you may wanna talk to the missus about this handsome, strappin’ former Army man she hired to be her groomsman. Word to the wise.”
The smile disappeared; he hung his head. “Yes, Senator.”
“Now. This comin’ fall…those journalism students I expelled last year, they’ll be back on the Reveille, I suppose.”
“Yes sir. Except for those that graduated.”
“Well, tell those prima donnas that if they print any more unflatterin’ letters or editorials about me and my administration, they won’t be graduatin’.”
“I’ll make that clear, Senator. I’ve already told them I would fire the entire faculty and expel the complete student body before I’d offend you, sir.”
The Kingfish’s grin just about burst his face. “You’re my kinda educator, Jimmy. Now…you handpick the new editor, and tell him LSU is Huey Long’s university, and no bastard is gonna criticize Huey Long on Huey Long’s own goddamn money! Is that clear.”
“Crystal, Senator.”
“I enjoy our little talks, Jimmy. Go, now.”
He stood. “Yes, Senator.”
And he was up and out.