I stared at this kid for a second. He couldn’t even be thirty, was clean-shaven and small and spare, with short trimmed hair. “Ladies, pardon my French, but sonny, just who the fuck are you!?”
He didn’t bat an eye or back down a notch. “I’m the guy who’s going to be your campaign manager.”
“Well, you made a trip for nothing. Why in the world would I want to do something that stupid?”
“Because I’ve listened to you. Because I’ve read your books and articles. Because I was at your speech at the Conservative Union last year. I believe in you, Mister Buckman! Why don’t you!?”
That set me back a peg. Whatever he was, this kid wasn’t an ass-kisser, which was the usual run of the mill political types I ran into. I shook my head in disbelief. “It still doesn’t matter. The Democrats could run Lucifer for election, and the campaign posters will still read ‘Billionaire Murderer!’ Why should I drag my family through a mud pit when the entire idea is hopeless?” I glanced over at Marilyn but she simply had a stunned expression on her face.
Bob Destrier asked, “Do you want Stewart to be in Congress for another two years?”
“No, but…”
“Do you think you could do a better job than he could?”
“Yes, but…”
“Then what is the problem?! What’s the problem, that you’re a billionaire or that you’re a murderer? We know the first part is true. Is the second part true? You were the only one there that day. Was it murder?” he demanded.
I stood up without answering and went over to the bar, and poured myself a shot of whiskey. Everybody was quiet behind me. That awful day in 1983 came welling up inside me. I drank down the shot, and then turned to face them. “Yes, I was the only one there. I shot and killed my kid brother — my kid brother, for God’s sake! — and more than a few would argue that I did just that, murder him. You think those posters are going to be bad? Wait until they trot my mother out to say on camera that I’m a murderer! My own parents disowned me, for God’s sake! You don’t think that’s going to make a wonderful family values campaign ad?”
I went over to the corner I had left my cane in, and took it. I walked back to my wife and held out my hand. “I think we need to go home, honey.”
Marilyn silently stood up and took my hand. I looked at the others. “Folks, I hate to break off like this, but it is time we go. Thank you for an interesting evening.”
John followed us to the door. “We’re going to talk about this on Monday,” he told me.
“Oh, I think I can agree with that,” I said, and not too pleasantly, either.
It was a quiet drive home, and whatever conversation there was was limited to the vague and innocuous. I just couldn’t get the image out of my mind of that day in ’83, with Hamilton bleeding out on the kitchen floor. The bastard still was bugging me, six years after they buried the son of a bitch!
We got home, and I paid the baby-sitter off. She had driven over in her own car, so I didn’t have to drive her home. The girls were already in bed, and Charlie was heading there. I said good night to him, and Marilyn headed off to tuck him in. I sat down in my recliner and just stared at the television, which wasn’t even turned on. Dum-Dum jumped on my lap and lapped my face.
Marilyn came back into the living room and sat down in her recliner, prompting Dum-Dum to switch to her chair. “Well, I wasn’t expecting that, tonight.”
“I can’t believe John set me up like that! Set us up, really. I can’t believe they think I want to run for Congress!” I agreed.
“That’s not what surprised me,” she said. She was scratching Dum-Dum’s head and the little mutt was whining happily at the attention.
“Hmm?”
“No. What surprised me was seeing you run away.”
I turned my head and stared at her. “What?!”
“Oh, I don’t mean it like that. It’s just… listen, if you don’t want to do this, then just say, thank you but no, I don’t want to do it. Don’t try to duck out on it.”
I just shook my head. “Marilyn, you have no idea how ugly this will get. Wait until Stewart goes after you and the kids! Wait until Charlie comes home from school with a black eye when some kid calls his father a murderer. What about the girls? They don’t even know about this yet!”
“I am a grown woman! Don’t try to hide behind me and the children. If you don’t want to do this for your own reasons, fine, but don’t say it’s because of us. I’ll handle it just fine, and it probably won’t be the only black eye Charlie ever gets. He’s too much like you. No, you ask yourself if you think you can do something good. You already know the answer to that! I’ve read your books and heard your speeches, too.”
Marilyn stood up, and Dum-Dum came back over to my lap. My wife bent down and kissed my thin spot on the back of my head. I tried to reach around and swat her, but couldn’t reach. She giggled and said, “It’s late and I’m tired. I’m going to bed. Just remember, I love you, no matter what you decide.”
I sat there after my wife went down the hall to our room. I went out to the kitchen and opened the liquor cabinet, and poured myself a shot of whiskey. I sat down on one of the bar stools at the island while Dum-Dum slept on in my recliner. I just stared at the shot for a bit. Was I running away? Could I bring something to the job? Could I actually do something like this?
Was my wife ashamed of me?
I had nothing to prove and so much to lose. To go through all that it would take to run for Congress and then lose ignominiously would be almost too much to bear. To say I could just go back to my old life at that point was naïve. It would certainly affect the business. At that point I should just move to the Bahamas and start over again.
Was my wife ashamed of me?
Could I do it? It would take a year just to run and find out I had lost, and had lost my reputation in the process. Why would anybody in their right mind actually want to go through this? As the saying goes, the cream rises to the top, and then curdles. Andy Stewart had probably started out an idealistic asshole. Where had he gone wrong? What would this do to me?
Was my wife ashamed of me?
I drank the shot of whiskey, savoring the burn as it slowly went down my throat. I poured a second, and put the bottle away. I drank the second shot, and then put the glass in the kitchen sink. I stood up and turned off all the lights, and then limped down the hall to the bedroom. Marilyn was already asleep. I went to the bathroom and then climbed into bed.
Marilyn seemed normal again the next morning, and I tried to tuck it all away in the back of my mind. We took the kids to soccer, and then drove them to Friendly’s afterwards for ice cream. Dinner was hamburgers, and we simply avoided the topic the rest of the day. It was like Marilyn had forgotten it all, but I hadn’t. “You ran away,” kept echoing in my head.
I watched the Sunday morning news shows until noon, stewing at the nonsense I saw. I knew what needed to be done, and what I could do, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I stared at the television, and then grabbed my jacket and the leash, and took Dum-Dum for a walk around the property. I had only one thing to think about.
Was my wife ashamed of me?
When we came back into the house, I turned Dum-Dum loose, and let her chase the twins around the kitchen. I glanced over at where Charlie was watching television, and Marilyn was loading dishes into the dishwasher. I limped over to the telephone, and dialed a number I knew by heart.
John Steiner answered. “Hello?”