"Why did you come back here?"
"I had nowhere else to go."
He basked in the warmth of her body, held close to him. "Now you do."
He walked with her to the door. He looked back at Lance, who still cowered in the corner, then smiled again and said, "Have a nice day," and left with Gwen in his arms.
They went down to the street, and Arthur called "Taxi!" to the first unoccupied cab he saw.
The cab swung over to the curb and the cabbie, a middle-aged Jewish man, looked out the window at them and said, "I think you'll have to put her down to get in."
"I believe you're right," said Arthur.
He let Gwen down to the ground and they popped into the back. As Arthur pulled the door shut behind them, Gwen said, "I couldn't believe it. I just couldn't believe when you whipped out your sword-"
"Heyl" said the cabbie angrily. "It's pretty obvious that you two are on your honeymoon, but let's keep the filthy talk to a minimum, okay?"
"Yes, sir," said Arthur meekly. He glanced over at Gwen and winked, and she smiled. It was her first real smile in weeks.
"So you two lovebirds want to tell me where you're going?"
"Yes," said Arthur. "Central Park."
"Sounds good." The car eased its way into the busy lunch hour traffic.
"Central Park?" said Gwen. "What's there?"
"My home away from home."
"Oh." She paused. "Thank you. About not hurting Lance."
Arthur turned and looked at her. "But he hurt you."
"I suppose in a way he was right. I had only myself to blame. Because I let him get away with it. But never again."
"That's the way I like my queen to talk."
She looked up at him dreamily. "I'm really your queen? You're really-"
"Yes. lam."
"And I'm really-"
"I think so."
"How can we know for certain?"
Arthur smiled. "I'll know."
Chaptre the Eleventh
Bernard B. Bittberg was accustomed to coming out of City Council meetings and being surrounded by the press. He smiled now into the cameras as they crowded around him on the steps of the big marble building he'd just left. Bernard struck a dramatic pose, one hand jauntily on his ample hip, his head cocked to one side, a smile plastered across his face.
Moe floated unobtrusively in the background.
Bernard waited for questions about his plans for his campaign, his opinions on the current hot issues, his plans for the city if elected. And it was a tribute to Bernard B. Bittberg's skill as a politician that when the first question out of a reporter's mouth was, "What do you think of Arthur Penn's chances in the upcoming mayoral race?" he did not turn and slug the questioner.
"He's made quite a splash with his soapbox speeches, Ber-nie," shouted the reporter from Channel 4 news. "And some of the proposals he's made are quite unorthodox. Do you have any comment on-"
Bernard waved off the question and managed to keep his smile glued on his mouth. "Now boys, I have all of Mr. Penn's proposals under consideration, and before I make further comment I'm getting the opinion of my advisors on the matter. That's all, that's all." And he brushed by the reporters with uncharacteristic abruptness.
Moe followed on his heels, not thrilled by the turn of events, and ^hetv Bernie hopped into his waiting limo, Moe was even less thrilled that Bernie waved for him to get in as well. Bernie slid over to accommodate Moe and tossed one last wave to the reporters as the limo pulled away.
Once they were under way his friendly facade melted away like butter on a skillet. "What the hell was that all about?" he demanded.
"I'm not sure what you mean exactly," said Moe slowly.
"Then I'll explain it, exactly." Bernie lit up one of his dread cigars, and opened the window a crack to allow the smoke to trail out behind them. "You were telling me a couple of weeks ago that there was barely any interest in this Arthur Penn guy, that he was going to go away."
"I never said that, Bernie," said Moe reasonably. "I said I hoped he'd go away. There's a big difference."
"Wonderful. So I come out of a City Council meeting, all set to announce that we've reallocated money to fill potholes, and all I get are questions about this Penn guy. Now what, I wonder, put the press on to this guy. Huh?"
"Well, uh," Moe tugged uncomfortably on his collar, "I suppose in a small way it's my fault."
" Your fault. How is it your fault?"
"I called one of my contacts with the DailftJVews. I asked him to check through Penn's background, to find what he could dig up, dirtwise. He owed me a big favor, and he's one of the best muckrakers in the business. Frankly, I'm surprised the National Enquirer hasn't snatched him up yet."
"The point, Moe. Get to the point."
"The point is that he did the investigation. Real deep. Real thorough." Moe turned a dead glance on Bernie. "Know what he found? Nothing."
"Oh, come on," Bernie said incredulously. "Your man just didn't do his job, is all. Everybody's got something in their past that can be used against them as a weapon."
"This guy is squeaky clean, I'm telling you. It's easy enough for my friend to check, because everything's on computers these days. He checked with everyone from the FBI and the IRS to the Department of Motor Vehicles. Not only does Arthur Penn not have any sort of negative record anywhere-not even so much as a parking ticket or late credit card payment-but he has a distinguished service record in the army. Everything about this guy checks out perfectly."
Bernie took a long, thoughtful drag on his cigar. "Maybe too perfect, you think?"
* It has crossed my mind, yes."
"You gonna keep digging on him?"
"I'm not exactly sure where to dig at this point. It's backfired the first time around, because my reporter friend became so fascinated by Penn that he wound up doing a big spread on him. A lot of people have started getting turned on to Penn. If I get more people looking into his background, with my luck 60 Minutes will come in and canonize him."
"So what do we do now?"
Moe interlaced his fingers. "We start analyzing his proposals, and elaborate for the edification of all and sundry exactly why they are stupid and unworkable."
"Sounds good."
"And in the meantime we can pray that our luck holds out."
"Our luck?" Bernie shook his head. "I don't see-"
"Penn could be making a lot more hay of this attention than he is. Instead he's playing it close to the chest. He surfaces for a few hours in random parts of the city, pontificates, then vanishes again. I tried calling him in his office several times to arrange a meeting with him, just to get some reading of how he handles a one-on-one. I heard some shouting in the background the first time I called, and since then the guy's never there." Moe frowned. "A kid has answered the phone a couple times. He recognizes my voice and hangs up on me."
"Not exactly the way to make friends and influence people."
"My feelings exactly. Let's hope that we keep it up. The main thing we have going for us is this Penn's utter lack of experience."
"Yeah." Bernie laughed with a cheerfulness he did not feel. "Can you imagine a guy who makes speeches and then vanishes? Never accessible to the press? What's he trying to do, run a campaign through word of mouth?"
"So it would seem. There's one thing that bothers me though."
"Yeah? What's that?"
Moe paused thoughtfully. "What if it works?"
* * *
Arthur stood outside the door to his offices, wrestling with a crisis of conscience. There was a part of him that wanted to take Gwen and hop on the nearest bus out of town. Or plane. Or boat! That would be excellent. A nice long cruise over the ocean, far away from Merlin and his machinations.
He looked at his reflection in the opaque glass. Who was he? he wondered. What had he become? For as long as he could remember-and he could remember quite a ways back-every action in his life had been made because he'd had to do it. Not because he wanted to, but because he had to. His was the eternal sense of obligation, and it had begun to take a toll on him after all these years.