As far as I could see, Rod’s single function was to keep track of the suits-FBI, campus administration types, I don’t know who else. Lester Rowland seemed to be around a lot. And Rod was always at his elbow.
Within the core group, there was an obvious power elite-Emily, Jaime, Aleda. The others were satellites whose focus was primarily on the Big Three rather than each other. Taken as a whole, they all seemed to be good and affectionate friends, more extended family than comrades in arms. There was always a lot of hugging, supportive cheering, appreciative feedback. Rod was never in the clinches. I never saw him take a lick.
Though they appeared very cohesive in public, I had overheard many bitter arguments among the core group at my parents’ house. I could not remember ever hearing Rod’s voice amid the shouting.
What had Max said about Rod? He didn’t seem to shit, shower, or fuck. He wasn’t a loner by choice. What was his function?
Rod Peebles might have been a walk-on player during the sixties, but in his own seventeenth floor office in the Broadway Towers, he was a star. Billboard art left over from his last campaign plastered an entire wall of the reception area: RE-ELECT ROD PEEBLES, and an eight-foot high air-brushed impression of his face. I don’t know how his staffers could have worked everyday under the gaze of his hand-painted azure eyes.
Except for the poster, the furnishings were very subdued, if a bit posh for a government office. There was a Christmas tree in one corner, a menorah in another; all bases covered. A caterer was setting out trays of pastries and fruit on fold-up tables covered with neutral-colored cloths. I could smell coffee brewing in the big silver urns. The four or five staffers helping with last-minute preparations for the open house were young, well-trimmed and neatly turned out. Rod, at their age, would never have fit in among them.
A bright-looking young man in shirtsleeves and a modified Kennedy haircut walked over to greet me.
“Hi,” he said. “We aren’t quite ready, but welcome.”
“I’m not here for the party,” I said. “I want to speak with the Assemblyman for a moment.”
“Rod’s expecting you?”
“My name is Maggie MacGowen.”
The blank expression behind his smile was filled in by a rush of recognition. “Emily Duchamps?”
“Yes. My sister.”
As I said, he was bright-looking. He took my hand and held it perhaps longer than was necessary, maybe mulling through some possibilities.
“May I see the Assemblyman?” I asked again.
“Have a seat,” he said. “I’ll check.”
The young man went through the heavy mahogany doors that led to the inner office.
Rod Peebles came right out, flushed, showing a lot of capped teeth.
“Maggie,” he crooned, smothering me in an embrace. “Gosh, what a nice surprise.”
“Can we talk somewhere?” I asked.
“Come on inside.”
He ushered me through to an impressive office with a magnificent view of the city. I was hoping for someplace private, but I seemed to have interrupted a meeting. There were half a dozen men and women in intense discussion around the massive granite conference table. They didn’t look like a party crowd. No one even looked up as we walked in. I counted six chairs pulled up to the table, all of them occupied. Rod and I went to a leather sofa against the near wall and found space to sit among a clutter of crossword puzzles and sunflower seed shells.
“What can I do for you, Maggie?” he asked.
“Where is Aleda?”
He threw up his hands. “Damned if I know. I walked on water to get her out-in my custody-but she took off for parts unknown.”
“Am I supposed to believe you?”
“What choice do you have?” he laughed. “What choice do any of us have? Aleda has always done exactly what she wanted, and the rest of us be damned. My neck is really on the chopping block on this, Maggot. She’s called in a couple of times, but she won’t say where she is.”
“Maybe that’s smart, after what happened to Emily,” I said. “But I really want to talk to her.”
“Next time she calls, I’ll tell her.”
The discussion at the conference table grew very loud, seemed to crescendo; then there was a thoughtful silence. Rod seemed oblivious to it. One of the conferees, a tall, thirtyish woman with a well-cut, East Coast suit picked up a thick appointment book and walked over to us.
“Yes, ma’am?” Rod said, looking up at her.
“You up for one more assembly run before we try state senate?”
“You tell me. Am I?”
She grimaced. “That’s the consensus. We’ll make the announcement in April, when you get back from Washington.”
“When do I go to Washington?”
“Rod, did you look over the calendar I gave you?” She could have been speaking to an idiot child. She held her hand out to me.
“Lena Hilgard,” she said. I did my master’s thesis at Columbia on Emily Duchamps and the political ramifications of the Peace Movement.”
“Did you really?” I said. “Why does that make me feel old?”
She finally smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, Miss MacGowen. I admire your films.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I’ve thought for a long time that it would be interesting to do something about political staffers, what their function is within the system.”
“Good idea,” Rod said brightly. “Lena, see if you can work something out with Maggie to coincide with the campaign.”
Lena gave Rod a dubious glance. “Trust me, Miss MacGowen. There are some aspects of politics the public would rather not know about.”
I glanced at Rod and thought she might be right.
“Nice to meet you, Miss MacGowen,” she said, offering her hand again. “Sorry to interrupt.”
Rod passed me a bowl of sunflower seeds. I have a good team,” he said. “Top credentials, everyone.”
I refrained from asking him why they hadn’t saved a seat at the table for him.
“I’ve taken enough of your time,” I said. “If Aleda should call, tell her how much I want to talk to her. I’ll probably be out the rest of the day, but tell her I expect to be at Emily’s all evening.”
“If she calls, I’ll tell her.” He stood up with me and walked me to the door. He stretched. “It’s about lunch time. Want to go out with me for a bite?”
“What about your party?”
I forgot,” he chuckled. “They won’t miss me.”
“Maybe another time,” I said. “I left Max’s Beemer up at the Police Academy last night and I need to go fetch it.”
“Police Academy?” he repeated, as if he hadn’t a clue. Then suddenly he flashed me his poster smile and squeezed my hand. “Always good to see you. Drop in again.”
“Thanks for your time.” Thinking again that Rod wasn’t a loner by choice, I turned and walked out, leaving him to his sunflower seeds and crossword puzzles.
I was in the hall, waiting for the elevator down, when Lena Hilgard slid out of Rod’s office. The edgy way she kept looking over her shoulder toward the office, I knew she had something to tell me. When the elevator came, I held the door for her, ignoring the collective glares of the people inside who were thus forced to wait.
“Looking for me?” I asked.
She nodded, checked the hall a last time, and ducked into the elevator in front of me. There were maybe eight or nine people going down with us. She kept her eyes forward, and her mouth shut, until we came out in the basement shopping mall.