Party Lines Page 8

  Lindsay squeezed her eyes shut tight as she embraced the older woman. “Thank you, Clara.”

  “No thanks necessary,” Clara said and stood back, giving Lindsay’s arm a squeeze. “Now let’s get out there and show Hopkins what happens when he picks on the girls.”

  Neither knew at the time that Ron Sharp was way ahead of them, and neither of them could have hated their opponent any more than his own campaign manager.

  ***

  Ron tried to act casual as he entered Bradford Hopkins’ office. His secretary, Thelma, was behind the desk. She smiled warmly when she saw Ron.

  “Well hello there,” she said cheerily. “I didn’t expect to see you this morning.”

  “I didn’t expect to come by.” Ron tried to make his voice sound casual. “I’m on my way to book our boss on Newstalk Today and wanted to pick up a few things first.”

  Thelma’s eyes widened. “Newstalk? That’s quite a coup. What do you need?”

  “The Ruskin file if you have it,” Ron said.

  Thelma furrowed her brow. “Good Lord. That old thing? Mr. Hopkins put that mess behind him long ago. Don’t tell me you think they’re going to bring that up again.”

  Harlan Ruskin, a longtime friend of Hopkins, was a developer who had wanted to put a golf course on one of the county’s few remaining tracts of undeveloped land. But the school board appealed to the county commissioners, of which Hopkins was chairman at the time, to rezone the land so that an elementary and middle school there instead.

  Hopkins scuttled the school board’s request, implying that the land was environmentally unsuitable for either project due to the amount of wetlands it contained. The face of the school board chairman fell when Hopkins said any environmental assessment fees would have to come out of the education budget. It was a tight year, and the county didn’t have the funds to pay for the needed studies.

  But it was Hopkins’ turn to be disappointed when the school board head returned and said the body would pay for the studies. Hopkins remained opposed and since expenditures of the school board had to be approved by the commissioners, it as put to a vote. The other board members voted overwhelmingly to allow the school board to have the studies done.

  But Hopkins wasn’t about to let the matter lie. When the studies came back revealing that the wetlands were too numerous to allow development, he gave an impassioned speech about protecting the county’s “last, wild areas” and the commissioners scuttled the schools’ plans on the spot.

  Eight months later, after the schools had purchased a smaller tract of land in a less than stellar neighborhood, Ruskin was back on the agenda asking to develop the lands the commissioners had denied the schools. And Hopkins had changed his tune, raising his voice in righteous indignation as he called into question the results of the initial assessments.

  The definition of wetlands was draconian, he argued, and after some research he felt he and the voters had been duped by the original studies. The wetlands were nothing more than low spots filled with runoff, he argued, and the Army Corps of Engineers’ “liberal environmental slant” had cost the county a chance to put schools on the land. But he saw no reason why Mr. Ruskin should not have the opportunity to bring jobs and tax revenue to the county through the development of a golf course complex, which now included condominiums and an upscale shopping center.

  A battle ensued, and in the process the head of the Army Corps of Engineers had the misfortune to be arrested for drunk driving. A day later the press had the story, including anonymously submitted photos of the man – who had been recently divorced - coming out of a gay bar. Hopkins made an issue of the man’s character and judgment, while continuing to tout the benefits of the Ruskin project. The Army Corps head eventually resigned and the new one ordered new environmental assessments that determined the land was suitable for development after all.

  The Ruskin project was approved after much arm-twisting from Hopkins, who ultimately got his way by one vote. The controversy caused hard feelings among proponents of the schools and the environment. But felt that Hopkins had somehow influenced the outcome, but nothing could ever be proven.

  But Ron had taken his rose-colored glasses off and knew that somewhere, someone had missed something. And he as determined to find it. He smiled at Thelma as she handed him the folder.

  “I appreciate it,” he said. “You know how unscrupulous politicians can be. I don’t know if anyone will make an issue of the Ruskin case or not, but I want to be read in case I need to give Mr. Hopkins talking points.”

  “Well, I doubt the other side is thinking about much right now aside from damage control.” Thelma lowered her voice. “Did you see the news this morning? Can you believe that Lindsay Martin is an arsonist?”

  Ron forced himself to bite his tongue. “Was,” he said. “And the way I read it, what happened was a long time ago, and not something she’s probably ever repeated.”

  “Yeah, maybe not,” Thelma said. “But still. I mean, it’s such a shame that Clara Faircloth would have hired her knowing it might come out.”

  “A shame?” Ron chuckled. “That’s a strange way for a Hopkins supporter to look at it. Aren’t you glad it came out?”

  Thelma sighed and sat down at her desk. “No, I’m not,” she replied. “And if I weren’t a year away from my retirement I probably wouldn’t have the guts to say what I’m about to say. But I don’t plan to vote for Mr. Hopkins, even if I work for him. We need a change in the way politics are handled. It’s gotten too mean-spirited.”

  She began shuffling things around on her desk. “I almost quit when he had me the appointment with that slimy private investigator. I can’t believe Bill Coats is still around. I hadn’t even heard his name since the Ruskin flap.”

  “What did he have to do with Ruskin?” Ron asked.

  Thelma laughed. “What do you think? Who do you think got those pictures of the head of the Army Corps of Engineers coming out of the gay bar? Who do you think tipped the cops off that he was driving drunk?”

  Ron felt his heart quicken in his chest. “Well, you are a well of information, aren’t you Thelma?”

  “Oh, there’s more,” she said. “I don’t suppose Mr. Hopkins ever told you about the free condo he got out at Willow Branch.” That was the golf course complex Ruskin had developed.” She pointed to the folder. “The information is all in there.”

  Ron looked at her in disbelief. “Jesus, Thelma,” he said. “If people knew about this Hopkins would be destroyed! Why are you telling me?”

  She shrugged. “Because I’m not brave enough to tell the people who need to know. I’ve always wanted to get the knowledge off my chest. You won’t do anything about it. You’re in his corner. I just wanted to tell someone.”

  ***

  Lindsay lay in the bedroom of her apartment, a damp washcloth over her eyes as she waited for the three Ibuprophen she’d taken to kick in. Keeping herself together for three media interviews – two joint ones with Clara who’d insisted on being by her side – had given her the worst tension headache ever.

  The moderate radio host at WNBL had grilled her mercilessly, trying to put her on defensive. But Lindsay’s mantra had been the same throughout the program: “I take full responsibility.”

  “There is no defense for what I did in my youth,” she’d said. “I was wrong and wish I’d never associated with the people I did or thought that violence was an appropriate response to any political issue.”

  “In a way, what has happened to me is good because it reminds me of the pain we cause when we go to any lengths to win. I’m sure I caused others pain and worry through what I did. Now I know how it feels.”

  The self-effacing stance was already helping, although Lindsay as unaware of it. If she’d turned on the news she would have seen that the voters – especially women – were sympathetic to her, and impressed by how she’d taken responsibility. But the bigger boost went to Clara Faircloth, whose matronly dedication to her campaign manager was seen a
s a sign of strength and loyalty.

  But the numbers infuriated Bradford Hopkins.

  “Can you believe this?” he asked, gesturing towards the television. He and Ron were busy preparing for his appearance on Newstalk Today, schedule for the next morning.

  Hopkins walked over to the bar to pour himself a drink. “This is what’s wrong with society today, Ron. Character doesn’t mean a goddamned thing anymore. That bitch should be falling in the polls. Not rising.”

  “I wouldn’t get too upset,” Ron replied. “She was down ten when the news broke. She’s only up seven, so you still got a three point gain out of it, right?”

  Ron had tried to sound hopeful, even though what he wanted to do was laugh. It amazed him that even without his help, Lindsay was doing exactly what he knew she was capable of doing: fighting back and winning. He didn’t now what Clara had said to keep her on board, but he was glad she’d said it.

  “It’s not enough,” Hopkins said, pacing now. “I thought that Lindsay Martin would have quit. Damnit.” He stood staring at the screen, which was replaying the last interview she’d given.

  “There’s got to be more, Ron. And if there’s not we might have to take this to a place you may not want to go. We can’t have them catch up to us; they could try and turn it around on us, to make us look mean-spirited.”

  Ron bit his lip. “Too late,” he thought and tapped his pencil on the papers in front of him.

  “What do you mean by “taking this to a place I might not want to go?”

  Hopkins smiled slyly. “Oh, you know, find someone who used to know her.” His grin widened. “Or who will say they used to know her. Someone who will remember how hopped up she was on drugs the night of the arson. Maybe someone who knew her a year ago who can talk about how she’s still addicted. Who knows, maybe Clara Faircloth is so committed to Lindsay Martin because they’re lesbians.”

  “So you want us to find someone willing to lie.” Ron resisted the urge to lunge at Hopkins, to push him against he wall and drive his fist into his face.

  “Not willing to lie,” Hopkins said. “Willing to sacrifice their ethics for the greater good. A lot is on the table with this election, Ron. You’ve said it yourself. Traditional values are under attack. Our Judeo-Christian foundation risks being shaken by the kind of liberal policies Clara Faircloth and others like her want to implement.”

  He drained is glass and walked back over to the bar to refill it. “Besides,” he said. “All politicians lie. We know that. Sometimes we have to, whether it’s to give people hope or sway their opinion on an issue important to the people who got us here.”

  “You mean the voters?” Ron said.

  Hopkins topped his glass off with more gin. Any other night, Ron would have warned him not to drink with an interview scheduled the next morning, but not this time. The more befuddled Hopkins was tomorrow the better.

  “Yeah, the voters. But not just the voters. People in power don’t get there on their own. They have friends – powerful friends – who help them get there. And if a man wants to keep his office he needs to take care of those friends, because if he doesn’t, he won’t likely be staying long.

  “That’s an interesting take,” Ron replied. “I just remember democracy being described under different terms back when I took civics.”

  “You’re not a child anymore,” Ron. Hopkins threw back the glass and drained it in one gulp. “You’re a man riding coattails to power. It’s time you learned how the big boys played the game.”

  Ron smirked. His half-drunk boss was reaching for the bottle again. He let him do it, deciding after this drink he’d cut him off. He knew Hopkins was likely nervous about the interview, but he didn’t want to have to cancel because he’d gotten too drunk. This time when Hopkins walked away from the bar, Ron walked over and locked the cabinet, pocketing the key after he did so.

  “Yeah,” Hopkins was saying again. “You’re playing with the big boys.”

  “You’re right,” said Ron under his breath. “And the bigger they are, the harder they fall.”

  Chapter Nine

  Lindsay’s headache was better the next morning, but enough remained to get her off to a slow start. She was about to call Clara and tell her she’d be bit late when the doorbell rang. Lindsay sighed heavily; she was in no mood for visitors but when she looked through the peephole she couldn’t help but smile.

  “Clara!,” she said, as she opened the door. “You know you didn’t have to do this.” She ran her hand through her uncombed hair as the candidate, already impeccably dressed in a turquoise suit, breezed in with a box of donuts and a tray holding two coffees.

  “I thought you could probably use some sugar and caffeine,” the older woman said. “Helps clear away the fog. And it’ll give us something to enjoy while we watch Newstalk Today. Hopkins is on this morning.”

  Lindsay groaned and flopped down on the couch, rubbing her temples. “Gee, I wonder what he’ll talk about?” Her voice was sarcastic.

  “I’d better eat this donut fast.” She selected a powdery, jelly-filled confection from the box. “Character assassination has a strange way of ruining my appetite.”

  Clara laughed and sat down beside her campaign manager. “I wouldn’t worry too much,” she said, picking up the controls and switching on the set. “Mark Holden is a really fair-minded host. If Hopkins goes too far it could actually hurt him.”

  Lindsay shook her head. “Ron Sharp won’t let that happen,” she said. “He’s taken this campaign too far to let his own candidate lose.”

  “I’ll say,” Clara said, then – seeing Lindsay’s hurt expression – hastened to apologize. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

  But Lindsay waved her off. “It’s alright,” she sighed. “I deserve it for being so stupid. I’m just glad your numbers are back up.”

  “Thanks to your good performance yesterday,” Clara said.

  “We shouldn’t have to be playing damage control right now. Or playing catch-up. We should be building on the lead we had before I made the mistake of getting involved with Ron.”

  “Can’t change the past, honey.” Clara said in her no-nonsense way. “All you can do is look forward to the future. We’ll have a better idea of where we stand after Newstalk. If Hopkins scores points at our expense we may have our work cut out for us. But if he flubs it or comes off as too mean-spirited then we may have a better chance than we think”

  “I hope so,” Lindsay said, but she couldn’t bring herself to share her employer’s optimism, no matter how much she wanted to.

  ***

  Ron Sharp reached down and helped Bradford Hopkins pin the small microphone to his lapel, wondering as he did why he didn’t feel guilty.

  Earlier in the morning, when he’d given the Ruskin information to a courier with instructions to deliver it ASAP to Newstalk host, Mark Holden, he reflected on his service to Hopkins and realized that he’d known all along that his boss was – for lack of a better descriptor – a complete slime-ball.

  Doubts about Hopkins’ character had always been in the back of his mind, but he’d allowed his own desire for fame and power to get in the way of the ethics and values he’d always considered important.

  But he knew now that values were more than slogans. Values were what made a man do the proper thing; they were what made a man set wrong to write, even when the price of doing so may be his very career.

  “My head feels awful today.” Hopkins’ voice was tinged with anger, as if his overindulgence in alcohol the night before was somehow Ron’s fault.

  “Well, maybe we can get your lawyer to write a threatening letter to Jim Bean for making your liquor too strong,” Ron said. “Or maybe you should try drinking less.”

  “Are you making fun of me?” Hopkins was in no mood for joking.

  “No,” Ron said. “But you knew the interview was early today.”

  “Well so did you,” Hopkins’ hissed. “You should have locked that damn liquor cabinet long bef
ore you did.”

  Ron smiled to himself and kept silent. What was the use of preaching personal responsibility to a man who thought the concept should only apply to other people?

  “There you go; you’re all hooked up.” He stood and looked into the monitor. Even with makeup, Hopkins looked like shit. Good.

  Mark Holden walked over to the table and extended his hand to Hopkins, who managed to plant his best, winning smile on his sickly looking face as he shook the host’s hand.

  “Sorry I’m late,” said Holden. “I had some last-minute research to do in my office before coming down here.”

  Ron hoped that last minute research involved the Ruskin case and Hopkins’ subsequent perks from the developer. Lord knows he’d paid the courier enough to get the package to the Newstalk offices.

  But if Holden had gotten it, he sure wasn’t letting on. The host had a total poker face, and Ron knew he’d just have to sit on the sidelines and wait and see.

  “Are you sitting in on this?” asked Holden.

  “No,” he said. “I’ll just watch.”

  “He’ll come on if I need him to come on,” Hopkins said, casting an irritated glance at his campaign manager. It was another thing Ron hated about the man; he was so completely insecure that he always had to remind everyone around him that he was in control. Even when he was drunk. Even when he was not in control at all.

  “Good enough.” Holden took a seat across the table from Hopkins as Ron left the set and walked over to where a cameraman as giving hand signals. He watched as the man indicated by finger count the seconds left before the two were on air live. Five, four, three two, one…