Chapter 1
The
woman in the sunburst yellow dress settled behind a small boy who stood between
his parents in the front row. In her carefully chosen spot, she would have no
problem seeing the senator. More important, he would be able to see her.
Following
the presidential candidate’s schedule occupied most of her time. She knew him,
and his routines. He was a clever politician, a clever man. At one time, she
admired that about him. In spite of his womanizing history, she’d held him in
high esteem. She hadn’t cared about the rumors of his less-than-ethical
political acumen. He was bright and confident. Like her, he knew what he wanted
and achieved it. The one thing he lacked was loyalty. That was his one
unforgivable flaw.
A
momentary stab of rejection cut through her as crushing memories of betrayal
clamored to the forefront of her mind. Another staunch memory held them at bay,
protecting her as always from thoughts that could leave her filled with rage or
shattered from distress. I did what I had
to. He gave me no choice.
***
Rows
of supporters without access to the ticket-only event stood shoulder to
shoulder, necks stretched and ready for a coveted glimpse of the man who could
be the next president of the United
States. Young and old mingled together, most
dressed in patriotic colors and wearing Grayson
for President buttons. Tabloid reporters and photographers took strategic
positions at the iron-gated entrance to the prestigious institution.
The
mainstream press had already set up their sound and video equipment on Columbia University’s south lawn. Amsterdam Avenue
was closed for two blocks north and south of 116th street. With the absence of thru
traffic, the cacophony of city activity hummed in the distance. Escalating
murmurs obscured the honking horns, worn, grinding transmissions, and truck
trailers loaded with goods booming as they slammed into the streets’ deep
potholes. Area residents, intent on going elsewhere, glanced at the restless
group and at the clouded sky. Briefcases and umbrellas in hand, they hurried to
subway stations or Columbus Ave
to hail a cab.
***
She’d
been waiting for the event to begin since spectators and press had started to
arrive. Turning toward the reporters at the campus entrance, she caught a brief
glance from one of them. She almost shook her head in reproof when he gave her
a slight nod. Instead, she ignored his acknowledgement and vowed not to look
his way again.
She checked her phone for the time. It was still early, but she could be patient. Another half hour was nothing compared to the years she’d waited for what she deserved or rather, what he deserved.
***
As
if on cue, stubborn puffs overhead gave way to a glorious blue sky on the warm
August afternoon. Mounting shouts and whistles alerted all to the arrival of a
line of black vehicles crawling at the curb north of the entrance. Men and
women clothed in dark suits, more apt for a funeral than a summer outdoor
event, exited onto the street. With serious faces, they scrambled to organize
their positions before the guest of honor emerged. By all the staff and
security Senator Grayson utilized, one would think he’d already won the
election. Some criticized his self-importance. Those who knew him well
commended his prudence.
All
who gathered cheered as presidential candidate Senator Todd Grayson exited one
of the limousines. Skilled at working a crowd to his full advantage, Grayson
took his time. Straightening to his full height, he smoothed the jacket of his
lightweight, ivory linen suit. He looked like a white knight among his entourage
of black-clad minions. He faced the street audience, threw up his hands, and
waved.
A
mass of hand-held banners and American flags flapped like a flock of gulls
vying for a prized clam. Classically tall, dark, and handsome, he had as many
men fawning over him as he had women. Not since JFK had a presidential
candidate charmed a constituency as Grayson had.
Grayson’s
staff paved the way for him to enter the campus, shielding him from direct
contact with those crammed behind the barricades. In a move that was either
spontaneous or a well-contrived plan, the senator turned and walked in the
opposite direction and began to shake peoples’ hands. The crowd went wild with
whoops and shouts for attention. Surrounded by his campaign staff, his personal
counsel Douglas Cain, and his bodyguards, he navigated among potential voters
like a rock star.
Grayson
stretched over the wooden barriers grasping as many hands as he could. Men
removed their caps in respect, nodded, and returned strong, steady shakes.
Women squealed and clapped, some patting their beating hearts as if they might
swoon. His broad smile bared perfect white teeth that contrasted with his
golden skin. Grayson’s careful choice of attire, including the pale blue shirt
and tie, conveyed the tranquility of sand and sea. You could hear sighs of contentment
at Grayson’s touch.
As
president, Todd Grayson would take care of you.
He
moved to the end of the narrow walk and back again toward the campus, scanning
the adoring crowd. Grayson slowed when he noticed a woman who appeared
oblivious to the lively throng surrounding her. She stood still but for a
subtle bob and sway, like a buoy when bumped by gentle ocean swells. Tall, with
shoulder-length blonde hair, her bright yellow, sleeveless dress set her apart
from all the red, white, and blue. Her white designer handbag hung on her
shoulder and she clasped her hands low in front of her. Grayson watched her
lift her hand to adjust her dark sunglasses. Sharp and adept at reading people,
her stance unnerved him. He couldn’t see her eyes, but he sensed her stare. He
would have thought she was blind except her head turned to follow his movement.
Douglas
Cain nudged the senator’s arm, breaking the connection with the woman. “We need
to move along, Senator, if we want to keep to the schedule.”
“I
know, Douglas, but this is as important as a
stump speech,” Grayson said, his practiced smile never leaving his face.
Cain
had been with Todd Grayson from the start of the senator’s venture into
politics. With Grayson’s reputation and past, his lawyer’s presence at all
functions was paramount. About to enter the campus, where another group awaited
the senator’s appearance, one of the tabloid reporters caught Grayson’s attention.
“Senator,
you look well rested from your vacation in the Hamptons. What is your response to some of
the negative pushback by your opponent regarding your position on defense
spending?”
Grayson
glanced at the reporter’s nametag. “Tom, it’s not my policy to waste time on
the defensive—at least not until the debates. I’ll continue to do what I’ve
always done, and that’s to present my ideas directly to the people. It’s the
folks’ opinions that count.”
Those
standing nearby nodded and applauded their approval. Before Grayson could turn
away, the reporter asked another question. “Senator, is it true that you were
involved with call girl Sheila Rand and a prime suspect in her murder?”
Grayson
did not move. The rapid blinking of his eyes as he processed the question was
the only indication he had not turned to stone. Sheila Rand.
He
had not thought of the woman for sixteen years. It was true they’d had a brief
affair, but he’d had an alibi for when she was murdered. Cain had taken care of
it. He’d taken care of that and another matter.
A
moment of recognition flashed through the senator’s mind. He whipped his head
toward the woman in the yellow dress. A stream of perspiration dripped down his
face as he desperately searched the crowd. Where
is she? Was it her?
“Senator?”
the reporter prompted Grayson.
Grayson
eyed the reporter. Cain moved in to stand between them, but Grayson refused to
be intimidated. He grinned.
“Tom,
you need to check your facts before you ask questions that make you look
foolish. I have nothing to hide. Sorry, but I’m on a tight schedule,” he said
and allowed Cain to guide him away.
A
grin still pasted to his face, Grayson’s thoughts swam with dredged-up memories
of the past. His chest filled with anxiety. He couldn’t breathe. Grayson was
drowning in thoughts of all that could go wrong. He looked at Cain, his
protector—his life preserver. He exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been
holding. The lawyer would deal with any fallout. That was his job.
Grayson
shook off his concern and strode through the university’s gate to where he would
give a rousing speech. Excited college students and faculty packed the stands.
They applauded as he stepped to the podium. Another stage. Another performance.
Everyone quieted and Grayson began the prepared rhetoric he knew would raise
spirits and hopes. That was his job.
As
his popularity tide rose, Senator Todd Grayson glided into the hearts and minds
of those who would elect him to the most powerful position in the world. It
would be smooth sailing, unless the long-ago matter of a murdered call girl surfaced
and dragged his political career into a maelstrom of disaster.
________________________________________________________________
Robert L. Bacon
theperfectwrite.com
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