Deadly Politics (2 page)

We played together nearly every day, outside in the spring, summer, and fall; inside in the winter. We learned how to argue and fight fair, how to make up, and how to make each other cry. We confided our dreams, our secrets, and our current crushes. We practiced rolling our hair in curlers while gorging ourselves on popcorn and Coke at sleepovers, giggling ourselves senseless and scaring each other with ghost stories when the lights were out. We grew through every phase of childhood and girlhood side by side, stumbling through awkward adolescences together and emerging as young women.

Bill and Mike entered the picture in college, when Nan and Deb married their college sweethearts. I married my college sweetheart, too, but lost him after ten years. Nan and Deb were lucky. They still had theirs.

“You need another Cosmo, Molly,” Bill said, rising from his chair again, ever the considerate host.

“Why not? No interviews in sight, so if I get hung over, it doesn't matter.”

Another nice thing about being with old friends is that you can rejoice when you're happy and complain when you're not. And whine. Tonight, I opted for whining.

“I should never have left Colorado, you know that? I should have stayed with that Denver developer and found a second job. Sold my car. Sold something.” Bill placed the icy glass in my hand, and I took another large sip.
Whoa
. He'd made it stronger this time. What the hell. The better to whine with.

“Might I remind you, Molly, you didn't have anything left to sell,” Mike said, placing a large wedge of cheese on the cocktail napkin in front of me. “Your portfolio was damn near totaled by that broker.”

“Asshole,” Bill pronounced.

“Can't you get anything back?” Deb asked.

“Nope, he's repenting in an ashram in Boulder. Besides, it's my fault anyway. At the beginning of this year, I told him I needed money, and I needed it fast. When he suggested those other investments, I said to go for it.”

“Damn, you didn't.” Bill shook his head.

“Damn, but I did,” I admitted, then took another large sip. Confession was good for the soul. “Commodities futures are a gamble. If you guess right, you're rich. If you're wrong, well, you go mooch off your friends.”

“You're not mooching,” Nan chided. “We've wanted you here since you divorced Frank.”

“Asshole number two,” Bill intoned behind his glass.

“You're simply starting over again, Molly, and this is the best place to do it. Here with us.” She gave an emphatic nod.

There were those words again. This time the vodka egged me on. I snatched the yummy wedge of Camembert. Add a little cheese to my whine. “The thing is, Nan, I feel like I've been starting over all my life. When Dave died, I had to start all over again, all by myself, with the girls in Colorado. And I started over again when the girls left home. And then again when I married Frank. Sold my house. Gambled everything on a new relationship, and then the relationship died.” I gestured in frustration.

“That weasel,” Deb scowled.

I had to laugh. Deb was nothing if not loyal. “Well, he wasn't a weasel, just weak.”

“And he couldn't keep his pants on.”

“That, too.”

“And he practically threw you out of your condo!” Deb was working up a righteous wrath, with help of the vodka.

“It was
his
condo, remember? He was letting me rent it until I decided where I wanted to buy. But this thing with my mom wiped everything off my radar screen. Time and luck ran out. The point is, I had to start all over again after the divorce two years ago. And now I'm doing it again.” I released an aggravated sigh. “Damn, I'm fifty-six, and I'm still going in circles.”

“Something will turn up,” Mike said, giving me a reassuring smile. “I can feel it. By the way, how's your mom doing?”

I pictured my mom sitting with her old friends from Washington, laughing and playing cards in the garden of the gracious retirement community. “She's doing great. I called her on the way over and told her I'd visit tomorrow. She was really happy that I was back in town.”

“What will you tell her about the job?” Bill asked.

“I'll think of something. It won't really matter what I tell her because she won't remember it. After thirty minutes, she'll forget I even said it. I'll have to tell her all over again the next day,” I said with a shrug.

Our little group fell silent, all of us no doubt pondering if we would wind up like my mother—relaxing in some pricey retirement oasis, playing cards and visiting with friends, repeating conversations over and over, blissfully unaware of the mental deterioration. I wondered, did vodka kill brain cells?

Mike hunched over his glass of Scotch. “Molly, have you thought about moving your mom into an assisted living place? I know she loves it there in McLean, but it's damn expensive. That would solve your money problems, because you wouldn't need to pay a companion.”

I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. “I hear you, Mike, and you're right, it would solve the money crunch. But I just can't do it. She's so happy there with her friends. These are women she's known from those old days when they were all senators' wives together. They've been best friends for a lifetime. It would break her heart to leave. I can't do that to her.”

“Well, if her memory is going, maybe she wouldn't care,” Nan suggested.

“Maybe she wouldn't even notice,” Deb ventured as she selected from the cheese tray.

“Oh, she'd notice. I actually tried to suggest it, in a roundabout way, after she'd wandered off from the Kensington for the second time. I was getting worried, and the director reminded me that they have a ‘three strikes and you're out' policy.”

“But your mom is still there, and she went walkabout a third time,” Nan said, handing her glass to Bill, who was making another trip to the bar.

“Only because I begged them to let her stay and promised I would hire a companion immediately.” I snagged other slice of Camembert. “Thank God I found Patricia that next week. She'd finished one assignment and was ready for another.”

“You know, Molly, there will come a time when your mom will have to go into assisted care.” Bill paused at the arbor's edge, his deep baritone voice somber. “Remember, my dad had to go after my mom died. And I've seen it happen with other friends' parents. It seems to be a natural progression.”

I stared at the stone patio, each block irregular, and shook my head. “Yeah, I know, but until that time I want her to be where she's happiest. She had such a look of shock on her face when I mentioned the idea of moving to a ‘safer' place. I don't want to do that to her. Not yet. I'll know when it's time.”

“Okaaay, then,” Mike clapped his hands together, the successful chief executive calling the meeting to order. “Let's get back on point. Finding you a commercial development job. It'll turn up, I can feel it. You may have to go south. Down I-95. The commute will be God-awful, but it's another option.”

I drained my glass and set it aside. Let the vodka float take me. “I'll do whatever it takes, guys.”

“Can we do the rest of this brainstorming over dinner?” Nan suggested, rising from her chair. “That tenderloin is perfect.”

“What, and absorb all that vodka?” Bill teased. “Molly's finally relaxing.”

“Did you say Karen is coming?” Nan asked, finishing her martini.

“I called her after I heard from Parker and told her not to drive over tonight. She can wait until I snag a real job.” Remembering my niece's disappointment over the phone, I added, “She's such a sweetie. She said she'd ‘find something for me.' I told her I'd be okay. She's busy enough in that congressman's office. I don't want her taking time from her career to worry about me.”

“She cares about you, Molly,” Deb said, leaning back into the chair. “Ever since her mom and dad died, you're the only family she has left.”

I stared out into the garden, dusk fast claiming the light. “You're right. She calls me every week to talk. I guess I do feel like she's another daughter.”

Suddenly a familiar voice called from the side yard. “I rang the bell, and when no one answered I figured I'd find you all out here.”

Talk about conjuring. There was my thirty-six-year-old niece, Karen Grayson, looking demure in her navy suit as she walked past the azalea bushes and rhododendrons. Despite the vodka cloud, I leapt to my feet. “Karen! You didn't have to drive through that nasty traffic tonight. I could have met you in D.C.,” I said, rushing to give her a welcome embrace.

“No way I'd miss your homecoming, Molly,” Karen said, giving me a big hug before she turned to embrace the rest of her extended family.

“Hey, sweetie, good to see you. Sit down and join us in a drink before dinner,” Nan said, hostess taking precedence over gourmet cook for the moment.

“Actually, if you've got one of Molly's Colorado beers in your fridge, I'll take that,” Karen said when she'd finished receiving a circle of hugs. “Boy, I really needed all those hugs. It's been a tough week.”

Bill headed to the bar once again. “One Colorado microbrew coming up.”

“Here, sit down and relax for a while,” Mike said as he patted an empty chair. “How many crises have you averted in Nebraska this week?”

Karen laughed as she settled into the chair. She brushed her shoulder-length ash-blond hair off her forehead in a gesture I'd watched from her childhood. “No crises so far in Nebraska.” She held up crossed fingers. “Just the regular election-year anxiety.”

“But we had an election last year. Why so early?” Deb asked, draining her glass.

“There's no such thing as ‘early' for a congressman. We're in perpetual election mode,” Karen said as she accepted the beer. “Thanks, Bill. I need this.” She tipped back the bottle with the colorful label and drank. “Wow, I forgot how good these taste.”

“Is Congressman Jackson going to have some real competition this time?” Bill asked.

Karen shrugged, then took another long drink. “Actually, I'm tired of talking about Jackson,” she said with a mischievous smile. “I came to talk about Molly.”

“We've already beaten that horse to death,” I joked. “I want to hear about you.”

“But I've got news. Good news. Remember I said I'd ask around about jobs for you? Well, I found one. And I think you'll like it. In fact, I think you'll love it.”

I blinked at Karen through the fast-evaporating vodka cloud. My mouth dropped open, but no speech came out.

Mike was quicker on the trigger. “What? You found something on the Hill?”

“Not on the Hill, but close. She'd be working for a senator. Just like she did years ago in Colorado.” Karen reached over and patted my arm. “You're a natural, Molly. Politics is in your blood. It's time you got back to your roots.”

I stared at Karen again, but this time I closed my mouth. The vodka had released an ocean of memories from long ago. They flooded through me. Returning to Colorado with my little girls, heartbroken, bitter, and needing a job. Old Governor Lambert taking pity on the young congressman's widow, giving me a position in his Denver office. Then, years later, Senator Hartman hiring me for his Senate staff. Both of them helping me create a new life in my husband's home state. My home ever since.
Roots?
I tore them out when Dave died.

I came back to the present, and the past scurried into the bushes. “
What!
Who would be crazy enough to hire me? I've been out of the loop for ages.”

“God, Molly …” Mike shook his head.

“Either get her more vodka or some black coffee. She's losing it,” Deb said.

“The new Independent senator from Colorado, that's who,” Karen said with a sly grin.

My mouth dropped open again. John Russell had cut a swath through the Colorado landscape last year like a tornado over the High Plains. Russell's message of “fresh ideas” and a strong, independent voice in a fractious Senate resonated with enough Colorado voters to hand him the victory. Of course, the nonstop bloodletting of his Democratic and Republican opponents weakened any threat from them. Russell was a millionaire business success story who'd built a small local trucking firm into a national transportation powerhouse. A true visionary turned philanthropist. That track record combined with his dynamic personality and mesmerizing speaking style had handed John Russell a crucial swing seat in the United States Senate.

“You're kidding,” I said when I found my voice again.

Karen chuckled. “Nope. Apparently he's a huge fan of your father. Peter Brewster, his chief of staff, said the senator wants to model his Senate career and service after your father's. You know, a moderate senator from a conservative state, helping to make a difference.”

I stared at Karen once again, memories enticing me to slip back to that golden time. It was another day, and that day was gone forever. Passed away with my father. Acrimony and dissension ruled our national debates now. There was no place for politicians like my father in today's Senate. No room for statesmen. Even iconoclastic, dynamic, mesmerizing millionaires like Russell. I shook those memories back into the bushes with the others.

“Karen,
you can't be serious. I haven't worked in politics for years now. There's no way I'm qualified to work for any United States Senator again. Even this Russell. Especially not here in Washington. I couldn't do it. I just couldn't. I was able to in Colorado, but not here.”

“You wouldn't be near the Capitol, Molly,” Karen replied, a reassuring tone in her voice. “You'd be working in the senator's Georgetown residence. As a consultant. Don't worry. I told Peter how reticent you were about working in Washington, and he understood completely. Believe me, he's anxious to meet you.”