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Authors: Terry E. Hill

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BOOK: The Committee
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She then looked at Chauncey and said, “I will pay you double what you expected to receive from Monsieur Thaddeus Barrière for his portrait and will also reserve a special place in hell for his wrenched soul.”
The three items now sitting on Juliette's dining-room table were accompanied by a box of wooden matches and a silver tray.
Thaddeus Barrière was a man of immense wealth and power in New Orleans and in the state. He owned hundreds of slaves and ran his cotton plantation with a cruel hand. “This great country was built on slavery,” he often said. “Any man who threatens the fine and honorable institution of slavery threatens the very future of our nation.”
His political path was clear. He was the former mayor of New Orleans and now served as a member of the state legislature. The governor's mansion was clearly in his sights and no one dared challenge him. That is . . . until Juliette Dupree.
She took the seat at the head of the table and studied the items painstakingly gathered. “It has been two years since I have had need of your services,” she said looking at the candle. “I command you now to heed my words and, without delay, do my bidding.”
Sparks sprang from the wick. “Time is of the essence. I command you to unleash your powers.”
Juliette removed a match and struck it on the coarse side of the box. The flame caused flecks of golden fire to appear in her transfixed green eyes as she lit the candle. The wick burst into flames, and then settled into a gentle burn.
“Squawk! Squawk! Squawk!” came the rapturous cry from Amadeus on the perch.
The first item to be subjected to the flame was the document, which she lit from the top two corners and placed onto the silver tray. Then came the portrait of Barrière looking arrogantly up at her face glowing in the candlelight. The oil paint on the little cloth canvas made its consumption by fire a quick and dramatic deed. Finally, the lock of brown hair was placed just above the tip of the dancing flame. The hairs crackled and curled as they melted from the heat, sending a flurry of sparks into the air.
Juliette placed the burning hairs on the tray on top of the still-glowing embers of other items and said, “Thaddeus Barrière is no more. Jean-Luc Fantoché shall be the next governor of Louisiana.”
The candle flame extinguished when the three items on the tray stopped burning. The room went dark except for the few orange embers on the tray. The only sound was the approving squawks from Amadeus in the cage.
“It is and so I let it be,” were Juliette's final words before exiting the room.
 
 
Studio lights beamed down onto center stage of the CNN set of the
Truman Live Show
forming an effervescent pool reserved for the famous and infamous. An army of cameramen, technicians, producers, and gofers prepared for the arrival of Mayor Hardaway. Gideon sat thumbing through cue cards in a corner of the studio while a makeup artist dabbed the last bit of powder onto his glowing forehead.
“Are you almost ready, Mr. Truman?” a studio cypher asked anxiously. “We're live in five minutes.”
“Is she here yet?” was his reply.
“Yes. She arrived a few minutes ago and is in makeup now. She'll be out shortly.”
“Good, then, yes, I'm ready.”
It had been two weeks since he last spoke with Camille in her office at city hall. Gideon had still not shaken the uneasy feeling about her. The familiar rumble in his gut returned when he heard she was in the building.
I don't know what it is, but I'll find out, even if it's live on national TV,
he thought as he stood from the chair and removed the makeup bib from his neck.
Nerves he hadn't felt for years crept from his stomach and consumed his entire body as he took his place under the hot lights.
Pull yourself together, boy,
he thought as he felt the first layer of perspiration forming on his brow.
Don't let her get in your head,
he thought, successfully willing the moisture to not form.
Suddenly he saw a woman enter the set from the dark shadows. The lights pointing directly in his eyes prevented him from seeing her clearly, but the statuesque silhouette was unmistakable. Gideon was reminded why she was one of the most popular politicians in the country as Camille moved from the darkness into the light.
Only this woman could make a basic skirt and jacket look like the manifestation of a gifted designer's ultimate masterpiece. The voluptuous curves of her hips were framed by a deep blue Punto Riso knit suit with a liquid black satin shawl collar and satin pocket flaps. The perfectly rounded mounds of her breasts peeked up from the deep “V” of a black satin shell, demonstrating to all that the power she wielded as the mayor of the great city in no way diminished the sensuous woman at her core.
Gideon stood and greeted her with an air kiss on each cheek. “Mrs. Mayor, thank you for taking the time from your schedule to do this. You look breathtaking as usual,” Gideon gushed like a schoolboy.
“It's my pleasure,” she responded with the confident air of a woman in control. “Is this where you want me to sit?” she asked motioning to one of the two directors' chairs on the set.
“Wherever you are most comfortable,” he replied humbly.
Camille instinctively assessed the positioning of the lights and cameras and concluded the seat she pointed to would capture her best side perfectly.
The set was minimal and modern. A glossy black floor shimmered like a pool of water under their feet. Two black leather director stools, a sixty-inch monitor positioned just above Gideon's left shoulder, and a backdrop of neon-blue curtains. Gideon waited for Camille to sit before taking his seat.
Their images immediately flashed on the monitor behind Gideon. Hands of faceless crew members fumbled to attach microphones to each of their lapels. They were easily the two most stunning people in the room, and arguably, the entire city. Gideon's dark caramel skin and chiseled cheekbones were more suited for a Calvin Klein model than an investigative reporter. Camille's flawless skin, flowing black volcanic hair, and mesmeric eyes elicited the usual gasps and seconds of stunned speechlessness from all who looked in her direction.
The two exchanged preinterview banter, all while being completely aware of the effect their combined beauty had on everyone in the studio.
“I'm assuming there won't be any surprises,” Camille asked rhetorically.
“Nothing you can't handle,” he replied with as much sincerity as he could muster. “All the questions are straightforward with an emphasis on your plans for the new stadium.”
“Almost ready, everyone,” came a booming voice from an unknown place. “And we're live in 5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 and . . .”
“Good evening, America,”
Gideon said to the camera.
“I'm Gideon Truman, and welcome to Truman Live.”
Millions of viewers from coast to coast were now entranced by Gideon's beguiling smile.
“Tonight, my guest is Camille Ernestine Hardaway, the first woman to serve as mayor of Los Angeles, California, and, recent polls show, a politician with one of the highest approval ratings of any politician in this country since World War II. Welcome, Mayor Hardaway. Thank you for being here.”
The camera panned out to include Camille in the shot. The two sat at angles with their best sides facing the camera.
“Thank you, Gideon. It's my pleasure.”
“Now, let me get this out of the way,”
he said with his signature boyish charm.
“At the risk of receiving thousands of e-mails and tweets accusing me of being politically incorrect or sexist, I must say you are not only one of the most popular politicians in the country, but you are also, hands-down, the most beautiful.”
“There's nothing politically incorrect about complimenting a woman,”
she said with a carefully portioned measure of modesty and wisdom.
“I think everyone enjoys hearing kind words. So, thank you.”
“You are most welcome. Now that I've gotten that off my chest, we can talk about things important to you and to the people of Los Angeles. As I said in your intro, you are the first female mayor of Los Angeles. How has the experience been for you?”
“I imagine it has been the same for me as it has been for every mayor preceding me. My gender has had very little impact on my ability to do the job. The people of Los Angeles have been their usual amazing selves and have supported me in most of my initiatives.”
“You mean you haven't encountered opposition?”
“I'm not saying that. Opposition comes with the job. What I am saying is the opposition, support, and even indifference I've encountered, I don't believe, has had anything to do with me being a . . .”
Gideon, with lightning precision, assessed Camille as she spoke.
Playing it safe and down the middle, he silently calculated. All is well in la-la land.
“. . . and for that reason,” Gideon tuned back in as Camille continued, “I believe Los Angeles is one of the greatest cities in the world.”
“Ninety-two percent of registered voters, regardless of their party affiliation, feel you are doing a good job as mayor in your second term in office. Eighty-four percent of registered California Democrats and a staggering 68 percent of Republicans polled felt you would make a good governor. What do you attribute these amazing numbers to?”
“I think voters respond to honest and direct communication. They don't always agree with me, but they trust I'm going to be straightforward about my position, and that I will fight for what I believe in and for what I believe to be in the best interest of the city.”
“And you don't think being a female has helped or hurt?” Gideon asked.
Gideon saw the subtle dilation of Camille's pupils. Her eyes tightened slightly and locked with his.
Stop wasting my time with this gender bullshit. Get to the stadium, she thought.
“I honestly don't,” she replied succinctly, but with the smile that won elections.
Come on, Gideon thought. Get angry. Show the bitch hiding under that beautiful façade.
“So now would be a good time for you to address the rumors circulating about your plans,” he continued, unfazed by the slight change in her demeanor. “Are you going to run for governor?”
“None of those rumors originated from me or anyone in my administration,” she said, delivering the well-rehearsed reply.
Gideon smiled. “That doesn't answer my question,” he pressed.
“I will be honest with you, Gideon. I am considering it. But no decisions have been made.”
“And what are you factoring into your decision?”
Camille flashed a
“don't fuck with me”
look that went unnoticed by the cameras but registered 8.5 on Gideon's “shade” scale. The test of a good interviewer is to know just how close you can push a victim to the edge, and then gently guide them away from the cliff. Gideon knew he'd reached the limit with the line of questioning and decided to accept whatever answer she provided, regardless of how vague.
“Most importantly, I need to know for myself that I was leaving Los Angeles in a better place than when I took office six years ago.”
“And do you feel that is the case?”
“Honestly, I do,” she responded with a dose of humility. “The crime rate has dropped to single digits. The economy is back to prebanking meltdown days. The housing market has not fully recovered, but all economic indicators tell us we are moving in the right direction and at the right pace.”
“The most recent polls show a majority of voters agree with you,” Gideon responded slightly loosening his grip.
“Now everyone knows you were married just before you took office,” he said as if poking a bear with a stick. “Some have said it was a political move on your part to soften your public image and make you appear less threatening to women voters. How do you respond to that?”
An image of Camille in a stunning gold, form-fitting Versace gown, arm in arm with Sheridan in a sleek black Armani tuxedo flashed on the monitor behind Gideon.
You son of a bitch, was her thought.
Much too clever for such obvious bait, Camille responded with, “Nothing could be further from the truth. The idea of marriage hadn't entered my mind during my first campaign. I was focused on the issues and winning the race. I considered a relationship to be a distraction. But when I met my husband, I'm sorry for the cliché, but it was love at first sight. We married shortly after we met, and he has been my biggest supporter ever since.”
“How involved is he in your work? For example, do you consult with him on any of the bigger issues you face?”
“Unfortunately, for me, my husband, Sheridan, couldn't be any less interested in politics than he is,” Camille said. “I'm afraid he leaves the running of the city to me.”
“What does he do for a living?”
“He's in real estate, dealing primarily in high-end residential properties.”
“I imagine he has to walk a fine line doing business in the city,” Gideon poked a little harder. “Every deal he is involved in has the potential to pose a conflict of interest for you.”
BOOK: The Committee
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