Chapter Nine
JOURNAL ENTRY - BEN Burns. I’ve been alone before. Being independent of anyone else’s help is not a foreign concept for me. And yet, I’ve got this strange feeling in the pit of my stomach – like I have no control over my fate. This is a contradiction many people in politics face, but having to run this operation on my own is only going to make this harder.
Nicola Jackson and Eric Keppler, colleagues and one-time allies, are key to this entire puzzle. After all, they were the ones who, despite some trust and respect, helped put me in this position of forced independence. Keeping those two honest with me will be the only way to...
TURBLENCE BROKE MIKE’s concentration. The problem was compounded by the relatively small space provided for leg room and the so-called “tray tables” airlines provide, both of which are in keeping with the illusion of quality service. Overall, even minor turbulence could turn reading on an airplane into an intolerable exercise.
Mike placed a bookmark into the novel. Given recent events, he had felt compelled to re-read pieces of his own work of literature, hoping to gain a clue into what had happened back in Florida and why someone would harm his actors. Looking out of the tiny, ovular window next to him, Mike noticed the skyline of what was clearly St. Louis. Half-way there, Mike thought.
After taking a sip of his four ounce cup of apple juice, he jumped back into that novel...
“THE NEW DEMOCRACY Party was founded on the primary principle of innovation. We’re not here to rehash old debates or to pretend “Later Gator” is an issue that offers real choices to the student body. No bull – just issues. That is what we are offering to the student body. All we ask for in return is that you speak your mind. If you do that, the silent majority will speak in October and we will all win!”
Ben Burns was a nervous fellow, but the speech went fine. Not as good as the one given by the student celebrity that had just endorsed his fledgling effort. Yet, it worked. He’ll get some good sound bites into the press, and will be able to push his primary goal – “setting student organizations free” – in the Student Senate during next week’s debate over the budget.
As much as he was alone in it, he was finally doing in SG politics what he always wanted. He was speaking with his one true voice, on a campaign that was all his own. But the people he counted on most in his previous efforts were not there with him, except Anthony Capolli. That fact kept a dark cloud over the campaign, and probably contributed to his losing the fall election in a very big way.
But, with campaigning comes respect, and with respect comes influence – even if he remained largely ignored by the establishment he never fully trusted...
MIKE STOPPED READING when he heard the captain indicate that the airplane was making its final approach. Mike was looking forward to this detour; it was a chance to escape from the routine of film-making. While it did mean he was going to lack the steady support of his current friends, it did give him an opportunity to reunite with some others, particularly those that he just could not, for biological reasons, give up on.
ANNE ADAMS WAS waiting for her brother in the lobby area of the Portland International Airport. Sure, it was late at night, and Simon, her aide, didn’t like the idea of a City Commissioner being up this late just to see a relative arrive in town. Yet, Anne did not care. It’s not every day one of my little brothers comes to visit me, and especially not the now-famous Mike.
Mike came around a corner and she instantly recognized him. He still looked the part of an off-duty politician – sports coat, Oxford blue shirt, khaki pants. His dirty blonde hair was just barely receding, and wrinkles only just now getting noticed. A messenger bag was slung over his shoulder.
The only thing about him that was unexpected should be understandable, given the circumstances of his arrival. As a former congressman working on a new film, you’d expect to see an aide or two following him, with the press further in tow. Instead, he was on his own.
MIKE FOUND ANNE waiting for him in the lobby area as expected, with her aide Simon most likely outside with the car running. Anne looked like someone still adjusting to a recent weight loss, but doing so well. Her red hair – by design, not by birth – was resting comfortably on her shoulders. Her face, with a trademark lack of makeup, revealed the usual signs of age for someone in her early 40s. Her clothes showed the careful balance of a local politician’s social status and Anne’s own discomfort in such stature.
With a smile, Anne’s usual emotive restraint gave way to excitement in seeing her sibling arrive in her new hometown. Portland, Oregon was a familial favorite, but Anne was the only one to make it her place of residence. The toll on her, being so far from the rest of the family, shows most clearly in these kinds of instances – when one of them comes to visit her.
After hugging, they left the airport. As Mike predicted, Simon was at the curb waiting for them to get in. A few scattered flashes showed a remarkable lack of press attention. They were grateful for it – no one actually needed to know about this family reunion.
Anne and Mike were especially close siblings when they were younger – closer than either one was with their brother Paul. They had similar academic backgrounds, had clearer memories prior to their parents’ divorce, and even had some of the same interests as they bucked childhood stereotypes. Their close bond held together through the rough times. And that’s also why the conversation during the ride home was more of a family catching up on old times. They both knowingly waited for the comfort of home – and of mixed drinks – before either broached the topic of recent events.
ANNE’s HOUSE WAS relatively modest for an aspiring politician, even by Portland’s standards. Spending her late twenties as a motivational speaker and spokeswoman for the power of meditation, Anne’s finances were never much of an issue for her. She kept things simple; no reason to get things too complicated. Yet, she did live in a more suburban part of town, with a white picket fence (which was a pit of irony, as she never liked that 1950s stereotype). The house was two stories tall, but neither floor had much square footage, and neither did the backyard.
Once inside, a black and white tabby greeted the trio. Anne lifted the kitten into her arms and led her brother into the living room on the right side of the house.
Simon announced his departure, but made certain to remind his boss of her schedule for the next day. “You’ve got a speech with the Portland Chamber of Commerce at ten, a luncheon with the congressional delegation at one, and the City Commission is in session from three to six.”
“Thanks, Simon. Keep me posted.”
“I will,” the chubby political consultant said as he spun around and left for his own abode. Finally, the siblings were alone and in privacy.
“I know one thing,” Mike said with confidence in his tired voice. “You’re going to need to call Simon back.”
“What for?”
“After we are done talking tonight, you may want to make a small change to your itinerary for tomorrow.”
“In what way, Mike?” as she sat up in the recliner and looked more intently in the direction of the bar, where he stood pouring an amaretto sour – one of his favorites.
“By canceling everything.”
MIKE WAS RIGHT, as usual. As he told her the interesting news behind the news, she considered spending the next day helping him think this through. Instead, she just let the conversation continue well into the night.
“So, let’s think this through. Who would want to do you harm?” she said carefully after thinking for a moment.
“Or more accurately, who wants to harm my movie?”
“We can probably rule out those who hate you personally. Those people would be more direct in their approach. We can also rule out politics. Your career in Congress has long since been over, and this movie aims more at your time in college, not anything recent.”
“Right. So what you’re saying is...”
“That this mayhem is not about you at all.”
“But wh
at about the letters?”
“Some sick game. The culprit is probably just toying with you to keep you interested.”
“If we use that logic, it hardly rules anything out.”
“Unfortunately, Mike, that’s the heart of it. My best guess is that your culprit does not want the world to see whatever is in that movie. Are there any differences between the movie and the book?”
“Aside from technical and space considerations?”
“Right.”
“I don’t think so. “A True Gator Party” makes fun of the absurdly tight strings the leadership honorary had on Student Government, and how campus politics was based on that. It’s hardly a subject matter that would surprise or anger anyone that was involved.”
“But it does go into detail about the lengths people go to in order to use campus politics to get into that honorary, all for the promise of prestige and success in the real world,” Anne pointed out.
“Yeah, but who cares? This is a fictional account of what happened. No one knows who is who except those who lived it. And this was nearly twenty years ago. Any truth to the book won’t disrupt the lives of those parodied because no laws were broken and our careers since then have been based on the merits of our skills, not the people we know”.
“Hopefully, then, this is a sick bastard we’re dealing with,” Anne said half-jokingly.
“We can only hope.”
THE SIBLINGS WRAPPED up their conversation shortly before Mike passed out in the guest room. When he woke, his sister had already left for the day. Ah, the memories of long-gone endless days as a politician, Mike thought as he sloshed through a milky cereal breakfast of Corn Chex.
Still in his pajamas, Mike rinsed his used dishes before making his way into the living room again. After wiping his damp hands on green-plaid pants, he turned on the television.
Another tourist trip to space was cancelled for lack of funding. The U.S. Treasury Secretary expressed support for a limited holiday on FICA taxes. An assassination attempt on an Egyptian official was unsuccessful but resulted in the suicide of the would-be assassin.
Mike was finally alert when the news monitor shifted its focus. “The headlines coming out of Washington, D.C. are as follows,” a cheerful brunette said. Among other items, the Washington Metro system was weighing a fare increase to cover a budget shortfall. Politicians were whispering about plans for the budget surplus. And D.C. police were investigating a break-in to a private weapons development plant – specifically the site of a much-hyped prototype for a counter-terrorist sniper rifle.
The news in Gainesville was, as expected, still reporting the new investigation into the incidents on campus. A friend of his, from those long-gone college days, has fallen ill with food poisoning. Brenda Freddies, a staff professional with the University, was admitted into the hospital after eating at a local pizza joint. She was not alone, however; at least three other customers met the same fate.
“Enough of that,” Mike said out loud to himself, and turned off the monitor. It is time to get working on why I’m here in Portland in the first place.