My Honorable Brother Page 18

  “Will he listen to you?” Doug asked.

  “I can’t order him around. I can only try and reason with him. But make sure you let your guy—what’s his name, Ryder—make sure Ryder knows the numbers I just gave you on the economics. He’ll know the Union wants to settle if Morelli shows he’s willing to go along with those same numbers.”

  Fiore nodded affirmatively to confirm that he’d speak to Ryder. After a brief silence he said, “It’s not my business, Sandy, so you don’t have to say anything, but have you or the Platts given any thought to selling the place or shutting it down?”

  Tarantino shifted in his seat before answering. “Irwin Platt is getting a little impatient, I’d say. He’s got real deep pockets but he doesn’t like it when his hand can almost feel the bottom. I’ve been encouraging him to give it more time. He says he will, but who knows what he’ll do if there’s any serious cash squeeze from their other businesses. I think Ocean State will do a lot better if we can ever get out of this goddam recession.”

  Fiore pressed a little further. “What if Hanley’s determined to settle for less than the numbers you gave me and the Union threatens to strike? I mean what if he thinks that to save the plant or just to save face he’s got to get back some of the stuff he gave Morelli three years ago?”

  Sandy answered without any hesitation. “I figure Ryder has been around the track enough times to know how to rein him in and avoid a fight if Morelli isn’t looking for one. The guy is supposed to be a pro at what he does. You told me that yourself. But if there’s a real problem, we’ll talk about it. See if you can keep up with what’s going on over there. Shit, old buddy, you don’t have anything else to do, do you?”

  They both laughed out loud.

  The driver brought the food and Berman returned to the limo. They ate quickly, filling the back of the car with small talk about the Celtics and Knicks and how the fortunes of the two teams had changed dramatically from what they were five years earlier.

  “The Knicks could spot the Celtics ten points a game and win nine out of ten times,” Berman said.

  No one argued with him. “You can’t expect the Celts to do much without a big man in the middle,” Fiore offered.

  “Hold it there,” Berman interrupted. “Those words of wisdom you just spoke, Doug, reminded me of something. I don’t want to get personal, but I want to make sure you understand that Mr. and Mrs. John Q. Public expect their candidates for high office to have various attributes. High on that list is a very elusive thing called morality. I know for a fact that you have an excellent reputation in that regard. But between us guys, it’s that big man in the middle that can cause trouble. Know what I mean, Doug? Let me put it as simply as I can. It’s virtually impossible to get elected to public office if you get caught with your pants down. I mean literally. It cost Gary Hart a real shot at the Presidency, no doubt about it. Clinton slid by, with everything he did, because it all happened with him before anyone knew who he was. So don’t screw up, and that was no pun intended.” Berman and Tarantino had agreed earlier that nothing would be said at that time about Fiore’s affair with Carol Singer.

  Fiore sat looking at Berman, his eyes riveted on the man who clearly controlled his immediate future. Berman returned the gaze at first but it made him uncomfortable and he turned to get something out of his briefcase.

  “Sandy?”

  “Yeah Doug.”

  “Ask Cyril a question for me, will you?”

  Tarantino was about to tell him to do it himself, but something in Fiore’s eyes, something he could recall from their days together in college, prompted him to go along with the request. He knew whatever was coming would be funny.

  “Sure. What do you want me to ask him?”

  Berman looked back and forth at the two of them. He didn’t know what was going on and felt awkward as he waited.

  Fiore hesitated. He kept his eyes on Berman, prolonging the suspense. When he spoke, he let the words come very slowly. “Ask Cyril … whether it’s okay … if I’m only caught with my fly open.”

  Berman’s look of disbelief quickly faded in the wake of the boisterous laughter coming from the two men sitting across from him. He was about to reemphasize how serious he was but was stopped short by a quick wink from Tarantino.

  * * *

  When they got back on the highway, Berman announced that it was “quiz time.” He took out his copy of the notebook containing the policy positions sent to Fiore earlier. Asking questions as if he was the only member of the media who was present at a news conference, Berman took Fiore through every one of the campaign issues he was instructed to study. If Doug said too much, he was cautioned to think like a witness in court.

  “Answer only what you’ve been asked. That’s important,” Berman stressed. “Don’t volunteer anything else.”

  If Fiore’s answer deviated at all from the position prepared for him, Cyril scolded him in a professional manner and made him discuss the particular point again.

  Berman posed some questions that weren’t covered at all in the position papers, knowing they would catch Fiore unawares. He simply wanted to see how Doug reacted under fire to something he knew little or nothing about. After each one, he showed his client how to sidestep the inquiry and discuss something he was familiar with instead. He also instructed him on the correct way to avoid answering a question when he hadn’t yet had the opportunity to review all the facts.

  “This is very important also,” Berman cautioned. “They don’t expect you to know everything, even though they ask it. Just don’t make up things as you go along for the sake of sounding smart at that moment. Someone there will always check out what you said. If they catch you in a lie or just plain wrong about something, they’ll crucify you in the papers.”

  The limo turned off the highway again shortly after crossing the long span of bridge just beyond New London. Berman continued his persistent grilling until they pulled up in front of the single terminal at the Groton-New London airport.

  “You sound very good, Doug,” Sandy said. “I’m really impressed. You’re going to be a hell of a candidate. But we’re getting close to Rhode Island and sometimes the boys in blue like to pull a limo over just to see who’s inside. It’s probably the easiest way to get themselves free concert tickets if they stop the right car. If they see me in here, they’ll want to know who you two are, and that would get reported to a few of the wrong people right away. We don’t want that to happen, do we? So you two can get out here and go the rest of the way by yourselves.”

  Tarantino shook hands with Berman. “I reserved a Buick at Hertz under your name, Cyril. Thanks for meeting us in New York. I’ll be in touch.” He extended his hand to Fiore. “Talk to you soon, old buddy. Don’t forget what I said before about the campaign.”

  On the way to Providence, the soon to be candidate and his undercover manager talked sports again most of the time. They went back and forth about how the Red Sox and Yankees were doing in spring training, which of the two teams would finish the season higher in the standings and how the new free agents they picked up would help each of them.

  As they neared the city, Berman said, “I understand from Sandy that you were delighted with his suggestion you run for governor and with his Family’s willingness to back your campaign financially. He said he expected you to need a couple of weeks to think about it, check with your wife, sound out the partners at your firm and call your friends, but that you took just three days to let him know you were gung ho for it. That’s a great attitude to have going in to one of these things, but let me assure you there’ll be times before it’s over when you’ll wish you never gave running for office a second thought.”

  Doug didn’t say anything. There was no point in correcting the version of events Berman was given. After all, Sandy was making that scenario look a whole lot better than it was.

  “We went over a whole lot of stuff tonight,” Berman continued, “but it was all me talking and you listening. Is there a
nything I should know that you want to tell me before the hard work begins?”

  Fiore was pleased with the opportunity the question gave him. “Yes, I guess there is,” he began. “I’m new at this game, no one’s ever heard of me and chances are I won’t get elected. I may not even make it through the primary. That doesn’t mean I’m not going to try as hard as I can to win and to justify Sandy’s faith in me. But the reality is that I’ll probably be going back to my law firm in September if I lose to some other Republican, or in November after the election. So I want to be certain that during this campaign I don’t do or say anything I’ll regret, that I’ll be ashamed of later on or that could hurt my firm. I understand that I may have to say some negative things about my opponent. That’s okay if he earned it by something he did that’s on the record, but I’m not going to tell any lies, or half truths or whatever you want to call them. We’re not going to do anything that anyone can call immoral or unethical. Winning doesn’t mean that much to me. I want to go as far as we can on the issues—and I believe we’re on the right side of the important ones—not on what throwing dirt at anyone will get us.”

  “That’s fine, Doug. I’m all in favor of a positive campaign. Let’s just hope that whoever your opponent is feels the same way.”

  Berman dropped Fiore at his downtown garage at just after ten o’clock. “I’ll stay at the Sheraton overnight and fly back to DC in the morning. Work hard on that videotape.”

  Fiore assured him he would and said goodnight. As he walked toward the elevator, he remembered that he was scheduled to spend some time at the Sheraton himself that night. But Joe Gaudette’s phone call changed his plans. He hoped he could still get Carol to meet him during the week. I’d better get as much of her as I can, he thought, before things start to heat up.

  25

  INCREDIBLY, THE TEMPERATURE ON March 15th was threatening to reach 60 degrees, and sunshine filled the park in Kennedy Plaza. The homeless who slept there at night and occupied the benches during the day removed their heavy, tattered jackets and overcoats. The out of fashion designs on the sweaters they wore left little mystery as to how old they were, removed at last from a bureau drawer where they had lain untouched for years, or handed down a number of times before being brought to a Salvation Army or Morgan Memorial storefront. People who normally just nodded at acquaintances in the street couldn’t pass each other without asking, “Can you believe this weather?” Spring, still officially six days away, was giving a welcome preview of coming attractions.

  Carol Singer had already looked down twice on this scene from her office window on the thirty-third floor. She was writing a brief for a case in the State Supreme Court and liked to walk around the room for inspiration whenever it became difficult to translate her thoughts into just the right words. She ignored the telephone when it rang. Her instructions to Kathy Walsh, her secretary, were to tell clients she was in conference and would return their calls later on. The unexpected sound of Kathy’s voice on the intercom startled her for an instant.

  “Your husband is on line one, Mrs. Singer.”

  When she answered, Bruce invited her to have lunch with him at the Biltmore. His firm’s offices were just two blocks away, on Weybosset.

  “What’s the occasion?” she asked him.

  “I’ve made a decision about running against Sacco,” he told her. “I want to share it with you.”

  “I wish I could, Bruce, but my department’s hosting a lunch for some big wheels from Fleet. We’ve been after some of their banking business for a long time and I’m one of the speakers.” She hesitated a few moments. “Is it what I want to hear?”

  “I really think we should be holding a glass in our hands when we talk about it.” His voice was playful. Carol knew what he would tell her. She felt relieved and wonderful.

  “I’m sorry, honey,” she said. “How about a rain check for tomorrow?”

  “Not for all the money in the other banks your firm already represents. This is today’s decision and today’s celebration. I’ll tell you what. I haven’t had a good Italian dinner in weeks. Let’s go to ‘Capriccio’s’ after work. I’ll pick you up in your lobby at 6:30 and we can walk over.”

  Carol didn’t know how to respond. She had already promised to meet Fiore at the Hilton, at seven. Her body still tingled when she thought of their lovemaking the week before. She was angry with him about the trip he suddenly made to New York, cancelling their tryst at the last minute. But he was anxious to make it up to her when they got in bed two nights later. She hadn’t felt as satisfied in a long time, and thought now of the way he teased her as she kept crying out in pleasure. “That’s number five,” he chuckled, “or is it number six? I hope no one on this floor is trying to concentrate on anything.”

  But she understood how much anguish Bruce probably went through to reach this point. He was doing it for her. Losing the election to Sacco wouldn’t bother him as long as he had the opportunity to debate the issues with his rival and let the people of Rhode Island know what he wanted to accomplish as governor. His confidants had obviously convinced him that it would be better to wait for the next election, when there wouldn’t be an incumbent to go up against. The State Constitution limited any governor to two terms. Bruce was taking their advice, “pulling a Cuomo,” as he would put it. She realized that he didn’t want to risk seeing their marriage fall apart where the chances of achieving a political victory were remote. She couldn’t reject him now.

  “Okay, it’s a date,” she said.

  Carol dialed Fiore’s number. Dana Briggs answered and told her that he was out of the office for the day but would probably call in for messages. She asked if Carol wanted to leave one for him.

  “Yes, I do,” she replied, her mind racing furiously to come up with something that would sound innocent. She recalled the stories going around years earlier about Fiore sleeping with Briggs and was sure Dana knew how to read between the lines. “Doug told me he might be going out to dinner tonight with one of his clients. He wanted to bring me along because the client’s having some financial problems. I don’t know if that’s still on, but something else has come up and I can’t join them. If he calls, just tell him I’m unavailable tonight. He may want to change the date for the meeting.” She tried to sound as nonchalant about it as she could.

  “Who’s the client?” Dana asked.

  “I don’t know,” she answered. “He never told me.”

  “I’ll give him your message.”

  Briggs hung up the phone and went into Fiore’s office. His calendar was on the desk, open to that day. She looked at it and saw only the initials “C.S.” in the space for appointments after 6:00 p.m. She smiled, and thought about what a terrific lover Doug was.

  26

  JENNA RICHARDSON WAS BORED. Nothing of any interest was happening on the political scene. She had done telephone interviews with Nancy Williston and Michael Droney, the two incumbent members of Congress from Rhode Island. Both indicated earlier through their offices that they would be seeking reelection. They would formally announce their candidacies, they told her, after Spence Hardiman declared his. “Protocol, you know,” each said.

  She also tried to get some leads on who might be coming forward to try and unseat them. The Republican and Democratic Committees did what they could to be helpful. They gave her the names of those local lawmakers who showed some interest in running statewide for Congress, and she dutifully followed up with phone calls.

  But as several contacts in the Statehouse had enlightened her, “Things are different today, Jenna. It’s not like before, when you served one or two terms in the House or Senate in Rhode Island, or at least you’d been a mayor for a while before you tried to step up and become a ‘US Rep.’ Now, anyone who’s successful can decide to try and get elected. It doesn’t matter whether it’s a lawyer or some nobody running a restaurant. All it takes is money to have a shot at the job. Just look at who ran for governor last time. Sacco against McGurty. Neither of th
ose two guys was serving in the legislature when they got in the race.”

  Richardson was beginning to think that she assumed too much about those books she saw on John Sacco’s desk. And since Spence Hardiman never spoke to her prior to that telephone call, maybe he was just being a little cautious when he took his time before answering her question. She knew McMurphy was right about not speculating in print that Hardiman wouldn’t be going for a second term, not without some reliable source for the information. Otherwise, it could have caused a lot of embarrassment in different places. Still, she had always pushed ahead on what her gut told her. She believed in what she saw and what she heard, whether anyone else did or not. If there was a place she could go and put down a few dollars on Hardiman not running again, she would do it.

  At two o’clock Jenna phoned the Herald newsroom to let McMurphy know what her story would be about that day. There was a surprise waiting.

  “Get some background material on Hardiman ready because he’s in Providence to make an announcement. They’ve called a press conference for four o’clock at his office in the Courthouse.”

  “I’ll get right on it,” she said.

  “Now we’ll see what kind of a swami you are, Jen.”

  “Five dollars says he bows out,” she countered quickly. “Even money, Dan.”

  “Uh, uh, since you’re so sure of yourself, my five to your ten,” he answered.

  “You’re on, sucker.”

  27

  FIORE CALLED THE OFFICE for his messages in the middle of the afternoon. Dana told him about the call from Carol Singer. Anxious to confirm her suspicion that Fiore and Singer were a twosome, she asked whether he wanted her to contact the client and change the dinner date. Doug didn’t identify the client and said he’d take care of it himself. Dana had her answer.

  “Shit!” he shouted inside the phone booth after slamming down the receiver. He already told Grace that morning not to expect him home before ten. That meant she wouldn’t have any dinner waiting for him and might start asking questions if he got there any earlier.