Character Witness (18 page)

''
Don't forget, Kathleen, the people I told you about. Carl, of course, is one you wish to impress along with Richard. There's also James Ellis who is Carl's right hand man. Gloria Pennin is a big supporter of Carl's and she runs Power Records. Oh, what am I saying? Talk to everyone, hand out your card. Let the world know you're here and that here is O'Doul & Associates.''

''
I know. I know. And if you talk about it anymore I'm going to start getting nervous.'' Kathleen turned Gerry toward her and straightened his bow tie. She stood back. He patted it.

''
Don't let them see that you're on the edge. Who would want to hire a nervous attorney?''

He laughed. Kathleen didn't. He was absolutely right. Who would want to hire her if she appeared less than capable? There wasn't another moment to even consider it. The elevator doors were open and Kathleen Cotter saw what she had expected to see all those weeks ago - offices of stunning proportions that screamed opportunity and success. They stepped out into the reception area of Shay, Sylvester & Harrington.

People were everywhere: drinks in hand, balancing plates of food, laughing without really sounding amused as they passed. A low hum of conversation was background music to the conga line. Women were dressed in suits in colors that were dark. The few women in dresses seemed to hug the walls. Spouses, Kathleen decided. Men followed the same pattern as their professional female counterparts. This was the A team, no slouches about. Kathleen blessed every article in every fashion magazine she had ever read. On Gerry's arm they moved into the heart of the firm.

Here the serious gathered. People smiled but more often than not their heads were together as they engaged in deep conversation or their eyes were darted about as they searched for someone they would like to engage in an even deeper, more lucrative dialogue. There was a subtle difference in the way these people were dressed, the jewelry they wore. Kathleen smelled money. Kathleen was finally north of Wilshire.

A waiter passed by with a tray full of small cakes and Gerry moved into his wake. The first person who stopped to nibble was reeled in by Gerry O'Doul. Kathleen was thrilled to be cut lose so soon. The ball had just begun and she was determined to make it to midnight with her shoes on.

''
Carl? A refill before you face your supporters?''

Richard held up a decanter, its many facets catching the light and shooting prisms toward the corners of Richard Jacobsen's office.

The mayor looked over his shoulder, checked out his glass and shook his head. He was tired and looked it. Facing a camera or a city council meeting, a group of well wishers or a reporter, he bloomed. Alone, without the jarring light of public scrutiny and the fuel of public adoration, Carl Walsh was a shadow man, blending into his surroundings. Tall and a little stooped, he looked less a politician than a disenchanted college professor. But out there he became animated, talkative, back slapping and glad handing. His schizoid tendencies had cost him a wife but the loss of a wife would not affect his run for the Senate. It might actually help. She had been such a bore.

''
Nope, I'm fine. I'm just worried.''

''
No need. Everything is going very well. Out there you'll find some of the most sycophantic folks in the entire legal system. All are willing to reach deep into their firm's coffers, and their own pockets, to support you. They believe you will be one of the next Senators from California. They want your good favor, Carl. They want your ear when you reach Washington.'' Richard poured himself two fingers, replaced the stopper and held his glass. ''And in here you have your campaign committee. Me, myself and I. Believe me, between everyone out there, and me in here, you haven't a worry in the world.''

Carl walked from one end of Richard's office to the other. It was one of the most beautiful he had ever seen. Richard, unattractive as he was, had a marvelous eye for beauty. Carl couldn't have begun to describe the place or figure out how he managed to pull it all together - antiques, modern furniture, artwork and collectibles. He made a statement so elegant visitors almost forgot who, and what, Richard Jacobsen was.

Carl put his glass on a small table nestled by a big chair and walked back to where Richard sat. There he sank into a carved chair that had a mate on the opposite end of the long table that served as Richard's desk. He propped his elbows up. He'd had a bit to drink, just enough to put him on the edge of depression.

''
I'm not sure we should make the budget thing our lead on the campaign. I mean it's an incredible story, but I don't want to get caught up in anything - you know - that the press could make anything out of.''

''
Carl, Carl, Carl. Please.''

Richard put his head back.. He sounded weary. Unlike many small men, he hadn't opted for a power chair. The one in which he sat was tasteful and perfectly proportioned to his short, almost misshapen, body. Everyone who realized this nod to practicality was impressed by it. Richard Jacobsen, they assumed, was a man with no ego. He was the possessor of a fine mind that worked brilliantly for the clients of Shay, Sylvester & Harrington, who put himself second. They assumed wrong.

''
Don't use that voice, Richard,'' Carl begged, his head now falling into one upturned hand. ''You sound like a schoolmarm.''

''
And you sound like a man who doesn't really want what he says he wants. You sound like a child, and all this time I thought I was playing with a big boy.''

''
Richard,'' Carl whined. Both hands were over his face now. ''It's just now we're going to start screaming about it. It's one thing to have it on paper where the press can just pick it up, but I don't want to debate. . .''

''
If you're tired of everything go home. If all you want to do is practice instead of pitch, I'll find someone else to support for the Senate. I'll help someone else who is willing to take some risks for what they want. I thought you were that man.''

''
I am,'' Carl grumbled miserably, ''I was only saying that I think the emphasis on issues should be spread out a bit more to protect us. All of us, Richard.'' He tried to give Richard a knowing and harsh look. He succeeded only in looking as if his bodily functions had suddenly gone awry. He tried again. ''What we've been doing isn't going to be so easy when we're dealing with Federal budgets. You know, that and I know that. A city is one thing. I controlled the city, but Washington is different. With the way the press is these days if I toot my horn too much on one topic they're going to come back at me hard. I don't want anyone snooping around. I just want to win this election, settle in and leave it at that.''

''
It will never be left at that, Carl. This is politics. Nice looking as you are, I'm afraid you won't be able to swing votes on that alone.''

Richard Jacobsen stood up in a surprisingly fluid motion. He was a legal vampire, appearing and disappearing with little fanfare, but always carting away the blood while everyone else was still arguing about how much there was to suck. He was a smart cookie and Carl had done well listening to him. What Carl lacked was Richard's surety that everything he did was what should be done. He never attached words like right or proper or moral. Richard simply did what he had to do to reach an objective that seemed logical to him. There was little he was passionate about and his passion was usually reserved for very special people. Richard knew them when he saw them. Carl was not one of them.

He wrapped his hand around Carl's upper arm and helped him up; though Carl wasn't sure he had wanted to go just then. Richard steered him toward the door.

''
It's time to meet and greet. Put on the face, Carl. It's a wonderful one. Tomorrow have your medication checked. I think your chemical imbalance has shifted again. Leave everything else to me. Everything. It will all be just fine. You will be hailed as a fiscal God, I will have what I want and my good friends at Tysco will have what they want. That is even more important to me than your ultimate destination. No one will get in our way. I promise you. No one.''

Richard opened the door to his private office. It was a stunning design. Though he could see many of the three hundred people milling about in the outer offices, they could not see him.

''
Look at them, Carl. To them you're already in the Senate. To them you've already got the power. All you have to do is turn on the charm. Shake their hands. Tell them what they want to hear. We've talked about that. It's a different story for these people than it will be for those on the street. These people want to know their money is being spent right. The guy on the street wants to know that you're saving him a buck. Just do what you've been doing and all will be well.''

''
You really think so, Richard?'' Carl asked, looking into the short man's soft brown eyes.

''
I know so, Carl. I know so.'' Richard gave him a pat on the back. It felt good to both of them. Carl smiled but it faded quickly.

''
Oh, Lord. He's here. Gerry O'Doul. I don't want to talk to him.''

''
I think you should. I think it might be a very, very good thing,'' Richard mused.

''
I think it would be dangerous as hell. That old man is sharp as a tack, Carl. I don't want him anywhere near city business.'' Carl moved back into the shadows. Richard remained at the door eyeing Gerry O'Doul and the woman beside him.

''
You might be right. I don't know,'' Richard said, more to himself than to his candidate. ''Just give him some reign. Keep him on the line. With a name like his, it wouldn't hurt. There are still those around who remember. If we can get you elected and out of the Mayor's office before he becomes a problem then you're home free. Just keep smiling. Tell him you and I are working on something for him - for old time's sake.'' Richard watched Gerry without a sigh of admiration or compassion. It would be good for Gerry O'Doul to concentrate on something other than the Booker business. ''The old can be so tedious, but they do deserve some consideration. Some more than others.''

With a slight push, Carl Walsh was out the door, Richard looking after him. It was a sight to see, Carl Walsh turning on. People were his batteries, he glowed the moment he plugged into them. He would do well in the coming months. Very well indeed, and Richard Jacobsen would do even better because his hands were on the reigns guiding this wagon train. As long as Carl remembered to simply head in the direction Richard pointed, all would be well.

The door was almost closed when Richard saw Gerry O'Doul moving in on Carl Walsh. Richard paused, watched and was satisfied that Carl was giving Gerry just enough of his time and attention. Richard's eyes darted over the immediate crowd surrounding the two men. O'Doul's niece was nowhere to be seen. Richard closed the door. He wasn't surprised. She was probably out on her own. A handsome woman like that wouldn't be clinging to an old man when there were so many other, younger, more interesting men around. He knew so well how hard it was to keep the interest of a young and handsome companion. Kathleen Cotter, he wondered, what is it that would keep you around?

Closing the door, Richard went to the private bathroom, the door a hidden panel in the wainscoting of the wall. It was as well appointed as the office. He washed his hands, combed his hair and managed a glance at the woman in the picture he kept on the antique bureau in the small dressing room.

How he loved her. How little she understood him. He slipped out of the bathroom, out of the office and into the flow of the human river that ran through the offices of Shay, Sylvester & Harrington.

''
Do you like them?''

Richard Jacobsen was beside her and Kathleen hadn't even sensed his coming. It would have been understandable if she was still in the middle of the muddle near the main bar, but she wasn't. She was alone in a conference room, smaller than the impressive one in the main office. Meaning to stay for only a moment, Kathleen had been mesmerized by the amazing oasis she had stumbled on.

Hung on the sand colored walls were paintings so surprising in their brightness and intensity, their fluidity of style, that Kathleen felt positively transported to an exotic place full of life and passion. They were happy paintings, feel good paintings, inspired by white romantic beaches on exotic islands. Kathleen couldn't imagine what kind of legal work was ever accomplished under their influence.

Perhaps it was the comforting influence of the paintings that kept her from being startled by Richard Jacobsen's sudden appearance. After all, in exotic places, strange and wonderful things happened.

''
Do you like my collection?'' he asked as if they'd been together contemplating the big canvasses for some time.

''
Yes, I like them very much.''

''
I do, too'' Richard said, moving over a few steps to stand in front of one that was long and bright. Tall houses huddled happily together like good friends leaning into one another with great camaraderie. The houses were painted in shades of peach, red and yellow. She wanted to live in one. ''This one is stunning, don't you think? The artist has caught the feeling of community, I think. He seems to rejoice in that sense of belonging. It's as if the houses and buildings cannot exist without the next one to hold it up.''

''
I hadn't really thought about it like that. I'm not much of a connoisseur.'' Kathleen chuckled quietly, looked at the painting through Richard Jacobsen's eyes, and wondered what in the heck she was suppose to say next given this surprising interpretation of the art.

''
I don't think you have to be.'' He turned his face toward her and she was struck again at how sad a face it was. Now it seemed softer than it had in the corridors of the court building. Perhaps in this room he could relax a little and let down his guard; perhaps in this room he dreamed of the places that he considered better than the one he was in. Funny that bigger than life flowers, boats and beaches were the subject matter of Richard Jacobsen's daydream. He looked back at the canvas diverting her attention. ''I think you simply have to feel certain things. This artist is from the South. Alabama, I believe. Mathis. Tom Mathis is his name. A wonderful find, don't you think?