Hostage (10 page)

Trust me, this, the most politicized disease in the history of the world, ain’t never going to end until those guys in the boxer shorts—the straight white guys on Wall Street and in Washington who run the world—start getting AIDS from banging their secretaries and mistresses. Yup, that’s when we’ll see some real action—just as soon as they turn HIV positive. End of lecture.

It all happened much
more quickly than Todd would have expected. The applause from the main dining room didn’t simply signify that Clariton had finished speaking and it was time for questions, but that Clariton, with his politically flaunted punctuality, had concluded his roundtable luncheon and was moving on to the next item on the agenda. Todd and Bradley were still taping a preview when Johnny Clariton himself walked in.

“Oh, shit,” muttered Bradley, standing up behind the camera.

Todd was so surprised that he jumped up and started walking around the lights, the Lav mike still attached to his lapel. He was almost all the way to the congressman when he reached the end of the mike cord and the clipped mike nearly pulled off his suit coat.

“Yikes,” he muttered, unclipping the mike with shaking hands and tossing it over the back of a chair.

Straightening his coat and tie, he looked up just as the congressman, trailed by an assistant and an obvious bodyguard, approached him. Clariton was, thought Todd, taking a quick, nervous appraisal of him, definitely as wholesome-looking as reported, with a clean, smooth face, receding hairline, and wearing a crisp white shirt and gray suit. He was, however, definitely shorter than Todd had imagined, almost small, really. On first glance he seemed very much the average guy next door; on further study Todd could sense the energy burning within. The eyes were moving, the hands fidgeting. He was obviously very much a damn-the-torpedoes-full-speed-ahead kind of guy.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Clariton,” said Todd, struggling to regain his composure and holding out his hand. “I’m Todd Mills from WLAK TV.”

“Hi. You the one doing the interview?” He looked Todd up and down, then turned to Bradley. “Or is it you? Which one of you’s the gay one?”

As much as he would have liked to brush aside the comment as silly and inane, Todd was sure someone had just slammed a board into his gut. He tried to say something, but his voice was all but gone.

“I’ll be doing the interview,” Todd finally said, although his voice was weaker than he would have ever imagined. “And, yes, I’m gay.” He paused, struggled to regain his mental equilibrium, and forced himself to add, “However, that’s certainly none of your business.”

“Well, of course it is,” shot back Clariton, his voice big and authoritative. “I just want you to know how sick I am of all this AIDS crap. I just want you to know that I won’t be talking about it. Understood?”

In disbelief, Todd stared at Clariton. He then glanced at Clariton’s assistant, a woman with a smile permanently plastered on her face, and his bodyguard, a meaty-looking guy with brown hair. Getting no reaction from either of them, Todd turned to Bradley, who stood by his camera, so dumbfounded he wasn’t even moving. Perhaps they should cancel, call the whole thing off before they even began. Todd wasn’t going to take shit like this. No, not at all. Thinking it through in a flash, he realized that if worse came to worst he could always do a report simply on this conversation, explaining on air why the interview hadn’t taken place.

Trying to maintain a steady presence, Todd drew a line in the sand, saying, “WLAK was not informed of any restrictions regarding this interview.”

Clariton’s assistant, a young woman wearing a navy blue dress suit complete with one of those white frilly things at the throat that was supposed to emulate a tie, jumped forward, blurting, “I believe I spoke to you, Mr. Mills. And you have to understand it’s just been—”

“No, Carol, what he’s got to understand,” interrupted Clariton, “is that there are certain things—”

“By the way this is off the record,” inserted Carol.

“Who cares,” said Clariton with a wave of his hand. “I just was going to tell him that, frankly, I’m sick of gays screaming this and that and begging for special treatment.”

Barely able to hold in his anger, Todd, his voice dripping with sarcasm, said, “Thank you for sharing that with me.”

“I mean, like I was just saying in the other room, why should tax dollars of good American families go for medical aid and research to pay for a bunch of deviants who fucked too much? But like I said, I don’t want to get into this today. I’m here to talk about my book. That’s what I want to talk about—my book.”

“Yes,” said Carol. “We set up an interview with you, Mr. Mills, to talk about Mr. Clariton’s novel. Do you know it’s already on
The New York Times
best-seller list? Isn’t that just super?”

He stared at this shrimp of a man. Did he dare tell him what he thought? Todd turned again toward Bradley. What should he do? Forget the whole goddamn thing?

It was then that Todd saw what Clariton obviously hadn’t: the tiniest of LED lights on Bradley’s camera. Not only was the light burning a very distinct and unmistakable red, but the camera was aimed right at Clariton.

“Excuse me,” muttered Todd.

This might be too good to be true, thought Todd as he hurried over to Bradley. It might be too unbelievably incredible.

“Oh my God, Bradley,” said Todd, his voice hushed. “Don’t do anything real obvious, just tell me it’s true—is your camera on?”

“What? Oh, I…” Bradley’s eyes darted to the side, took it all in. “Holy shit, it is. I didn’t turn it off.”

“What about the Lav mike?” Todd nodded to the mike, which was dangling from a chair right in front of Clariton. “Would it have gotten what he just said? Tell me it did.”

Bradley bit his lip, started chuckling. “Oh, yes. It’s real sensitive. It would have gotten everything.”

Barely able to contain himself, Todd clasped Bradley on the shoulder, and said, “There is a God.”

He took a deep breath. And smiled. This was it, handed to him on a gold platter, Johnny Clariton’s true thoughts as expressed bluntly and crudely in his own words. Nothing else mattered. Who cared now how the interview went? Todd had it all and then some. People such as his mother loved Johnny Clariton because of his freshness and vivacity, because he projected himself as a dynamic leader, a great American one. Kind, just, caring, wise. People such as his mother, however, would be disgusted to hear Johnny Clariton’s personal views expressed so hideously. This was no wise man, no mythical leader who could lead America the Beautiful back to great times.

This guy was a pig, and Todd now had the tape to prove it.

Suppressing divine pleasure, Todd turned around, and said, “I know you’re on a tight schedule, Mr. Clariton, so why don’t we get started?”

“Yes, of course.” Clariton called his bodyguard. “Lyle, stand by the door and make sure no one else comes in, all right?”

“Yes, sir,” replied the large man.

“Let’s be quick about this,” continued Clariton. “I’m signing at another bookstore in… in…”

“Saint Paul,” interjected Carol.

“Right, Saint Paul. And we have to be there at—”

“Two o’clock.”

“Yes, at two, and then it’s back to—”

“Washington.” Looking at Todd, Carol said, “The congressman is very busy. He has a budget meeting this evening.”

“Okay, then let’s get going.” Todd went over and took his dangling mike, then motioned to the chairs. “We’ll sit over there.”

“Yes, yes. Very good,” said Clariton.

As if he had done this a million times in a million cities, Clariton let himself be directed into place and let Bradley attach the Lav mike to his lapel. Almost passive as people fussed around him, he seemed to drift away. Perhaps he was merely relaxing, zoning out for few seconds, but as soon as the lights came on the politician turned back on too, and Clariton’s face brightened, his eyes opened wide, and a charming grin appeared.

Todd took his notes from his briefcase, glanced at them one last time, and tossed them aside. Actually, he didn’t really need any of this interview, for he already had material and then some to skewer Clariton. That in turn afforded Todd some room. Sure, what the hell. He could take this almost any which way he wanted.

“By the way,” said Todd as he attached his own mike and tried to hide the wire beneath the folds of his suit, “I read just this morning that you have a reputation for spouting off right before an interview. That wouldn’t be your way of sabotaging things, now, would it? You say something cocky, it throws the reporter off balance, and you get the upper hand—is that how you work? And is that what you were trying to do by demanding to know who’s gay?”

Todd looked up at Clariton, who was looking back, a smarmy smile on his face.

“Well, you have to admit, I did catch you off guard,” said Clariton with a chuckle. “But, no, I was just letting you know what was out of bounds to talk about. If I wanted to throw you off I’d… I’d tell you who told us you were gay.”

Todd tried not to swallow the bait, tried not to show the tension that went zipping through him. “I think you’re doing it again, being unpleasantly devious.”

“But wouldn’t you like to know?” taunted Clariton. “I’m sure you’d find it interesting.”

“Actually, I don’t care,” lied Todd as coolly as he possibly could. “First of all, I would hope your staff is astute enough to know what is common knowledge. Second, all anyone has to do is ask me.”

“Well, I didn’t even have to ask, did I?”

Todd glanced at Clariton, saw the triumphant grin on that boy-next-door face. No, thought Todd. I won’t be beaten like this. I won’t. Todd took a deep breath. Once he had known all too well how to control himself. From being closeted for so many years, he had learned to keep his true emotions from showing on the surface, which in turn had helped him get as far as he had in broadcast journalism. However, as he now struggled not to be paranoid, not to obsess over who was talking behind his back, he knew that he couldn’t just sit there and take this. Hell, no. He had to go on the offensive, and so he drew his own weaponry, his favorite question for straight men.

In a hushed voice he asked, “Let me ask you this, Congressman Clariton, have you ever had a same-sex experience?”

The stupid grin on Clariton’s face vanished, and he pulled back, his eyes tight and hateful, and then after a moment he said, “I won’t even bother responding to that.”

“You don’t have to. When a straight guy hesitates like that it always means yes.”

“Shut the hell up. That’s ridiculous!”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Todd then sat back and said in an almost cheerful voice, “But if you want to sabotage someone’s self-confidence, that’s how you do it.” Almost out of nowhere Todd suddenly realized something else. “You know, I just now figured out why you agreed to an exclusive interview with me. You’re using me to legitimize yourself. You want to be seen talking nicely to a very public gay man, so voters with gay sons and daughters and friends won’t think you’re too homophobic. Well, I’m not sure it’s going to work.” With a smile Todd turned to the camera. “Okay, Bradley, let’s get things going.”

Bradley bent down to the camera, focused one last time, then said, “Okay, here goes.”

With the tape rolling, Todd, feeling stronger and more confident than he had in months, smiled and said, “Congressman Clariton, I want to thank you for joining me this afternoon.”

Looking anything but thrilled, Clariton took a deep breath and forced himself to say, “It’s a pleasure to be here in this wonderful city of hardworking citizens.” He paused and added, “This is truly one of the great places in our country.”

“Yes, actually it is. Now, just a few minutes ago you told me you would not be discussing AIDS or quote-unquote deviant sex. What is it, sir, that you are prepared to discuss?”

Clariton squirmed in his seat, and with a stern voice said, “My book.”

“Of course. You’re not here on a political campaign, you’re here as part of a book tour. Can you tell me a little bit about what you’ve written?”

“It’s a science fiction novel set in the future, in the year—”

“Of course it’s set in the future; that’s what makes it science fiction.”

“Ah, right. And—”

Todd interrupted, saying, “I understand there are quite a lot of allegations surrounding the book, among them that you didn’t write a single word of it. Is that true? Did you work on it at all?”

“People do gossip, don’t they?”

“There’s also criticism that you’ll be making upward of four million dollars in royalties. What can you say about that?”

Clariton started to say something, stopped, then retrenched himself and put on a politician’s smile, big and plastic. “Now, come on, Todd, must you really be so antagonistic? You know I didn’t come to Minnesota to be attacked.”

“Sir, with all due respect, as an elected official it’s your duty to respond to the people who elected you. I, for one, can only—”

A muffled explosion rocked the room, and not more than two seconds later a shrill alarm started blasting. Todd sat forward, looked around, saw Clariton’s bodyguard, Lyle, become terribly alert. What the hell was going on? That was from somewhere inside the building, wasn’t it?