Memories of Another Day (40 page)

There were few entries in the diary after that date. She began a new diary the next year, but after the first

few entries that too seemed to have been given up, and there were no further diaries for the following years. Neither was there any further mention of my father.

Christina stared down into the red wine in her glass. ''I wonder if she ever saw him again afterward."

*'I don't think so." I put the diaries back into the box we had brought from the warehouse. ''When were your parents married?"

"Nineteen forty-five. After the war. My father was a colonel in Eisenhower's headquarters in London. He met my mother there when she was working in the office of procurement. They were married when they came back to the States. I was bom the next year. And yours?"

''Nineteen fifty-six. Ten years after my father founded C.A.L.L. It took him almost nine years to start the union he talked about to your mother."

"What was he doing those nine years?" she asked.

"I don't really know," I said. "But then, I never knew anything about him. We never talked much."

"You talk to him now," she said.

"What makes you say that?"

"I feel it." She sipped at the wine. "Sometimes you are a completely different person, and when I look at you I don't see you at all. I see someone else."

I looked at my watch. It was past two in the morning. "I think we'd better get some sleep."

"I'm restless. Want to share a joint first?"

I hesitated.

"Just a few tokes," she said. "It will calm me down."

''Okay."

I walked outside onto the veranda while she went for the chocolate sticks. It was a blue velvet night, a warm salt breeze coming in from the ocean. I stretched out on the lounge.

She sat down on the lounge at my feet. I lit the chocolate stick while she sipped at her glass of wine,

took a few tokes and passed it to her. She hit it pretty good—long deep tokes, filling her lungs and holding it, then slowly exhaling the residual smoke.

I took another few tokes, and my head began to spin out. I gave it back to her. "I think Fve had it."

She smiled. "You have to get used to it."

''I don't know whether I could afford it."

She laughed and dragged on the chocolate stick again She looked down at me. "Where do you go from here, Jonathan?''

I put my arms under my head and rested back against my hands. "I was thinking about going home. But now, I don't know."

"Did you find what you were looking for here?"

"I don't know what I'm looking for," I said. "That is, if I'm looking for anything at all."'

' ' Your father,'' she said.

"He's dead. Too late for that now."

She dragged on the chocolate stick again. "You know better than that."

I took the cigarette from her fingers. This time I really took it down. The top of my head came off. My tongue went all fuzzy. "Let's not talk about him anymore. Okay?"

"Okay. What do we talk about, then?"

"Being rich. What's it like?"

"I don't know any other way."

"Your husband? Was he rich too?"

"Yes."

"And your father?"

"Yes."

"You were bom batting a thousand."

She thought for a moment. "I suppose you could put it that way."

"Why did you get divorced?"

"The truth?"

I nodded. "That's why I asked."

"He was guilty rich. I wasn't."

I laughed.

''Not funny," she said. "He didn't know how to relax and enjoy it. He was always uptight."

''So you got divorced. How long ago?"

"Last year."

'^Better now?"

She shrugged. "In some ways. At least he's not gilways looking down his nose at me. Putting me down because I don't make any contribution to society by not working. The way I look at it, at least I'm not taking a job away from someone who needs it."

"Can't argue with that point of view." I hit the chocolate stick again and passed it back to her. "My whole head is spinning. I've never had a buzz like this."

"Feelgood?"

"The best."

"Then enjoy it." She leaned over and kissed me. Her mouth was warm. I pressed her tightly against me. After a moment, she raised her head and looked at me. "I want you to stay with me for a while, Jonathan. Will you?"

"I don't know if I can."

"As long as you can. I need you."

I went deep into those familiar eyes. "It's almost incest. It's my father you want, not me."

"There's nothing wrong in that. You are your father just as much as I am my mother. You said we were playing catch-up. At the time I didn't know what you meant. Now I do. We have to finish out the game."

I didn't speak.

"Have you ever been in love, Jonathan?"

I thought for a moment. "I don't think so."

"Neither have I," she said. "But I know it's there somewhere. My mother found it with your father. Maybe we can find it together."

This time I weot all the way into her eyes. And suddenly I wasn't myself any longer. I opened my arms and she came into them, her head pressed against my chest. Slowly I stroked her long, soft hair. "I think

we've already found it, Christina." I turned her face up to me. ''But it's not ours. It never will be ours. You know that."

''1 know it," she said softly, her eyes filling with tears. ''But it doesn't matter whose it is. As long as we can feel it."

Logically, Jimmy, you're the next international president of the Teamsters. But will you be? Suppose Meany doesn't like it? You can't jump from the A.F.L. to the C.I.O., because they're all together now. You're fucked. You have no place to go."

He turned to the other man. ''That goes for you too, Tony. John L. is not going to appoint you president of the ij.M.W. when he steps down. Tom Kennedy gets first crack. He's been around longer. But you can get executive v.p., and with a guy like Kennedy that's even better. You're still safe in the shadows, and it will be time for you to make your move when Kennedy goes."

''You got it all figured out," Jimmy Hoffa said.

"I've been around a long time," Daniel answered.

Tony Boyle laughed. "So why ain't you rich?"

"I was in no hurry," Daniel said, smiling. "I was waiting for you guys to grow up."

"You know I couldn't get Lewis to go along with a dime-a-member assessment for C.A.L.L.," Tony said.

"I know that," Daniel said. "But the individual locals can do it if they want. You can see to that. It's the same thing."

"The old man'11 go through the roof," Tony said. "He hates your guts after what you've said about him."

"What else is new?" Daniel said, smiling. "Meany, Beck, Reuther—none of 'em like me any better. They're all members of the same club. They've been after my ass for years, but I'm still around."

Boyle shook his head in wonder. "I don't know how you do it. You haven't that many members—maybe forty, fifty thousand."

Daniel smiled. "Closer to a hundred thousand. But the numbers don't matter. They're all small unions. Independents. Which the big boys never bothered with because there wasn't enough in it for them. But they add up to something nobody else has got."

''What's that?" Hoffa asked.

"Balance of power. We've never had any trouble, any scandals. Nobody's made off with any money."

'There wasn't enough there for anybody to take," Boyle said, laughing.

"Maybe," Daniel said. "But the fact remains. The public trusts us. We're the only labor group they approve of, and we have the surveys to prove that. And I speak for them."

"The Teamsters won't go for the deal either," Hoffa said.

"Lopal 299 will," Daniel said. "It's your local, and they do what you tell them. Two hundred thousand members is enough to start the ball rolling. In time they'll all come in."

"Okay, so we know what you're getting. What do we get?"

"Help and advice," Daniel said. "You're both young and ambitious men. I can help you achieve your ambitions. I can protect you against everything except yourselves."

"Talking to any other unions?" Hoffa asked.

"I plan to," Daniel said. "You two are the first."

"Why us?"

"Because you both are in businesses that are vital to the country's existence."

The two men were silent for a moment. Then Boyle looked at Daniel. "Can we think about it?"

Daniel nodded.''Of course."

"What do you do if we don't go along with you?"

"There are other men, just as young and just as ambitious, in other locals of the same union."

"That's blackmail," Hoffa said, without rancor.

"That's right." Daniel nodded agreeably.

"Do we have a week?" Boyle asked.

"You have a week," Daniel said.

They shook hands, and Daniel watched them leave the bar together. Through the open wmdow he could see them go to their separate cars. When the cars had

gone, he looked down at his glass. He wondered if they knew just how desperate he really was. Ten years he had struggled to build up his power base, and in one stroke last year it had all been wiped out. The A.F.L.-C.I.O. merger had put it away. And now bit by bit, the individual unions he had signed up were drifting away. There was enough left in the treasury to carry them another month or two. Then it would all be over. The past twenty years down the drain. The dreams, the hopes, the ideals shattered beyond repair.

He rose wearily to his feet. ''Put it on the tab, Joe," he said to the bartender on the way out. "And add ten bucks for yourself."

''Thanks, Big Dan," the bartender called after him.

He blinked as he went into the sunlight of the street, waited a moment until the traffic cleared, then cut across to the two-story office building. He looked up at the spotted aluminum letters over the building entrance. C.A.L.L. They were clouded and pitted by time. He made a mental note to have the janitor polish the letters.

He went into the building, bypassing the big general office on the ground floor and going up a back stairway that led directly to his private office.

Daniel, Jr., was waiting for him. "How did it go. Father?"

"They listened," he said, sitting down behind his desk.

"Think they'll go for it?"

"I don't know," he said. "I don't know anything anymore." He opened his desk drawer, took out a cigar and lit it. "Any word from the school?"

Daniel, Jr., smiled. "I've been accepted at Harvard as an economics major."

Daniel got to his feet. His hand almost crushed his son's. "Congratulations. I'm proud of you."

"I feel good about it," the boy said. "But—"

"But what?"

"I don't have to go. Father." Junior hesitated. "I

know the money situation. Fm old enough to go to work."

''You are going to work," Daniel said. "Someday, you're going to have to take all of this over. You have to be ready for it."

"But what if Hofifa and Boyle don't come through? You'll have to fold."

"I'll find a way," Daniel said. "You're going to school. That's, your job." The telephone rang. "You get it, Junior. I got to take a piss."

Though Junior tried not to show it, his voice showed how impressed he was when Daniel returned to the office. "That call was from the White House. A Mr. Adams."

"Sherman Adams?"

Junior nodded.

"What did he want?"

"You're invited to a breakfast meeting with the President on September sixth. They want you to call back to confirm."

"Did he mention who else was invited?"

Junior shook his head. "I didn't ask."

Daniel picked up the telephone and asked his secretary to return Adams' call. While waiting for the answer, he looked up at Junior. "Eisenhower must be getting worried. Practically every union in the A.F.L.-C.I.O. has come out for Stevenson." Adams came onto the phone. "Sherman, what's up?" Daniel asked.

"The President thought it might be a good idea if you sat down and had a chat."

"Who else is coming?"

"John L. Lewis. Maybe Dave Beck."

"Don't invite Beck," Daniel said. "There are some things going on there that might turn up to embarrass you."

"Can you talk about them?" The President's assistant asked.

"Not on the telephone."

''I see." Adams' voice sounded thoughtful. '*Will you be able to come?"

'Til be there."

*'Good. The President will be pleased when I tell him."

''Give him my best," Daniel said. "And I'll see you on the sixth."

"Eight o'clock," Adams said, and clicked off.

Daniel looked across the desk at his son. He smiled. "I guess the White House hasn't heard yet that we're in trouble." He looked down at the papers on his desk. "I've got to get to work."

"I'll get out of your way, Father," Junior said. He went to the door and looked back. "Will you be home for dinner tonight?"

"I don't know yet," Daniel answered. "Tell Mamie I'll call her later to let her know."

He stared at the closed door for a moment after his son had gone. Then he took a bottle of whiskey from the bottom drawer of his desk and took a long pull at it. Carefully he screwed the cap back onto the bottle and returned it to the drawer, then reached for the telephone and asked for his messages.

"Do you? You know what that means. Once you let them in, they never get out. I've heard you say that many times."

"Sure," Daniel said bitterly. "And where did it get us? Maybe it's time we just faced the facts of life. The others did it. I don't see where they're hurting."

"You're not them," Moses said.

"Maybe it's time I changed," Daniel replied wearily. "The whole world can't be out of step but me."

Moses was silent.

"Don't stand there like Mr. Righteous," Daniel said m a suddenly angry voice. "Even God had to make a deal with the Devil to divide the Hereafter."

"We're talking about the now," Moses said.

Daniel's voice was hard and flat. "If you don't like it, you can always quit."

"You know I won't do that." There was hurt in Moses' voice.

"I'm sorry," Daniel said contritely. "I didn't mean that. It's just if I can nail down the deal with Boyle and Hoffa, we'll put through. Meanwhile, I've got that White House meeting next week. That won't hurt. At least it will show that we're still alive and that the President thinks we're still important."

Moses was silent for a moment. "Okay. When do you plan to see Lansky?"

"Tomorrow, if it can be arranged. I can fly down to Miami on a morning flight and be back here in the evening."

It was almost six o'clock, and he was getting ready to leave the office, when his secretary buzzed. "Miss Rourke is here."

He drew a blank. "Miss Rourke?"

"She telephoned last week. You spoke to her. Something about her father not collecting his pension from his union. You asked her to bring in the details. I put her down for six today."

He remembered. The girl's father had been run over by a tractor and had lost the use of one leg. Now he was having trouble collecting his pension. *'Okay," he said wearily. '' Send her in."

The door opened and the girl came into the office. He struggled to his feet. 'Tm Daniel Huggins."

She was very young. Not more than nineteen, he thought. Soft black hair to her shoulders, blue eyes and Irish pale skin. "Margaret Rourke," she said, taking his outstretched hand. Her voice was soft and cool. 'Thank you for seeing me."

He gestured to the chair opposite his desk as he sat down. "That's what I'm here for. Now, what's the problem?"