Gay Place (41 page)

“I repeat — why does the Senator seem reluctant to put himself up for office …?”

“My God it’s Owen Edwards!” the woman next to him said.

“… Why does he hesitate to plead his case before the court of public opinion …?” Edwards was a stout, happy-faced man with nice color in his cheeks and thick blue-gray hair. He stood in the middle of the ballroom, arms akimbo, in an attitude of indolence and unconcern. Neil waited for a moment and then got to his feet and moved near the microphone on the lectern.

“The question isn’t exactly germane to this discussion, but I’ll tell you I’ve frankly put off announcing my intentions because I simply haven’t made up my mind.” He made a move back toward his seat, but Edwards’ next question had followed hard on Neil’s reply. The master of ceremonies stood away from the lectern, viewing the scene, and there was no one really at the microphone as Edwards began to speak … He had a deep, resonant voice, and there was no need for amplification.

Neil turned and leaned against the lectern, looking out. “What … did … you …
say
?”

“I raised the question whether your reluctance might have anything to do with the fact that the three persons closest to you in life have openly consorted and associated with Communists or suspected Communists?”

“You are out of your mind …”

“Am I? Well I have the evidence, Senator, documented, dates and places, that prove —”

“Let’s have some of that evidence, then. Document me a date and a place before I come down there and —”

“That won’t be necessary, Senator,” Edwards said. He was now nearly alone in a circle of the ballroom vacated by the luncheon guests who had moved off a distance to stand and watch. “That won’t be necessary until it’s a public issue and the people have a right to know just what it is they’re being asked to buy, and —”

“All right … It just became a public issue,” Neil said. “You just made it one, and it’ll be official in about twenty minutes or the time it takes for me to get up to the Capitol and file for office …” He reached into his coat pocket and produced his father-in-law’s check. “I’ve got the filing fee right here …
Now
… let’s have your so-called documentation …”

Edwards beamed. He appeared to be reading from a small looseleaf notebook. “Your closest friend and Number One assistant and adviser — the young man who wrote the Senator’s speech here today, ladies and gentlemen — this young man’s father was discharged from a major radio and television network several years ago because of Communist affiliation. This is according to reports of —”

“
What
…?” He looked at Stanley who was already on his feet. They gaped at each other, and Edwards droned on …

“Your younger brother, John Thomas Christiansen, was frequently in the company of Communists in New York City in 1949 and 1950, once attended a rally in that city protesting the Korean war, consistently voiced heretical and un-American opinions while teaching at the State University until resigning from that institution rather than face the prospect of official investigation that —”

“He’s dead!” Neil yelled. “My brother’s dead!”

“Slain in a left-wing uprising setting up a revolutionary government in South America …”

“Get out! Get the hell out of here!”

“Your wife, Senator, has visited, is
known
to have visited, in the home of Mexico City Communists while ostensibly attending art classes in the summers of 1952, 1953, 1955, and …”

Neil did not hear the rest. He had managed to shove one of the tables aside and force his way between the table and the lectern. His movements shook the length of the platform and the microphone crashed to the floor. The groan of the public address system — a tortured blue note — pierced everyone’s hearing as Neil headed across the floor. Unaccountably, the memory of a long distance telephone conversation with Andrea, years ago, occurred to him: “Hello, love … I’m in Cuernavaca and I want you to come, you’d love it here … Just everybody’s here … Ernest Hemingway’s ex-wife and Herman Wouk and every kind of Weirdsville character … Will you come, love?”

Then he could hear Stanley’s voice, yelling at him; he could see his friend trying to get through the crowd … “Hey! Neil! No! Don’t, Neil … Hey! wait a minute, dammit …”

“And in addition,” Edwards was saying, still reading from the notes, “you have employed in the bookstore owned jointly by you, your brother and your wife, a young woman of foreign birth, whose visa in this country is about to expire and in whose behalf you have been exerting influence as a United States Senator — this girl is not even welcome — is considered
persona non gratis —
by her
own
people, the Governments of Israel and the United Arab Republic …”

He got hold of Edwards in one motion. There did not appear to be a moment’s indecision, but for an instant as he moved across the ballroom Neil had not been certain whether he would swing on the man or wrestle him to the floor. It was such an incredible moment — like some improbable scene from an ancient late-late movie show — the good-good man and the bad-bad … He got hold of Edwards at the back of the collar and the seat of the pants, feeling like a dim, flickering comedian’s image stumbling around in slow motion, scuttling along the ocean floor of the ballroom toward the small lobby at the other end. Edwards neither put up resistance nor spoke out. They skidded round the corner of the lobby — Edwards seemingly content and tractable in his clutch — and bounded off a marble wall. There was not a word spoken between the two of them. Neil let loose his grip and their eyes did not meet again. Edwards walked, erect and stately, into a waiting elevator and vanished behind the automatic doors …

S
TANLEY REACHED NEIL JUST
as the doors came together. He had lost sight of the two of them — Neil and Edwards — for a moment just after they had rounded the corner of the penthouse lobby, and he was uncertain as to whether any violence had actually been perpetrated during that short space of time. He assumed not. Neil was breathing a little more heavily than usual, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. His hair wasn’t even mussed.

They came face to face with each other in the lobby, and Neil gave him an idiot’s look of fancy meeting. Stanley did not know what exactly to say. Finally, he began to talk. “That was a very strange speech you made in there … But they seemed to like it … And the reporters were so fascinated I don’t think they really cared about your not staying right with the line of the text …”

Neil appeared to have something on his mind that he was incapable of putting into words. “You think so?” he said. He smiled enigmatically.

“Yes,” Stanley said. He wondered if he should guide Neil back inside or stand there waiting for the next elevator into which the both of them could escape. At that moment, Arthur Fenstemaker appeared. There were some others looking into the lobby, but they seemed hesitant — even the newsmen — about engaging themselves until something or other had been definitely resolved.

The Governor took Neil’s arm and turned to Stanley.

“Get inside and hold on to your reporters for as long as you can … Try to keep them there until I’ve had a chance to talk. The roof’s caved in but we can get out of this alive and possibly even better off than before …”

Andrea’s father broke through the crowd and came to them. “God damn good,” he kept saying, “goddam good stuff, Neil …”

The four of them headed back inside. Stanley moved off toward the press table. It was deserted now, but the reporters would soon be returning if it appeared there would be one final, clarifying revelation. Elsie stood nearby; she came to him and said: “Is he all right? What was all that about, Stanley? Have I got him into trouble? Does this mean my —”

“I think everything’s all right,” Stanley said, although he was not really convinced of this. He stood watching as Neil and the Governor headed up the middle of the ballroom toward the speakers’ table. Fenstemaker looked up sharply at the master of ceremonies, who, after momentary puzzlement, began to applaud wildly: “How ’bout that, ladies and gentlemen, how ’bout that?” Stanley began to applaud, and then Elsie, and fairly soon there was general handclapping and then a roar of approval as the Governor was recognized and the two of them — Neil and the Governor — reached the table.

Neil took his seat, looking down at the empty plates as Fenstemaker babbled into his ear. Then the Governor turned, looked up and smiled: he took the microphone in his hands.

“Here’s a man for you — here’s a Senator for you!” he said, pointing to Neil. There was tentative applause, but the Governor cut it short. “I appointed him … I put him back into office, and I’ve never had a doubt since that time ten months ago when he took the job that here was a young man of exceptional
… exceptional
ability — and honesty! His speech this afternoon proved that. Here’s a young man of unquestioned integrity and principle — and here today you saw he was a good deal more than that! He’s a
fighter.
He’s got the courage to stand up on his own two feet and say what he thinks and
damn
the consequences.
That
kind of courage stacks up favorably right alongside another kind of bravery demonstrated during the war when …”

The sentence went unfinished, lost in applause. They did not know much about the young man, but Fenstemaker had been bearing down hard on the wartime decorations since the day the appointment was announced. That quality had at least got through to them.

“What you saw today, ladies and gentlemen, yes — and you newsmen over there — what you saw was one of the most moving and dramatic human situations you’ll ever experience. Here was a man standing up for what he
believes
— ready to fight for his convictions and for his family and friends and for the memory of a splendid young man — his brother — cut down in the prime of life as a member of the
working press
covering the downfall of this hemisphere’s evilest totalitarian regime …”

There was more applause; this time the Governor let it rise and swell in the big chamber, and when the audience sensed his approval there was another burst overriding the other. Neil was staring at several bright green peas at the bottom of his pastry shell.

“… And what you’ve also seen today, my friends, is an end to the kind of vicious, poisonous, witchburning, hate-mongering demagoguery that has
always
characterized the campaigns conducted by Owen Edwards … His kind of hatefulness reached a new low today — a new low even for the man who just about
invented
hate — he got so low down in the gutter today he’ll
never
get out! I’ll tell you folks, and I know you know without my saying, that
that old horse don’t run no more
… That old dog won’t fetch no bones … A real man stood up here today and called the turn!”

The Governor poured himself a glass of water and emptied it in three great, throat-bulging gulps. Neil did not look up. The newsmen scribbled frantically in their notebooks, and the people in the packed ballroom, with more of them arriving every minute, whooped and applauded and stomped their feet. … Just the way, Stanley thought, the sons of bitches would have scratched and howled and lusted for the seat of Neil’s pants a few years before …

“I’ll tell you frankly,” the Governor said, smiling and touching a handkerchief to his mouth. “I’m glad that fellow came here today — I thank the Good Lord for what happened. It showed you what a real leader, a real fighter you’ve got for a Senator. And another thing — and for this I’m most thankful — it got us a candidate. Our next
elected
United States Senator! Neil Christiansen wasn’t going to run for office, ladies and gentlemen, I’m convinced of that. I’d begged and pleaded with him, but it wasn’t until this afternoon that he got mad — he’s had enough fighting in the war — mad enough to fight for his friends and the people of the state … I don’t think he would have sought public office, but now he’s in it, and in it all the way, there’s no stopping him. Owen Edwards is going to regret with all his heart every word he’s said, every minute he spent on this floor today attempting to blacken the name of a decent and honorable young man. Neil Christiansen’s in this fight, ladies and gentlemen, and I pity the poor devil who gets in his way now. … Stand up Neil! And let these people look at a
real man
…”

Now there was a great, animal cry from the crowd. The clapping and stomping and half-moaning reached a pitch of quasi-religious fervor. The roar lasted fully five minutes. Neil stood and looked out at them. Stanley wondered if Neil was sick to his stomach or if the expression on his face was merely the result of a conscious effort to evoke a certain shy, engaging, little-boy quality. He decided Neil was sick. The Governor had not forced him to speak — they could be thankful for that. He hustled his candidate off the platform and out a back exit as the crowd’s roar began to subside. Soon there was only sporadic applause and foot-tapping with the organ music, and the delegates — the
crème de la
c
rème,
Stanley noted — stood around and grinned at each other; foolishly and a bit self-consciously. They were the best of people; they might have some uneasy second thoughts about what had happened that afternoon, about what they had heard, first from Neil and then from Edwards, but they could not really ever seriously question the simple, primitive grandeur of those moments when the Governor had them screaming until their throats were dry and pain came to their chests. They would go home now and try to describe those moments to their best-people friends, their employees, their kitchen help. Stanley was staggered by the sudden incredible realization that Neil, for the first time really and truly, was a best-people’s candidate. Unless some even better people had serious second thoughts and put up a better-people’s candidate from the far-out right. He rather wished they would.

“It’s good, isn’t it? Hasn’t it worked out all right, like you said?”

He looked at Elsie; she smiled up at him. There was a faint glow of perspiration on her face and he was conscious for the first time of his own dry throat and stinging palms. The Governor, he thought, knew where everybody lived.