Party Lines (13 page)

Hopkins
was beginning to sweat. Visibly.

“Again,
I don’t recall. I could have my research department check if you’d like.”

“That
won’t be necessary,” said the host “Mine already has, and it appears you came
into a possession of a luxury condominium at Willow Branch.” He looked up at
Hopkins. “Do you deny it?”

“No.
I don’t deny that I have a condominium at Willow Branch.”

“Did
you pay cash for the condominium? Because the deed was absent from the
Registrar’s office when we checked. There’s no record of it. It’s not listed in
the financial disclosure information you were required to fill out when you
filed to run for Senate.”

“I’m
sure there’s an oversight,” Hopkins said.

“There
must be, because the official deed arrived this morning in a packet sent
anonymously to our station. How is it, Mr. Hopkins, that you came to be in
possession of a document that’s supposed to be on official file.”

Hopkins
began to sputter.

“And
then there are these.” Mark Holden held up two photos. “Recognize these? They
are original photos taken by private investigator Bill Coats – photos of
Allen Richardson, former head of the Army Corps of Engineer. Viewers may recall
that Richardson lost his job after these photos came out, and the new head
approved the development of the land Willow Branch now sits on –
development you opposed when the school wanted to build there.”

“You
should know we caught up with Bill Coats this morning.” Holden gestured to
someone off the set. “Roll the tape.”

A
screen in the background filled with the image of a pudgy, balding man rushing
to his car, a reporter in pursuit.

“Mr.
Coats, if we could have just a minute of your time.”

“I
don’t have nothing to say to no reporter,” the man said. He chewed on a cigar
as he spoke and tried to pull his blue Members Only jacket over his face.

“I’m
Jack Manchester, with Newstalk Today. We came into possession this morning of
some photos you took of Allen Richardson, the former head of the Army Corps of
Engineer. We also found receipts showing
you were employed at
the time by Bradford Hopkins
. Do you deny you took the photos?”

Coats
stopped. “I ain’t got
no
comment.”

“What
about Lindsay Martin? Did you investigate her as well?”

“I
told you, I ain’t got no comment.” When the reporter blocked his path, Coats
became more irate. “Who I work for is my own damn business. So what if I did
dig up information on a few people  - not that
I’m
owning
up to it – but if Hopkins did hire me it was only because I’m
good. And I always get what I’m looking for.”

A
beefy hand covered the lens of the camera and there was the sound of a scuffle
before the screen went black.

“Mr.
Hopkins?”

The
politician looked at the host, his face blank.  “What do you have to say
to that?”

“What
do I say? What do I say? I tell you what I say. I say that this is just another
liberal media trick designed to distract the public from high taxes, disastrous
government giveaways and other facets of the leftist agenda.”

Holden
was unfazed. “Might I remind you that I’m a conservative?”

Hopkins’
face flushed again.

“Are
you? Well, I’m starting to doubt your credentials.”

Ron
all but laughed from the sidelines, and on the couch, Lindsay and Clara were
watching Hopkins’ implosion with open-mouthed disbelief. No one insulted Mark
Holden. No one. He as not only a pre-eminent journalist,
but
a sought out one who – while conservative – was sought out by
prospective guests who knew him to be well-respect, genial and fair. To
alienate Mark Holden was to alienate his viewers, much of whom comprised what
Hopkins believed to be his base.

“All
I’m asking you for is a straight answer, Mr. Hopkins,” Holden pressed. “You say
you champion values and honesty, so addressing these allegations shouldn’t be
that difficult.”

“I
refuse to answer anything based on nothing more than innuendo,” Hopkins said,
ignoring the fact that Holden had solid evidence in front of him. “In fact, if
that is even – as you say – my folder then someone got it illegally
from my office.”

“So
these are your documents?” Holden asked, tapping the papers.

“I’m
not –I’m …” Hopkins turned to Ron Sharp. “Ron
get
out here. Ron’ll tell you what kind of guy I am.”

Ron
walked over to the table, his eyes fixed on Bradford Hopkins’ face. The
politican’s expression was desperate and confused as his campaign manager
calmly took a seat beside him and reached out to shake the host’s hand.

“He’ll
tell you,” Hopkins was continuing. “He’ll tell you how hard I’ve worked for my
endorsements, how loyal I am. He’ll tell you about the endless hours I’ve spent
praying about and planning for the good people of this state. Ron Sharp has
worked more closely with me than anyone else over the past eight months. He
knows my character. He’s seen me in action. Tell him, Ron. Tell him what kind
of person I am.”

Ron
Sharp looked first at Hopkins, then at Mark Holden. The host looked slightly irritated.

“Well,
you’re not an invited guest, but here you are, so I guess you should get a
chance to respond since your candidate seems to have lost the ability to speak
for himself.”

“Well
what do you expect?” asked Ron smoothly. “He’s caught in a situation he can’t
spin his way out of. And if he thinks I’m going to help him this time he’s
wrong.”

Hopkins
looked over, his face pale. His one
word
– “What?”
– was barely audible.

“You
heard me,” Ron said. “You’re right; I’ve been closer to you than anyone else. I’ve
seen your character up close. And it’s an ugly thing. In fact, I’m surprised at
how well you’ve hidden who you really are from the public.
But
the more I’m around you the more I realize that eventually you would have
revealed yourself anyway.
Which is why I’m coming forward now to say, ‘I
quit.’”

“You
can’t be serious,” Hopkins said.

“I’m
completely serious,” Ron insisted. “I should have done it sooner, but –
and this is my personal failing – it took your character assassination of
Lindsay Martin to convince me that you’re nothing more than a wolf in sheep’s
clothing, and I’d be doing myself and the voters a disservice if I did any more
to get you elected.”

Hopkins
began to sputter again and stood, pulling his mike from his lapel. For a
moment, he stood there and balled his fists up, as if he were going to hit Ron.
But Ron looked at him and smiled. “Go ahead, if you’re man enough,” he said. “But
if you do the voters will get to see you beaten twice.”

Hopkins
stormed off, leaving the viewers shocked. But no one was more shocked than
Clara Faircloth and Lindsay Martin.

“Oh.
My. God.” Clara said while beside her, Lindsay, who didn’t know what to say,
began to cry.

Mark
Holden turned to Ron Sharp now, his earlier reluctance to interview him gone.

“So
you had nothing to do with the hit piece on Lindsay Martin?”

“No,
I did not,”
Ron
replied emphatically. “It was a
terrible move on Hopkins’ part, and it made me sick. Lindsay Martin and I may
have been in opposite camps, but her past is her past and from all I’ve seen
she’s a productive member of the community. She certainly is sharp and the
worst thing I can say about her is that she’s been a formidable opponent.”

“So
you wouldn’t have gone along with this if you’d know your boss
..
”

“Former
boss,” Ron corrected.

“Former
boss,” Mark Holden clarified. “So you wouldn’t have gone along with the leak
about Lindsay Martin if you’d known your former boss was going to do it.”

Ron
shook his head. “Absolutely not. I would have advised against it and would have
quit on principle. He didn’t tell me for that very reason, I’m sure. He’d have
known that I thought the tactic was simply a distraction from the greater
issues – issues Hopkins pretended to care about.”

“Powerful
words,” Mark Holden said. “And I think we all know what we’re going to be
talking about tomorrow.” He reached out and shook Ron’s hand.

“So
what’s ahead for you now, Ron?”

Ron
gave a small, sad smile. “Hopefully honest work, this time for honest people.”

“Good
luck,” Mark said and turned to the camera. “And that concludes this segment of Newstalk
Live.”

At
Lindsay’s apartment, Clara Faircloth stood up from the couch.

“I
just remembered,” she said. “That I have somewhere to be.”

Lindsay,
still in shock, looked up.

“Where?”
she asked.

Clara
smiled. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Sure
it does,” Lindsay, said, standing. “I’m you’re campaign manager.”

“Not
today,” Clara said. “I’m giving you the day off.”

“Why?”

The
older woman grinned. “Because I have a feeling you’re going to be having
company this afternoon.” She picked up the donuts. “I’ll take the rest of
these.”

She
walked towards the door, turning back to Lindsay as she was leaving. “Fix
yourself up,” she said. “I bet you he’ll be here within the hour.”

Chapter
Ten

She
wasn’t sure if she really wanted him to come over.

It
was fifteen minutes since Clara had left, since Bradford Hopkins’ disastrous
appearance on Newstalk had ended. Fifteen minutes since Ron Sharp had openly
rejected the man whose campaign he’d been successfully building against Lindsay’s
candidate.

“I’ll
be you he’ll be here in an hour,” Clara had said. Lindsay knew she was right,
but she couldn’t seem to pry herself from the spot on the couch. The past few
weeks had been a rollercoaster of emotions, from the initial heated encounter
in the elevator when Ron had spanked her, through their shared revelations of
dominance and submission, to what she’d thought had been a betrayal of her
trust to this very public redemption.

It
all had been so overwhelming and Lindsay wasn’t sure she was ready for another
whiplash turn of events. Not yet. She knew Ron valued her submission; it was
the yin to his yang. In her he thought he’d found someone completely compatible
to him; and she’d thought she’d found the same in him.

But
Lindsay couldn’t help but wonder whether she should give herself over to her
submissive tendencies. Was it really a good thing to put so much trust in a
man? To give him so much power to hurt you  - not just for correction
but
for his own ends if he so chose? She’d been wrong about
Ron; he’d no been the one behind her betrayal. But one thing she hadn’t been
wrong about was how vulnerable her submissive tendencies made her.

She
suddenly looked down and realized in horror that she was still in her
nightgown. Twenty minutes had passed now and Lindsay was seized by a sudden
panic. She couldn’t let Ron see her like this. She couldn’t let him even see
her. Not until she’d had time to think about everything, time to process what
had happened and what it all meant.

She
ran back to the bedroom and pulled on a t-shirt and a pair of jeans followed by
her favorite sneakers. Winding her still-wet hair in a bun she reached for her
purse and her jacket.

Rushing
out of the apartment she took the stairs down to the back exit and got into her
car. As she pulled out she dialed her phone.

“Clara,”
she said when the woman answered the phone.

Clara’s
voice was amused. “Honey, I told you to take the rest of the day off and patch
things up with…”

“I
can’t.” Lindsay said. “I just can’t. I need to think, to be alone. I was
wondering.

That
cabin you have up on Lake Sherman – can I crash there for a day or two? I
still have the key from when we went up there for the retreat.”

“Of
course,” Clara said without hesitation.

“And
if Ron comes looking for me….”

“What
should I tell him?” Clara asked.

“Tell
him I’ll call him when I get back,” Lindsay said.

Clara
sighed. “Will do,” she said. “But if he’s as determined as he seems he’s not
going to want to wait. He put a lot on the line to prove himself to you, dear.”

“I
know,” Lindsay said miserably. “But…”

She
stopped. She couldn’t tell Clara why she was so confused. She couldn’t tell her
about her submissive tendencies and how they played into it. Clara was a good
friend, but there were just some things that were just too hard to explain.

“Just
tell him to wait.”