Someone To Believe In (8 page)

“And I can’t believe you’d turn on a member
of your family like this. Won’t he be devastated if he finds out
you were here today?”

“Look, I haven’t signed up to do anything.
I’m probably not going to.”

Her eyes shot daggers at him. “Your just
being at this initial meeting will affect your father. It’ll hurt
him like nothing else could.”

How could the Street Angel know that? “I
don’t get it. You gotta be here because you don’t think he should
be reelected.”

“It’s why I originally came. Now, I’m not
sure.” She glanced around at the gathering, and shook her head.
“Truth be told, I’m not comfortable being here, though I can’t
fathom why.” Her gaze focused again on him. “I do, however,
understand one thing.”

“What?”

“That a son does not side openly with someone
else against his own father. I’ll give you some unsolicited advice.
Family is the most precious gift you can be given. Tossing it away
out of some notion of rebellion is not only foolish, it’s
stupid.”

Goddamn it, Jon thought as the woman stormed
away—and out the door he noticed—this whole thing wasn’t going
quite as he had expected it to. Hell, would nothing ever be
clear-cut with his father?

THE FISHER AUDITORIUM on the Bard College
campus was full with a lively audience of freshmen who had arrived
for an early orientation, environmental students who’d come down
before the regular school year began, and many community members.
On the stage, Clay sat off to the left with his son and the head of
the Environmental Science Department. The president of the college
walked to the podium to make a few remarks and then would introduce
Clay. As he waited, Clay took in the interesting décor: the light
oak woodwork was breathtaking, the acoustics were so good the
president didn’t need a mike; and, Clay was told, the unusual
upholstery of the graded seats displayed the names of the
graduating class the year this billion dollar, Frank Lloyd
Wright-ish building had been constructed. It was said to be the
biggest and best Performing Arts Center between New York City and
upstate New York.

Jon had greeted him more warmly than usual
when Clay flew in from Washington. They’d had lunch at a small
restaurant in Tivoli, a nearby town, and Jon had been excited
about tonight. He still maintained some of that damnable distance
of the last few years, but he’d asked about Clay’s well-being and
even the upcoming campaign. Because they always disagreed, they
usually avoided discussing their politics.

Is it his politics you support or are you
sleeping with him?

Man, Clay had blown that one with Ms. Street
Angel. It had been two weeks, and he still thought about her. A
lot. They’d had no contact at all and had managed to avoid any
public dispute in the papers, so he didn’t know why she was on his
mind so frequently.

Hell of a thing.

When the president announced, “And now I give
you one of New York’s illustrious senators, Clayton Wainwright,”
Clay stood and approached the podium. He’d been touted as one of
the best speakers in Congress, and he really wanted to do well in
this venue.

Everybody clapped. Including Jon. At center
stage, Clay smiled at the audience. “It’s nice to be here, to speak
to such an enthusiastic crowd.” He glanced to the left. “And
especially since my son asked me to come. As some of you might
know, a twenty-year-old son thinking his dad has something
important to say is a rarity.”

Jon smiled and the audience laughed.

Clayton spent ten minutes outlining
Congress’s latest bill to stop fossil fuel burning. He spent ten
more minutes on two other environmental initiatives. He discussed
the ozone layer in upstate New York, because a study had appeared
in the paper about the air in Rochester. After a half hour, he
panned the audience. “I’d like to open this up to questions. I find
the heart of the matter comes out then.”

Several students had good queries. Several
more asked pseudo-intellectual questions. All about the
environment. Then a blond woman stood. “I was wondering about your
campaign next year, Senator. Will you be emphasizing the
environment in your platform? And what else will be on it?”

Succinctly, Clay outlined what he’d been
planning for environmental programs. Then he presented some
preliminary information about battered women and teens.

You’ve copped out on your commitment to
helping kids...

“And I plan to continue my tough-on-crime
stance with juvenile crime.”

Hands shot up. He glanced to the side
and did a double take. In the third row sat Eric Lawson. What the
hell was that guy doing here? For a pulverizing moment, Clay feared
his son might have asked his potential opponent to attend. But he
forced himself to think rationally. Despite their differences, he
didn’t believe Jon would do that to him. Just the thought of it cut
to the quick. Calling on his expertise as a speaker, he fielded
other people’s questions; when Lawson continued to raise his hand,
Clay thought,
Fuck it, I’m not running from
a fight.

With his most ingratiating smile, he peered
out at the audience. “You’re in for a treat,” he said. “One of the
wannabe candidates for the New York senate spot next year is in
the audience and has his hand up. I’m going to call on him.” Again
the smile. “This should be interesting.”

Lawson stood. He was Clay’s height but
thinner. Full head of black hair. Broad shoulders. Did Bailey like
those dark looks? “As a matter of fact, Senator, I have several
questions.”

To the audience, Clay quipped, “I imagine you
do.”

The excitement quotient in the room climbed
noticeably. People moved forward in their seats and there was a low
murmur rumbling through the crowd. Clay liked the challenge.

“What did you think of the article
in
Time
magazine about the
national trends in anti–youth gang activity? Specifically where it
said traditional methods obviously are not effective.” The man did
a bit of smoozing himself. “And how the reporter cited ESCAPE and
your nemesis the Street Angel as an innovative and progressive way
of helping kids.”

“I hope your next question isn’t quite as
difficult,” he said. “To answer this one, I will tell you that last
month I had a tour of ESCAPE.” He explained to the audience what
the organization was. “I found them all to be intelligent,
dedicated people. I wouldn’t want to close them down if they were
working within the system.”

“The article said that’s precisely why they
succeed.”

“Vigilantes succeeded in stopping crime, too.
That doesn’t mean they were right in what they did.”

“Surely, you’re not comparing the Street
Angel to a vigilante? No, wait, that would be the epithet she’d
throw at you.”

A laugh from the audience—at Clay’s
expense.

“The Street Angel and I had a very civil, if
spirited discussion. We voiced our differences and made some
headway in understanding each other, I think.”

When their time was up, the president stepped
forward and thanked Clay. He was proud of himself that he hadn’t
been blindsided by Lawson. He felt like he could scale mountains
when he saw the approval on Jon’s face.

They were at a reception in the president’s
residence before he got to talk to his son alone. “So what did you
think, Jon?”

“You did good, Dad.” He looked at Clay
without a trace of animosity. “I’m shocked as hell the Street Angel
let you visit her place.”

What was I thinking, letting you come here?
It hasn’t helped.

“It was an interesting night.”

Jon nodded across the room. Again the
approval. “He didn’t throw you, Dad.”

“No.”

“I agree with his politics more than yours,
but you held your own.”

“Thanks, son. That means a lot to me. So, are
we on tomorrow, for dinner and a show in the city?”

“Yeah, sure.”

A pretty blonde approached them and after Jon
introduced her, they stepped away; right behind them, a political
science professor came up to Clay. As Clay listened to the guy, his
gaze strayed to Lawson, and his mind to Bailey O’Neil.

He remembered the clear blue of her eyes, how
she looked in his coat, how she trembled in his arms when he tried
to shield her with his body. He remembered how she ate the ice
cream with relish, smiled at her son’s picture, her warmth and
affection for her coworkers.

When the man left, Clay heard behind him,
“Hello, Senator, how’s it going?”

Turning around, Clay drew in a breath. “Good,
Lawson.” He shook the extended hand and somebody snapped a
picture.

Lawson said, “The
Sun
’s here.”

“Hmm.”

“So you toured ESCAPE. Bailey didn’t tell
me.”

“No?”

“I wonder why.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

Lawson’s expression was smug. “She’s working
on my campaign, you know.”

“So I heard.” Clay set his drink down. “Give
her my best when you see her. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to
spend some time with my son. I don’t see him enough.”

“I was under the impression you two didn’t
get along.”

“How on earth would you come to that
conclusion?”

“Maybe because he showed up at a meeting I
held to see who was interested in volunteering to work for my
election to the Senate.”

BAILEY SMILED ACROSS the room at her
son, her niece, and her brother. Amid little ones running around
and the noisy chatter of both parents and kids, she watched Rory
and Aidan try on the
Where the Wild Things
Are
costumes. Kathleen studied them from the
sidelines. Paddy’s daughter, six, always thought before she did
anything. Her older brothers said she was scoping out the
situation. Bailey and Aidan had taken both kids into the city to
the Strong Museum for this special exhibit on her favorite book.
Maurice Sendak was her favorite children’s book author.

Clayton Wainwright would probably know where
he lived.

Damn, that man kept creeping into her
thoughts. She could still picture him jumping in front of her when
he thought she was in danger...eating ice cream with sumptuous
delight...the twinkle in his eyes when he talked about Susan
Sarandon.

In an attempt to get him out of her mind, she
picked up the newspaper lying on the bench beside her. What the
hell? There he was. Oh, my God, shaking hands with Eric Lawson?

Is it his politics you support or are you
sleeping with him?

How dare he ask her that! It was rude and
insulting. He was overbearing, controlling—and had years of
practice at it. Powerful men were always that way. Not her taste at
all in the opposite sex.

She scanned the article. He’d been giving a
speech at Bard. For some reason, she hoped it went well with his
son. She couldn’t believe that Jon Wainwright had gone to a rally
for a man who wanted to run against Jon’s own father. To her, the
betrayal of family was unconscionable. Her parents instilled
loyalty in all of them, and were loyal to a fault themselves. Oh,
sure they argued openly with each other, criticized each other. But
even when her dad had fathered an illegitimate daughter, her mother
had taken the girl in, and Paddy O’Neil wouldn’t allow any of his
other four children to bad-mouth Moira. How could Clay’s son take
sides against him?

“Mommy?”

She looked up to see a little imp standing in
front of her. He was dressed like the boy Max from the book when he
goes to the land of the wild things; right now Rory sported pointed
ears, tail, and claws. Behind him stood a still-uncostumed
Kathleen.

Next to them was Bailey’s brother, dressed
like one of the wild things. “Rumpus, rumpus,” Aidan growled.

Bailey laughed. “Oh, my, you two are
frightening.”

“Max is mad at his mommy.” Rory bared his
teeth. His dark curls peeked out of the costume, and his blue eyes
shone with mirth. “Better watch out.”

She shivered. “Why’s Max mad at his
mommy?”

“She makes him go to bed early.”

Ruffling his hair, Bailey quipped, “Uh-oh.”
Her son was a night owl and one of her biggest struggles was
getting him to sleep. “I’d better watch out.”

Rory hugged her, then slipped away with his
cousin. “Gonna watch the show.” Three feet away, they plopped down
in front of one of the many TV’s set up with an animated version
of the book, and got engrossed immediately.

Aidan whipped off his mask and dropped down
on the bench next to her. “He tires me out.”

“Me, too.”

Aidan watched her. “You look it. Have a hot
date last night with Lawson?”

“Speaking of which...” She held up the paper.
“He’s been busy.”

Aidan took the paper. Skimmed it. “I liked
that guy.”

“Eric? You’ve been making nasty comments
about him every time we have a date.” In truth, she liked Eric, but
didn’t really trust him. Was he courting her just to get ammunition
against Wainwright in order to run against him in the future?

“No, not Lecherous Lawson. Clay
Wainwright.”

I liked him, too.

But no, that couldn’t be true. Wainwright was
clearly her enemy. Things had ended badly with them.

You bastard. How dare you...Get out of here
right now, Senator. This little experiment is over.

“Sis, where’d you go?”

“Nowhere.” Her cell phone rang. “I have to
get that. Something might be going on at ESCAPE.”

“Bailey Ann, it’s your day off. Don’t answer
it.”

She fished the phone out of her pocket.
Checked the caller ID. It read
Unavailable
. Pressing Send, she held it to her
ear. “Bailey O’Neil.”

“Ms. O’Neil, this is Jeremiah Friedman. I
hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.”