The Mortal Groove (3 page)

“Fair enough,” said Randy. “Did you read in the papers this morning about Theo Ludtke?”

“Our next governor? No. What about him?”

Ludtke had tossed his hat into Minnesota's political arena a year ago. He was pushing hard to win the Democratic-Farmer-Labor Party endorsement next June. Ray figured he was a shooin. He was charismatic, smart, politically connected, and rich.

“He had a stroke last night,” said Randy. “The doctors think he'll recover, but it will take time. That means he's out of the race.

“I'm sorry to hear it. But what's it got to do with me?”

“We came here tonight because, as coincidence would have it, we were all at the same New Year's party over at the St. Paul Hotel. We got to talking about Theo, what will happen to the DFL now that we don't have a solid front-runner. We began kicking names around. Yours came up. Of course, there are others in the race, but nobody we believe who's strong enough to win.”

“That's a judgment call.”

“It is. In our judgment, we need someone new to step up. The eight of us, plus four others, were the ones who went to Theo last year and convinced him to run. We're hoping we can do the same with you.”

“Me?” said Ray, almost laughing. “Have you lost your minds? I'm a
criminal
defense attorney. We're the scum of the earth.”

“Stop it,” piped up Dorthea Land. “Give people more credit. They know the legal system is based on checks and balances. Besides, you've got a reputation around this state as an honest man when it comes to ethics and the law. That's no small thing, Ray. Especially in a political campaign.”

“The point is,” said Ted Azel, standing next to the closed door, “what you've got to decide is, is it something you want.
You've got to have the fire in your gut to run. It will change your life, allow you to really make a difference in the way citizens live their lives in this state. On the other hand, it will open yours up to intense scrutiny. It will have an impact on your family, too, not all of it positive.”

“Okay, just wait a damn minute here,” said Ray, sitting forward and folding his hands on the desk. “I mean, sure this is flattering, but, hell, come on. Me? Why don't you run, Ted?”

“Too many skeletons in my closet. I'd never get past the door.”

“What makes you think I don't have skeletons in my closet?”

“Do you?” asked Dorthea, her intense gray eyes fixed on Ray's.

“Look,” said Randy. “In the past year, you've been out talking to people about things that matter to you. It's obvious you know how to create a buzz. We need that combination of qualities—your ideas, the force of your personality, your ability to move a crowd of strangers. Your ideas are all bedrock democratic ideals and you come at problems with a practical mind and a moral spirit. You get people excited. Most important, you're a born leader and everyone knows it.”

“And that pretty face of yours belongs on a monument,” said Ted.

Everyone laughed.

Ray shook his head. It wasn't that he'd never considered running for office. There had been a state senate seat open a few years ago that had interested him. But he knew better than to get mixed up in state politics. He'd seen other men disappear down that rabbit hole never to return.

“We realize we're taking a chance,” continued Randy. “You may have no interest at all. And if that's the case, fine. But we had
to find out. Whoever steps in will need to hit the ground running. We only have two months before the precinct caucuses.”

“I'm not a multimillionaire like Ludtke,” said Ray.

“Let us worry about the money,” said Ted Azel. “Take some time. Tomorrow, the next day. Talk it over with your family. But one question we have to get an answer to tonight. Right now. It's a deal breaker. Dorthea alluded to it a second ago. Do you have anything in your life now—or your past—that would preclude you from running? We don't have much time, so you've got to be absolutely honest.”

The champagne wasn't helping Ray think. “No, not that I remember. My first wife died. My second wife and I divorced last year. I'm dating someone now, but that shouldn't be an issue. I'm not a womanizer.”

“Taxes?” said Ted. “Arrests? Alcohol or drug problems?”

Ray shook his head. “Never swindled anyone. Never murdered a client. On the other hand, I'm not a saint.”

“Not a requirement,” said Dorthea.

“I've got two great kids. One's married, one isn't. Well . . . not that my daughter wouldn't have married if our laws allowed it. She's gay. I suppose that could be a problem for some.”

“Again, not an issue,” said Randy.

“I'm healthy, walk two miles a day. I'm sixty-five, not getting any younger.” Ray admitted to having an ego, maybe bigger than most, but he felt it had served him well. If he took something on, no matter what the final outcome, he intended to win. But politics? “I don't know.”

“Think about it,” said Randy.

Hearing a scratching noise behind the door, everyone turned to look.

“It's probably my dog,” said Ray. “Go ahead and let him in.”

When Ted drew back the door, Cordelia was crouched outside holding a drinking glass against her ear. She'd obviously been listening in on the conversation, trying to find the best spot to get the clearest sound.

“Why don't you come in and join us?” said Ray with an amused smile.

Looking like a deer caught in the headlights, Cordelia slowly stood up. “I . . . ah . . . ah . . . Oh hell. Everyone downstairs is a total wuss. They all want to know what's going on up here, but don't have the guts to do anything about it. So I said I would.”

“And what did you learn?” asked Ray.

Casually tossing her boa over her shoulder, she said, “It was a little garbled, but I mainly got that you haven't swindled or murdered anyone, and that you walk two miles a day. Kind of an odd juxtaposition of facts. What I wanna know is why these people needed to come and ruin our party just to find that out. I mean, h-e-1-l-o. Haven't any of you ever heard of
phones?”

Ray laughed, though nobody else seemed to find it funny. “You want to know why these people are here?”

“Damn straight,” she said, adjusting her plunging neckline so that it didn't plunge quite so precipitously.

“These folks want me to run for governor.”

“Governor of what?” she asked, still working on her dress. “Minnesota.”

She looked up. Her eyes grew huge. “That's fabulous news!” she shrieked.

Hearing the shriek, everyone who'd been waiting patiently in the living room was now rushing upstairs into the hallway.

“What's going on?” asked Jane, making her way to the front.

“Can I tell them?” asked Cordelia, looking like she was about to burst.

Ray smiled and shook his head. “I haven't made a decision yet, so it's probably a bit premature.”

“Screw premature. Ladies and gentlemen.” She turned around. “May I present to you the next governor of the great state of Minnesota, the honorable, the dashing, the father of my best friend . . . Raymond Patrick Lawless!”

T
he Xanadu Club stopped serving lunch at two on weekdays. By three-thirty, the dining room was generally clear of customers. That's when Jane called her staff meetings, as she had today. As she stood near one of the wait stations, one of the bartenders walked up to her and said that there was a woman in the bar—Tia Masters—who said she needed to talk to Jane asap.

Jane knew who she was. Several weeks ago, Tia, a freelance feature writer for
Minnesota Today,
a major glossy monthly magazine, had contacted her about doing a story. Tia pitched the idea by saying that she wanted to concentrate on Jane Lawless, local restaurateur and general business phenom, and her two high-profile restaurants. The Lyme House, Jane's first restaurant, had been covered in several local and regional magazines, but never by
Minnesota Today.
This would also be the first feature article that would include the Xanadu Club.

Jane was thrilled, but she was also realistic. Because her dad
was running for governor, some of the attention focused on him was spilling over onto her. In the past two months, she'd received more requests for interviews than she had in the last ten years. It was great for business, but with each interview it seemed the personal and political questions grew more probing. She'd talked to her dad about it, but he'd kept his advice to a minimum. He'd told her to answer the questions she felt comfortable with, and pass on the rest. Be honest, he'd said, but let everyone know that she was speaking for herself, not her father. Clear boundaries. Seemed easy enough—in theory.

Jane wasn't quite sure why Tia had come today. As far as she knew, they were scheduled to meet tomorrow.

“Maybe I got my dates mixed up,” Jane said, giving her business partner, Judah Johanson, a perplexed look.

Judah was more of a silent partner these days. He made it to meetings every now and then, and he spent whatever time he could at the club in the evenings, but Jane was in charge of the day-to-day functioning. Judah Johanson, as his name suggested, was a study in odd pairings. He was an anesthesiologist and an entrepreneur, half Jewish, half Norwegian, a guy who looked like a six-foot-three cross between Woody Allen and Max Von Sydow.

“You go deal with her,” said Judah. “Tony and I can handle the meeting today. It will be good for me.”

Tony Inazio was her executive chef. Since these staff meetings often took on a kind of rah-rah quality, with the one doing the talking taking the position of cheerleader, Jane was glad that Tony would be coming up from the kitchen in a few minutes. Judah was wonderful when it came to ideas, and even better when it came to finances, but he didn't have a lot of personal magnetism.

“If you run into any problems,” said Jane, “just come get me.” Carrying her cup of coffee into the bar, she surveyed the early happy hour crowd. She had no idea what Tia looked like, but when she glanced over at the bartender, he nodded to an older redheaded woman standing just inside the door.

“You must be Jane,” said the woman, looking her up and down as Jane approached.

“I thought our meeting was tomorrow.”

“Oh, gosh, did I get it wrong?” She pulled her Franklin Planner out of her briefcase. “No, Tuesday, May 9th, 3:30
PM
. IS this okay? Do we need to reschedule?”

“It's fine,” said Jane. “Why don't you come up to my office. Or would you rather get a tour of the club first?”

“My husband and I came for dinner last night, so I've already looked around. It used to be a theater, right? I remember coming here as a child.” She talked quickly and didn't wait for answers.

“Would you like something to drink before we start? Coffee? A glass of wine?”

“Thanks, no.”

Jane led the way up the curved stairway to her second-floor office. She tried to ignore the nervous knot in her stomach, but it wouldn't go away.

“This is nice,” said Tia as she entered the small room. She immediately walked over to the round window that overlooked the dining room below.

“That used to be the projection window,” said Jane. “I had the architect who did the redesign enlarge it so I could keep an eye on what's happening downstairs when I'm working up here.” Viewed from the dining room, the window appeared to be part of a large starburst pattern, all in keeping with the Art Deco style.

“Did you ever see the movie
The Aviator?”
asked Tia.

“No, I don't think so.”

“The decorating reminds me of the restaurant in that movie. The large palms, the colors—burgundy, chartreuse, and just a touch of turquoise.”

Jane nodded for Tia to sit on a restored Biedermeier love seat, then pulled out her desk chair and turned it around. “So,” she said, “what would you like to know?”

“First, would you mind if I taped the interview?” She removed a recorder from her purse and set it on a painted antique Chinese chest. “That way I don't have to take notes. I can concentrate on our conversation.”

“Sure,” said Jane. Only now did she realize that her clothes left something to be desired. Tomorrow she would have worn linen slacks and a blazer, or maybe leather. Today she had on frayed jeans, an old U of M T-shirt, and a pair of white Nikes. At least her hair was pulled back into a French braid.

Tia peeled the cellophane off a new audio tape. “Did you know that Jim Oberstar officially endorsed your father a few hours ago?”

James Oberstar was one of Minnesota's most influential members of the U.S. Congress.

“That's fabulous news,” said Jane.

“Your dad's picking up a lot of support.”

Jane couldn't tell from Tia's tone whether she was happy about it or not.