he would get one foot in the door, and then when he wrote his screenplays, everything would change.
Vice President Helen Du Pray's refusal to sign was a shocking blow to Congressman Jintz and Senator Lambertino. Only a female could be so contrary, so blind to political necessity, so dull of wit as to not grab this chance to be President of the United States. But they would have to do without her. They went over their options- the deed must be done. Sal Troyca had been on the right track; all the preliminary steps must be eliminated. The Congress must designate itself the body to decide from the very beginning. But Lambertino and Jintz were still trying for some way to make Congress seem impartial. They never noticed that in that moment Sal Troyca had fallen in love with Elizabeth Stone.
'Never fuck a woman over thirty' had always been Sal Troyca's creed. But for the first time he was thinking an exception might be made for the aide to Senator Lambertino. She was tall and willowy with wide gray eyes and a face that was sweet in repose. She was obviously intelligent yet knew how to keep her mouth shut. But what made him fall in love was that when they learned Vice President Helen Du Pray was refusing to sign the declaration, she gave Sal a smile that acknowledged him as a prophet-only he had proposed the correct solution.
For Troyca there were many good reasons for his stance. One, women didn't really like to fuck as much as men, they were more at risk in many different ways. But before thirty, they had more juice and less brains.
Over thirty their eyes got squinty, they got too crafty, they started to think that men had it too good, were getting the better of nature and society's bargain. You never knew whether you were getting a casual piece of ass or signing some sort of promissory note. But Elizabeth Stone looked demurely horny in that slender virginal way some women have, and besides she had more power than he did. He would not have to worry that she was hustling. It didn't matter that she must be close to forty.
Planning strategy with Congressman Jintz, Senator Lambertino noted that Troyca had an interest in his female aide. That didn't bother him.
Lambertino was one of the personally virtuous men in the Congress. He was sexually clean, with a wife of thirty years and four grown children. He was financially clean, wealthy in his own right. He was as politically clean as any political man in America can be, but in addition he genuinely had the interests of the people and country at heart. True, he was ambitious, but that was the very essence of political life. His virtue did not make him oblivious of the machinations of the world. The refusal of the Vice President to sign the declaration had astonished Congressman Jintz, but the senator was not so easily surprised. He had always thought the Vice President a very clever woman. Lambertino wished her well, especially since he believed that no woman had the enduring political connections, or money patrons, to win the presidency. She would be a very vulnerable opponent in a fight for the coming nomination.
'We have to move fast,' Senator Lambertino said. 'The Congress must designate a body or itself to declare the President unfit.'
'How about ten senators on a blue-ribbon panel?' Congressman Jintz said with a sly grin.
Senator Lambertino said with a burst of irritation, 'How about a fifty-member House of Representatives committee with their heads up their asses?' Jintz said placatingly, 'I have a helpful surprise for you, Senator. I think I can get one of the President's staff to sign the declaration to impeach him.'
That would do the trick, Troyca thought. But which one could it be? Never
Klee, not Dazzy. It had to be either Oddblood Gray or the NSA guy, Wix.
He thought, no, Wix was in Sherhaben.
Lambertino said briskly, 'We have a very painful duty today. A historical duty. We better get started.'
Troyca was surprised that Lambertino did not ask for the name of the staff member, then realized that the senator did not want to know.
'You have my hand on that,' Jintz said and extended his arm to give that handshake that was famous as an unbreakable pledge.
Albert Jintz had achieved his eminence as a great Speaker of the House by being a man of his word. The newspapers often carried articles to this effect. A Jintz handshake was better than any handcuffing legal document.
Though he looked like an alcoholic bank embezzler cartoon character, short and round, with a cherry-red nose and head dripping with white hair like a Christmas tree in a snowstorm, he was considered the most honorable man in Congress, politically.
When he promised a chunk of pork from the bottomless barrel of the budget, that pork was delivered. When a fellow congressman wanted a bill blocked, and Jintz owed him a political debt, that bill was blocked. When a congressman who wanted a personal bill came through with his quid pro quo, it was a done deal. True, he often leaked secret matters to the press, but that was why so many articles on his impeccable handshake were printed.
And now this afternoon Jintz had to do the scut work of making sure the
House would vote for the impeachment of President Kennedy. Hundreds of phone calls and dozens of promises had to be made to ensure that two-thirds vote. It was not that Congress wouldn't do it, but a price had to be paid.
And it all had to be done in less than twenty-four hours.
Sal Troyca walked through his congressman's suite of offices, his brain marshaling all the phone calls he had to make, all the documents he had to prepare. He knew he was involved in a great moment of history, and he also knew that his career could be washed away if there was some terrible reversal. He was amazed that men like Jintz and Lambertino, whom he held in a kind of contempt, could be so courageous as to put themselves in the front line of battle. This was a very dangerous step they were taking. Under a very shady interpretation of the Constitution they were prepared to make the Congress a body that could impeach the President of the United States.
He moved through the spooky green light of a dozen computers being worked by office staff. Thank God for computers, how the hell did things ever get done before? Passing one computer operator, he touched her shoulder in a comradely gesture that could not be taken for sexual harassment and said, 'Don't make any dates- we'll be here until morning.'
The New York Times Magazine had recently published an article on the sexual mores of Capitol Hill, where both the Senate and the House and their staffs were housed. The article noted that of the elected 100 senators and 435 congressmen and their huge staffs, the population was in the many thousands, of which more than half were females.
The article had suggested that there was a great deal of sexual activity among these citizens. The article had said that because of long hours and the tension of working under political deadlines the staff had little social life and perforce had to seek a little recreation on the job. It was noted that congressional offices and senatorial suites were furnished with couches. The article explained that in government bureaus there were special medical clinics and doctors whose duties were the discreet treatment of venereal infection. The records were, of course, confidential, but the writer claimed he had been given a peek and the percentage of affection was higher than the national average. The writer attributed this not so much to promiscuity as to the incestuous social environment. The writer then wondered if all this fornication was affecting the quality of lawmaking on Capitol Hill, which he referred to as the Rabbit Warren.
Sal Troyca had taken the article personally. He averaged a sixteen-hour working day six days a week and was on call Sundays. Was he not entitled to a normal sex life like any other citizen? Damn it, he didn't have time to go to parties, to romance women, to commit himself to a relationship. It all had to happen here, in the countless suites and corridors, in the smoky green light of computers and military ringing of telephones. You had to fit it into a few minutes of banter, a meaningful smile, the involved strategies of work. That fucking Times writer went to all the publishers' parties, took out people for long lunches, chatted leisurely with journalist colleagues, could go to hookers without a newspaper reporting the seamy details.
Troyca went into his private office, then into the bathroom, and gave a sigh of relief as he sat on the toilet, pen in hand. He scribbled notes on all the things he had to do. He washed his hands, juggling pad and pen, with the congressional logo etched in gold computer lines, and, feeling much better (the tension of impeaching a President had knotted his stomach), went to the small mobile liquor cart and took ice from the tiny refrigerator to fix himself a gin and tonic. He thought about Elizabeth Stone. He was sure there was nothing between her and her
