Howard points to a closed door. “The bedroom is in there.”
Allison is impressed. “A hotel room where the bedroom is separate?”
“Yes.”
“May I see?” She tips her head at the closed bedroom door.
“Be my guest.”
She opens the bedroom door and whistles. “Wow.” She comes back to the couch and sits down. “What’s a room like this run you for the day?”
“That’s not really what we’re here to discuss, is it?” he says.
“I’m just saying, if Bridget can afford a room like this just so you and me can have a chat, maybe I’m aiming too low.”
Howard has already thought her demand for one hundred thousand dollars lacks ambition, but he chooses not to say that. He picks up the silver coffeepot by the handle and says, “May I pour you a cup?”
“Yeah, sure.”
Steam rises from the coffee as it streams into the cups. Allison adds cream and sugar to hers, while Howard takes his black. He leans back comfortably in his chair, saucer in one hand and cup in the other.
“So, Ms. Fitch, you’ve certainly stirred things up, haven’t you?”
“Yeah, well, I don’t know what exactly Bridget has told you.”
“She’s told me enough. That you two became friends, very special friends, that you spent some time away together in Barbados, and that you subsequently learned that she is married to Morris Sawchuck.”
“Yeah, that’s pretty much it.” She sips the coffee, makes a face, spoons in more sugar, and stirs.
“And once having learned this, you saw an opportunity.”
Allison Fitch blushes. “I don’t know if you’d call it that.”
“What would you call it?”
“I guess…I guess I would call it doing Bridget a favor.”
Howard’s bushy eyebrows soar briefly. “Explain that to me.”
“Well, I figured she wouldn’t want it getting out that the two of us, you know, that we had had a thing, and I was offering her a way to make sure that didn’t happen.”
Howard nods. “I see. You’re a very kindhearted person, aren’t you? Just how were you hoping to ensure that this information did not become public?”
Her eyes narrow. “You’re a pretty smug son of a bitch, aren’t you?”
“I am many things, Ms. Fitch.”
“Look, you already know the answer. I told her I’ve been having kind of a cash flow problem lately, and that if she could help me out, I’d make sure nothing came out about her, something that could ruin her husband’s chances of being governor or president or head of the glee club or whatever it is he wants to be when he grows up. I mean, news of his wife sleeping with someone other than him would be bad enough, but with another woman? All those supporters of his who when they aren’t spending five hundred bucks a plate at some fund-raising dinner for him are spending millions to fight same-sex marriage, they’re going to just love that. I mean, come on, what’s a hundred grand for her and her husband? That’s like, what? Lunch money? A little trip to Gucci or Louis Vuitton? That’s nothing for them. I could have asked for a lot more.”
Howard Talliman smiles. “How do you know the police aren’t listening in on this conversation in the other room? How do you know they’re not about to bust in here and arrest you for extortion and blackmail?”
Allison tenses up. He can see it in her eyes that, for a second there, she’s actually expecting it to happen. But then her muscles appear to relax.
“I don’t think you’d do that. Because then it would all come out. That the governor’s wife had been having a lesbian affair.”
“You think you could survive that kind of publicity?”
“Sure.”
“How do you think your mother in Dayton would handle it?”
That gets her. You can almost hear her make a cartoon gulp. Knows he’s done his homework. But she composes herself again. “I think Mom’s been suspecting it for years.”
“You’ve not come out to her.”
“No. But this would save me the trouble of a painful sit-down, I guess. The real question is, could Bridget and her husband survive it?”
“They’d simply deny it,” Howard says. “Your word against hers. She’s married to an attorney general and you, my dear, are a barmaid.”
“A barmaid with proof.”
He’s been waiting to see whether she’ll play this card. The text messages. The phone records.
“Proof,” he says. “And what proof would that be?”
“We had a lot of conversations. The kinds that there’s a record of.”
“Your phone.”
She nods.
“Let me see. Prove it to me,” he says.
Allison shakes her head. “Do I look stupid?” He does not answer. “Like I’m going to give it to you.”
“If you want the one hundred thousand, you will have to produce your phone at the time of delivery so that I can be certain those messages have been expunged.”
Allison appears to be thinking about this point, like she doesn’t want to lose her leverage.
“I suppose that’s okay,” she says.
Howard puts his cup and saucer on the table and clears his throat. “And what assurances does Bridget have that you won’t come back and ask her for more money?”
“You’ll just have to take my word on that,” Allison says, and there’s a trace of an impish grin.
“Yes, I suppose I’ll just have to do that,” Howard says. He slaps the tops of his knees. “Well, thanks so much for dropping by. We’ll be in touch.”
Makes it sound like an audition.
“Don’t you have my money?”
“Not at the moment,” Howard says, standing. “Perhaps you were expecting Bridget to bring it today, but I wanted to get a sense of the situation first. It will take time to get that kind of money together. I’m assuming you weren’t expecting me to write you a check.”
Embarrassment washes over her face as she stands. “No, of course not. But, is it all going to be cash?”
“I think we’d agree it’s better that there be no record of this transaction,” he says.
“God, what will I do with all that cash?”
“I would suggest you rent yourself a safe-deposit box. And then draw from it as your needs dictate.”
There’s a sparkle in her eye. He can see she’s already picturing all that money, wondering just how big a pile a hundred thousand dollars is.
“Okay, okay, I can do that. Where do you get these box things?”
Howard sighs. “I would try a bank.”
“You’ll get in touch when you have the money?”
“Absolutely.”
Howard is thinking ahead, wondering what kind of damage there will be if this gets out. Suppose she does go to the press? Howard is confident, as he has told Bridget, that they’ll be able to find enough on this woman to discredit her. They will ruin her in the public eye. It could be a tough go, no doubt about it. But then again, Bridget is not the one running for office. If this scandal is to end up destroying her, so be it. Morris can probably survive it, even if it means cutting Bridget loose. The whole thing could conceivably garner the man some sympathy, once the hoopla dies down. Extramarital affairs, stains on blue dresses, hanky-panky with hotel maids-there was no end of things politicians seemed able to bounce back from.
But paying her the hundred grand-how will that look if it gets out? Howard’s mind races. He thinks there’s a way to spin it. He’ll take the blame, say he did it to spare his friend and his wife pain and embarrassment. Resign as Sawchuck’s adviser if he has to, at least publicly, and continue to manage things from behind the scenes.
Still, it will be a mess if it gets out. While survivable, it’ll set back the timetable a bit. They’ve already had to put things on hold because of that other matter, wondering whether the proverbial shit is going to hit the fan, but
