Chapter 4 — Death of a Politician

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*****

~ 1 ~ To celebrate the great success of his War and Peace Conference, Dr. Reginald Steuben was determined to take a personal vacation. Knowing this, Enrico Batista—one of Dr. Steuben’s new acquaintances from the conference—invited Reginald to join him for a few days at Quinceañera Beach. Arlene refused to accompany him. “Reginald,” she said, “that place is not for the man I married; it’s only for the ambition that rules him.”

~ ~ ~

Reginald tried to enjoy himself, throwing himself into the orgy of pleasures offered by the Quinceañera Beach Resort. There was, however, a hollowness to the experience, despite his ruling ambition’s enjoyment of Enrico’s camaraderie and subtle flattery.

“You see the difference between Quinceañera Beach and Las Vegas at once, do you not, Reggie?” asked Enrico. “In Las Vegas, people come only to escape life, leaping onto the Strip’s conveyor belt of pleasures—which is surely the Americans’ greatest factory. Here at the Beach are people who are living! They are taking big risks to wrestle power and wealth from the world, seasoning it then with the pleasures available to them here. Behind me on the patio, four tables away, you can see the ‘draw’ for your War and Peace Conference. After she had agreed to come to your conference, the world was drawn to it. They say that she—a humble Communist—owns a third of the Soviet Union. I am told that she is here buying and selling weapons. When you greet her, call her Czarina, for that is what Praskovya Shtcherbatov truly is. And you, Dr. Reginald Steuben, whom I have called ‘Reggie’, are the next Governor of California, while I, myself, am but the humble servant of the President of Mexico.”

Czarina indicated her awareness of being the subject of their conversation, so Enrico said, “Come, Reggie, let us greet her; it is time to begin your reign with some international diplomacy.”

Receiving a nod from the Czarina, her bodyguard stood and pulled out his chair, standing behind it while her two aides remained seated. The Czarina herself rose in greeting.

“Czarina,” said Enrico, “Please forgive us for the interruption. Reggie and I have been discussing, just now, the War and Peace Conference, and how it would not have brought the world together without your radiant presence.” Praskovya glanced ironically at Enrico, then turned to Dr. Reginald Steuben. “Reggie, you were host to the world at New City University; may you inspire the world from Sacramento. Please, gentlemen, sit down and talk with me for a few minutes.” Her aides left them, and the bodyguard seated Reggie.

“I have long daydreamed,” said Enrico, “of a new political union of Mexico and California.”

“You have not mentioned this before,” said ‘Reggie’, “but I can see that it would stabilize the balance of power in North America.” His ruling ambition gained control of his heart, as he listened to Enrico describe his fanciful political notion, which touched on real issues in disguise. Reginald Steuben did not notice that they were all speaking in Russian.

Czarina said, “It is good to begin with a visionary view of things, setting aside some of the obvious practical impediments to the better ordering of political power. So I imagine that, after the emergence of the New California, Russia may shake off the Soviet Union.” They conversed lightly in this vein for half an hour, circling around the political wheel of fortune which they were not yet ready to spin. In the political eyes and ears of important individuals who sat at tables all around them, Reggie was coming into focus as the new power of the Democratic Party in California. He understood that now. Enrico, you crafty son-of-a-bitch, what is your game?

Reggie’s vacation at the resort became an exciting whirlwind of meetings with powerful people or their agents. By the end of the second day he had agreed to meet with Representative Rosen in New Jersey in three days time, to play golf and talk about national politics. My God, Rosen is Esther’s father! Reginald resolved not to be first to bring up her name when he and Representative Rosen met.

~ ~ ~

“The concierge is the man to see about flights,” said Enrico, standing with Reginald Steuben at the bar of the Quinceañera Beach Inn. Reginald looked at himself in the big bar mirror, seeing ‘Reggie’ and Dr. Reginald Steuben wrestling with each other within his own image, like Jacob wrestling with the angel who was preventing him from crossing the stream. Which bank of the stream was he trying to reach?

Then Steuben saw in the mirror the image of Jerrod Cunningham, sitting just two stools away from him. In that sea of strange faces, Jerrod appeared to him to be a long lost, familiar friend. Then Jerrod, who had been observing Steuben in the mirror, slid off his stool as Reginald slipped off his, and they greeted one another with a handshake. Enrico, who had been sitting next to Reginald, slipped away, and Reginald Steuben, seeing an empty stool rather than the absence of Enrico, invited Jerrod to sit next to him. The bartender refreshed their drinks.

“Jerrod, what are you doing here?”

“Gathering input-output data for my world military matrix. This is one of the places where I can get some useful information, so I come here about every quarter of a year.”

“So this is where …”

“Yes; they‘re bought and sold here at the free market prices that I need to know.”

“Then Czarina is not the only, uh, buyer and seller of what is traded here.”

Jerrod raised an eyebrow. “You’ve talked with her?”

“Yes. We even enjoyed a round of vodka, but she made me no offers concerning items of value.”

“Reggie, that means you, yourself, are the item of value.”

“Me?”

“Yes, Reggie. Your reputation precedes you. Even now, on distant shores, journalists and intelligence officers may be hearing your name.”

Reginald Steuben looked more closely at his imagined academic friend and “peddler”—as Jerrod had called himself; Jerrod had been to him a merchant of relic manuscripts, not missiles.

“Reggie won’t be in the market for your wares, my old peddler; you’ll lose a customer.”

“True, but Reginald was my only client, and I do have some exceptional old slavic manuscripts in my pack—the ones which we have discussed. You’ve said they’re worth twice the sum I was asking, so Reggie, let your Institute buy them at full value, and half can go back into your personal account.”

“That sum would stand out like a sore thumb!”

“In a private, personal account it would’t. Let’s step outside for some fresh air.”

Reginald wanted to ponder things over his drink, but he had arrived on Reggie’s bank of the stream, so he set down the drink and followed Jerrod. The bartender reached over the bar and dropped “Occupied” tokens on the two stools.

Steuben followed Jerrod away from the Inn, toward the beach, and then along the beach for a few minutes in silence. Jerrod halted, and they stood there about ten feet above the highest run of the breaking waves, looking back toward the lights of the Inn. From that location they were able to see anyone near them or following them on the broad beach.

“We’re alone, Reggie. Do we have a deal on those manuscripts?”

Steuben took a deep breath. “We would, Jerrod, if I had a private, personal account.”

“Good. Then I’ll help you live up to your reputation in the eyes of the vibrant underbelly of the world economy: Here, you can open your private, personal account with half of what your institute pays for the manuscripts. I understand that you need to schedule a visit to New Jersey.”

“Did you overhear?”

“I did. I couldn’t help myself, because of your good fortune. Let’s go to Mel, the concierge, and we'll open your private, personal account with him—all by word of mouth. Trust is everything, isn’t it? I'll vouch for the sum that will soon be deposited and he will extend to you a line of credit with a ten percent fee going to him when the money is deposited. Mel will arrange for your flights and accommodations for your return to California by way of New Jersey. I’ll advance to you three thousand dollars in cash, so Representative Rosen will see no evidence of your lack of personal wealth. You can pay me back, without interest, by a corresponding increase in the price paid by your institute for the manuscripts.”

“How is all of this possible, Jerrod?”

“I have an account with Mel, by whom I’m trusted because I, myself—using his services—buy and sell arms here to test my model’s coefficients. Usually, my transactions occur within one day, so I don’t get my hands dirty by touching real hardware.”

~ 2 ~ Jerrod was ambling along the beach on the next morning, taking pleasure in watching some young women playing in the surf. He heard, “Jerrod.” The voice was that of Conrad Shelton, whom he had not noticed approaching him. Conrad asked, “Are you intriguing with American politicians? I spotted you on the beach last night with Dr. Steuben.”

Jerrod recalled having been told by both Ambassador Alex and by Capricia that Conrad had been present at Dr. Steuben’s War and Peace Conference. Capricia had not told Jerrod that she had been there by Conrad’s invitation.

Jerrod explained, “Steuben’s a rising politician in whom people are investing; I was giving him some economic advice. But, Conrad, scratch an engineer and you find a snake-in-the-grass! What a surprise and a pleasure.” They shook hands. Jerrod turned his eyes away from Conrad’s intense gaze and looked out over the water. “I take this walk before breakfast to check out the ladies in the water; none of my clients are up at this hour, so it’s my quiet time. It’s like birdwatching. Would you care to join me, Comrade Yankee?”

“I, too, practice early rising and exercise before breakfast. I understand, Jerrod, that you come to this place to do field work—buying and selling to test the market—so I wonder: Was your initial investment in the market made with your government’s funds?”

“Of course; I was bankrolled by the government and I’ve paid them back many times over.”

“Does Capricia share your market involvement here?”

“No. She comes here to ferret out secrets; sometimes I have to help her pull teeth.” Jerrod sounded tired, and he was wondering how much arms trade information Conrad had gotten out of him “for free” over the years. Damn Yankees. “Are you vending that cloaking technology, of which I might not know the market value?”

“Jerrod, we are considering offering customized New Sarxx Bush Hoppers to underserved nations. These babies come with cloaking technology, and they can vanish repeatedly for about ten seconds at one-minute intervals, dodging missiles, bullets, vision and radar. Properly equipped and flown, two of them can take out a dozen top-of-the-line American or Soviet war helicopters, point blank, in ten minutes. Also, when properly armed, they’re hell on naval vessels and air fields. It’s a limited edition, and they’re designed so they work only for their true owners—the ones who buy from me. And, of course, their owners have no right of resale.”

“That ownership functionality is crap, Conrad. I’ve heard it before. How can it work? Machines are machines. Anyone can push the buttons or pull the trigger.”

“Jerrod, for your sake and your government’s, you need a salesman’s demonstration.” Conrad was wearing swim trunks and an unbuttoned Hawaiian-print shirt, displaying his fitness, which was far greater than that of Jerrod, as was revealed by his similar attire. Conrad reached under his open shirt and magically removed a revolver from its left side and a silencer from its right side, snapped them together, and handed the gun to Jerrod.

“This is my personal weapon, Jerrod,” he said, “but you have the right to target practice. Here’s a target.” Conrad picked up a seashell and cocked his arm to toss it out over the ocean. “Ready?”

Jerrod cocked the gun in reply, and Conrad tossed the scallop shell; Jerrod fired quickly and the shell shattered.

“Now try to kill me with my gun, Jerrod.”

Jerrod removed the bullets from the cylinder and examined them. They were live. He reloaded the pistol and coldly fired point-blank at Conrad. Conrad flickered. The bullet struck the sand behind him.

“Shit! Conrad, that’s not possible!”

~ 3 ~ “Well, Byron my friend, what do you think of the budding politician? You’ve been working in his backyard without being recognized by him. I had thought the War and Peace Conference would cause you to have some contact with him.”

“I’ve worked with his security man, Alberto Mendoza. Although he’s a security risk in his own right, Mendoza did a good job.”

“I’m asking your opinion of Dr. Steuben as an investment, Byron.”

“That was part of the answer: Once Steuben comes to trust someone, he doesn’t think to recheck his assumptions. Isaac, you have a personal inside track on his trust.”

“Personal? Beyond a day of conversation and a game of golf?”

“Yes. That, and Esther. When Reginald said he knows of an Esther Rosen on his campus, you commented, “It’s a common name, isn’t it?”

“That was my instinctive response, Byron. He didn’t ask directly. He took his swing and dropped the subject. He’s a good golfer, which is a plus for fundraising. What are you telling me?”

“That he’d be easy to manage. Your daughter could manage his campaign. She probably hasn’t explained it to you, but she is politically managing one of Dr. Kane’s investments in cloaking technology: Dr. Het N. Kerrigan.”

“You know, Byron, understanding technology is going to be necessary for doing politics in the next generation. Esther’s got the stuff for political advancement all the way to the White House. Liberal voters are slowly growing closer to expecting a woman candidate. If she got into politics now, Steuben’s campaign might get her back on track with her family.”

Good, you’ve finally realized that your sons are worthless. “Enrico Batista suggested that a Hispanic running mate would be good for Steuben in California.”

“A Hispanic might lose Orange County.”

“Enrico says the man that he has in mind has conservative family credentials he could play, if he wants. His grandfather wanted to bring the Crown back to Mexico, and his family is business-money wealthy like good top Republicans. In fact, Enrico says that the man’s family could even pay most of Steuben’s campaign bills and save you from having to dip into the Party war chest. Enrico also says there’s one more thing this man has going: Like Leandro, he’s got sex appeal. He’d get the women’s vote.”

“What’s his name?”

“Ricardo Chavez.”

“He’ll never be elected President, so he might be safe, but who can sound him out? Does Enrico know him personally? Enrico’s a bit of a dreamer, you know.”

“No, he doesn’t know Chavez personally, but Steuben himself knows him well. Enrico brought up the name, not knowing that I know Chavez to be Steuben’s trusted ‘right hand man’. Chavez is second generation American, but I don’t know if he wants to get into American electoral politics.”

“Byron, when I asked Steuben about possible running mates, he said he hadn’t thought much about it; in California the lieutenant governor is actually elected on his own.”

“Yes, but like I said, there’s a good relationship between the two men and it might last though the election, at least to your benefit.”

“Hmm…Who do we have who’s close to Steuben?”

“Esther. She’s also the liaison between Dr. Kane’s operation and Steuben’s campus. She sees Steuben frequently in her position, and he trusts her.”

“Do you believe in Providence, Byron?”

“I believe in taking advantage of your good luck. There’s one more thing: Esther has the hots for Ricardo Chavez, and she sees him frequently, but I think he keeps her at a distance. He’s loyal to his place in his ‘family’.”

Isaac nodded. “What else?”

“He’s a Ph.D engineer whose extensive knowledge of Aztec literature connects him with Steuben, while his engineering knowledge connects him to cloaking technology.”

“It was Esther’s conversations with Liz that alerted me to that cloaking business, Byron. Cloaking technology has to do with that Knox family. What a hard nut they are to crack! It’s like they have their own country in Texas.” Isaac shook his head.

“Byron, Chavez’s place in his ‘family’ is that of fiancé to Martin Knox’s daughter. She’s the one who has a relationship with General Smith, your chief military nemesis.”

Isaac looked up; rhetorically he threw up his hands: “You want we should get in bed with these people, Byron?”

“Not you or me, Isaac. That’s an adventure for the next generation. It’s Esther’s work, if she’ll take it.”

“And Ricardo Chavez being in the race might just entice her to return to her family’s trade, Byron.”

Knowing that he had made his point and that Isaac had decided to act on it, Byron stood up and went to gaze from the window of Representative Rosen’s private office. While the sun shone on Byron through the window, Isaac studied the face of his long-time friend and informal security head. His eyes do look a little like Esther’s… Well, what of it now? Where would I have gotten to without Liz’s money to prime the pump? Esther is all I’ve got to hang the future on.

“Byron, I need to meet Esther in relative privacy and try to lure her back into family politics.”

“I’ve got just the place for that on Catalina, Isaac. You can fly in and out without being seen.”

~ ~ ~

With Steuben’s letter in his hand and Rhoda at his side, Ricardo knocked on the door of the home in which Arlene and Reginald Steuben resided. The two couples had not been together since their evening at the Cuisine Philomene, in which Reginald had learned that Rhoda Knox, who had given a boost to Het Kerrigan’s faculty status at Reginald's expense, was—as Arlene had speculated—Ricardo’s fiancée . The letter held in Ricardo's hand was an invitation, or rather an urgent plea, to become Steuben’s running mate for the governorship of California.

His new international ally, Enrico, and his new domestic ally, Isaac Rosen, had convinced Reginald Steuben: Floating out his ticket on the wave of state party interest in him following the successful War and Peace Conference, he would have financial and political support flowing to him as the front-runner. With Esther as the manager of his campaign, he would not need to rely on Wanda, in whose absence he would more easily get Arlene on board. Isaac and Enrico agreed that Arlene would be a perfect governor’s wife in Sacramento. On his newly-expanded political horizon, Reggie saw the White House, but he had not yet told Arlene that he had made up his mind to enter the gubernatorial race.

~ ~ ~

Arlene opened the door to Rhoda and Ricardo. “Good evening, Arlene," Ricardo said at once. “We didn’t call beforehand because I feel that it’s important to retain strict privacy concerning the request made by Reginald in his letter to me.”

Arlene hugged Rhoda warmly and wordlessly, and shook Ricardo’s hand. “Please come in, Rhoda and Ricardo, and sit down. It is a pleasure to see you both so unexpectedly.”

After gesturing for them to sit on the sofa, Arlene pulled up a dining chair and sat across from them, perched on its edge. Rhoda, sensing Arlene’s anxiety, leaned forward and took her hand. Arlene, feeling the same comforting strength that she had felt in the Cuisine Philomene, said, “Reginald and I are separated; I’m still serving as the hostess for his home meetings here, and I accompany him to other functions, but he does not live with me. I know nothing about the letter, Ricardo. But, having seen the people who have recently gathered here with him, I can guess that...”

Rhoda finished for her, “Reginald wants Ricardo to be his running mate for the governorship of California.”

Anger flashed in Arlene’s eyes. “If that happens, I hope Ricardo wins and Reginald loses. Oh, my God! Playing wife to the governor? I couldn’t bear it!”

Rhoda rose from the sofa, lifted Arlene from her perch, and embraced her. Then she sat Arlene down next to her on the sofa and wrapped an arm around the distressed woman’s shoulders while Arlene wept.

After growing calmer, Arlene wiped her face.

Rhoda said, “We came to tell you and Reginald that it’s impossible for Ricardo to join Reginald in this endeavor. Reginald’s letter implied that you are fully behind him.”

Arlene looked at Ricardo. “If you had agreed, he would have pressured me with that good news, I’m sure.”

Calmly, reassuringly, Rhoda said, “Arlene, I foresee that Reginald will not run for any office; have no fear of anything of that sort.”

“Do you really foresee things, Rhoda?”

“Yes. I do see, occasionally, the direction in which events are flowing.”

“If Ricardo were to agree, do you foresee that Reginald would win the race?”

“It’s highly likely that he would win, in that case.”

As Arlene began to rise to her feet, Rhoda and Ricardo also stood, and Arlene hugged Rhoda. “Thank you, Rhoda, for strengthening me. I need not know more about your affairs, but thanks to whatever it is for which you stand, I know now where I stand.”

~ 4 ~ Three of Arlene's faculty friends had been pressuring her to explore the option of a divorce. They had become highly annoyed by her 'cheerful suffering in silence'. Among themselves, they—somewhat gleefully—discussed various physical punishments which they would be tempted to inflict on a husband like Reginald: Accidentally push him down a long flight of stairs or leave him stranded in a violence-torn barrio, or simply have an affair of one’s own.

Beatrix, the lawyer whom they had pressed upon Arlene, had arranged for Jacob—Reginald's lawyer—to meet them in her offices. They were waiting there in Beatrix’s office suite now, and Jacob was late. Anxiously, Arlene had gone over to pour herself a fresh cup of coffee at the table near the door. Why have I let things get this far? A sudden knock startled her.

Beatrix immediately said, "That's Jacob’s three knocks, Arlene; please open the door.” While Arlene was setting down her cup to answer the door, Beatrix felt secretly pleased by the opportunity which had been provided for Arlene to make this symbolic gesture indicating her involvement. In Beatrix’s judgment, Arlene had been far too passive. Of her wiser friends who had carried her this far, two were present in the room. Linda, Arlene’s faculty friend, smiled at those two, and at Beatrix’s partner Patrick, an athletic thirty-year-old lawyer who occasionally served to keep unruly husbands in order. All of them appreciated the moment.

Arlene opened the door. It was not Jacob.

"Reginald! Why are you here?" Arlene was dismayed. "We were expecting Jacob."

"Arlene, I'll agree to any terms you want." Reginald, who had not yet accepted Ricardo’s refusal, knew that a divorce would not advance his political cause. Maybe after his first term he could tolerate it. He felt sick about the whole business.

As Arlene and Reginald stood face-to-face in the doorway of the conference room, the others in the room stared. "Arlene, don't listen to him!” Beatrix exclaimed. “It's just a trick.” She whispered, “Patrick, we may need your help."

Patrick began rising slowly to his feet.

Reginald and Arlene were each completely absorbed in reading the other's countenance. Arlene waved off Beatrix’s legal advice and Patrick’s advance. She took her husband's head between her hands and looked at him as she had in admiring him when they were first married. "Reginald, you are very ill,” she said sadly, taking his arm. Then Arlene turned him around and marched him out of the divorce lawyer’s suite.

Beatrix and Patrick gave each other a look which said, "Have we just lost a client?"

Linda pouted. "That's the last time Arlene gets any help from me.” Arlene’s other friend offered, "Beatrix, please let me buy you lunch. I’m so sorry for your loss of a fee."

"Thanks, Marilyn. I’m happy to accept, because I went without breakfast this morning, preparing for this meeting. I wanted so much to pin Dr. Steuben next to the other insects in my collection.”

Patrick, having had some medical training, said—as they were preparing to leave the room, and the women had begun to discuss where to eat—"I thought at first that Dr. Steuben looked tired, but when Arlene said he looked ill, I saw it, too. If it's a terminal illness, which it may well be—Did you see how grey his face was?—she gets everything." He gathered up his papers and dumped them into the trashcan on his way out of the room.

Beatrix turned off the lights. She was envious of Arlene. When she had been developing Arlene's case, she had detected in her none of the animosity which she, herself, would have had—which she did have—in Arlene's shoes.

~ ~ ~

Against his protests, Arlene took Reginald to see his physician. She had said, “Reginald, seeing your doctor is the only term to which I want you to agree." His physician had had him admitted to the hospital immediately for extensive medical testing, as Arlene had expected. Seeing him in the doorway of Beatrix’s office, Arlene had been certain that he was dying.

The seed of her present certainty had been sown on the day of the new-faculty reception when Arlene had met “K”—Miss Rhoda Knox—who had spoken with her so intelligently about T. S. Eliot’s poetry. Reginald had selected Rhoda to read Eliot’s poetry, sizing her up as an academic phony whom the new Dr. Kerrigan had brought to impress the faculty. From her conversation with Rhoda, Arlene knew that Rhoda was no phony and had no attachment to Dr. Kerrigan. “I am accompanying Het Kerrigan today for his mother’s sake,” Rhoda had told her.

That day, Arlene had been trying not to see whatever Reginald was doing, and so she had focused all of her attention on hospitality to her guests. But then the room had suddenly filled with awed murmuring, and it had quieted in anticipation of some spectacle. She had turned and smiled sympathetically at Reginald, knowing that things were not going to turn out as he expected.

Arlene, sitting in a comfortable chair in the back of the room, had seen—not Rhoda, but herself, twenty years younger—taking a book from Reginald's hands. She had closed her eyes and bowed her head to flee from the vision, but the Greek of Heraclitus, fresh from the Aegean, enticed her eyes to open, and the Greek flowed into the lines of English verse into which she had poured her own ardent soul when she had been a young student, in the days when she had loved Reginald with reckless abandon. Arlene's eyes had been resting on Reginald as Miss Knox, the Muse, had spoken:

"Yet the enchantment of past and future

Woven in the weakness of the changing body,

Protects mankind from heaven and damnation

Which flesh cannot endure."

~ ~ ~

With great vividness, Arlene had seen Reginald’s body change with the verse: Heaven and damnation were both consuming his flesh, eating their way toward his heart. Damnation was consuming his decaying flesh and Heaven was consuming the still living, moving flesh. Which of them would it be to reach his heart first? Arlene had fainted in her chair, and no one had noticed.

She had remembered this vision during the unexpected visit by Rhoda and Ricardo. While telling them that she now knew where she stood, she had known that the power to see as she had seen in that vision was with her again. When the doctor had been quietly reviewing his findings with her and Reginald, Arlene had shuddered, but not for herself or Reginald, for she had no doubt of his medical examination’s disclosure: Reginald had not long to live. The reason for her shudder was her realization, in that moment, that Rhoda and Ricardo were engaged in a struggle in which the power to see as she had seen was an everyday fact. Feeling this power of vision leaving her, Arlene knew that Rhoda had willed the power to her, and that to Rhoda it had returned.

~ ~ ~

It may have begun as prostate cancer, but now his liver and spleen were involved, and Reginald Steuben had only a few months to live. Reginald was able to continue in his duties for a while, but he had no choice but to withdraw more and more. He persuaded Ricardo to be his alter ego on the campus for the duration. “You know, Ricardo,” he said, “it’s a good thing you didn’t agree to run for office at my side, but please help me to end this race. I have the votes on the Board to appoint you President of the University. Every faculty member sees you as a colleague who is knowledgeable and sympathetic to his or her own discipline, and both factions see you as their own. Ricardo, I know you would continue my policies and commitments; you know my mind. Then I could go in peace.”

Ricardo all but flatly refused to let Reginald appoint him University President, but he promised to do all that he could to maintain the unity established by maintaining the balance of power in the campus faculty, which Steuben had forged.

~ 5 ~ At tea time, Ricardo walked up to Arlo’s secretary’s desk. He knew that Wanda was covering for his ill secretary, Steuben’s office being empty on that day. As Ricardo talked with her, Wanda took great pleasure in gazing at him. My God! He’s like the sunlight! How I envy Rhoda!

Hearing them from his office, Arlo looked in, and Ricardo requested, "Tea for three, Arlo. We three need to talk."

"I'll fire up my Bunsen burner." Arlo stepped back into his office, which connected to his chemical laboratory.

Seeing Wanda look into the hall for the third person, Ricardo explained, "You're the third member of this tea party, Wanda,” and held open Arlo's office door for her. He closed the secretary's door to the hall and then closed Arlo's office door behind him.

Arlo's office featured a wide window between it and his laboratory, and beneath the window was a laboratory bench topped with black granite and equipped with natural gas service. It was an antique chemistry bench which Arlo used only for tea-making, and the cabinets containing his collection of antique teacups were secured to its surface. Arlo reflexively closed the door to his laboratory, where several of his chemists were busily working.

Being Steuben's closest aides, Arlo and Wanda were sensitive to the fact that his reign at New City University was ending, as evidenced by the increasing frequency of his absences. Reginald Steuben's War and Peace conference had entered his name into the pool of talented new blood who might be drafted for high offices such as as ambassadorships and high cabinet posts. Arlo had learned that the continuing prestigious international meetings in the salon at the Eyrie were bankrolled by the family of Ricardo's fiancée, and many people speculated that Ricardo had been quietly hired by Steuben so that he would be there to take over Steuben’s job when Steuben was called to a public office. Others speculated that Steuben would run for governor with Ricardo running for lieutenant governor, because Ricardo would bring in both the Hispanic vote and the rich half of the Republican Party. Wanda had said nothing to Arlo about her suspicion that Steuben was seriously ill.

In the short time in which they had known him, Ricardo had become the only man whom both Wanda and Arlo trusted, and both of them knew that Ricardo was preparing to level with them about Steuben. After some light talk about the perfect preparation of each one’s cup of tea, Ricardo began: "Reginald wants to keep this secret, but the time for that has passed. He is terminally ill, and his doctor does not expect him to survive longer than two more months.” Wanda and Arlo looked at each other.

"What are we to do?" Wanda was asking the question of all three of them—herself, Arlo and Ricardo.

"Probably, different things," Ricardo replied with a faint chuckle, easing the tension. "Although Reginald has obtained an order from the University Trustees to appoint me President in his stead, I can accept this position under no circumstances. For his comfort, however, I have not told him so."

Arlo asked, "How long will it be before all of this is known, Ricardo?" He looked around his laboratory space, wondering if, in a new order, he would even be able to hold onto it. Without Steuben’s protection, he would have many enemies in the faculty.

"It's an official action of the Board, so I'm sure it has leaked already. In fact, I saw some knowing glances at me on my way over here from the Keep. I suspect that some people are hoping that I've come to sack you, Arlo.” Ricardo chuckled more audibly this time. "However, I have a plan. You may have had little reason to pay attention to Professor Gebhardt..."

"Head of Germanic Studies?" Arlo asked quickly, nodding hopefully.

"Yes," Ricardo answered. "He has some ties to Rhoda's family, so I know him fairly well. He is well-regarded in the field of liberal arts, but he is also knowledgeable concerning scientific matters. He’s a German refugee with a well-rounded education who can straddle the cultural divide between the humanities and the sciences. He is a temperate conservative with liberal credentials in racial issues, and he’s clearly not antisemitic. Everyone knows that his wife is a Jewish woman who lost her family in the Holocaust. You and he, together, could marshal a moderate majority in the faculty senate."

"But without Steuben, the political situation will become too unstable in a few weeks, Ricardo. You are the only one who can keep it together.”

"Thanks for the confidence, Arlo. Through Travis, the lawyer, the board contacted me before Steuben told me explicitly about the offer. Travis knows that I will not accept, and he feels that eighteen months will be needed for a faculty process to select a new head, but I will not accept an acting position, either.”

"But the board can act without the faculty.”

"Yes, Arlo, and they are willing to do so.”

"I can guess why. Steuben's members rule for now, and Travis is his man."

"Steuben has already written the press release which is out today. He’s hoping to force me to accept.”

"I’m guessing you talked with Gebhardt, before coming here."

"Yes, of course. Gebhardt will accept an appointment to the position of acting president, for two years. Travis is sure that the board will quickly approve a conditional appointment—the condition being that I refuse Steuben’s offer and nominate a suitable candidate to take my place. I will persuade Steuben to follow this course, if you—and Wanda—can work out with Gebhardt, suitable positions for yourselves. Gebhardt’s appointment will foster continuity with the direction for the campus which has been established by Reginald Steuben. But in recent days, Reginald has privately expressed to me his personal concern for the futures of both of you.”

“Is professor Gebhardt aware of these things, Ricardo?”

“He is, and he says he’s willing to negotiate acceptable positions for both of you. I believe he will keep his word.”

“There’s little time,” said Wanda.

“I believe Travis is enjoying the view from the Student Union as we speak. I, however, have a working date with my fiancée at the Eyrie.” Handing to Wanda a business card with his immediate call-through number, Ricardo said to her, “Only you will be able to contact me during my three-day period of waiting—as I have told Travis—before publicly refusing Steuben’s offer.”

Arlo set down his teacup. “Wanda, please call professor Gebhardt and ask him to meet us in Steuben’s office as soon as possible. I’ll go to the Student Union and invite Travis to join us. We have a press situation with which to deal.”

~ 6 ~ Through the narrow slit between the window curtains, Arlene saw a Black woman approaching her house from the street. She had just left her husband’s bedside, carefully closing the door so as not to disturb his shallow sleep.

She and a hospice nurse had been keeping vigil, expecting Reginald’s death in hours, although they knew that he might live for days. The nurse had said that she would return shortly, but Arlene saw that the woman who was approaching the house was not she. In fact, the sight of the woman caused Arlene acute distress, because a friend had informed her that Reginald was occasionally seeing a Black woman who was supposedly a "literary" person.

Staring at Yohanna unseen, from the darkened living room, Arlene was thinking, “Oh, God, must I endure this final outrage?” as the woman neared her doorstep. She stood up and went to answer the door, but, hearing no knock or ring of the doorbell, she thought, “Now I’m seeing things. How I wish this were over!” She yanked open the door.

“Arlene, I am Yohanna Okubo; I have recently become a literary friend of Reginald. Because you and I have not met, I have become concerned about some nasty rumors about Reginald and me which, if they should come to your ears, would only add to your grief.”

Arlene stared in disbelief. On the previous night, before he had slipped into his uneasy unconsciousness, Reginald had gasped, “Where is Yohanna? Has she forsaken me?” Chilled, Arlene had wondered if that was the name of the “literary” person.

Now Arlene’s heart felt dead. “Why didn’t you knock?” she asked coldly.

“I knew that if you were disturbed about me, Arlene, you would open the door, and I could relieve you of some of your grief.”

Arlene realized that Yohanna could not have seen her watching from the house’s relatively dark interior. She felt suddenly that, regardless of her personally trying situation, she was failing in her hospitality to this woman.

She forced out the words, “Yohanna, I am pleased to meet you. Please come in.” Still gripping the doorknob, Arlene gestured for Yohanna to enter. Yohanna passed before her into the living room, sending an eddy of invisible brightness swirling around Arlene, and into it flowed her grief for being the wife of faithless Reginald. She did not feel the grief actually vanish; rather, many invisible hands seemed to be helping her to carry it. She stared wonderingly at Yohanna.

“Grief is wasted if it is not shared.” Yohanna’s face expressed a miraculous tension between mirth and solemnity.

Without a word, Arlene sat down on the sofa; Yohanna sat beside her and gently took her hand. “Reginald has never spoken of you, Arlene. My, friend Rhoda, however, has told me much about you.”

“I can believe that you are Rhoda’s friend, Yohanna. You, you b-both…” Arlene rarely stuttered. “You, you are both fountains of, of…grace. There’s no other word for it.” Yohanna silently cradled Arlene in her strong arms, gently rocking her as Arlene’s tears flowed.

Seeing the front door ajar, the bright-eyed young Filipina nurse quietly let herself in. She smiled without surprise at Yohanna, and as she passed on into the room in which Dr. Reginald Steuben lay dying, she left the sickroom’s door open.

Arlene sat up at last and dried her tears, and noticed the guest room’s open door.