She proceeded into the next office and was given her holographic badge, complete with innumerable codes implanted in the strips on the back of the badge. She wondered what she was going to do with a Top-Secret Alpha clearance.
"That's it," her guide said. "Now you have one very cranky senator waiting to put you to work."
The Russell was the oldest and most prestigious of the three senate office buildings. It had the aura of fine old wood, penetrated by decades of good tobacco smoke. It was the building of choice and Marshall had the office of choice, with a commanding view of the Capitol out one window and down the Mall and Constitution Avenue down the other. Entering the office, Eleanor was struck by the profusion of Native American art, mission decor, and numerous watercolors painted by Marshall before his arthritis had made it impossible for him to hold a brush. His secretary of thirty years, Patty McCormick, turned and said, "Hello darlin', welcome to the last frontier."
From around the corner, the familiar husky voice shouted, "Goddamn it Patty, don't scare her away. Come on in, Eleanor."
Eleanor edged into the Senator's office and found him working his way through a breakfast sent up from the cafeteria. "Have a seat," he said, waving at one of the heavy leather chairs.
"Good morning, Senator, how are you feeling?"
"Shitty, as usual, but that's nothing new. I'll be god-damned if I'll take pain medication. I haven't got an awful lot of brain cells left and I want them to work."
They made a little small talk about her move to Alexandria. Caleb seemed surprisingly unhurried, for a senator. Eleanor kept wondering when he was going to tell her why she'd been hired. Finally she came out and asked.
"Should we talk about what you want me to do?'
"Sure, why not. What do you want to do?"
"I don't know, I'm still slightly overwhelmed to be here."
"How'd you like to be my spokesperson?"
Eleanor couldn't help laughing. At first she chuckled politely because she assumed it was a joke. Then she laughed out loud in shock, realizing he was serious. "Senator, you are one crazy fool."
"You ever see one of those stupid old Westerns where the bad guys come riding into town and they just start shooting at everything? They shoot out all the windows, they shoot holes in the water barrels, they pick off people on the balconies. I always thought that looked like fun. Well, I'm out of here soon and I have a lot to say and I want to have somebody to say it who will make an impression, not one of these generic press mavens who keep massaging messages and doing sound bites. You and I, young lady, are going to shoot a few holes in this goddamn town before I end this ride."
As he talked, Marshall was unable to hide his extreme pain. He became so angry about the pain and so intense in his conversation that he accidentally knocked over his coffee, spilling the contents all over the top of the desk. "God-damned son of a bitch," he screamed.
Patty poked her head around the corner and said, "Did it again, Your Grace?"
"Bitch," he said, throwing the coffee drenched Washington Times at her. Then he grimaced, doubled over in his chair, and rested his forehead against the desktop for a moment, his shoulders heaving.
Eleanor, horrified, looked at Patty for a cue. Patty didn't seem to notice. She winked at Eleanor and said, "We have a very formal office."
While Patty cleaned up the mess, Eleanor helped Caleb to a small conference room next door and let him collapse in a chair. Then she sat down across the table from him.
Marshall, slumped down low in his chair, said, "In all seriousness, Eleanor, I thought long and hard about this appointment. I have very little time left. My problem is not arthritis. It's galloping bone cancer. I have, maximum, three months of useful activity left."
"Oh, god, Senator, I'm so sorry-'
"Spare me. And call me Caleb."
"Is there anything-"
"Yes. Shut up and listen for a second."
"Okay," Eleanor said.
"I'm stuck in a party that was once for the individual, and now it's dedicated to controlling the individual. The Bible thumpers and the single-issue people and all of those other control freaks have no idea of what the United States is all about. And they are going to win. But I will make my contribution. And here it is."
Resting on the table was a book, bound in leather, Western-style. Imprinted on the cover in gold leaf was:
POLITICAL WILL AND TESTAMENT
SEN. CALEB ROOSEVELT MARSHALL
Marshall put his hand on the book and shoved it across the table at Eleanor. She caught it before it tumbled into her lap. "I have a press secretary, of course," Marshall said. "And he has a whole goddamn staff of flacks. I'll continue to use them for the run-of-the-mill announcements and contacts with local bubble heads. I want you to work on this and wait for the phone to ring."
"Senator, I thought you were going to bury me in a corner of your staff somewhere."
"Well, I'm not."
"But your constituents are going to hate you."
"Eleanor, I don't give a good fuck. Get to work."
Eleanor carried the book into an adjoining office, a small but nice one with a view of the Capitol. Patty was already in there, straightening a few things up. Eleanor's stuff had been moved in and unpacked. Her personal things all looked humble and shabby in the magnificent building.
Patty was sniffling. "I love that man, Eleanor," she said. "He's the most decent person in this town, and he's dying."
"How many people know?"
"Most of the Hill."
Eleanor settled into her leather chair behind the immense wooden desk and looked at the walls, decorated with Hopi and Navajo art. On one corner of the desk was a recent photo of both their kids, and on the other corner, from Ray del Valle, a dozen roses with the note, "Knock 'em dead, tiger."
Before she could open the Senator's book, the phone rang. It was Patty.
"Dr. Hunter P. Lawrence on the line for you, Eleanor."
"Okay, put him through."
Eleanor heartily disliked the professor. He was one of the new breed of talking heads who had turned civilized shows like Meet the Press into the intellectual equivalent of the World Wrestling Federation. The format of Lawrence's show was simple: a victim would be invited to sit in the center chair and then two commentators from the alleged left wing and two from the alleged right wing would abuse them. If they weren't abusive enough, the Professor would step in and stir them up. It got great ratings.
"Hello?" she said.
"Ms. Richmond, this is Dr. Lawrence of Washington Hot Seat. Welcome to town."
It was strange to hear that famous voice coming out of her telephone. She felt as if she knew the man, even though she didn't. "Thank you Dr. Lawrence. How may I be of service to you?"
"We'd like you to appear on our show next week," he said cheerily.
"Oh, that's very flattering, but I'm sure that I wouldn't be of much interest."
"Oh, on the contrary. You gained great visibility when you took the neo-Nazi apart. Your advocacy for the Hispanics also was impressive. Your relationship with that troglodyte Marshall is a subject of conversation. And let's be blunt, there aren't that many highly visible black women. We're so tired of the usual suspects."
Eleanor had come to work in a state of new-job euphoria. If Dr. Lawrence had reached her a few minutes earlier, she might not have taken offense. But hearing about the bone cancer had changed her mood. She hadn't even had time to process the bad news yet; she felt edgy and deranged.
"What's the matter, Dr. Lawrence? Did Aunt Jemima cancel at the last minute?"
A long silence. "Uh-"
"If all you want is a black female, why don't you just go east of Rock Creek Park for once in your life, and just pick one off the street? Some of those girls clean up real nice."