Chapter 11
The next council of war Wanda held with Mike and Sam was even less cheerful than the previous one had been. She saw their faces fall as she told them the story Mrs. Harper had related to her.
They tried to brush it off as something of no importance, the ravings of a sick woman with a twisted mind, but Wanda saw they were doing it to make her feel better. It was obvious they had no solution to offer. More and more it was becoming clear to Wanda that there were going to be no solutions at all.
When Wanda arrived home and found Art waiting for her, she wasn't even surprised. All she felt was an overpowering sense of relief and of love. With his unerring instinct, Art seemed to know when he was needed and he appeared just like that.
Although he tried to joke about his just happening to drop in from five hundred miles away, Wanda sensed that he had read her troubled expression and knew that the storm signals were up.
When he pressed her, she told him the whole story. He was supposed to be the businessman and she the politician, but she was amazed at how he made swift work of tying the rape and the uglier rumor together.
"So the rape was just a couple of hot kids who saw a chance to knock off a lone woman. I'll buy that. I don't think the machine would be fool enough to set up that kind of a deal with all the risk of backfire that could hurt them more than it could help, but from that point on, they're in it up to their dirty necks."
"You mean spreading the rumor?" Wanda asked.
"Of course. Let's face it, when a couple of kids rape a woman, even in the slums, they don't run around boasting about it. They may spread the word among their own circle of pals, but that's all.
"What happened here is that the other camp got wind of it through their contacts. With a few bucks in the right place, they were able to get the whole story as well as the panties and bra.
"After that, it was a piece of cake. All it took was dough to get the story spreading. All those mothers down there really love to take a woman from uptown and smear her character. Hell, if you can't climb up to one level, you try to pull someone down with you, it's still a form of equalization."
"I can see that you're right, darling," Wanda agreed, "but I can't see any way out of this for me.
"Easy now," he cautioned her, "you've gone too far and worked too hard to just throw it up now. Let's work on it and see what we can come up with."
"But, Art darling, what you're talking now is miracles," she protested.
"So let's talk miracles. They can be bought just like anything else if you find the right angle. We can't do any constructive thinking with dry throats though, let's see what we can find to lubricate the brain and things."
In the kitchen, they found a half bottle of scotch and a shade more Canadian rye. Art seemed to feel that it was enough to start the mental process functioning.
"Let's go out on the balcony and see if the view will inspire us," Art said with a casualness he knew he didn't really feel.
Without answering, Wanda slipped her hand into his and they went outside. There was still a bit of warmth left in the air and it established just the right atmosphere.
Below, the city crawled and sprawled and looked very mixed up. There were times, Wanda recalled, when from her balcony, the city looked neat and orderly and beautiful but this wasn't one such time.
The fault, she realized, lay behind her eyes rather than in front of them. In spite of the many things she had on her mind, she took time to wonder how often people fail to see beauty because of something within themselves.
"Does winning the election mean that much to you, dear?" Art asked in a quiet voice.
"How strange that you asked that when you did," Wanda looked up at him. "Until about ten seconds ago, I would have said yes. I was dedicated to winning it."
"And now?"
"And now, it isn't that important, somehow. I still want to win, I'm still going to do everything I can to win, but if it doesn't work out that way, at least I'll know that I meant well and did everything I could."
"And that's enough?" he asked without implying disapproval in any way.
"It is now. It wouldn't have been yesterday or even five minutes ago, but it is now."
"I'm glad to hear that, Wanda," he slipped an arm around her waist as they talked. "I'm not quitting either. As long as we can still fight, that's what we're going to do, but if in spite of everything, you lose, then I don't want you to be hurt any more. There's been too much of that already."
"Thanks for helping so much, dear," she kissed him on the mouth with lightness but with warmth. "You see, I didn't want the post because of the money or the glory or anything like that.
"I was and am concerned about those people down there who just don't seem to have a chance. They were born in muck, they wallow in it and they don't know how to get out when they have a chance. Somehow, I thought I could do something more for them. It's for that reason that I've tried so hard to win."
This time, he kissed her and she held him for just a moment as if she feared he would drift away.
"Thanks for the timing of that kiss, darling," she told him. "I guess I was beginning to sound a bit like Lady Bountiful. That really isn't my style at all."
"You weren't dear. You sounded like someone who cares about those people out there. That's more than I can say for them. Something seems to happen to them at birth so that most of them lose their will to fight. Maybe it's in the genes or something, I don't know. Anyway, neither of us likes the idea of losing, so let's have a real shot at winning this thing yet."
"I still want to, Art, believe me I do. It's just that I seem to have run out of ideas for fighting back. That shouldn't be necessary, should it? I mean the whole business of democracy says it's wrong.
"People don't want to govern just for the sake of the power or the money, not in theory they don't. When I was very young, I looked up to political leaders as being great men dedicated to the cause of freedom and the people. I guess they were all Lincolns and Washingtons to me.
While I was still growing up, I found out there were McCarthy's too. Perhaps, innocent that I was, I just refused to believe that some people went into politics for power or money without giving a damn about the people out there."
"McCarthy cared," Art pointed out. "I didn't agree with his politics, but he sure as hell cared or made a very strong case of pretending to."
"Sure he did, but are the fanatics any better than the power seekers who want only power? Are they better than the ones who are after the money? I'm afraid they're even more dangerous because of their dedication."
"You're right, I suppose," Art agreed, "but then along comes a Kennedy and what does that do to your argument? He sure as hell didn't need the money or the power. He had both. He also wasn't a fanatic. In a way, he was much like you. He believed in certain things because he knew they were right and fought for them."
"Thanks for including me in the category, darling, but the company is rather heady stuff. If I had some of the Kennedy magic, perhaps I could still pull off this election. I'm afraid I'm just a little girl named Tupper though."
"Be of good cheer, little girl Tupper. The great ones come down the pike just once in a few hundred years. While we wait for them, we have to depend on the plain honest ones who do their best because they love their fellow man and really give a damn. I not only love you, lady, I also happen to admire all the things you are."
When Art looked into her eyes again, he saw tears preparing to fall. He understood that they had nothing to do with the possibility of losing an election, so he did the only thing he could. He drew her into his arms and kissed her in a way that told her he understood.
They drew apart a little then and Wanda saw that something had clicked in his mind.
"Pardon me for thinking while I'm kissing you, little girl," he looked excited, "but I think I've got something. Suppose we can get you some television time, can you get something ready in a hurry?"
"Sure I can," she answered with enthusiasm. "I know what I believe, it won't be hard to say it."
"Then you start putting it together while I buy us a hunk of the primest time we can get."
He let go of her so quickly that Wanda was amazed. When she looked again, he was thumbing through the telephone book with a look of unbeatable determination.
She decided to stay out on the balcony and leave him alone to make his calls. There was no real reason for it except she sensed that it would be better that way.
When he came back to her about five minutes later, he wasn't walking quite as straight and proud as he had done when he left.
"Is there a chance," he asked quietly, "that the local television stations are either a part of the system or are afraid of bucking it?"
"Honestly, darling, I don't know," she replied. "I guess for a politician, I don't know very much about what goes on in my town."
"Don't knock yourself, darling," he answered quickly, "your motives are still the best. If my guess is right, that makes you better than those people out there, but that's the way I figured it anyway."
"What's the answer?" she asked quietly. "They're going to call me back. I figure they're checking with higher authority to find out whether they're allowed to touch you or not."
"You're probably right, Art, but don't let it throw you. That's just the kind of city we have here."
"It's just a city like any other city, darling," he answered. "There's nothing special about it, that's the way the game is played these days."
Within twenty minutes, Art had discovered that there was just no time available and that nothing could be bumped to carry a political message.
"What say we go do some canvassing, darling," Wanda suggested with a smile that was brighter outside than it was from where she saw it.
They went canvassing.