Chapter 3
I followed Phil into the room we had set up for the news conference. Phil went over to speak to the TV and radio people while I mixed with the reporters and columnists from the newspapers and the wire services.
The large room was awash with the lights from the TV camera crowd. They were forever adjusting the lights and the reflectors. One of the TV news guys was sitting at the desk where Cataldo would shortly be squatted. It gave the cameramen a chance to adjust their lights and fix their lens openings.
While I chit-chatted with the reporters, greeting old comrades and joshing good-naturedly with them about all the money I was suppose to be making now that I was prostituting myself as a PR man, I kept looking about for some sign of Sarah Whynot. There was a lot of milling about as the hour approached and most of the news people started to take their seats.
Cataldo, the s.o.b., finally came in a minute and a half before air time like he was some sort of a matinee idol. If he had been an elected official, the governor say, everyone would have risen politely. But he was still the candidate, and although he was in the best position to win, the newsmen had no intention of deferring to him until he actually had the office sewn up.
His annoyance with their lack of what he considered proper respect flashed momentarily across his broad features, but the politician quickly donned his professional visage. As he slipped into his seat, I gave him some last-minute pointers about the angle of the cameras, his best profile (although he was sure he was God from either side), and the plea to for cripes sake pause and gather his thoughts for a moment before replying to any question. The idea, I reminded him, was to use up the TV half hour as painlessly as possible. The flubs he made during that period were the ones that would register the strongest with the electorate. Any boo-boos he made after the cameras shut down were beautifully minimized by the lack of any audience except the news people themselves. And the fact was that what they had to say had no where near the effect created by the boob-tube.
"Where's the Whynot broad?" Johnny snarled, smiling all the while.
"I don't know. I've been trying to pinpoint her. I'll get to her though and try to hold her back from any loaded questions," I replied, really ticked off now with Phil. Where had he disappeared to? He better be with the Whynot dame or I'd have his ass.
I gave Johnny a reassuring pat on his heavy shoulders and slipped down off the dais to weave my way through the throng of news people to the back of the room. I was still on my way when the red lights on the front of the TV cameras flared up to show Cataldo he was on the air. Hank Gale, a friend from the wires, popped up to ask the first question. It was an easy one because he owed me a lot of favors.
Unable to spot her in the crowd, I took a standing position against the wall to the rear to keep a close eye on things. Everything was going beautifully. The reporters were in a gay mood after the booze and food and did not press very closely with their questions. Cataldo also was in especially good form and kept his answers brief and to the point so that he wouldn't get himself entrapped.
I couldn't have asked for a better set up. Cataldo looked good up behind the desk. The monitoring TV sets around the room also showed that he was coming across effectively. He made a good image on TV so that meant thousands of viewers at home were getting a good picture of him. All politician now, his expression was one of quiet determination, efficiency, and good old-fashioned common sense. His voice was a bit syrupy, a bit patronizing. But nobody else seemed to be getting that impression because I didn't notice any of the news people elbowing each other and passing looks that mean: get him. I figured I was probably being too critical, especially since I had so much at stake. I relaxed.
But not for long. There couldn't have been more than four minutes left in the half hour when I heard the flat nasal voice of a New England female and automatically cringed. Sarah Whynot! Here it came. I should have known things were going too well.
I glanced frantically about, and then spotted her standing tall and stately between two of the TV cameras. No wonder I hadn't been able to fix her position earlier. She had been hidden by the cameras, boxes of equipment and tie TV crews.
I was trying to be discreet as possible squirming my way through the crowded room when I heard the Whynot broad again call for Cataldo's attention. I expressed the quick hope that he would have enough sense to ignore her urgings. But she was obviously determined to be recognized.
"Mr. Cataldo. Mr. Cataldo. Sir." She kept intoning. "A question please. I would Kke to know about the report that your brother Charles would possibly be appointed to the post of Commissioner of Finance and Administration if you're elected?"
Oh brother, I groaned. Where was this broad getting her information? It was pretty good. Cataldo was thinking of putting his brother Charles in that post. The fact that Charlie was an insipid fool and an incompetent made no difference. With Cataldo, blood was thicker than water. It may have been admirable from his viewpoint, but from the PR outlook it could be disastrous.
Cataldo was still stalling when I nearly fell over Jack Haley, an old friend from the A.P.
"Jack," I said, bending over and whispering in his ear, "get her off his back. Ask him how he stands with the administration in Washington on Viet Nam."
Jack's a sharp boy and was up in a flash. It was his beautiful, big, booming voice that chattered the room, drowning out the pleas of the Whynot bitch.
"Mr. Cataldo, could you tell us please whether you agree or disagree with the White House position on Viet Nam, and if you disagree would you tell us in what specific areas?"
Cataldo was fast on the uptake and quickly launched into a reply to Jack's question. I had to fight to hold back the smirk that wanted to possess my face. I watched the Whynot chick out of the corner of my eye and she was steaming. The hell with her. I had a job to do and I wasn't about to let some virgin out of Boston screw up my deal. Not on television anyway.
Cataldo gave his stock reply on Viet Nam. The one that placed him four square with the White House and the American Legion on that touchy issue. Then he gave me the "thirty" look, and I automatically exclaimed, "Thank you, Mr. Cataldo."
Cataldo had seen a lot of White House news conferences on TV and was impressed by the way the senior correspondent always concluded the questioning with the remark, "Thank you, Mr. President." Maybe he thought he would be in the White House some day, the silly dreamer.
The red lights blinked off on the TV cameras and the news people all started moving about. Most of them rising and stretching and talking noisily among themselves. I went right up to Cataldo and put myself at his side to head off any further questioning by any eager-beavers as he headed out of the room and back to the suite.
We were only a few feet from the door when I heard the Whynot dame calling, "Mr. Cataldo. Mr. Cataldo. Please, Sir. Just a moment. Can't you answer my question?"
I gave Johnny a nudge forward, whispered that I would handle her, and turned about to block her way.
Man, was she mad. Her face, which probably was fairly comely if she'd take off the heavy tortoise-shell glasses and wear a little make-up, was vivid. The way she came at me reminded me of a northeast storm scudding down the coast from the Gulf of Maine and ready to slam ashore. Well, let her come, I'd fix her good.
"Mr. Vista. I must protest, sir. I ... "
"Yes, miss, can I help you. I don't believe we've met," I said innocently. Immediately, I sensed I had taken some of the wind out of her sails: Actually I couldn't see how she was trimmed with the two-piece beige suit she had on it. The material was rather heavy, possibly even wool and was far from form-fitting. All these Yankess think they've got enough inbred class to make up for lousy grooming and poor tailoring. They come on with their Brahman accent and think you're going to respond with a lot of bowing and scraping. Screw 'em, I say. I've seen enough of them on the East Coast. Most of them are phonies. All they've got is a la-dee-dah voice and memories of past grandeur. They are cold and lifeless and without any emotions. Any I've jumped between the sheets with have been dull plowing. You get more action by yourself, with the gatefold beauty from Playboy.
"I'm Sarah Whynot," she said in a voice that implied that I must be an idiot not to recognize her.
"Oh, how nice," I replied, giving her some of her own medicine. I could play that Yankee type with the best of them. "What can I do for you, Miss Whynote?"
"Whynot," she said regally. "Whynot."
"Whynot what?" I said, really sticking it to her.
"No, my dear man, Whynot. Sarah Whynot, that's my name." She said it like everyone in America was familiar with it rather than a small group of relatives from Cape Cod.
"Oh, yes, Miss Whynot, how unusual. But please, I am not your good man. I'm Mr. Cataldo's press secretary. Are you with the news media?"
With that last question, she really looked like she was going to tee off on me. Funny thing, the madder she got the more attractive she appeared. The legs looked well-turned from what I could see of them from about an inch above the knee downward. At least she was almost in style in that department. And she was tall too with her high heels, and she was looking me practically in the eyes. Her eyes were a pale blue. At the moment, they looked like two ice cubes with sapphires for pupils.
"I happen to be with KCUB-TV, Mr. Vista. I would think any responsible press secretary would be aware of the names of the local news people," she said, figuring apparently that she had gained a point.
"Oh, yes, of course," I responded, deciding to calm her down a bit. "I'm familiar with the station and your name. It's just that I've never had this opportunity to put the face with the name."
I could see that she was becoming somewhat mollified, and I continued to soft soap her.
With the news conference over and the free bar closed, the room was rapidly clearing out. Only the TV and radio technicians remained to break down their equipment and pack it away before going on to their next assignment.
"Well now that we got the introductions straightened out," I said with a straight face, "What can I do for you?"
Sarah was still far from placated. She knew she had been conned, but as a lady, and there was no doubt that she did have class-that's one thing Yankees don't usually have in abundance and something a lot of us could use a lot of she couldn't possibly acknowledge such action. To accuse me of it was unthinkable by her standards. She'd just put me down as no gentleman and let it go at that.
"I had hoped, Mr. Vista, that I could get Mr. Cataldo's reactions to the reports that he plans to name his brother as Commissioner of Finance and Administration if elected governor."
"There's no need of calling me 'Mr. Vista,' " I said in my best PR manner. "Please call me Mark. We'll probably be seeing a lot of each other during the convention and I can't see any reason why we have to be so formal. Do you?"
I got just the glimmer of a polite smile from her. Now that she was calmed down a bit I could see the female in her taking a closer scrutiny of my build and threads. I was confident that I passed muster in both departments. Yankees admire tall lean men and my style of dress. They should, as far as I was concerned, since I deliberately used their men folk for my model of behavior and clothes.
"All right, Mark it is," she said in a voice that had an entirely new quality in it. "And why don't you call me Sarah."
"Fine, Sarah," I said feeling good all over and mentally chalking up another conquest to my winning personality. I decided to push our new relationship further.
"How about a drink, Sarah? You must be ready for one."
I think about then I started to get the faintest inkling that she was putting on because she flashed me the most innocent of smiles and quickly accepted my offer. Somehow her sudden turnabout in character seemed slightly put on.
"I'd love something. How about a whiskey?" she said enthusiastically.
"Great," I said, leading her by the arm up to the bar. There was just the two of us now in the room. "How do you want it. With ginger ale, soda or water."
Sarah looked me square in the eyes and with just a touch of grimness in her voice said matter-of-factly, "Straight. And make it a double, please."
I like to think I'm pretty cool and can react to just about any situation without showing any emotion. But I'm afraid I failed dismally on that occasion. My jaw I'm sure dropped a couple of inches. And like a schoolboy, I couldn't but help repeating what she had requested, "Straight?" I gulped, audibly.
"Why yes, Mark, straight. You know all we news people drink our whiskey straight. Did you think for any reason that I would like mine differently? Those winters in New England are rather long and cold, and you naturally develop a taste for it that way."
I couldn't help wondering what else she had developed a taste for during those long cold winters. I recalled that 'bundling' used to be a great sport among the early settlers of that region of the country. Nothing better on a cold day or night to tumble in the quilts with a prissy maiden. Course they had to hang on tight to a prayer book while they went at it.
I just murmured, "Oh," and poured her a stiff belt of Canadian Club. If she wanted to get a glow on, I was all for it. She might even prove interesting. By that time, I was curious indeed to see what that fair New England maiden wore under her suit. Probably wool snuggies and cotton wrappings to flatten her plum-sized knobs. A couple of double shots and she'd probably unpeel of her own free will.
Sarah took the proffered glass, wished me "Sante," and downed it without a pause. I was just sipping my J & B Rare and nearly choked when I saw the way she downed her booze. I had visions of her getting sick all over the place. But not Sarah. She just gave me a lovely smile and handed me her glass.
"How about one more, Mark? I'm really thirsty. Then I have a proposition for you," she cooed.
"Yeh, sure," I said. By that time you could have knocked me over with the wing of a butterfly. My mind was in a turmoil. Was this broad for real? I kept asking. She downed her booze like a truck driver. She was as serene appearing and as composed as ever. Screw her, smart bitch. I'd give her a good one and then get a look at those wool panties.
I loaded her glass and handed it to her. She took it without a murmur. Usually a broad knows when you are trying to get her loaded so you can put it to her where she-likes it best. Sarah wasn't blind. She couldn't help noticing that I had given her what must have been at least a triple shot, yet she never commented about it.
"C'mon, Mark, drink up now. I'm already one up on you. Bottoms up, hey what?" she said coyly.
I was trying to figure out the significance of the 'bottoms up' remark when she tilted back her head, put the glass to her lips, and poured the whiskey in an unbroken flow down her throat. Just for a moment, I got all sexy watching how wide she could open her mouth. I imagined me over her and that big mouth and all those white teeth parted and waiting for it. Yummy, as Lita would say. I could feel her teeth gently closing first on it and then the velvet softness of her pale lips touching down and moving up and down on it.
The crazy broad really had guts. I like to think of myself as tough as the next guy. And in the paratroops both at Fort Campbell and Benning and overseas with the 187th I've seen some big drinkers. But that Whynot broad would hold her own with any of them. She never blinked a tear or so much as furtively burped. I began to feel like a fag, so I hoisted my first drink and quickly downed it.
Sarah put her drink down. She had this sort of funny expression on her face. The expression that I always figured wives wore when they had the goods of their husbands' philandering.
"You look like you're one up on me," I said, deciding to call her. Damned if I knew what she was up to.
"Well, I'm going to put it to you straight, Mark," she said, a trace of toughness creeping into her voice.
"Quite frankly, you did me out of a story tonight. But I still want it. So I've got a proposition to make you. Game?"
Sure I was game. This kooky broad wanted to play games, I was all for it. Besides she had me so damned curious. I'd go along just to find out what she was up to.
"Yeh, I'm game, Sarah. Always."
"Here's the proposition. Now don't stop me," she said, waving away any interruptions, although I had no intention of breaking in to her pitch. "You're a typical male. And like most of your kind, you think you're a fairly rugged character. So here's my deal. We fight. Whoa," she interjected. "No interruptions, remember. You and I go alone into a room in this hotel within fifteen minutes and we fight barehanded. No blows. I don't want either of us marked up. Judo, wrestling, anything you want. If I pin you down, you get me into see Cataldo alone so I can put my questions to him. If you win, and let me make it clear that I haven't met a man yet that has been able to put me down, you can have yourself a feast on a fresh cherry. And I'll put my heart and soul into helping you eat it. How's that?" she concluded, looking at me with determination and a touch of bravado in her icy blue eyes.
To say I was taken aback, would be the understatement of the year. But cripes, I was enthralled by her proposition. I had never had such a proposition. I knew I was pretty good. I didn't spend three years with the paratroopers and thirteen months in Korea and not learn a few tricks on how to toss someone with a little effort.
"Okay," I said, "you're on. Bare hands. No weapons. No vases, bottles, or anything else you can reach. But I promise you, Sarah, I'll take you on your word.
When I put you down, you're going to get a belly full and you'll be limping around with a sore pussy for a week. I'll make you scream for me to stop."
"All right, Mark, enough of the talk. Let's get down to business. Give me your room number and I'll be there in fifteen minutes. Then let's have one more drink to us."
I gave her the number, checked my watch, and poured us a drink. I hesitated at the single-shot mark, but she signaled me to go to the three-shot level. I mean, what the hell. I didn't want to take advantage of some wayout broad. For myself, I poured about a shot and a half and gave it a dash of soda.
"Here's to you, Sarah. And here's to your little fruit cup. I'm going to be taking the wrapper off it within half an hour."
I was really intrigued by then, I added, "Are you really still a virgin? Cripes, you must be all of twenty-seven by now."
"I'm twenty-six, Mark. And I'm as firm as an eighteen-year-old as you'll see shortly. Frankly, I almost wished you were the man that would put me down. I bet you could really give me something to remember. But that sentiment aside, I'm coming at you with no holds bared."
Again she downed her drink without a break. I followed suit. She picked up her notebook, placed it in her handbag, and made her farewell.
"You now have about twelve minutes, Mark. When you hear three light raps, open the door. Then close it right behind you and prepare to defend yourself. Make sure though that the door is locked. I don't want any interruptions. I suggest you pull the shades and kick off your shoes."
"I'll kick off more than that, Sarah, before I'm through with you," I said chuckling.
"We'll see, big man," she said, and ducked out the door.