Chapter 5
JOHNNY WAS A LITTLE LATE GETTING BACK TO HIS suite by ten o'clock so I checked our progress with Phil for the next day. He assured me the radio and TV people would give us every extra bit of coverage possible. But he sounded a warning about the pressure Senator Tom Ward was putting on, mostly through the efforts of Lita, my love. I had been getting the same reports from my newspaper and wire service boys. Tom had treated them to a real bash, which according to Phil was still going on down on the fifth floor.
I got to work fast and told Phil to call the room and drop the word to the news people that our bar was back open and swinging. At the same time, I called some hustlers I knew and told them to get up to the playroom right away. Ward wanted to play rough, we would play the same way. I'd show him a few tricks before I was through. Room service next assured me that it would rush plenty of chow up to the suite too so the news people could have a late snack.
Phil and I were again going over the plans for the next day when Cataldo walked in. Without a hello, he wanted to know what we had been up to. I quickly filled him in. He approved instantly when I told him I had reopened the bar and ordered up the girls and the food. He was hip enough to know these things had to be done. Price at this point meant nothing. The votes were the only thing that counted now that the die was cast.
"How we set for tomorrow, Mark?" Cataldo demanded.
"We're in good shape. Phil says the radio and TV people will make every effort to carry your nominating speeches and your own speech in full. Tom Ward, of course, is also chasing the same guarantees. But maybe we can fix it for a couple of cameras to kick out when he gets up to speak.
"I've also distributed," I added, "more than two-hundred press kits, including your complete biography, your position papers, and news releases and photographs. We've got another couple of hundred which we will spread around. Additionally, I've arranged for a six-foot by eight-foot photo of you to be put up in back of the stage. It is about twice as big as any of the other candidates. We'll also try to squeeze you on to a couple of radio and TV talk shows during the day, depending how much free time, if any, you have available. We'll have to play that possibility by ear. In any case, all of the interviewers are in the bag and will ask questions you can answer off the top of your head. So don't sweat it in case you do work those shows into the schedule."
Cataldo nodded approvingly. "What else now? Is that it?"
"I suggest you rise early and go for a long walk before breakfast. I'll alert some newsmen and photographers. It will give the delegates and the public the idea that you're a hard worker and extremely vigorous. The youthful image is everything, today. So be sure to stroll right along and talk like you do it all the time. Look at the mileage Harry Truman has got out of those early morning walks."
I could see Cataldo was quite impressed with my idea. He continued to nod in approval. I, of course, was setting the seeds in his mind for him to get to bed early. I hadn't forgotten my promise to get back to Angela. My mind was still full of visions of her big black hairy tart. If it was the last thing I did, despite all the goodies I had deposited in Sarah's bank, I was going to wind up the day munching on that Italian pastry. I intended to squeeze the juice right out of it.
Whew, I had to put those ideas away for a while. Right now I had to concentrate on my PR work. Sex is mighty important but so is money. Sex and money, they are what makes the world go around. Everything else is baloney. You haven't got them, you've got nothing. And it may surprise you, but with me money comes first. Without it you have little chance for a varied and big sex life. With money you can make the scene with all kinds of broads. You haven't got the dough-re-mi, you can't keep up. You can't make the scene. You can't keep well-groomed and buy the proper threads. When you've got the moolah, you're in action. Sex will follow even if you're an ugly s.o.b. See how far you get with the broads without it. Even a bag wants you to buy her a beer before you put the make on her. Yeh, it's money and sex that are the greatest motivations in the world. Everything else is crap. It's opium for the masses to keep them from trying to rise above their lot. Let them cling to their ideals of patriotism, integrity, honor, religion, and all the rest. It keeps them satisfied with their lot so the real wheelers and dealers can make it big without a lot of competition.
"Yeh, Mark. I like that idea. Yeh, it's good. Probably could have some footage on the noon TV news shows and then on the front pages of the early afternoon editions. You're really using your head. The public should eat it. Maybe I'll even do a little jogging," Cataldo mused.
"Not too fast, Johnny," I kidded. "We don't want you to pop a blood vessel."
The goddamn fool more than-likely would have a heart attack but Cataldo like most people in this youth-conscious country doesn't like to be reminded he's not a kid any more.
"Incidentally, Johnny," I interjected, "I've had all your remarks put on cards with the speech typewriter. That way you'll be able to read them without wearing eyeglasses. The print will be plenty big. I'd also like to suggest that it might be time for another touch-up on the hair. The sideburns are beginning to show the gray hairs. And try to hold your head up on TV. With the bright lights, sometimes you get the impression your hair is thinning on top."
"Okay, okay, Mark. Good. I'll get after that touch-up right away. Phil, get Luigi up here. Might as well have a light trim," he said a bit brusquely. He knew it was all good advice but didn't like his age being pointed out to him. Screw him. That's what he was paying me for. He could play the kid to the public. Strive for the youthful image. But if he didn't want to hear the truth from his closest advisers, then he was just wasting good money paying us. It's a smart political candidate who can muffle his ego and listen to sound counsel.
"That's it for tonight," he added, looking at Phil and I for agreement. "I'll see you both at breakfast. Let's make it eight o'clock in the Pilgrim Lounge. And, Mark, for cripes sakes be there on time. And don't forget, I want you to get right after that Fitzpatrick broad as soon as she hits the lobby. Crawl all over but get those delegates' votes. Cut off Tom Ward; he's sure to be planning something to grab any votes Sally has lined up."
I nodded peevishly. I didn't need Cataldo reminding me to get hot after the Fitzpatrick queen. Tell me something once. I make a note of it. There's no need to remind me.
"So where will you be the rest of the evening in case I have to reach you?" I asked innocently.
"I'm going to be busy with Tony and some of the delegates from the western counties. They need a bit of stiffening. I'll probably spend the night here instead of in the Pacific Suite. Angela's got a bad headache. And I'll want to be getting up early without disturbing her. So unless something unexpected comes up, I'll see you and Phil at breakfast. Phil, I'll want a blow-by-blow on tonight's eleven o'clock TV news shows, just in case I don't have a chance to monitor them," Cataldo said in conclusion.
I smirked to myself. Good old Angela. If I needed a tipoff to what she had in mind. That was it, the bit about the headache. I'd play it cool around the hotel for a while. Talk to the press, visit some delegates' rooms, take in a few of the parties. Just generally be seen around. Then when I dropped out of sight about eleven-thirty, and anyone started asking for me, there would be plenty of people who would recall that I had been around.
We broke up, each of us going his separate way. I followed my course of action, making the rounds. I was careful to just drink ginger ale. It looked like booze, so every one thought I was joining in the fun-making. But I had no intention of getting loaded. Alcohol isn't good for you when you got something else on your mind.
I remembered when I was just eighteen and touring Europe. I was in Paris, just off the Rue Lafayette in Montmartre. I really hadn't been looking for anything in the way of a broad, just sort of sniffing around for local color. Anyway, this good-looking chick about thirty or so puts the make on me. I think in the beginning she was just looking for free drinks. I didn't mind because the booze was cheap in those days and I was kind of lonesome to talk to someone.
Anyway, we both got a bit liquored up, me more than her since she had a bigger capacity, having been at the drinking bit a lot longer. But the booze got her sex thoughts stirring and especially after she grabbed me on the thigh under the table and saw how fast my rod shot down to meet her fingers. My probing fingers found her steel-wool patch and in a few fast probing had her sticky wet.
She couldn't wait to get out of there then and go to her place for some body play. like a fool though I had to order a double shot of whiskey. It cost me a fortune and the outcome was that I bombed out when it came time to show my stuff. Despite her every effort, including some hot tongue lickings and suckings, my lollypop wouldn't develop a handle so I could put it away in her candy box.
I had never forgotten that humiliating experience. Of course, I had helped her to reach her zenith, mostly by scratching her shivering white thighs with my ears, but she still wasn't too pleased. She couldn't help remembering what she had felt and the disappointment of missing out was a severe blow to her morale. She gave a lecture on the effects of liquor on one's passion prodder.
I can still hear her even now saying to me, "Mark, babee, whiskey it is not good for this. Non, non. Always remember. When you are going to make love to the woman, easy on the whiskey. It stops this wonderful thing from going up." All the time she was admonishing me, she had been caressing and pulling it in the hopes of a latter-day resurrection. That was the last time my faithful Excalibur had ever failed a lady in her moment of deepest desire.
It was getting on to about quarter of twelve when I figured I could duck out without causing any comment. Anyone wondering about me, would just assume I was somewhere else in the hotel. No one would ever consider for a moment that I was upstairs taking a bath with Cataldo's old lady. Why who would think such a thing about Angela Cataldo, the sweet, demure and retiring wife of the big man himself? No one, of course. That's what made it all the more desirable.
I went back to my own suite to freshen up. My mind was filled with visions of Angela, of her long black hair, the smoky eyes, the heriditary Italian watermelons. I imagined the different ways I would try it with her. Maybe we could both take a bubble bath together. It would save me a bit of time.
The living room was still only lit by the one light that had illuminated my joust with Sarah. I could still detect a slight odor from that fray and gave the premises a few sprays from one of the pressurized cans of deodorants. But above the odor of lilacs I could still detect a whiff of Sarah's Jungle Gardenia perfume and a trace of her own personal body fragrance. I breathed deeply, vividly recalling with closed eyes the joys of that fight within those very walls. A huge picture of Sarah's scabbard transfixed by my buried sword burned most brilliantly in the cinerama screen of my mind.
I shucked off my jacket and pulled off my tie and then took off my jacket. In the bathroom I splashed cold water on my face and wrists to clear my head which was beginning to get a bit feverish from thoughts of Sarah and Angela. I told myself to relax. It had been good already that night Tremendous really. And it wasn't over. In a few minutes I'd be back inside Angela's Pacific Suite and playing it like Paul Gaugin with my big Tahitian maiden. I wondered if I should wear a pair of briefs with a loud print pattern and if Angela had a sarong any where in the suite. It would be fun to make like Jon Hall and Dotty Lamour for a while before dipping my bamboo shoot into her coconut shell.
I laughed at that possibility, then brushed my teeth and combed my hair. I smiled at myself in the mirror, considering my image a friendly sort and gave him a big panorama of my pearly whites. I flexed my arms a few times, extremely pleased with the muscles that bulged in the forearm and forceps. I wished again I had a tool the size of my forearm. I'd never have to work another day, if I did.