He wheels into the parking lot by Mom’s office.
Even though Mom’s schedule is jam-packed, I’m somehow still surprised to find the office is full of people, in assembly lines, folding pamphlets, putting them in envelopes and putting on labels and stamps. People really believe in her, enough to sit in stuffy offices doing boring tasks during the most beautiful days of Connecticut’s all-too-short summer.
As we walk in, two older women at a big central table look up and give Tim broad, motherly smiles.
“We heard a rumor you were quitting on us, but we knew that couldn’t be true,” the taller, thinner one says. “Grab a chair, Timothy dear.”
Tim puts his arm around her bony shoulder. “Sorry, Dottie. The rumor is reality. I’m leaving to spend more time with my family.” He says the last in his Moviefone voice.
“And this is…” The other woman squints at me. “Ah! The senator’s daughter.” She cuts her eyes to him. “And your—girlfriend? She’s very pretty.”
“No, alas, she belongs to another, Dottie. I just pine for her from afar.”
He starts cramming papers and—I notice—office supplies into his backpack. I roam around the office, picking up brochures and buttons advertising Mom, then putting them back down. Finally, I wander into her quiet office.
Mom likes her comforts. Her office chair is top-of-the-line ergonomic, fine leather. The desk is no gray metal one from office supply but a rich carved oak antique. There’s a vase of red roses and a picture of Mom with me and Tracy in matching satin-and-velvet Christmas outfits.
There’s also a big basket of gardening tools, gift-wrapped in shiny green cellophane, with a note saying We at Riggio’s Quality Lawns are Grateful for your support.
A couple of tickets to a Broadway show thumbtacked to the corkboard: Allow us to treat you to some quality entertainment in thanks for all you do, from some people named Bob and Marge Considine.
A business card saying Thanks for giving our bid serious consideration, from Carlyle Contracting.
I don’t know campaign rules, but all this doesn’t seem right to me. I’m standing there, with a sick feeling in my stomach, when Tim strolls in, backpack hitched onto one shoulder, cardboard box in hand. “C’mon, kid. Let’s get ghost before we have to deal with your ma or Clay. Word is they’re on their way here now. Being on the side of the Morally Superior is new to me, and I might screw up my lines.”
Once we’re outside, Tim throws his box of stuff and backpack into the backseat of the Jetta, then flips the passenger seat forward so I can climb in.
“How bad is Clay?” I ask quietly. “I mean, is he a sleaze for real?”
“I did Google him,” Tim admits. “Helluva impressive resume for a guy who’s only thirty-six.”
Thirty-six? Mom’s forty-six. So he’s young. That doesn’t necessarily mean he’s bad. Mom listens to him like he’s the one true frequency, but that doesn’t mean he’s bad either. But…but what’s up with the double agent? This is a tiny race in Connecticut, not the Cold War.
“How do you think he got so high up so fast?” I ask Tim. “I mean, really—thirty-six? And if he’s this big star in the Republican firmament, why is he taking the time to help out this dinky state senatorial race? That’s got to be a blip on the radar.”
“I don’t know, kid. He sure loves this stuff, though. The other day this commercial ran for some race in Rhode Island, and Clay’s all over it, calling the office up there to tell them what’s wrong with their message. Maybe it’s his idea of a vacation helping out your ma.” He shoots a look at me, then smirks. “A vacation with a few extra benefits.”
“Would those be from my mom? Or that brunette you talked about?”
Tim folds himself into the driver’s seat, turning the ignition and punching in the lighter simultaneously. “I don’t know what’s up with that. He’s flirty with her, but those Southern guys are like that. He certainly is all over your ma.”
Ick. I know this, but don’t want to think about it.
“But luckily it’s not my problem anymore.”
“It doesn’t go away because it’s not your problem.”
“Yes, Mother. Listen, Clay cuts corners and is all about politics. That’s working out just fine for him, Samantha. Why should he change? No incentive. No payback. In my brief shining moments as a political animal, that’s one thing I’ve learned. It’s all about incentive, payback, and how it all looks. Being a politician is a lot like being an alcoholic in denial.”