Chapter 14

After Cal left the meeting at the Bluebird with Ross and Barlow he walked the short distance to his office. It was turning out to be a nice summer’s day in Appleton. Cal didn’t notice.

“I really burned my bridges,” he confessed to himself.

He recalled how he was sitting in George Lambe’s office less than two hours ago. He felt pretty nifty then, getting approval and encouragement from the County Manager. He wondered how a person could transform from mover-and-shaker to junior-wheel retreating from a diner with his tail between his legs within such a short space of time.

“Ross and Barlow are probably figuring out how to finish me off right now.”

As he trudged along the sidewalk he read the names on the windows of the offices and stores lining Main St. They were names he knew well. He wondered how much he really knew them. He was sure it was less than what he thought when he woke up that morning. What would these window-painted names do when Ross poisoned his well? Would they all turn on him? He was unable to bring himself to make that prediction.

“The fever of doubt melts away...” he started to say, to himself, but could not complete the sentence.

He was, however, determined to keep his own doubts to himself. The veneer would remain and he wouldn’t let anyone peel it away.

He opened the door to his office and Delores was at her desk waiting for him.

“I thought you would be in earlier,” she said as he walked past her.

She followed him into his office.

“You’ve got some calls,” she added and handed him a half-dozen pink slips of paper. “Coffee?”

“Yes please, Delores,” he answered. “By the way—good morning.”

She left the room to fetch the coffee.

“I got snagged into having coffee with Jack Ross and Homer Barlow,” he said in a raised voice so Delores could hear him.

“More politics,” she said, with a hint of disdain as she brought in the steaming cup and set it on his desk.

She put her hands on her hips.

“If you’ve got time,” she said in the sarcastic tone that she sometimes used to tell him to get on the ball, “you might want to answer some of those calls so you can pay the bills around here.”

She closed the door behind her and Cal sat back in his office chair. She was right, of course. Politics was only a part time job for him.

“Soon, it might be a zero-time job,” he speculated.

He couldn’t make himself stop thinking about the run-in with Ross at the Bluebird. He reasoned that there might have been a more tactful way out, a way to say ‘no’ but without ruffling feathers. If only they hadn’t sprung it on him so fast. He only reacted. He admitted to himself how inexperienced he was.

He paged through the slips of telephone messages. The first was the date for the hearing for his DUI client. Delores was right. That would be a payday once it was over with. There were several others from clients needing various legal services. Nothing was too serious or complicated. It occurred to him that he’d better start taking more interest in the legal miscellany of Appleton because it was a better bet to be his future than his public office ambitions.

The final two messages were more interesting. The first was from Edwin. He wanted to see him in his office late that afternoon.

“He probably needs a loan,” he thought. “I wonder what happened this time.”

He was inclined to turn his brother down this time. He sighed, realizing that despite all good intentions he would give in at the end. He wondered why he always did that. Anyway, there would be requirements of Edwin’s behavior as a condition, so in the end the world would be a better place. Or, at least, Appleton would be.

The final message was from Norman Shad, a name which Cal had nearly forgotten. It just said to call him back. Cal shrugged. There was only one possible subject to discuss. He picked up his phone and put in the call.

Cal: Hello Norman. It’s Cal Tucker calling you back.

Shad: Hello. Well, I have news for you about this DEC thing and that project of yours with Midland.

Cal: That’s Midco, Norman.

Shad: Right ... whatever. Anyway, I spoke to the Governor about it and he said that he doesn’t want to stand in your way. So I called the DEC Administrator and told him that the Governor wants them to put through the waiver.

Cal: That’s great, Norman. So, did they issue it?

Shad: Not exactly. He said they have to look up some things first.

Cal: What things, Norman?

Shad: Nothing very important. Case numbers, map coordinates, technical things. I don’t see any problem.

Cal: I hope you’re right, Norman.

Shad: Why wouldn’t I be right? I told him the Governor wants it. That’s enough.

Cal: So, they’re going to send the waiver to you and you’ll let us know when you have it?

Shad: No I gave him your name. He’ll deal directly with you. No use for me to be the middleman.

Cal: I wish I felt as good about it as you do, Norman. I’d like to...

Shad: Don’t worry. I told you it’s the Governor’s say-so. Just be sure that you have someone from our office on hand when you ink the deal. Go through me. Maybe it will be the Governor, himself, or we’ll have someone fill in.

Cal: Well I...

Shad: If there’s nothing else, I’ve got a mountain of calls to make.

Cal wondered about the unease in the pit of his stomach. It was probably too much coffee. He should have been encouraged by the news. It wouldn’t stick. To him, Shad’s bowing out was not a good sign. He hoped he was wrong.

“What’s the difference? Ross will make me an outcast soon, anyway.”

He shook himself. It was still his project, Ross’ announcement notwithstanding. He took out his legal pad and made a note of the call and put it in his “Annex Folder”. He decided to write Shad a letter. On the surface it would be to say thanks. Cal really wanted something in writing to document their conversation. He wrote a draft and set it aside. He’d proof it later and give it to Delores.

It was just past eleven-thirty. The morning was nearly gone and Cal reckoned not much good had been accomplished. He took a chart from his desk drawer that showed the time zones of a number of cities in the world. He searched down the chart for Tokyo. He made a few calculations and figured it was a half hour after midnight in Japan.

Cal felt the need to bring Mr. Tanaka up to date. He decided to compose an e-mail. He was tempted to put it off. No matter when he sent it, Mr. Tanaka wouldn’t see it for eight more hours, at the earliest. The extra time might give him a chance to find the right words.

“Well, what are the right words, anyway?”

The bare facts seemed to be the right choice. He placed his hands on his computer keyboard and decided to start typing and follow wherever the words would take him. He paused as his fingers touched the keys. He wondered if honesty was borne of a need for confession or sense of duty—or maybe he was letting it all go because he felt the loss of the ability to control events. Whatever—he cast off the question. Maybe he’d figure it out later when the e-mail was done

He read over the message and nodded to himself. It was quite accurate and he clicked ‘Send” before he had a chance to change his mind. Mr. Tanaka was certain to be unhappy. He would do what he had to. It was out of Cal’s hands.

Roxie was getting ready for the lunch-hour rush. She was wiping tables and refilling catsup bottles when she saw George Lambe waiting at the light across the street. He always sat at the lunch counter whenever he came in. Roxie dropped what she was doing and positioned herself there.

She didn’t see George in the diner very often but she enjoyed it when she did. Besides being a good tipper, even at the counter, Roxie liked him. He wasn’t like the other politicians who were friendly at election time and treated her like the woodwork any other time. Maybe that was because George didn’t have to worry about getting ahead any more. He was where he was going to be.

Before he was County Executive he was Highway Department Superintendent. He was good at his job and parlayed his record into election to the County Executive position. Tight budgeting and a no-nonsense style kept him in his job. He wasn’t popular in every quarter because he had to say ‘no’ quite often. But, George put his faith in the people and had been reelected several times.

Roxie didn’t really care, but figured George was pushing sixty. Maybe he had crossed that line already. He had broad shoulders and a barrel chest with stubby legs, like a wrestler or football player. He didn’t button his suit jacket very often. There was a big face and wavy, sandy-colored hair that had only a few gray threads running through it. He wore glasses when he was reading the menu.

The lunch counter was empty. George chose a place right in the center of it, just like Roxie predicted he would. She was right there waiting for him. When he sat down she picked up her pad.

“Hi George, what’ll it be?”

She handed him a menu but he set it aside.

“Grilled cheese and tomato sandwich.”

Roxie scratched the order on her pad and set a mug in front of George.

“Pretty early for lunch.”

“Got to catch as catch can,” Lambe replied. “I’ve got a busy day today.”

Roxie poured the coffee and turned to put in the order.

“They’re all busy for you,” she said.

Lambe turned his attention to his coffee and didn’t answer. Roxie looked for something to do at the counter so she could have an excuse to stay where she was for a minute or two. She wiped down the counter and re-sorted the morning newspaper and piled it in the corner, in case anyone wanted to read it.

“Can I get you anything else?” she asked.

“Yes, in fact,” George answered, “I was hoping that you might give me some information.”

“If I got it, it’s yours,” Roxie answered.

George took a deep breath.

“I know Cal Tucker, Jack Ross and Homer Barlow had a meeting here about an hour ago,” he began.

“I thought it might be about that,” Roxie answered.

George took another sip of coffee.

“Were you close enough to see what was going on?”

Roxie flashed a smile at Lambe.

“If it was anyone else asking,” she began, “I’d say I was on the other side of the room while it was going on and I don’t know a thing.”

“But you weren’t, were you?” George insisted. “What did you see?”

“See and hear,” Roxie corrected.

She reached behind her. George’s sandwich was ready. She put the plate on the table in front of him.

“Pickles and chips?” she chirped.