“Mr. Beale, Ms. Liu will see you now.”
“Thank you.”
Just 7:48.
The congresswoman liked flowers. They filled the waiting room in paintings and fresh-cut arrangements and pastel furniture.
The outer office was filled with people, at least photographs of them. It was an impressive cult of personality. Hundreds covered the walls, most of them of her and star-struck constituents, and hundreds of thank-you cards.
For surely the minuscule woman in the pictures celebrating the success of representative government service was the force driving the office and everyone in its fifty-yard vicinity. The face was a striking mix of features, Asian and African, which did not peacefully coexist but were proudly distinct.
The pictures hardly captured the vibrant energy that met him full force as he entered the inner office. The room was a sherbet bowl of lime, raspberry, orange and lemon, but the real brightness glowed from the dazzling smile and glittering eyes fixed on him.
Charles blinked.
“Mr. Beale! I am so glad to meet you.”
With both perfect dignity and thorough eagerness, Karen Liu strode forward from her desk toward him, her hand extended at about the level of his waist. He leaned a little down, bowing before the queen, to reach her.
“Ms. Liu. I’m honored.”
At this lower altitude he was chin to indomitable chin with her, and eye to mesmerizing eye.
“I am, too,” she said. “Sit down.”
Disobedience was unthinkable. He sat.
She did also, and they reached a middle-ground compromise to their vertical differences. It was a sign of favor; she didn’t seem likely to compromise often.
“You were a friend of Derek Bastien,” she said. “And that means you must be intriguing.”
Charles was momentarily stunned.
“Well, I’m not,” he said. “Not very.”
She didn’t believe him. “You must be. How did you know Derek?”
“I sold him books.” He was beginning to get his breath back.
“Books. He had a lot of them.”
Her eyes were disconcerting. He tried to concert.
“Antique books.” He managed to meet her stare. “I have a shop in Alexandria. Derek was a customer.” He tried to be intriguing. “And a friend.”
“He was my friend, too,” Karen Liu said. “And I was proud to be his friend.”
“You worked with him, didn’t you?”
Her stare shifted to distant horizons. “We accomplished so much. I could always count on his support at the Justice Department. What makes a book antique?” She suddenly returned.
“A long time.”
“How much do they cost?”
“A lot.”
She nodded. “Old and expensive. Derek must have loved them. And what can I do for you this morning?”
He smiled, his watts to her megawatts. “I just decided that I’d like to meet some of Derek’s other friends. I hope I’m not wasting your time.”
“No, you are not. He was a wonderful man, and we are all diminished by his loss.”
Judging by her stature, the congresswoman had had many such losses. “I only talked with him occasionally,” Charles said. “A few times a year when he came to the shop, or I delivered a book to him.”
“I talked with him every week. My staff worked with his staff every day.”
“Is that unusual? That’s not the picture one usually gets of cooperation between Congress and the executive departments.”
“It was unusual because Derek was unusual, and it has been quite different without him.”
“Who took his place?”
“I wouldn’t know.” A dark cloud suddenly obscured the sun. “We have been instructed that all communication will pass through the Deputy Assistant Attorney General personally from now on, and not his staff.” And the cloud became a thunderhead.
“I’m so sorry.” Saying the wrong thing could bring torrential downpours, and Charles didn’t have an umbrella.
“It is sorry. It is a disgrace for Mr. Borchard, who is an appointed official, to act this way.”
“But tell me about yourself,” he said. “If you don’t mind. Derek spoke of you often.”
Her smile flashed out like a lighthouse through the gloom, and the gloom went running for its life.
“Mr. Beale, I am living the most wonderful life in the world.”
Somehow, no less an answer would have been right. “Tell me how you got to Congress. It must not have been easy.”
Every sentence brought out a different light source. Now it was a laser. “Nothing has ever been easy.”
“But I think you don’t let that stop you. You must be quite a fighter.”
“I have always fought, Mr. Beale. I fought my way into college, and into law school, and into every place I’ve ever been.”
Charles had settled back into his chair. The conversation had turned into a stump speech, one that Karen Liu had given many times. But the passion was fresh and pungent.
“I fought my way out of an alcoholic mother and a father who disappeared when I was two, and out of poverty and racism and bigotry and I will keep fighting for the people who are still in chains to poverty and racism and bigotry. That is what I have been doing, and that is what I will continue to do. You can read my biography, Mr. Beale, it’s on my website.”
“I preferred to meet you first.”
“Read it. Because when I looked at the world I lived in, the ghettos where I grew up, I had to do something about it. And I decided that here”-she waved her hand across the room-“ here was the place to do it. And the people who were here weren’t doing anything. So I took them on, and I won.
“And it was not easy. I had to fight an entrenched political machine that had everything, and I didn’t have anything, and they spent every dollar and played every dirty trick they could. But they couldn’t fight the people, and the people knew who was on their side, and I won that primary by three thousand votes. And I have repaid the faith that those voters placed in me, and fought for them.”
There was a short break for applause from the audience.
“Ms. Liu,” Charles said, and it was far inferior to the wild cheers that should have filled the room. “I see why Derek thought so highly of you. I know how important money is in politics, and an entrenched machine will have a lot of it. Beating them by three thousand votes is amazing.”
“Many people were amazed,” she said, and she was no longer on a platform speaking to thousands, but eye to eye with a single person.
“And I am even more appreciative of your time when I realize what important work I’m keeping you from.” He shifted in his chair to stand, but the eyes did not release him.
“I am never too busy for a friend.” She seemed to be waiting for him to say something else.
“I’m honored to be considered one,” Charles said.
“I would like to see your books. Did you say that Derek came to your store?” No smile, just intensity.
“Yes, he did.”
“Then I will, too.” She smiled and the conversation became friendly again. “I’m sure it’s fascinating.”
“It is,” Charles said. “Yes, please come.”
“And did you have any other business with Derek?” There was still an undercurrent of expectation and questioning.
“No. That was all.”
“Did he ever discuss his work with you?”
“Not often. We usually discussed more philosophic subjects.”
“Did that include John Borchard?” It was a very direct question.
“Derek’s boss? No. I know just the little that Derek told me about him.”
“I would be interested to know what Derek told you.” She smiled, and again the gloom dispersed. “And Derek told you about me? I hope that was always positive.”
“Always.”
“Well! I hope so, and I hope he meant it. And now it is time for me to keep moving along.”
“Then thank you, Congresswoman. And I hope to see you at the shop sometime soon.”
“You will! Nothing could keep me away!”
“You really met with a congressperson?” Dorothy asked.
“I did,” Charles said as he got himself into his chair. “Really.”
“Is Liu oriental?”
“Yes. She is both black and Chinese, and barely tall enough to be just one, let alone two. But she is energetic enough for three or four. We had a very nice talk.”
“She must have had better things to do with her time.” She was skeptical, and disapproving, and amused. “What did you talk about?”
“About Derek, and about herself. She was very open.”
“To a perfect stranger?”
“It is her job to talk about herself. And I am hardly perfect.”
“Hardly. But even you should have known better than to bother her.”
“She could have said no,” Charles said. “And I was nearly as surprised as you that she didn’t.”
“Nearly?”
“You underestimate Derek Bastien. His name is a little key to certain doors.”
“There are other things that open doors. Did you ask her about those checks?”
“I did not, of course. But I hinted. I asked how hard it was to get elected that first time.” He gazed out toward the horizon, his jaw set. “It was very hard. Very hard! But she prevailed!”
“With five hundred thousand dollars’ worth of help.”
“Please, dear,” Charles said. “I am speaking of the people triumphing, and justice and all that, and you bring up sordid money?”
“I apologize,” she said, not. “I suppose she did not take your hint.”
“Well, it got fuzzy there. Or maybe I should say, it got very sharp. I don’t know. I’ll have to think it through.”
“And now that you’ve met her, would you say she is the ‘real thing’?”
“You know, despite what John Locke says about her, I think she is. But I need to make a comparison to be sure. Dorothy, who would you say was higher ranking-a congresswoman, or a Deputy Assistant Attorney General?”
“The congresswoman.”
“The Deputy has more syllables, even with her extra one for being a lady. I’m going to try my little key again.”
“You’re not going to call him, too!”
“I am.”
“Why are you doing this, Charles?”
“I’m wandering.”
“You’ll get lost.”
“But I haven’t come to a stopping place, yet.”
She sighed. “Then just tell me when I should tell you to give up.”
“I will.” He found the telephone book under the magazines on his desk. “Or else you won’t need to. I’m sure I’ll hit a dead end with this very high-ranking official. It would be foolishness for him to waste his time speaking to me.”
“Then why are you calling?”
“Just in case it isn’t.”
Dorothy turned back to her own desk while Charles found Justice Department under the government listing, and flamboyantly ignored him.
“I would like to speak with John Borchard,” he said to the voice that answered, and he waited through clicks and beeps until another voice said, “Office of Legislative Affairs.”
“I would like to speak with John Borchard,” he said again, and this time waited through beeps and clicks until another voice said, “Mr. Borchard’s office.”
“I would like to speak with John Borchard,” he said.
“Who is calling?”
“My name is Charles Beale.”
“Thank you. What is your position, Mr. Beale?”
“I’m a bookseller.”
For the first time in the whole smooth process, the gears clanked.
“Excuse me?”
“I sell antique books.”
“Do you have business with Mr. Borchard?”
“Not really. I only wanted to speak with him.”
“What about, Mr. Beale?” The gears were preparing to spin in the opposite direction, hard. Dorothy smirked.
“I used to do business with Derek Bastien.”
“Just a moment.”
All motion was brought to a halt. Charles waited. Dorothy did also, watching him over the top of her glasses.
“I am anticipating your rejection,” she said.
The telephone spoke. “Mr. Beale, could you come to Mr. Borchard’s office this afternoon at two thirty?”
He raised his left eyebrow right at her. “Two thirty,” he said. “I will be there.”
In Dorothy’s eyes, even indignation was beautiful.
“Charles. Why are you pestering these people, and why are they letting you?”
“I can’t guess their motives.”
“Or even your own.”
“Or yours. Why are you affronted?”
“It is embarrassing.”
“You feel embarrassed?”
“No! You should. And even worse, it is a waste of time.”
“Ah.” Charles smiled. “The ultimate crime.”
“It is. Go ahead, have your fun, and don’t come running to me when they throw you in prison.”
“I wouldn’t be able to.” He was suddenly startled. “Angelo. I didn’t see you.”
From the doorway, Angelo frowned. “Hey, boss. What do you do, that you go in a prison?”
“Impersonating an adult,” Dorothy said.
“Oh.” Angelo shrugged. “I am going out.”
“All right,” Charles said. “Thank you.”
“How do you do that?”
“What?”
“What she said. Impersonating.”
“You do things she does not approve of,” Charles said.
Angelo jerked his head in disbelief. “And you go to jail?”
“Yes. She is a woman not to be trifled with, Angelo, and I know it well.”