The January Zone ch-10 Page 5

  ‘Telex,’ Trudi said. ‘Due any minute now.’

  There was a hush. The traffic sounds from the busy street seemed to become muted as keys stopped clicking and the photocopier light died.

  The door flew open and Peter January marched in. He was impeccably dressed and toileted and he skipped across towards Trudi’s desk. He leered as he placed one of the health food store’s bags on top of Trudi’s papers.

  ‘Oh, that Magda,’ he said. ‘Makes my blood race.’

  ‘Have you been pinching bums again, Peter?’ Trudi shifted the bag to one side.

  It was on the tip of my tongue to say something like, ‘How’s Karen?’ but I held it back. I didn’t know whether Trudi knew about Karen or whether January wanted her to know. Besides, there seemed to be something forced in January’s display of lechery, as if his heart really wasn’t in it. Maybe he was really thinking about the telex.

  ‘It’s due through any minute,’ Trudi said.

  January leaned forward and kissed her cheek. ‘She’ll be right, love. You’ll get your trip.’

  The telex machine chattered. The workers craned forward.

  ‘Yee-haw!’ The whoop came from Gary who tore the telex free. ‘Shit!’ he roared.

  ‘What? What?’ January sprang towards him, all the cool self-assurance left behind.

  ‘Don’t worry. I ripped it, that’s all. It’s what we want. Invited to give evidence…blah, blah… Chairmanship of Senator Allan B. Abilene…’

  ‘Abilene?’ I said.

  ‘ “Prettiest town, ah’ve evah seen,” ‘ Trudi sang.

  I grinned at her. ‘Who sang it?’

  ‘George Hamilton IV.’

  ‘What the hell are you talking about?’ January said.

  ‘You’re too young, Peter,’ I said. ‘You wouldn’t understand.’

  ‘Bullshit,’ he said. ‘Come into the office you two, we’ve got things to talk about.’

  ‘Don’t forget your sandwich.’ I handed him the bag.

  January waved expansively to the whole office staff and led the way through the new glass door. I wondered how his back was and how it affected his favourite activity. He settled behind his desk; Trudi sat in front of him and I leaned against the wall near the window. It seemed to be my favourite position in the room.

  ‘Better lay on drinks for all tonight, Trude,’ January said. ‘Just for an hour or so.’

  ‘Press?’

  January grimaced. ‘This afternoon, I guess. Say, at 4 pm, no…4.30. We can get it over quickly and the thirsty buggers’ll move on to the booze with any luck.’

  Trudi made notes on a pad. ‘I’m glad I’m here to see this,’ I said. ‘Maybe I can hire a secretary with a law degree and get her to arrange me a seat in the Harold Park public bar.’

  ‘Shut up, Cliff,’ Trudi said.

  January grinned. He opened the bag and pulled out the thick sandwich. ‘I don’t even like the sandwiches,’ he said. ‘Look, I know this is crazy, using Trudi like a stenographer, but it’s a security thing.’

  Trudi scratched something on her pad. ‘Tobin suggested it.’

  ‘The idea is to limit the number of people who know where I am when. Ordinarily, I’d give this to one of the kids, but since Trudi has to know anyway it keeps it tighter. You want this?’ He held out the sandwich to me.

  I shook my head. ‘Okay, I see it. What d’you mean when you say you don’t even like the sandwiches? Even, what’s that mean?’

  They exchanged glances. January nodded and Trudi shrugged.

  ‘What’s this?’ I said. ‘A dumb show?’

  ‘Trudi knows about Karen. All this stuff about me perving on every woman I see is just a blind.’ He held up one hand, palm out, like a man running with the ball. ‘Usta be true, but not since Karen. That’s all very…’

  ‘Sticky,’ I said.

  ‘Yeah. The playboy image is to buy time while we figure out what to do.’

  ‘Peter, I’d hate to be you. Are you fair dinkum when you clean your teeth take a piss, or is that acting too?’

  ‘It’s not as bad as that.’ He wrapped the sandwich up and slid it across the desk to Trudi. ‘You can take that home to Gunther.’

  ‘Gunther?’ I said.

  January shot me a delighted, point-scoring look. ‘Her dog,’ he said.

  I looked out the window while they fixed a few details on January’s agenda. The awnings were down in front of some of the shops, sure sign of the summer on the way. It would be a summer without Helen unless things changed and I didn’t really know whether I wanted them to change or not.

  ‘Beer, Cliff?’ January reached into the bar fridge which had escaped damage completely.

  ‘Thanks.’

  Trudi got up with the sandwich bag in one hand and her pad and pen in the other. I slid across and opened the door.

  ‘I’ve got the record,’ she said.

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘George Hamilton IV. My ex-husband was a bit older than me; it’s his record. You should come and hear it some time.’

  ‘Women there don’t treat you mean,’ I said.

  ‘In Abilene.’ She went out.

  ‘I’ll tell Helen,’ January said.

  ‘Then I’ll tell Sammy Weiss you’re screwing Karen Weiner.’

  ‘Weiss! Shit, Cliff, you’re not talking to that slob, are you?’

  ‘He’s Detective Inspector Lloyd Tobin’s brother-in-law.’

  January passed me a can of Swan Light and poured himself a weak wine and soda. He watched the bubbles rise and fall and shook his head. ‘God, it’s a dirty world. Okay, Cliff, here’s the thing. I want you to come to Washington with us.’

  ‘Us?’

  ‘Me, Trudi, couple of other staffers.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘The Americans can’t guarantee my security.’

  ‘Can’t or won’t?’

  ‘Don’t.’ He held his hand up in that blocking gesture he favoured. ‘I’m buggered if I know. Are you aware of what I’m going to say over there? Trudi fill you in?’

  ‘Not really. You’re against a lot of things.’

  ‘The lot-bases, tests, arms deals, mercenary contracts, don’t you worry, there’s plenty of that under other names, surveillance equipment, monitoring devices, the lot.’

  ‘What’re you for?’ I looked out the window and saw Magda from the health food store weaving a sinuous path along the street. She was carrying a bundle and she held it high which caused the upper part of her body to be still while the rest moved. Almost every man in the street turned to look at her.

  ‘What’m I for? Peace!’

  ‘And motherhood?’ Magda went into a shop. I wondered if she and the stringy-haired, sallow-faced individual had any children. It seemed unlikely; they were like members of different species.

  January drained his glass and made another drink, stronger. ‘Cynicism’s cheap, Cliff. I’ve got concrete proposals and that Committee’s exactly the right place to air them. It’s the perfect forum.’

  I finished my beer and crumpled the can. ‘Have you checked with the Minister and the party, and your constituents? I’d have thought you were committed to the bases at least, probably to a fair bit of the rest as well.’

  He cleared his throat. ‘Doesn’t have to be as tight as all that. We’re talking about…ideas.’

  ‘You want me to come to America to help protect your ideas?’

  ‘They’re good ones.’

  ‘But you can’t tell me what they are?’

  ‘No. I’ll tell you this, Helen’d approve of them.’

  ‘Oh, great. I’ll give her a ring and tell her I’m going to Washington to deflect bullets in defence of ideas she…’

  ‘Bullets?’

  ‘Look, Peter. I don’t know who planted the bomb here but the more I listen to you the more possibilities open up. It could be any one of a dozen loonies who write to you; you say it could be the spooks; the cops say they could pin it on me if they want to. It’s madness. W
hy don’t you develop an interest in something safe-like flat tax? Everyone wants it and no one wants to do anything about it.’

  ‘No. What’s that about the police?’

  ‘Forget it. How big a wheel is Karen Weiner’s husband?’

  ‘Very big. He’s head of a sort of think tank the other side listens to. He could move into a senior Parliamentary job with them any time he wanted to.’

  ‘Terrific. He could be another candidate for mad bomber.’

  January shook his head. ‘No, he doesn’t know…’

  ‘Sez you. The only good news I’ve heard for your side lately is that the cops and the press still think you’re a sexual butterfly. For now, that is.’

  January sat up straight in his chair. He ran his fingers through his hair and shook his head as though getting rid of all negative thoughts. When he looked at me again there was a steady confidence in his eyes and a firmness to his chin that no camera could fail to catch. He reached out and pulled some papers towards him. ‘You’re wrong, Cliff. This Washington opportunity’s the really good news- for me and everyone else-and I’m not going to let some nutter bugger it up.’ He dropped his gaze, scribbled a signature at the foot of a page, and then gave me the full candlepower look. ‘I want your help. Are you in or out?’

  I pushed off from the wall. It sounds strange but there was an energy in him that seemed communicable. That was part of it; I also saw him as a man who had more problems than I did.

  ‘I’m in,’ I said.

  ****

  8

  Gary took the call from Sammy Weiss around tour o’clock and passed it over to me.

  ‘Hardy?’ Weiss said, ‘are you the pizza man or aren’t you?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Are you going to deliver?’

  ‘Sammy, you’re going to have to stop this. If you write that sort of crap no one’ll understand outside of Manhattan.’

  ‘They’ll understand. Now, I…’

  ‘Don’t say you got me to do lunch with Tobin-I’ll hang up.’

  ‘Okay, okay, but you got together and talked, right?’

  ‘It wasn’t much fun.’

  ‘He gets worse when you get to know him. But you owe me one now and I want to call it in.’

  I sighed. ‘Okay, Sammy. Anything to shut you up. What is it?’

  ‘There’s a press conference in January’s office in half an hour, I understand.’

  ‘I wouldn’t call it a conference. He’s got an announcement to make.’

  ‘I wanna be there. You okay it.’

  I thought about it for a second. I couldn’t see the harm; Trudi had said some of the party flacks and apparatchiks would be along so there’d be worse than Sammy Weiss present.

  ‘All right, Sammy. But behave yourself.’

  ‘I’ll be the quiet guy in the corner with the mineral water.’

  ‘You’d better be.’

  I hung up and watched the office get ready to party. They seemed to know how to do it, how to move what to where to provide space and surfaces for bottles and glasses.

  Trudi handed me a pre-party paper cup of wine. ‘Smooth operation,’ I said.

  ‘Goes with the territory.’

  ‘Don’t you start. I’ve got Sammy Weiss talking pure Brooklyn or Bronx or something to me. He’s coming, by the way.’

  She shrugged. ‘We’ll survive it. That’s what you have to tell yourself before these things. And we might as well get used to the Yank chat. I take it you’re coming along?’

  ‘Yep. Be cold in Washington, won’t it?’

  ‘Very. What’ve you got on after this is over?’

  I looked down at her. The thin eyebrow line was seductive. I wanted to run my finger along it. Her skin was smooth with just enough light wrinkles and lines to make her features more interesting. ‘If Peter doesn’t want me I’m not doing anything.’

  ‘He won’t want you. Our job is to get the journos pissed and cover him while he gets away for a tete-a-tete with Karen. When they’re blotto and he’s gone, we’re on our own time.’

  I didn’t want to commit myself. ‘What d’you think of Karen Weiner, Trudi?’

  ‘Let’s talk later.’

  ‘Fine. Yes.’ Why kid myself? I was committed.

  ****

  The cameras and the lights arrived first. The technicians seemed oblivious of being in a place where gelignite had been detonated not long back; maybe they were used to it. They whipped through their jobs smoothly and efficiently and transformed the office into a movie set. The reporters trooped in soon after, Sammy Weiss among them. The more cluey ones poked around for signs of damage; they grabbed drinks, threw another down and grabbed fresh ones. A mixed batch; seven men and five women; some old, some young. I examined them carefully out of habit but none looked odd or suspicious. A couple were half-stewed already; Weiss was steady but tense.

  January read a short statement about his invitation and his delighted acceptance. The cameras hummed and the mikes bristled in front of him as he perched on a desk. He managed to look and sound humble, proud, deeply fearful for the future but intelligently optimistic.

  The first question came from a bald sceptic with a short grey beard.

  ‘What’re you going to say that’s new, Minister?’

  ‘If I tell you now it won’t be new when I say it. The Opposition’ll pinch it.’

  He got some laughs on that. The greybeard’s camera crew got him looking doubly sceptical and he was through for the day. The others took their turn:

  ‘Are you opposed to US bases on Australian soil?’

  ‘Absolutely, as presently operated.’

  ‘Where should the French conduct their tests?’

  ‘In the Louvre-have you ever seen the bloody awful paintings they’ve got there?’

  ‘What’s the best way to combat terrorism?’

  ‘Make the world less terrifying.’

  And so on. January was well aware that they wouldn’t use it all so he reserved his best shots for certain questions. Some of his responses were virtually meaningless, others very sharp. He looked uncomfortable only once, when a reporter asked him if the Prime Minister was abreast of developments.

  ‘What developments?’ January said. ‘D’you mean…?’

  A man moved at the back of the room; a tall, pale-eyed man who looked as if he shaved every hour on the hour and had his hair cut every day. He seemed to twitch as he heard the question and January’s response. January saw the movement.

  ‘I mean about the Senate hearing,’ the reporter said.

  January recovered fast. ‘He knew it was in the wind.’

  ‘But you haven’t told him it’s definite.’

  January smiled. ‘He’ll know,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if he knew before I did.’

  The lights switched off and the cameras went away to a paraplegic ward or a toxic chemicals spillage. The print men moved in for their meal. Weiss got in a question or two which I didn’t hear but January seemed to field them satisfactorily. I was looking at the tall man with the washed-out eyes who was now in a huddle with a couple of others I hadn’t seen before. They weren’t reporters. I’ve made a study of reporters-they work in all weathers, don’t sleep enough and get a lot of colds. They have flaky skins and bits of tissue stick to their clothes and bulge their pockets. They wear cheap clothes on the job because they’re constantly catching taxis, hanging their jackets over chairs and spilling coffee and ash. These men were telephone artists, limousine riders and users of ensuite bathrooms.

  I cut Trudi out of the herd of staffers, journalists and hangers-on. I nodded over at the best-dressed bunch.

  ‘Who’re they?’

  ‘Party people. The enemy-if they ask you anything, lie.’

  ‘The one with the ghost eyes doesn’t seem to think too much of the Minister.’

  ‘He hates him. Francis Hogbin’s his name, he had a shot for the seat himself. Oh oh, got to go into the rou
tine.’

  January had broken free of the reporters and was moving towards the Party men. He gestured for Trudi to join him and I drifted along as well, ignoring an urgent signal from Sammy Weiss. January had wine and soda in his paper cup; Trudi had nothing; I had a can of beer; Hogbin had whisky in a glass.

  ‘Francis,’ January said, ‘good to see you. Ben, and ah…?’

  ‘Tim Donnelly,’ the other man said.

  January’s arm moved as if to embrace Trudi but stopped as if he thought better of it. ‘Get you a drink, Tim? Trudi, could you…?’

  ‘No, Peter, we’re going.’ Hogbin knocked back his few drops of whisky. A prominent Adam’s apple bobbed in his close-shaved neck. ‘You’d be Hardy, would you?’

  ‘I would,’ I said. ‘Most days.’

  ‘Went well, didn’t you think?’ January said. He smiled at Trudi. She smiled back professionally, with just a touch of sexual chemistry. I thought they were doing very well indeed.

  ‘Yes,’ Hogbin said. ‘I thought you kept your ambitions nicely in check.’

  ‘Well, we all have to do that, Frank.’ January switched the smile across to Hogbin. ‘At one time or another.’

  Hogbin nodded curtly and the three of them swung away towards the remaining journalists.

  ‘He gives me the creeps,’ Trudi said.

  January’s hand no longer hovered near her back. ‘He gives me nightmares.’

  ‘Minister?’ Sammy Weiss had crept up on my blind side.

  January’s smile was automatic. ‘Yes?’

  ‘This is Sam Weiss, Peter,’ I said. ‘Freelance.’ That gave January time to adjust, after that, I figured, he was on his own.

  ‘I know Sammy,’ January said. ‘What’re you working on?’

  ‘Bombing,’ Weiss said.

  January spoke too quickly. ‘Nothing new, is there, Cliff?’

  I shook my head. Weiss reached into his pocket and pulled out a glossy photograph, large postcard size. I caught a glimpse of Karen Weiner’s face, raised and happy-looking, as Weiss presented it to January.