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Chronicles of the Shade – Episode 9 – “The Speaker Decides to Act”

by Editors

Chronicles of the Shade©*

Episode 9 –

The Speaker Decides to Act

August 2007

Wilby Goode sat cooling his heels in the outer office of the Speaker of the House of Representatives, the Honorable Fancy Bugliosi. His friend, Henry Stroyer, an old classmate from the Columbia School of Journalism, had arranged an interview for him. Wilby had made copies of the tapes and put them in his safe deposit box. In his briefcase were the two original tapes that The Shade had made for him.

As he waited, Wilby thought about the train of events that had led him to this point in history. He had come from a military family, stretching back to his great-grandfather, George Irving Goode, a West Point graduate who had served as an army officer in France during the Great War. George’s younger brother Billy had also served in that war as a sergeant, but in a different unit. When George returned home in 1918 he recounted to his family how he had met Billy in 1917 while the latter was on his way to the front and George was on his way to the rear lines. George and Billy had a riotous reunion, George having ordered his younger brother to put off going to the front and instead drink wine with him in a nearby French wine cellar. After drinking several bottles of wine and toasting General “Blackjack” Pershing countless times, the brothers parted company. Before they went their separate ways, however, they swore to meet again at the end of the war. Somewhat tipsy, George Goode insisted that they put it in writing; and so they did, with a young Frenchwoman serving as witness. G. I. Goode never saw his younger brother again. Billy was one of the last to be killed before the Armistice was signed, and George was demobilized and shipped back to the United States.

G. I. Goode was given a hero’s welcome when he returned to his west Texas home. One of those most happy to see him was Emily Parker, the local beauty who had waited anxiously for George’s return. They were married a year later and settled down to raise a family. Their second son, Donald Omar Goode, attended VMI and upon graduation served as an army field officer in World War II, winning the bronze star for gallantry in action. Returning safely home, D. O. Goode married Emily Peabody, the local schoolteacher. Their first-born, Parker Goode, piloted KC-135s during the Vietnam War. Parker married another Air Force officer, Sara, whom he had met while on R & R in Hong Kong. Their only child, Wilberforce B. (Wilby) Goode, was born in 1968, named for the man who in 1830 ended the slave trade in Great Britain. Both Parker and Sara Goode died in a tragic airplane crash in 1995. By that time, Wilby had already graduated from Texas A & M and was serving the last of his five years as an army officer. After that, Wilby was pretty much on his own. He attended Columbia University for a master’s degree in journalism, and he had been an investigative reporter ever since.

The door to the Speaker’s inner office opened, and Henry Stroyer beckoned for Wilby to enter. Fancy Bugliosi was standing behind a large, mahogany desk. She was wearing an elegantly cut, chocolate brown pants suit, and she was wearing a thin rope of braided gold around her neck. Her chestnut brown hair was perfectly coiffed, and her makeup had been applied with exceeding care. She extended her hand to Wilby and welcomed him with the words, “Hello, I’m Fancy Bugliosi. I understand that you want me to hear some tapes of yours.”

Wilby offered his hand, and he was surprised by the strength of the smooth little hand that gripped his own. “Um, yes,” said Wilby, “I’m Wilby Goode, and I think you will find that these tapes make interesting listening.” With that, he handed the tapes to Stroyer, who placed the first one in the tape machine and hit the play button.

Fancy Bugliosi listened to the first tape without a word. She changed expressions only once, when the President referred to the Speaker as an “Eye-talian American Princess.” When she heard that, she stuck her jaw out and tightened her lips. When the tape was over, she motioned for Stroyer to play the second tape. While the second tape played out the lugubrious romantic moment between Condo Spice and the President, the Speaker kept shaking her head from side to side, her mouth open in amazement.

When the second tape had ended, Bugliosi pushed a button on her intercom and snapped, “Get my legal in here, quick!” Then she turned to Wilby and inhaled slowly before saying, “Mr. Goode, I thank you for bringing this information to my attention. I can assure you that as Speaker of the House of Representatives that I will put it to good use. I assume that you’ve made copies of these tapes, so I hope you don’t mind if I keep them awhile.”

Because Wilby could see that the Speaker had not been asking a question, he said, “Of course, you may keep them as long as you like. I would like to know, however, what action you plan on taking, and I would be grateful if you would let me know as soon as you can.”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Goode,” said the Speaker. “I know that you’re an investigative reporter, and that you would like to publish a story based on these tapes. I must ask you, though, to hold off on any publication of what is in them until I find out what my legal team has to say. Be assured that I’ll let you know as soon as possible when and how you should release this information.” Then Fancy Bugliosi extended her hand to Wilby, and he knew that the interview was over.

As Wilby passed through the outer office, the Speaker’s legal team was coming in. The last words Wilby heard as he departed her office were those of Bugliosi: “I’ll show that little creep just how much of an Italian-American Princess I am!”

Wilby smiled. He knew that Fancy Bugliosi didn’t like to be crossed or taken lightly. She had come up through the political ranks, first as a councilwoman in a tough and mostly Italian-American California district, and then as Mayor of Mendocino. She had been elected to the House for four consecutive terms, and she was reputed to have very sharp elbows.

Wilby returned to his small apartment near the center of D.C. He had been living there for two years, ever since returning from an embedded position with the U.S. Marines in Jiraq, writing for the D.C. Post. What he saw of the war sickened him. He had written several exclusives showing how badly the war was progressing. When the last one was published, his unit’s military commander told him that his assignment had been terminated, and he returned to D.C. to do free-lance investigative reporting. His stories still occasionally appeared in the Post.

Wilby opened his refrigerator and took out a cold Budweiser. He popped the cap and took a long swig from the bottle. He didn’t know how long it would take for Fancy Bugliosi to let him know how she intended to use the tapes. Maybe he should just have given them to the Post. He wasn’t sure he could trust the Speaker to do the right thing, which, in his mind, was to set things in motion to impeach, convict, and imprison Liar, Chancey, and Lice. He shrugged his shoulders and took another swig from the beer bottle. He still had copies of the tapes. If Bugliosi did nothing, he could still have them published. He would have to wait.

Wilby wasn’t hungry. He took his beer to a small table and turned on his PC. He would forget about the tapes and concentrate on his unfinished novel. It told the story of a boy from a small, west Texas town who battled with large corporations for the soul of his country. He sat down to read what he had written. He tried to think of how to continue, but the words wouldn’t come. He sat there until late into the night, writing sentences and paragraphs, and then deleting them to start over again. He had completed only one page, when, finally exhausted, he turned off the PC and lay down, fully clothed, on his unmade bed and slept.

Next morning, Wilby awoke famished. He decided to jog down to a neighborhood café for breakfast. It was only a half-mile away. He put on his sweats and ran at a medium pace, breathing deeply of the cool morning air. After a full breakfast, Wilby bought a copy of the Post and walked to a nearby park and sat down on a bench to read it. When he returned to his apartment it was nearly noon. He showered, shaved, and put on a clean shirt and khakis. He brushed his close-cropped hair, grabbed his car keys, and prepared to leave for a scheduled interview with the director of a homeless shelter when the telephone rang.

A feminine voice on the other end of the line said, “Mr. Goode, would you hold for Speaker Bugliosi?” Wilby held his breath. His stomach tightened as he waited on the line. He hadn’t expected her to get back to him so soon.

“Mr. Goode?” said Fancy Bugliosi. “I have some news for you. I hope you will consider it good news.”

“Yes, Madam Speaker, I’m always in the market for good news.”

Wilby heard Bugliosi chuckle on the other end of the line. “Well, here’s the deal, if I might put it that way,” said the Speaker. Wilby inhaled sharply, but said nothing.

“After getting advice from my legal team, I played the tapes for the President’s Chief of Staff, Randy Cardigan,” said Bugliosi. “He was not amused. I told him to notify the President and his wife that this was how it would play out. I told him that there was an investigative reporter who would splash the transcripts of these tapes all over the national media if the President didn’t play ball, and that would ruin what was left of his presidency. The public would demand impeachment, and I’d have to put it at the front of the table.”

“What does playing ball involve?” asked Wilby, warily.

“Chancey resigns in a couple of weeks,” said the Speaker. His doctors confirm that it’s for medical reasons. Spice is gone by the end of the month, claiming that she has a great offer from Fayetteville State University to run their political science department.”

“What happens to the President?” asked Wilby.

“President Liar stays in place,” replied Bugliosi. “My lawyers tell me that there’s nothing on the tapes that the public doesn’t already know about him. They voted for him twice knowing he was an idiot, and the tapes only confirm that.”

Wilby felt the heat rising at the back of his neck. “So the President gets off the hook, and both Chancey and Spice leave office with their reputations intact? That miserable, smirking, draft-dodging bully just gets off?”

“Look, Mr. Goode, I know how you feel. I can’t stop you from publishing the tapes, but consider what is likely to happen if you do. They will circle the wagons and create a diversion that will probably result in starting another war. With both Chancey and Spice gone, and with Ada’s help, I can handle that little—what’s the best way to describe him? That little, addlebrained chocoholic?”

Wilby smiled in spite of himself, remembering The Shade’s description of the President’s devouring the candy kisses in the Elliptical Office. Then he said, “Aren’t you afraid that I’ll publish the tapes when Chancey and Spice leave?”

“I can’t stop you from publishing those tapes any time you please, Mr. Goode. But if you don’t wait until Liar leaves office, think of what it will do to my power and prestige in the House. I’ll be branded as a deal-breaker, and all the cockroaches will come out of the woodwork to destroy everything constructive I’ve got in the works.”

“What constructive things do you have in mind?”

“I can guarantee that if you take the deal, our troops will be out of Jiraq by next spring. There will be no war with Iroon, and the Repugnican Party will be scrambling to get on board with a sensible energy policy, universal health care, immigration reform, and a living wage for every citizen in our country.”

Wilby did not have to think about it long. “If I take the deal, am I then permitted to publish the tapes when Liar leaves office?”

“That’s it, Mr. Goode. Is there anyone besides you who knows about these tapes?”

“Only one person, and I trust that person implicitly.”

“OK, then. If you agree, we’ve got ourselves a deal. If I break it, then you may publish immediately. If you break it—well, then I guess that’s my problem, isn’t it?”

“You’ve got a deal, Madam Speaker,” said Wilby, “and you needn’t fear that I won’t keep my word. I’m an old Texas Aggie, and we always do what we say.”

“Mr. Goode,” said the Speaker warmly, “you have done a great service for your country. I’m sorry that it won’t be recognized—at least not now. I am profoundly grateful for what you have done for all our citizens. Goodbye, Mr. Goode, and good luck to you.”

Wilby put down the telephone. He exhaled deeply. His first impulse was to telephone The Shade and tell him the news. Then he decided that this news had to be imparted in person. He felt like rushing to his car and driving to The Shade’s office, but he was too excited. He would have to tell his story after he had calmed down. It would have to wait until tomorrow. Instead, Wilby turned on his PC and started to add to his novel. The words flowed easily from his keyboard onto the screen. He wrote until darkness fell; and then he turned up his lamp and wrote until his fingers cramped. Every word was just as he had conceived it in his mind.

As Wilby wrote, Lara was preparing for bed in her D.C. apartment several miles away. After eating a solitary dinner, she had read until nearly midnight. It was Volume I of Proust’s In Search of Lost Time (Du côté de chez Swann, translated by Lydia Davis). It was a demanding work, but its descriptions accurately captured what occurred within one’s secret soul. She could use these very insights in her own writing. It was time for bed, but Lara was restless. She didn’t think she could sleep, so she took an Ambien tablet before turning in.

She was asleep in minutes. Then she dreamed. She dreamed that Lance had telephoned her to say that he wanted to see her and give her a gift. She dreamed it was his Aunt Viva’s locket she was about to receive. He had told her the story of how Aunt Viva had bequeathed it to him. She dreamed of meeting him and rushing up to him and squeezing both his hands in hers.

“Oh, Lance,” she heard herself saying. “Just as your Aunt Viva wore this locket before me, and her mother before her, I will wear it over my heart as long as I live.”

In her dream she lifted her hair with both hands and turned for Lance to fasten the clasp. Then she turned again, radiant, her indigo eyes glistening with happiness as she took his hand and guided him to the mirror where they could admire the small, golden heart, now resting over her own heart. Then Lance took Lara into his arms. If this is a dream, she said to herself within her dream, I hope that I never awaken. What she saw was past and future merging in their tender embrace.

TO BE CONTINUED….

Next Week: Episode 10: