“We need to take Northern Charles out of the locked column and shift it over,” Will said. He reclined in his chair as he pointed at the projector screen.
“Why?” George asked, licking the last bit of pork rib juice from his fingertips.
Will slowly shook his head as he raised his beer bottle to his lips. “Because it’s not locked, that’s why.”
“Will, we’ve carried Charles County for the past six elections!” George exclaimed. “Why isn’t it locked?”
“Check the numbers, George. We’ve been winning by smaller and smaller margins each election year,” Will insisted, leaning forward. “The demographics keep changing there and more and more diehard Democrats keep moving in. Put it in the soft column so we can allocate the right amount of volunteers to get out the vote and schedule more events so that Dupré’s face is out there. I’m telling you, it’s the right move.”
Dupré chuckled as he gave Will’s shoulder a fatherly pat. “Well, let’s hope that the crappy housing market will work in our favor and the Democrats will stop moving in.”
At that, the three men laughed and Will took another swig of beer.
It was after 11 o’clock. The rest of the campaign staff had left at least two hours earlier, but Will and George had lingered behind to go over more groundwork before they headed back home. Will could stay as long as he wanted…well, at least until Sara kicked him out. He had the keys to his parents’ vacation home and luckily only had to drive a mile up the road to find a warm, soft bed for the night. He planned to head back to his place in Annapolis in the morning.
Meanwhile, George was getting cell phone calls from his wife every half an hour asking him where he was and when he was finally coming home. Will grimaced every time George rose from the table to have a hushed conversation with his wife in the corner of the room. Any woman who calls that often must not trust you very much, Will thought. He then wondered if George had ever given his wife any reason not to trust him.
Dupré sighed deeply as he considered the projector screen for several long seconds. He tilted his head. “All right. Move Charles out of the locked column,” he muttered.
“What?” George exclaimed. “You can’t be serious, Vincent!”
“No, George, Will’s right,” Dupré insisted, nodding his head. He tapped his cleft chin. “That area keeps changing and we shouldn’t count on people voting the same way there as they have in the past. Maybe we should schedule a few more visits than usual down there. I’m sure the V.F.W. lodges are holding a few events. I can show up for the ribbon cutting ceremony for the business park they’re opening around Waldorf.”
“We’re wasting resources, Vincent,” George insisted. “I’m telling you. That money and time would be better spent somewhere else. Mark my words.”
Dupré grinned. “And your words have been marked. End of discussion, George. Let’s move on to the next topic,” he said firmly as they heard a knock at the door.
“Come in,” Dupré called out.
Sara poked her blonde head through the crack of the rec room door. She smiled. “Sorry to interrupt you guys but, George, your wife is on the line. She said she’s been trying to reach you.”
Will and Dupré exchanged glances. Both men smirked.
“Oh, yes, sorry about that,” George mumbled. He quickly stood and took the cordless phone Sara held toward him. She exited the room. “I…I gave her your number just in case there was an emergency. I hope everything’s all right.” He loudly cleared his throat as he walked to the other side of the room. “Hello, dear,” he said, less than cordially. “Yes, I turned off my phone…I turned it off because you kept calling me, Marjorie!” He quickly looked over his shoulder at Will and Dupré, then dropped his voice to a whisper. “I’m busy…Of course I’m working! What else do you think I’m doing? Marjorie…Marj, don’t…don’t act like this…Are you trying to ruin my career? Is that what you’re trying to do?”
Dupré rose from the table. “Why don’t we take a walk, Will? Give him some privacy.”
Will quickly nodded and followed Dupré to the door. They shut it firmly behind them, leaving George to continue his argument with his wife.
Dupré smiled as they made their way up the staircase and into the living room. “I’ve got a little secret to show you, Will. Not even Sara knows about it,” he whispered.
Will nodded and smiled. “And what would that be, sir?”
Dupré frowned as he walked over to dining room cabinet. “Oh, don’t you start that ‘sir’ crap with me, Will!” he chided playfully as he opened one of the cabinet drawers. “It always makes me feel like a captain in the marines. You either call me Vincent, Uncle Vincent, or nothing at all.”
Will chuckled as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Okay, Vincent, what do you have to show me?”
“These! I just got them in from Havana,” Dupré said with a broad smile as he held up a wooden box. He peeked over his shoulder. “Sara isn’t coming, is she?” he whispered. “Can you hear her?”
Will laughed. It was hard to believe that a man who ranked fourth in Congress was deathly afraid of his own wife. Will quickly shook his head. “She’s not coming.”
“Good,” Dupré exclaimed as he opened the box’s lid and beamed down at the stack of cigars. “I’ve been dying to try them but I haven’t had the chance. Now I will. And you can have one, too.”
Will shook his head. “I don’t smoke, Vincent.”
Dupré’s face fell instantly. He frowned. “Oh, come on, Will. Don’t break an old man’s heart. You can fake smoking for one day, can’t you? Come on, son!”
Will forced a smile. “Fine. Hand me one of those.”
“Good job,” Dupré said as he passed Will a cigar and got one of his own before returning the box to its proper hiding place in the dining room cabinet under a rarely used velvet tray of silverware. He grabbed a lighter from the dining room table and tilted his head toward the front door. “Let’s smoke them outside.”
The two men tipped-toed out of the dining room and into the foyer, careful not to disturb Sara, who was lounging on the family room couch, watching some murder mystery on their wall-mounted plasma screen TV. When Will and Dupré got outside and quietly closed the front door behind them, each man bit off the tip of the cigar, lit it up, and took a puff.
Will coughed a few times on his first and second try, but, by the third try, he got the hang of it. He slumped into one of the porch’s wicker chairs, stretched his legs, and gazed at the waterfront as he took another puff from the Cuban cigar. He closed his eyes and savored the cigar. He exhaled deeply.
“Good, huh?” Dupré asked as he kicked off his deck shoes and fell into the chair beside him. He flexed his bare toes. “What’d I tell you?”
Will nodded in reply.
“I say it all the time. If there’s one thing the Commies know how to do right, it’s make a good cigar.” Dupré sighed, then took his own puff and gazed at the full moon reflected in the murky black waters of the bay. “And there’s nothing like a good cigar at the end of a long day.” He then turned to Will, who could feel himself being lulled to sleep by the whir of the cicadas. “So tell me, Will. I haven’t had a chance to catch up with you lately. How’s your father doing?”
“You see Pop more than I do,” Will murmured. “You tell me.”
Dupré chuckled. “Well, he’s irritated that he doesn’t see more of you. But I told him I keep you busy.”
Will took another puff from his cigar. “Yeah, I guess I should go over there and pay a visit. I’ve just haven’t had the time.”
“Oh, I remember how it is, son, the life of a single man,” Dupré said with a wicked smile, bringing a twinkle to his green eyes. “It’s still exciting, I hope.”
Will slowly shook his head. “No, Vincent. Not too exciting lately.”
“What? Not a different woman every night? I’m disappointed in you, Will,” he chided playfully.
Will grinned. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a different woman every night. They haven’t invented a Viagra pill strong enough for that.”
At that, Dupré roared with laughter, filling the night air with his deep baritone. He then nudged Will and slowly shook his head. “Well, I stand corrected, son,” Dupré said. “I guess I’ve always taken you to be quite the ladies’ man.”
“Not during an election year, Vincent. No time.”
“Well, enjoy it while you can, son,” Dupré said. “Because once you get married and have kids, the party ends.”
“Speaking of kids,” Will said, frowning slightly, “where are Kendall and Paul anyway? I expected to run into them at least once today. Don’t they usually come down with you guys to the Eastern Shore on weekends?”
Dupré shrugged. “Not lately. Kendall just started her junior year at Sidwell. She has a bushel of new friends and a new boyfriend. I think he’s the son of some bigwig over at the British embassy.” He shrugged again. “We don’t see too much of her except when she wants to go shopping or needs cash. Just call me the Dupré Bank. I feel like a human ATM machine sometimes,” he said ruefully.
Will didn’t respond. Dupré believed in hard work, but it seemed that he hadn’t instilled those same values in his daughter. Kendall, though a beautiful girl, had always come off to Will as amazingly self-involved and shallow even back when she was a five-year-old throwing a temper tantrum in her father’s congressional office in the Rayburn building. She was like many of the princesses of Capitol Hill, all spoiled rotten by their parents, all behaving as if the lifestyle they had was owed to them. Will hoped if he ever had a daughter, she would never be like Kendall Dupré.
Will took another drag from his cigar and slumped back further in his chair. “So how’s Paul then?”
“Oh, Paul’s doing fine. He’ll graduate from your alma mater, Georgetown, in May, you know.”
“Really?” Will asked, raising his eyebrows in surprise. “Has it been that long? Does Paul know what he wants to do after school?”
“Not as far as I know,” Dupré said, rolling his cigar between his thumb and index finger. “After four years you’d think he’d have more of a clue, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. So far, all he knows is what he doesn’t want to do. He doesn’t want to go into politics and he doesn’t want to go into law. Basically, he doesn’t want to do anything where I could help get him a job.” Dupré chuckled. “I think he’s contemplating the Peace Corps, though.”
“The Peace Corps?”
Dupré nodded and chuckled again. “I know. That was my reaction, too. But that’s what he’s considering. He wants to work with orphans somewhere in Africa or Guatemala, for all I know,” Dupré said, shrugging. “I think he’s just going through a rebellious phase. He wants to carve out an identity outside of his old man’s image. I told him that I went through my own rebellious phase back in the ’70s when I was as old as he is now. But I fell back in line soon enough. I guess he will, too. I’m still holding out hope that he’ll be the second generation of Duprés on Capitol Hill, though right now he’d probably rather be dead than be a congressman.”
“Wait. Back up.” Will smirked. “You had a rebellious phase?”
“Don’t look so smug, young man,” Dupré chided playfully before vehemently nodding his head. “Yes, even I,” he said as he pointed at his chest, “had a rebellious phase. I was just tired of everything. Tired of my classes. Tired of the law. I was burned out so I took off from law school back in ’78 and worked at inner city community center in D.C. for a change of pace. I tutored kids and coached baseball.” He chuckled. “There I was this skinny, rich white guy in one of the roughest neighborhood in D.C. My parents thought I had lost my mind! They were ready to ship me off to St. Elizabeth’s psyche ward.”
Will frowned. “I didn’t know you worked in the inner city.”
Out of the many stories Dupré had told him, this was the first time he had heard this one.
“Yeah, well,” Dupré shrugged. “I didn’t stay long. I did it for about a year and it was a whole ’nother world for me. While I was there I got an apartment in some rundown neighborhood in Southeast with one of the other instructors. She was eight, no, nine years younger than me. She was eighteen and absolutely gorgeous. She had ebony skin that was like running your fingers over silk and big brown eyes. She had this amazing, amazing body,” he said wistfully before letting out a low whistle. “She grew up around there.”
Will’s frowned deepened. Ebony skinned? He hadn’t thought that any woman that wasn’t blonde and blue-eyed was Dupré’s type. And rundown neighborhood? Will couldn’t imagine Dupré ever living in a house that cost less than seven figures, let alone in an apartment building filled with poor people.
“We were so broke, Will,” Dupré continued. “I think we ate beans and rice for dinner just about every night. We could barely afford rent. My parents completely cut me off when I moved in with her.”
“I can imagine,” Will muttered, quickly envisioning how Dupré’s upstanding, rich Southern family reacted to the then-young man shacking up with a poor black girl.
“ ‘You’re living in sin with this colored gutter tramp!’ my mother said.” He mimicked his mother’s Southern drawl, grimacing as he recalled her words. “ ‘Colored gutter tramp.’ That’s what they called her. They told me that they’d help me if I got back to my senses but I didn’t give a damn. I was poor for the first time in my life but, more importantly, I was happy and she…” He sighed. “Will, she made me feel like I could do anything. I was on top of the world when I was with her. We were so in love.”
Will stared at Dupré, his cigar now forgotten. Who was this man? The one that was talking now seemed nothing like the Vincent Dupré he had known for the past two decades. “So…what…what happened?”
“She left me,” Dupré said succinctly, taking another puff from his cigar.
Will quickly sat up in his chair. “She left you? Why?”
“It’s way too complicated to explain now,” Dupré said, waving his hands. “But she left. Just moved out one day and took all her fairy dust with her,” he muttered sarcastically. “Two weeks later, I left the community center. It was just too much to stay there with all those reminders of her around me.”
“What did you do?”
Dupré grumbled loudly. “What could I do? I went crawling back to my parents so I could pay tuition for law school and I went back to being a student,” he said bitterly. “After I got back in school, I tried looking for her off and on for about two years, but no one knew where she was. It was like she had just…disappeared. Maybe she went to New York. She always wanted to dance on Broadway.”
Will grimaced. “Damn, that’s depressing, Vincent. That had to crush you.”
Dupré smiled forlornly as he nodded his head. “Yes, it did…at the time.”
“Did it make you bitter?” Will ventured.
Dupré sat silently for several seconds, contemplating the question. “It was a very…disillusioning experience,” he finally said. “I’ll put it that way. But eventually I moved on. I had to. In hindsight, I know now that it just wasn’t meant to be. I loved her, but…we weren’t meant for each other. That wasn’t the life I was supposed to lead.” He stared off into the distance at the dark waters of the bay, his cigar now forgotten. He fell into silence again. It was as if his mind was somewhere else, in the past, perhaps.
“You all right, Vincent?” Will asked, frowning with concern.
Dupré blinked and quickly shook his head. “I’m fine, son. I’m fine. It’s just... it surprises me that after all these years it’s still painful to talk about. I’m happily married to a beautiful woman. I have two wonderful children. But I still remember it like it was yesterday. So many memories…so many…” His voice drifted off. The two sat in silence for several minutes before Dupré abruptly broke his somber mood and forced a smile.
Will watched as Dupré began to wag his finger at him. “Let that be a lesson to you, Will. Don’t fall for the wrong woman. Life has a way of knocking you on your ass and reminding you why it’s such a bad idea.”
Will gave a nervous chuckle. Suddenly, he thought of one wrong woman in particular. The image of Keisha quickly popped into Will’s head and he was very, very grateful that Dupré couldn’t read minds.
“Christ, it’s getting cold out here,” Dupré muttered as he doused his cigar, tossed it over the side of the porch and rubbed his shoulders. He shivered. “You think it’s time to head inside, Will?”
“Probably,” Will muttered.
“George should be done talking to his wife by now,” the older man said as he rose from his chair. He stood and stretched. “Let’s go find out if he’s still married.”