15

THE THING THAT THE Providence Herald executives liked most about the downtown Holiday Inn was that it was a non-union hotel. At lunch or dinnertime they could choose to go to the Biltmore or the Marriott for more gourmet dining. And if circumstances forced them to stay overnight in the city, they could sleep at those same two hotels without the din of automobile and truck traffic from the highway keeping them awake. That was a critical problem for the Holiday Inn, with its fourteen stories sitting almost on top of Interstate 95. But the Herald crowd knew that when they sat in the large windowless dining room, just off the main lobby, they didn’t have to worry about union business agents overhearing their conversations. If you worked for a union in Providence, you didn’t go near the Holiday Inn.

Terry Reardon was about fifteen minutes early for his meeting with Richie Cardella when he took a table at the far end of the dining room. Experience taught him that people weren’t always on time for their lunch or dinner dates. So he made it a habit on such occasions to borrow a magazine from the reception area near his fourth floor office in the Herald building.

On his way to the hotel he stopped at the Civic Center to pick up a couple of concert tickets for his oldest son. They were for a band Reardon never heard of that would be in town for just a Saturday night performance the last weekend of the month. But on entering the spacious and unheated lobby, he saw a line of people waiting to make their purchases from the single ticket window that was doing business.

“Why the hell do they have one window open and nine closed?” he grumbled. And then supplied his own answer, still talking under his breath: “Because they probably figure they’ll sell out anyway, so they might as well do it as cheaply as possible, the bastards.”

Most of those in line were the “long hair and jeans crowd,” as he later referred to them in his chat with Cardella. He looked at his watch and timed how long it took for the next two transactions to be completed. That convinced him it was too late to get at the end of the line. Maybe he’d try again after lunch, he thought.

“Sorry, sir, no cigar smoking allowed.” Reardon heard the words and knew, even before looking up from his Sports Illustrated, that it was Cardella he’d find standing there with a big grin on his face.

“Hiya, Rico, have a seat,” he said, and waited until Cardella sat down across from him. “I just don’t like to see these smoking tables go to waste. Take a look around. There are eighteen tables in the dining room—I’ve already counted—and you can only light up at four of them. They keep squeezing us down all the time, pushing us into the corners of the room. Pretty soon I may have to buy a table here, like you do a condo, just to be able to come in and enjoy a Garcia Vega with my meal.”

Reardon took another puff and then put it out, first flicking off the burnt ash and then carefully tamping the end easily into the ashtray so he could relight it later. “But I know your rule, counselor, so I’ll save it for the walk back to work. How you doing, Richie?”

Cardella unbuttoned the jacket of his brown pin-striped suit and smiled. His wasn’t a handsome face but it was one that most everyone who met him liked and trusted right away. The large nose couldn’t hide the fact that it was broken at least once, and he had the boxing stories to give it credibility. His lips had a soft, spongy look about them, and his smile revealed not only an unfortunate gap between two of his front teeth but an earlier nicotine habit that left its mark in his mouth.

“Really great, Terry,” he said. “Busy as a son of a bitch. My theory is that white collar crime just multiplies in a recession. I’ve had my hands full with a bunch of greedy executives who tried to make money without earning it the old-fashioned way. I’ve also had some interesting contract negotiations.”

Richie Cardella was a big man, “built like a tall fire plug” many people said. The evidence was a solid 230 pounds on a six-foot frame. His shoulders seemed to be in constant motion when he spoke. “We made the Herald’s front page when the Teamsters put up the white flag and called off the strike at Coastal Trucking.”

“Yeah, I read the story. You really beat up on Tommy Arena in that one.”

“He deserved what he got. I don’t know what the hell makes him so arrogant. He still thinks it’s supposed to work like it did with the Teamsters in the old days. He wants to show up at the first meeting, throw a new contract on the table, tell the company to sign it or else, no matter what kind of shit he puts in there, and then have you take him out to dinner. I kept trying to introduce him to reality but he wouldn’t listen.”

“How long did that strike last?” Terry asked. “I forget.”

Richie moved his fat bottom lip over the top one and looked up at the ceiling for a few moments. “Almost six weeks,” he answered. “The company got some hungry independent operators to make its deliveries for a while. They weren’t looking to go to war. But Arena cancelled out of two straight meetings without even letting the mediator know he wouldn’t be there. That’s when Coastal figured he could go fuck himself if he thought he was calling the shots. So they started hiring new employees and replaced almost half the twenty-seven guys on strike.”

“Yeah, that was the tough part,” Reardon said.

“But that’s what it took for Tommy to finally see the light. He made damn sure he was at the next meeting the mediator called and agreed to almost everything in the company’s final offer. All he kept saying, over and over, was, ‘The International will have my fucking head for signing this.’ I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, listening to him.

“But it’s really sad, Terry. I’ll bet anything the Union couldn’t find new jobs for the strikers Coastal replaced. There’s almost nothing out there! Gravel drivers, cement drivers, freight, even moving and storage, they’re all hurting, laid off all over the place. But I don’t think Tommy really gives a shit about what happens to them. He’s been at this so long it’s all water off a duck’s back. If he cared about his members, he’d smarten up and stop acting like Jimmy Hoffa’s still running the Union.”

“Well, I hope he doesn’t try and take it out on the Herald in August just because he’s pissed off at you.”

The waitress came over and put two menus on the table.

Reardon handed his right back to her. “I’ve got every line memorized, Mary. And it’ll probably be another two months before they change it again. Give me the scrod with the cheese sauce, salad, oil and vinegar on the side, and bring a regular coffee as soon as you come back.”

He watched Cardella look over the menu. They had eaten numerous meals together in the past, usually during the long negotiating sessions with one of the four unions at the Herald. Cardella had been the newspaper’s legal counsel on all labor matters for almost eight years, from the time he left politics. Terry was Labor Relations Manager for half that time, handling all the day-to-day problems and employee grievances. He moved up to Vice President for Labor and Employment when his predecessor left the Company to take a similar position in Portland, Maine, his hometown.

“Is the scrod fresh or frozen?” Cardella asked the waitress.

Reardon smiled and thought to himself, Oh, man, here we go. He knew Richie could ask a dozen questions and drive any waitress crazy before deciding what to order.

Mary said she thought it was fresh but she would check if he wanted to know for sure.

“Usually it’s frozen,” Reardon offered.

“And what’s the sole stuffed with?”

“A bread stuffing,” she answered.

“No seafood in it?”

“No.” Mary and Terry answered at the same time.

Cardella hesitated, scanning the menu. “Does the tuna salad have celery?”

“Some,” Mary told him, “but not a lot.”

Richie frowned. He hated celery. “I’ll take the scrod, too, but no broccoli. Do you have a baked potato you can put with it?”

Mary shifted her weight from one leg to the other. “I’m not sure. I know we have French fries and Lyonnais.”

“Well, see if they can throw a baked potato in the microwave. But I like it real soft so it mashes up easy. And with some sour cream. If not, I’ll take the Lyonnais.”

“Yes, sir, anything to drink?”

“Not now. Maybe later … or I’ll tell you what. Bring me a decaf when the scrod is ready.”

Mary left. Reardon chuckled and shook his head back and forth. “I don’t believe you. I watch you do it all the time and I don’t believe you. Your wife must go nuts at home.”

“Never,” Cardella replied, and his shoulders provided the exclamation point. “Anita doesn’t go for the twenty questions routine I use outside. She just puts the food on the table. Take it or leave it. But she’s a fantastic cook so I have no problems. She even hates broccoli herself. Anyhow, did you hear the one about why New Jersey has all the waste dumps and New York has all the lawyers?”

Reardon said he didn’t.

“New Jersey got to pick first.”

They both laughed.

“So what’s the reason for this lunch and should I put it on the clock?” Cardella asked.

“Answer to the first question, the rumor mill has been turning out some stuff I wanted to ask you about. Answer to the second question, bill me if the scrod is fresh, not if it’s frozen.”

“I think I’ve been had.” They both laughed again.

Reardon picked up his teaspoon and hit it lightly against the tabletop as he spoke. “I’ll tell you what I’ve heard, but it doesn’t come directly from anyone I can quote as a source. Like I said, rumors, so don’t press me for a name afterwards.”

“Okay,” Cardella said. “I hear you.”

Reardon continued. “Supposedly, Spence Hardiman has decided not to run for his Senate seat again. I know it’s hard to imagine him giving it up, but he wouldn’t be the first one to make that kind of decision. That freshman senator from Colorado already said he won’t be a candidate again. A couple of others have indicated they’re still noncommittal.

“Apparently, the great United States Senate isn’t as much fun as it used to be. Some politicos who get elected there really expect to introduce new legislation and get things done, I guess. Then they find out what gridlock is all about. Either the Senate talks a bill to death and nothing comes of it, or if they finally get enough votes to pass it, the President vetoes it because his party wasn’t the one that pushed it through. Hardiman has only been there one term, but he’s a very sensitive guy. He was a good governor because he knew what he wanted for Rhode Island and pretty much forced the legislature to give it to him. Imagine how frustrating the last five years have been for him in Washington.”

“No doubt about it,” Cardella said, agreeing with him.

“Anyhow, what Hardiman does or doesn’t do is the key. That’s a no brainer. But if he’s decided not to go for another term, that puts Sacco in the race for his job. We both know that John would definitely be odds on to win.”

Richie nodded his head. “I can’t even imagine who’s out there to make it a race against him if that happened. Lindgren, bless his soul, was the best the Democrats had to offer in the race against Hardiman five years ago.”

“You’re probably right,” Reardon continued, “but those who trade in gossip and scuttlebutt, otherwise known as the city’s rumor mongers, have more to say. I’m told that if Sacco decides to run for the Senate, one Rico Cardella may be a candidate for governor on the Republican ticket. And that leaves me, in the intellectually rewarding job I hold, to say nothing of the money they pay me, to ask the sixty-four thousand dollar question. Is there anything to what I’m hearing? And if there is, who’s going to help me negotiate a new contract with Tommy Arena in August and September?”

The waitress returned to the table with a basket of rolls, their salads and a coffee for Terry. “I didn’t ask what kind of dressing you wanted on your salad,” she said to Cardella. “Is the oil and vinegar okay?”

“No. I’ll take Russian dressing.”

She glanced at Reardon, as if to confirm her certainty ahead of time that the oil and vinegar wouldn’t satisfy his friend. She saw the quick wink he gave her. “Be right back,” she answered.

“And put mine on the side, too,” Cardella said as she began walking away.

Reardon put his head down and shook it from side to side in feigned disbelief. He was afraid he might burst out laughing if he made eye contact with Mary again.

Cardella took the neatly folded cloth napkin out of his empty water glass and put it on his lap. “We’ll have to be strictly off the record on this, Terry.”

“That’s what I figured.” Reardon leaned forward, knowing Cardella would have to speak softly.

Richie did the same thing, glancing around first to be sure no one else was seated close to them. “The fact is I’ve been approached,” he said. “There are some big wheels in the party who are there just to look down the road and plan for every contingency. They told me not to get myself worked up over it because chances are there won’t be an opening for governor anyway. They see no reason for Hardiman not to run for reelection and stay where he is.”

“But we know that’s probably just their best guess,” Terry said.

“That’s right, and maybe they’re feeling out someone else at the same time. It’s definite that Ray Michaels wouldn’t try and move up from lieutenant governor. He won’t even run for office again, no matter what Sacco does. The heart attack he had a year ago scared the hell out of him and he doesn’t want any pressure kind of job. They’ll find something easy for him to do. Someone will come up with one of those 10:00 a.m. to 3:00 p.m. committee assignments, with no homework and two hours for lunch. That’s his reward.”

The two men nodded at each other, and Cardella continued. “If Hardiman stays put and Sacco goes for a second term, would I run on the ticket with him? That’s a definite ‘No,’ even though I might regret it when John’s time is up and he moves on. I’ve already told them that. But if it was the governor’s chair this year, I think I’d have to give it my best shot.”

Terry stopped long enough to add milk to his coffee and take a first sip. “So let’s assume the scenario in which Hardiman quits, Sacco steps up and you’re the candidate …”

Cardella answered before Reardon finished reframing the question he asked a few minutes earlier. “I’ve thought about your negotiations with Arena while running all this stuff through my head. If there’s nothing unethical about doing it—you know, in case the Herald planned to endorse me later on—I think I’d have the time. The contract expires at the end of September. That leaves plenty of time after the primary to meet with Arena. If worse comes to worse, I could get someone else in the office to sit at the table with you and I’d call the plays from the locker room. I’m sure it can be worked out. But the odds are we won’t ever get to that bridge, so why don’t we relax for now and wait and see what happens.”

“That’s okay by me,” Terry said. “But you’re going to know what’s happening before I do, so keep me posted.”

Richie nodded affirmatively, just as the waitress set down her large server’s tray on a nearby stand and got ready to bring their lunches to the table.

“Now we can enjoy the best that the Holiday Inn has to offer,” Reardon declared.

As soon as Mary put their plates in front of them, Terry sampled the fish. “Yup, it’s frozen,” he said, breaking out a smile.

They both laughed out loud.

* * *

Jenna called him in the middle of the afternoon. “Well, was I right?” she asked.

“It’ll cost you,” Terry said.

“Cost me what?”

“About thirty minutes of your undivided passion tonight.” He paused for a moment. “And that’s just the foreplay.”

Jenna laughed. “No can do, Superman. It’s girls’ night out tonight. Me and Cindy and Annette.”

“Haven’t the three of you had enough of ‘The Golden Banana’ yet?” Terry asked, a chuckle in his voice. “I hate to see a hard-working girl dropping those dollar bills inside a bunch of strange jockstraps. There’s no redeemable social value in it. Besides, you can’t afford it on what the Herald pays you.”

She laughed again. “Come on, Terry, tell me. Was I right or not?”

“You were right on the money,” he answered. “How’d you do it?”

“Whoopee,” Jenna cried, ignoring the question at first. He could picture the huge grin on her face. “I knew it! I am terrific! How did I do it, the vice president wants to know. Wants me to reveal everything, spill all the beans, let the cat out of the bag. Okay, I will. Are you ready?” she asked, but didn’t wait for an answer.

“It was a little luck, my own brand of chutzpah and some research, all in that order.” She told him how she was able to glimpse just the titles of the two books on Sacco’s desk and how she concocted the idea of the supposed rumor she put to Spence Hardiman. “Once I was convinced Hardiman wasn’t running and that Sacco would go for his Senate seat, the rest was research. I just checked to see which republicans held Statewide office in the past ten years who might be attractive to the Party for the governor’s race. In my opinion, Cardella’s the only one who fits that description.”

“That’s a hell of a job,” Terry said. “I’d love to see you get a scoop out of it, but I had to give Richie my word it was off the record.”

“No sweat, lover boy. It’s still awfully thin anyway. Sacco could come up with a half-dozen reasons for having those books in his office, even if he didn’t deny they were there. And Hardiman said he hasn’t made any decision about what he’ll do. If I wrote it up, Cardella would be sure you ran back here and fed me the information, regardless of what you promised. If I know McMurphy, he wouldn’t want to run something based on what we have so far. Right now I’m just pleased that I got my nose into something political for the first time and my instincts were good. But you know what, Terry?”

“I know, and I don’t blame you. You just changed your mind about tonight.”

Jenna sparred with him. “Not on your life,” she said, slowly and deliberately. “Nothing gets in the way of another night at the ‘Banana.’”

It was Terry’s turn to laugh. “Okay then, what?”

“If Cardella wasn’t contacted by the party, it wouldn’t have surprised me.”

“Why not?” he asked.

“Because a lot of republicans in Rhode Island might not want to vote for him.”

“Same question, Jenna. Why not?”

“Some of the blurbs I read about Richie in the library pointed out that he was very outspoken about the State having a lottery when that first came up as an issue years ago. I mean he was gung ho for the idea. That was the easiest way to raise money, he said. Something that wouldn’t get the taxpayers up in arms. He may feel the same way now about the State getting into casino gambling. I’ve still got a little follow-up to do. I heard something about his law firm being hired to help write some of that legislation for one of the senate committees. If he’s in favor of the State opening up casino parlors, I know one big hurdle he’ll be facing down the line at election time.”

Reardon didn’t want to try to figure it out. “I give up again. Tell me.”

“No, mister vice president, I’ll just give you a clue.” Jenna’s voice had a triumphant ring to it. “It’s a certain newspaper in Providence … that signs our paychecks. Big Daddy on Fountain Street has always been dead set against it.”

He was silent for a few seconds. He was also amazed at how much Jenna learned so quickly. “So how about tomorrow night, Wonder Woman?”