43

FIORE WAS GETTING INCREASINGLY uptight as the week moved along. He was waiting for that first telephone call from the Providence Herald or some other newspaper in the State inquiring about the rumor that he’d be a Republican candidate for governor.

“Screen all my calls,” he told Briggs. “Don’t put anything through to me from the Herald or anyone else in the media unless I’m alone in my office.” Her look told him that she wondered what was going on. “Be patient,” was all he said.

On Friday morning Dana buzzed and let him know that Carol Singer called while he was talking to a client. Doug had spoken to her only once since returning to work that week. Standing in the doorway of her office, he asked several questions about the loan she obtained from Spalding Bank for his client, Twentieth Century Windfarm. He wanted to close the door and arrange a time they could get together, but it was still touch and go with his sexual apparatus. He could see the humor in that phrase, remembering that until recently it took only a female touch and he was ready to go.

Fiore was sure that Carol’s phone call meant she wanted to pin him down to a date. They hadn’t made love in over three weeks, and from what she told him, the nights of passion at home were few and far between. He would agree to meet her, he decided, during the following week. He counted on being confident by then about his ability to perform, especially once word got out concerning his possible political ambitions. If things didn’t improve, he could always cancel it that day. And there was also the possibility that his on-again, off-again impotency—he saw the comic twist in those words also—was only with Grace, not anyone else.

Fiore checked his calendar for the following week before dialing the four numbers of Carol’s direct line. When she answered, he said, “It’s the managing partner, Mrs. Singer, but don’t let that make you nervous.”

“Doug, you have to tell me it’s not true.” The words seemed to burst from her mouth. They caught him off guard.

“What do you mean?” he asked

“Bruce said last night that there’s talk about your entering the Republican primary for governor. I told him I couldn’t believe it.” He waited for a question to follow, but she stopped there, saying nothing else.

He was too flustered to ad-lib. Without thinking, he fell back on the answer he rehearsed all week for the press. “I’m not in a position to say that I will or won’t be a candidate. A number of people in the State have spoken to me about running for office. Right now I’m in the process of making other contacts and considering my decision. I’ll probably have an answer very shortly.”

This time there was a long pause before Carol answered him. Her disappointment was evident in her voice. “I’m married to a politician, Doug. I know exactly what that pap means. Don’t expect me to wish you good luck, now or when you make your formal announcement later on. I’m sure you’ll regret what you’re doing. Good-bye.”

He put the receiver down and exhaled a long breath. Carol’s words meant that he wouldn’t be seeing her soon—which didn’t bother him that much in his present circumstances—but he didn’t want to lose her on account of this. No woman ever made him look forward to an hour of sex as much as she did. No one else could stimulate him the same way. She’s too good to let get away, he thought to himself, at least until this race gets started.

A half hour later, Dana informed him that a John Robbins was on the line, a reporter from the Pawtucket Evening Times. “Here we go,” he said out loud as he picked up the receiver and spoke his name.

“This is John Robbins, Mr. Fiore. Just checking out a story. We heard something about the possibility of your law firm merging with a firm in Boston. Can you tell me if there’s anything to that?”

Fiore was getting agitated. It was as if some unknown force was trying to rattle him this morning, sneaking up on him in unexpected ways. Expect “A” and you get “B” was the message. It reminded him of playing three card monte and having the ace of spades turn up everywhere but where you were certain you saw the dealer put it. It was true that a committee from the firm was doing some preliminary investigation in Boston. Walters, Cassidy & Breen was considering some form of expansion into Massachusetts. It didn’t want to risk losing the business of several clients who already announced plans to build new facilities near Route 128, the Bay State’s technology highway. The committee was assigned the task of checking out potential Boston law firms for a merger. But it began its work only within the past month, and any possible action was at least a year away.

“I don’t know where you heard that, but there’s no truth to it at all, Mr. Robbins.”

He waited, as if expecting Robbins to now ask the question he anticipated. But the reporter merely thanked him and hung up.