48

FIORE WAS BACK AT the Biltmore the following night, meeting in Cyril Berman’s room with Berman, Walsh, and Karp. The ninth floor suite was about the same size as Ocean State’s, but it was on a list of those waiting to be refurbished. Instead of overlooking Kennedy Plaza, it gave its occupants a very unglamorous view of the roof of the hotel’s garage in back.

The first order of business was Doug’s speech. His advisors spent almost two hours listening to him read it, patiently pointing out lines that needed more emphasis and those that had to be slowed down for a better effect. Everyone was pleased with the changes Fiore made to what Berman drafted several weeks earlier. The editing gave it a more intimate and comfortable sound.

After that, it was Fiore’s turn to listen as his campaign manager, personal advisor and chief fund-raiser discussed the pieces of the puzzle already in place. They talked about the various things that would begin to happen as soon as Doug became an official contender in two days. Up for review also was some of the strategy that would carry them through the primary.

Karp had a number of fund-raising events penciled in over the next few weeks. He bragged that the financial support already coming in from the 55 “pillars” was everything they hoped it would be. “They love you, kid,” he said to Doug, raising a fist in the air as if victory was already theirs. Berman gave Fiore a copy of the schedule they would follow for the immediate future, and carefully went over the issues to be emphasized at each gathering.

Their work was interrupted by a telephone call. Berman answered the phone. He spoke a few words the others couldn’t hear and then indicated by a nod of his head to Fiore that it was for him. Doug moved toward the desk in the corner of the room. He wondered who else knew he was there. As soon as he heard the voice, he scolded himself mentally for not guessing who it was.

“Hey, good buddy,” Sandy Tarantino greeted him, “I hear my horse is getting ready to move into the starting gate. I just want you to know we all think you’re the best looking runner on the track.”

Fiore tried to make a joke out of it. “You mean my handicapper doesn’t think I’ve got any handicaps?”

“You’re not perfect,” Sandy answered. “We know you prefer stud to mud, but we like you in this field.”

“That was pretty good,” he chuckled. “Thanks, Sandy. I’ll give it my best shot.”

“Nervous?” Tarantino asked.

“I was a couple of weeks ago, but not anymore. Anxious to get going is more like it.”

“Sounds good to me. The guys treating you okay?”

“No complaints.”

“Well, just remember, if you and Cyril don’t always see eye to eye and you need my input, you know how to reach me.” There was a momentary pause. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll agree with you. Like I told you before, he’s the one with the experience in these things.”

“I understand.” Fiore didn’t want Berman to pick up on what Sandy was telling him, although the three men seemed to be ignoring him, continuing their own conversation.

“By the way,” Tarantino said, sounding more serious, “congratulations on the new Ocean State contract. You guys had Morelli wondering what the hell was going on for a while, but he told me Hanley did a bang-up job at the last two sessions. First he scared the shit out of John’s committee with all that talk about permanent replacements ready to come to work five minutes after any strike started. Then he gave them a tough take it or leave it package at the end. He dropped his demand on the medical but cut half a percent off the wages Morelli was looking for in the third year. Johnny wasn’t thrilled with that, but went along with it. He did what he was supposed to do and told the committee they’d be crazy not to accept the deal. So everyone shook hands and walked away happy. But how come you pulled Ryder out of the negotiations?”

Fiore could lie again without any fear of Sandy ever finding out that he never discussed Sandy’s settlement numbers with Ryder. “I didn’t have any choice. He let Hanley convince him that the Company had to have a two-year freeze and a better split on the cost of the health plan. He stopped listening to what I told him the new contract settlement had to look like.” Again, Fiore considered the lie all part of what he had to do to rid himself of the partner most likely to cause trouble, to want to take down the king of the hill.

“That explains a lot. Good man, Doug. Okay, I’ve got things to do, so go out there, old buddy, and give ’em hell. Don’t forget everything we’ve got riding on you.”

Fiore heard the click on the other end of the line. He hung up the phone and returned to the group.

“We were just talking about the casino gambling issue,” Berman said, looking at him. “That’s one of the major points of difference between you and Cardella. Everyone in this room knows you’re here today because of it. That means you’ve got to bang away at that issue every goddam chance you get.”

Berman got up and began pacing the floor. He kept his head turned toward Fiore as he continued talking. “Richie Cardella’s going to be a tough opponent to beat. He’s got a lot going for him. I figure the first poll that comes out will give him the lead with between 60 and 65 percent of the vote. If we lose this thing, I’m sure we all want certain parties in Providence to know we gave it the good fight. That means everyone in Rhode Island must be told over and over again why State-controlled casino gambling would be the worst thing that could ever happen. By election day, they should know it as well as they know their names. Are you with us on that, Doug?”

“I hear you loud and clear,” he replied, emphasizing the last three words.

“Okay then.” Cyril returned to his seat. For Fiore’s sake, he wanted to wind up the meeting on an optimistic note. “We should have about twelve hundred people on Saturday. I want to see the Grand Ballroom here at the Biltmore jammed, and Doug, you should bring your parents as well as your wife and daughter. They’ll all be behind you, on the dais. We’ll make sure the Herald photographer gets a picture of the whole family. Give the crowd plenty of time to cheer whatever you say. Just keep smiling and waving your hand until they run out of applause.

“When you finish the speech, kiss your wife, your mother and your daughter, and shake hands with everyone else on the platform. All your good friends from the House and Senate will be there. I’m not sure how many of the mayors supporting you will show up, but I think you know them all by sight. Watch the tape again if you’ve forgotten any of their names. That suit you’re wearing now is a good color. I like it, but get it pressed for Saturday. Wear a tie with a red background, something classical, with stripes or polka dots, not the crazy stuff that’s popular today.” Berman looked at Walsh and Karp but they had nothing to add. “I guess that’s everything,” he said, finishing up with a smile. “So let’s have a toast and call it quits for tonight.”

They retrieved the glasses from which they were sipping Scotch that evening. Berman poured a few drops into Walsh’s, the only empty one. “To a great campaign,” he said.

“To a great campaign,” they repeated, and drank up.

“And a clean one,” Fiore said, as they put their glasses on the coffee table.

* * *

On Sunday morning Fiore was out of bed as soon as he heard the sound of the route driver’s station wagon entering the cul-de-sac on which he lived and the thunk of that day’s paper landing on his front walk. He put on a pair of pants over his pajamas but didn’t bother tying his sneakers before opening the door and going outside.

There he was on the front page of the Herald. It was a four-color photograph taken while he delivered his speech at the Biltmore the night before. He looked very good. Inside, page eleven carried the official campaign photo given to all the newspapers on Saturday. There was some unexpected trouble before Berman succeeded in getting the bearded and slovenly looking Herald photographer to accept it. Below it was a picture of the Fiore family, all saying “cheese.”

Fiore sat down at the kitchen table and read the article from beginning to end. He was more than satisfied with it. The byline belonged to Jenna Richardson. He recalled that she was the first media person to contact him and ask whether he intended to be a candidate, as rumor had it. He hadn’t spoken to her since then, either before or after his rally at the Biltmore. That meant she received a lot of her information from Berman or Walsh. Whoever it was did a good job.

He went to the refrigerator, took out the carton of orange juice and poured himself a glass. Reading on, he found an unexpected bonus on the editorial page. The lead commentary welcomed his entry into the race and said that voters in both parties should be pleased to have such excellent candidates from which to choose. The Herald would listen to all four of them carefully, it went on, and would make its endorsements shortly before the primary.

“Certainly,” the editorial concluded, “the people of Rhode Island want to hear what plan each of the candidates may have for revitalizing the economy of the State and getting those on unemployment back to work, as well as their views on whether State government should allow the introduction of casino gambling under its auspices and control.”

Fiore was ready to go on the campaign trail and let them know what he thought. “Hey,” he said out loud as he put the news aside and looked for the sports section, “what’s good for the Tarantinos should be good for everyone else.”