97

DOUG FIORE HAD A number of calls to make that Friday morning and couldn’t use the phone in Lester Karp’s Lincoln for any of them.

At ten o’clock, when he finished the last of several private conversations with supporters who gathered at the Holiday Inn at the Crossings in Warwick for a 50-dollar a plate breakfast, Fiore called Pat Hanley from a lobby telephone. He was nervous when she answered, realizing that everything depended on her willingness to go along with his plan. Pat was somewhat abrupt, but her voice was not unfriendly and she agreed to do what he asked.

“Thanks, Pat, you won’t regret it. What you’ve got to do is check into the Biltmore by six o’clock tonight and ask the clerk for the room reserved in your name. Carol Singer will be in the adjoining room, and unless there’s a change for some reason, the switch will take place right at midnight.” Pat had a few questions about procedure, and Doug spelled out the details.

He hung up and called Frankie Scardino in the office. Scardino’s secretary said that he wasn’t expected in until eleven o’clock. Fiore told her to give her boss the message that he would be calling back at 11:45 sharp, and for Scardino to be sitting next to his telephone at that time. He got back to the switchboard and asked to be connected with Janice Rossman. Instead, after half a dozen rings, her assistant picked up and said that Janice would be available later in the morning, at about eleven. He hung up without telling her who was calling.

When he reached Scardino later on, Fiore asked him where he was the night before.

“I slept out,” Frankie answered.

“Well, I’d appreciate it if you and Janice would still try and get to work by nine o’clock, okay? You’re supposed to be running a law firm.”

“She forgot to set the alarm, Doug.”

“And you had to have one more this morning, right?”

“I won’t let it happen again.”

“Let it happen all you want, but just make sure you’re in the office between nine and five on weekdays.”

Scardino didn’t say anything.

“I called to find out if you know any private investigators.”

Frankie recalled that the bank where he used to work retained one on an irregular basis to check on certain employees, but said that he couldn’t recommend him.

“Well, speak to Richard Rubin. I’m sure he must use one or two investigators in his divorce practice. I want whoever it is to be ready to enter a particular room at the Biltmore tonight, at exactly ten minutes after midnight, and take pictures of the man and woman in bed. Tell him he’s got to get the film developed overnight and to make half a dozen copies of each picture, 8 by 10s. If he wants extra for that, pay it. Arrange to pick up everything from him by eight o’clock tomorrow morning. Then wait for me to call you at home—no, never mind, take the stuff to the office and I’ll reach you there.”

“I’m curious, Doug. Is this personal or political?”

“Some of both. As soon as I know the exact room number, I’ll call you back.”

* * *

Lunch was over, and the members of the Post Road Development Association left the Johnson & Wales Airport Inn to return to work. Fiore found a telephone near the restrooms in the basement and called Carol. He never doubted that she would be able to convince Bruce to stay in Providence that night. She didn’t disappoint him.

“He’ll get here about ten,” she confirmed. “We’ll be in Room 1021. The adjoining room is 1023.”

“Do this for me, Carol, because I’ve got to get going to my next appearance. Call the Biltmore and have 1023 reserved in Pat Hanley’s name. She’ll be checking in before six o’clock. You ought to introduce yourself to her as soon as you can and maybe even rehearse how the switch will take place.” He knew the word sounded all wrong as soon as he said it. “I don’t mean a rehearsal, but … you know, just so you’re both on the same wavelength.”

“So we don’t bump into each other and wake up Bruce,” Carol retorted.

Her attitude didn’t amuse him. Fiore thought he could detect a trace of self-contempt in the way she said it. He should have just let it go, but didn’t.

“Look, you told me a dozen times how you feel about him for getting back into politics, and you said the marriage was gonzo on account of it. I figured you’d rather see him lose than win, and I sure as hell prefer to win than lose, so why hate yourself over it? He doesn’t mean anything to you anymore.”

Carol let him finish, not disputing what he said. What difference did it make? she thought. She knew it would all come crashing down anyhow as soon as Bruce heard all the pillow talk that took place in Room 606.

“What time will the photographer come in?” she asked.

“At ten after midnight,” he told her. “Does that work out alright?”

“It’ll be fine. What time do you get done tonight?”

“The dinner’s at seven, so I’d guess by nine-thirty.”

“I want you to call me, Doug. I’m going to need some support.”

“Don’t worry. Everything will be okay. I’ll call, I promise.”

* * *

Cyril Berman didn’t know what got into Fiore that afternoon and evening. But in his speeches, handshaking, and general presence Doug was suddenly more spirited, and exhibited greater energy than he showed in several days. The people who came to listen to him thought he would make a great governor, and Fiore responded as if he knew the job would be his. Even though Cyril realized that the conduct he was witnessing was probably the result of Doug’s good performance at the last debate and Richardson’s column that morning, he had an uneasy feeling about it—something he couldn’t put his finger on—that wouldn’t go away. Still, while it might only be wishful thinking, he began to believe they could actually overcome the Herald ’s endorsement of Singer.