It’s early when all the phones in the house start ringing. The landline, both of my cellphones (personal and work), and even more ominously, Matt’s cellphone as well.
“Jesus Christ,” says Matt. “You need a new job.”
He picks up his phone and leaves the room while I answer the landline. It’s Bonnie. “Have you seen the news?” she says.
“It’s five o’clock in the morning, Bonnie,” I say. “No, I haven’t.”
“Turn on the television and meet Peter at the office as soon as you can get there,” she says. I look at my phone and see two missed calls, both from Aidan Clarke, everyone’s favourite city beat reporter.
Matt’s returned to the bedroom and is fiddling with the remotes. “That was Will. There’s a problem at your office.”
“Mayor Peter Haines was questioned by police last night in connection with an alleged prostitution ring,” says the voice of the news anchor.
“What the fuck!” I shout, kicking off the covers and half-falling out of bed.
“We go now to Aidan Clarke, our city hall reporter, for details on the incident,” says the news anchor. “Aidan?”
“Thank you, Pam,” says Aidan. “We don’t have many details on this story as yet, but I can confirm that the mayor, Peter Haines, spent several hours at police headquarters in the early hours of this morning. We are told that he is not under arrest and has been cooperating fully with police inquiries relating to an alleged prostitution ring. The mayor exited the building several minutes ago, and made no comment to reporters. We will be following up on this story throughout the day and will provide you with updates as soon as they are available.”
The footage shows Peter, tousled and furious, leaving police headquarters, where only last week he stood at a podium and announced a new project to redirect at-risk youth away from gang activity, and getting into a car with tinted windows.
“Will said that it has something to do with one of your developers,” says Matt. “Adam Rothstein?”
“Rothman,” I say. “What about him? And why would Will know anything about this? Why would he know about it before I did? Why didn’t Peter call me hours ago?”
“I don’t know anything more than I just told you,” says Matt. “As for Will, he’s crazy connected and knows everything, and his family owns some piece of a news outlet, and he doesn’t sleep much. And as for Peter, you can probably guess why he didn’t call you better than I can.”
“I’m his chief of staff,” I say, throwing on clothes. “He tells me everything. He trusts me.”
“Avery,” says Matt. He puts a hand on each of my shoulders, halting my frantic activity for a moment. “Listen to me. This is important. Whatever Peter has done—”
“Which may be nothing,” I say.
“—it isn’t your fault. You aren’t Peter’s keeper.”
“I am his keeper,” I say. “That’s exactly what I am. That’s my job.”
“You might want to rethink that,” says Matt. “But for now, I’m telling you that Peter is going to be in damage-control mode. You need to have your wits about you. You don’t want to get caught in the crossfire.”
“I don’t even know what you’re saying right now,” I say. “I need to get to the office and figure out what’s going on.”
“I’ll drive you,” he says.
We head out into the semi-darkness. It’s surprisingly warm already, and the sun is coming up. The streets are empty. But not at city hall. At city hall there are media trucks setting up tents and spotlights.
“My God,” I say.
“Call Bonnie and tell her to have security let you in the door in the laneway,” says Matt.
I do. We pull into the lane and wait until a crack of light appears as the security door opens. Matt flashes his headlights as if we are in a spy movie. “Wait,” he says as I unbuckle my seat belt.
I turn to him, distracted, already inside the building in my mind.
“When this is over, I’ll still be here,” he says. “Remember that. I’m the one who’s going to be here.”
“Hopefully, we’ll all still be here,” I say.
Matt pats my hand. “Good luck in there,” he says.
I slip into the darkened lobby and follow the security guard up to the mayor’s office.
“You’re here,” says Bonnie.
“Why didn’t you call me earlier?”
“It was Peter’s decision not to,” says Bonnie. She doesn’t meet my eye.
“What is going on, exactly?”
“There was a misunderstanding. We are hopeful that it will all be resolved quickly.”
“What sort of misunderstanding?”
“Peter had dinner last night with Mr. Rothman at his private club, at Mr. Rothman’s request. It was a business dinner. Over the course of the meal, police arrived at the club and began arresting some of the patrons.”
“What sort of club are we talking about here?”
“A gentleman’s club,” says Bonnie.
“Are we talking about a sex club?” I say.
“No,” says Peter from behind me. I jump.
“Let’s go into your office,” I say.
I sit down on the couch and wait for Peter to close the door. It feels wrong to have this conversation across the mayor’s desk, as if this were official business. Peter sits down in an armchair and waits for me to speak.
“Tell me what I need to know,” I say.
“Adam invited me for dinner to discuss the waterfront. He suggested that we meet at his club. We met in the dining room. We had a private booth. The prime rib was excellent.”
“Peter,” I say. “Spare me the menu, please.”
“Around ten o’clock, there was a commotion at the entrance. We were in the back of the restaurant, so it was hard to see exactly what was happening. Adam got up to investigate and he didn’t come back. I stayed in the booth. A few minutes later, an officer approached my table and advised me that a number of guests were being arrested in connection with criminal activities occurring in the building. I was asked to come to headquarters voluntarily and assist with police inquiries. I did.”
“What were the other activities?”
“It now appears that the club offered other amenities.”
“Sexual amenities?”
“Apparently,” says Peter. “I have no direct knowledge about that.”
“You were in the wrong place at the wrong time?”
“Yes,” says Peter.
“Is that what happened with Melanie, too?”
“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you, Avery,” says Peter.
“Are you kidding me, Peter?” I say. “I am killing myself trying to help you create your legacy, and you, as it turns out, are fucking interns and having dinner at sex clubs. Sorry, I mean accidentally having dinner at sex clubs. I’m in the office at the crack of dawn trying to figure out how a man as smart as you are has managed to wade into so much shit. I’m entitled to a little sarcasm.”
Peter moves over to sit beside me on the couch. “I’m sorry, Avery. This is an incredibly unpleasant situation, and I hate that you’ve been dragged into it.”
“Peter,” I say. I sound tired, and wary. “This could hurt us.”
“I know,” he says. “And I know you’re angry. But I need your help.”
There’s a sharp knock at the door. Bonnie steps in without waiting for Peter to answer. This is a day full of dark portents, it seems.
“There’s a lawsuit coming,” she says.
“From the club?” I say. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Not from the club,” says Bonnie. “From Melanie Christie. We got a courtesy call just now. The lawyer is making a statement at nine o’clock. I got the sense, though, that we weren’t the only people who received advance notice.”
“Wrongful dismissal?” says Peter.
“Sexual harassment,” says Bonnie. “And wrongful dismissal, although that seems like a minor point in the scheme of things.” She looks at me. “You’re named in the lawsuit too, by the way.”
I can’t sit here any longer. “I’m going to my office,” I say. “Tell me immediately if anyone calls from the press, or serves us with documents, or if the police show up here, or anything else remotely dramatic happens. Otherwise, please leave me alone for half an hour. In the meantime, Peter, figure out what lawyer we need and call him. I’m working on the PR strategy.”
Bonnie gives me exactly fifteen minutes, and then my phone starts ringing.
“A friend to women?” says Doris Renaud, her voice crackling with rage over the phone. I hold it away from my ear. “I’m holding you responsible for what happened to this innocent young intern. Not to mention that the mayor was found in a sex club last night. You said women could trust Peter Haines. You must have known that he was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. It’s disgusting.”
“The mayor will be addressing the allegations this afternoon,” I say. “Please wait to hear from him before you pass judgment.”
“That ship has sailed,” says Doris. “The man is a sexual predator. The idea, the idea, that WAFADASS put its support behind him makes me sick to my stomach. Our women’s shelter was nothing more than a convenient disguise for him. Feminism is a sword, not a shield. Peter Haines used us, and he’ll pay the price.”
“Doris, please,” I say. “Peter has a strong record on women’s issues. No one is perfect, but he has been a genuine supporter of the shelter project from day one.”
“He is a betrayer,” she says. “He has betrayed his wife, and a young woman in your office who was in a position of great vulnerability. His so-called record is irrelevant.”
“With respect, Doris, I disagree,” I say.
“I can see that you have had the wool pulled over your eyes as well, and I am sorry for it,” says Doris. “But WAFADASS is done with this administration. I recognize the soul within you. Namaste.”
“Okay, bye,” I say.
Five minutes later, Marshall Westwood calls.
“We were pleased to learn that, unlike so many other waterfront projects, your city has wisely rejected the proposal for an aquarium.”
An aquarium was never proposed at all, but Marshall doesn’t need to know this. I’m thrilled to be talking about something other than Peter’s sex life. What a difference a day makes. “We felt that it wouldn’t send the right message,” I say.
“Exactly,” says Marshall. “I wish more city officials understood that an aquarium is a prison, not an entertainment. Someday, in a more enlightened age, we will judge people who visit aquariums the way we now judge people who toured lunatic asylums for fun back in the eighteenth century.”
“Could be,” I say. “In any event, Mayor Haines stands with MEL on the aquarium issue.”
“We have photographic evidence of Mr. Wozniak visiting aquariums in both Baltimore and Chicago,” says Marshall. “Confidentially, when asked by an undercover MEL operative, Mr. Wozniak said that he thought an aquarium would be ‘a great idea’ for the city.”
“I can’t say I’m surprised,” I say.
“I’m calling to let you know that MEL will not be taking a position on the current scandal in the mayor’s office,” says Marshall.
“Thank you for letting me know,” I say.
“Good luck,” he says.
When the phone rings a few minutes later, it’s exactly the person I’m expecting.
“I want the mayor to know that he has the full support of ArtCo,” says Jim Crawford.
“I’m delighted to hear that,” I say.
“Naturally, there are conditions,” says Jim.
“There usually are,” I say.
“We will need to see the studios moved back to Building One, and the daycare centre and the shelter moved to Building Two. Also, we would like to see an increase in the number of rent-controlled spaces for artists.”
“What kind of increase?” I ask.
“At least thirty percent,” says Jim.
“Thirty percent,” I repeat. “Anything else?”
“We would like to see members of the ArtCo receive special consideration in the selection process for the public sculpture competition.”
“We’ve announced that it will be an international competition,” I say.
“We are aware of that,” says Jim. “But we are taking the position that our members produce work of international quality and they should have pride of place on the city’s waterfront.”
“That may be a bridge too far, Jim,” I say, in what I hope is a mild tone of voice.
“That’s the bridge I’ll be taking over to the Wozniak camp if I don’t see some good faith from the mayor,” says Jim, and hangs up the phone.
“Who does that?” I say out loud in my office. “Who issues a threat and hangs up the phone?”
“People do that all the time,” says Bonnie from the doorway. “You’d be surprised.” She hands me a faxed press release. “Another quarter heard from,” she says.
“Judy Mendelson?” I say, scanning the document. “I thought she was in and out of consciousness.”
“Well,” says Bonnie, “she woke up long enough to throw Peter to the wolves.”
“Peter and the wolves,” I say. “Funny.” Although it really isn’t. “According to Doris Renaud, he is the wolf.”
Bonnie shakes her head. “Beware of fair-weather friends,” she says. “I thought the law business was bad. It was nothing compared to politics.”
“This must be hard on you,” I say.
“No,” says Bonnie. “It’s stressful, and it’s busy. It isn’t hard.”
“I mean emotionally,” I say. “Because you and Peter have worked together for so long.”
“Avery,” she says, “unlike you, I don’t invest emotionally in my work. I have relationships outside the office. Peter treats me with respect and he pays me more than anyone else will pay me to do the same job. I have no other expectations of him. Peter and I aren’t friends. We’re colleagues.” She looks at the press release from Judy Mendelson and shakes her head. “I told Peter those flowers we sent were too expensive,” she says.