Political Science 101

Chapter Ninety-Eight

THE PADDED chair in which Ray Doyle sat felt less like a lavish office chair and more like an unfolded lawn chair — not because the chair itself was uncomfortable, but rather, every inch of Ray's body felt uneasy, anxious, and apprehensive. He wasn't angry because, after turning off the television, he knew Mitch was doing the right thing. He wasn't afraid of going to jail because he knew Lenore would have maintained full plausible deniability during the whole ordeal, and Ray had no idea the voting fraud was taking place. He wasn't embarrassed because he hadn't personally done anything which merited shame.

Ray Doyle felt simply (yet extremely) uncomfortable.

The silent hotel room where he sat, twenty floors above the ballroom hosting his victory party, only carried the soft hum of the air conditioning system; it was otherwise silent. He preferred the silence because it allowed his mind to function in a more linear manner, helping him keep his thoughts straight, hopefully leading to a solution to this mess.

However, this silence and linear solitude were shattered by a loud (and somewhat frantic) knock on his hotel room door. Ray momentarily wondered who it could have been, but realized it was probably Lenore. However, if Lenore was knocking in that sort of frantic manner, Ray certainly had something to worry about.

He opened the door without checking the peephole to see who it was and, of course, Lenore Sable walked briskly into the room, pushing him aside while spouting a profanity-ridden diatribe which Ray could not entirely decipher. In fact, he had no idea what she was talking about until she finally paused, took a breath, and spoke in a less-erratic (but still not calm) tone of voice.

"This situation is screwed!" she said.

Ray's eyebrows raised slightly. In his mind, he imagined that if she was covered in green makeup and wore a pointy black hat, she'd be a dead-ringer for the Wicked Witch of the East; Ray certainly felt like Dorothy, spinning out of control in the mouth of a tornado, plummeting to earth, unsure where he would eventually land.

"I had nothing to do with this," Ray said defensively. "There's no way I'd put him up to this and I have no idea why he just suddenly decided to go on TV of all things and I don't know where he got this information or who he's been talking to or anything." He felt himself rambling.

"Shut up," she said with staccato. "I know this wasn't you, but we need to discuss your public reaction. The press is going to ask about you and me. He said my name on TV. I think the Feds are looking for me. This has just suddenly gotten completely out of control."

For the first time — ever — Ray heard worry in Lenore's voice. Her voice shivered like a frigid homeless person on the street asking for spare change. And Ray didn't pretend to think Lenore had any interest in maintaining the well-being of anyone except herself and would sacrifice anyone (including him) to keep her reputation dignified and keep herself out of prison.

This knowledge proved invaluable over the years (because he'd known this about her for years), so anything she asked him to do was met with scrutiny and affirmation prior to implementation. Granted, over the years, she'd never asked him to do or say anything which brought him any kind of political or legal difficulties, but today, things were different.

"Have you tried to call him?" Lenore asked, pacing the room like a drug addict waiting for her dealer.

"I've tried," Ray replied, "but he's not taking my calls."

"Keep trying!" she said, raising her voice.

"You think I won't?" Ray snapped back. "You think I'm just going to give up and let this happen? I'm the person who has to stand at the podium and answer the questions from the press about this stuff and now every question will be about this!"

Lenore stopped pacing and made eye-contact with Ray which sent chills down his spine. "You know," she said, now suddenly calm, collected, and cold, "the last time I saw Arnold Jenkins, he spoke to me in a very similar tone of voice and said some very similar things."

Without replying, Ray knew exactly the point she was making. "So," he said, now choosing his words very wisely, "what do I do? What do I say?"

"Nothing," she replied. "Just stay out of sight until we know more; wait until we have more information."

"Okay," Ray replied with humility.

"And keep trying to call that asshole friend of yours," She said as she turned toward the door of the hotel room.

"I will," Ray said to the back of her head.

Lenore yanked the door open and slammed it behind her with a thud and a rattle. The door chain swung from the force of the door closure and clicked steadily against the door jam, sounding like a clock, counting down to something inevitable.

Ray was speechless. He sat back down in the hotel's padded office chair in his room. It was no more comfortable than before. In fact, it was less comfortable — he was less comfortable. Perhaps the time to panic was near.

He dialed Mitch's number again. After two rings, it went to his voicemail. Ray knew exactly what this meant. If a phone rings four times and goes to voicemail, the person on the other end simply missed the call; if the phone rings twice and goes to voicemail, the person being called deliberately pressed IGNORE on their phone.

Mitch was ignoring Ray's calls, and this bothered him most of all.