Read Online Murder on K Street by Margaret Truman - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Margaret Truman
Tags: Suspense
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better world?”
“Well,” he said as he handed her the drink—he poured one for himself from a can of lemonade—“your father has been behind some important legislation over the years that has made a difference in some people’s lives.”
“And how many deals did he have to cut to get that legislation through?” she asked angrily. “How many bad bills did he have to sign on to get what
he
wanted?”
“That’s politics, Polly,” said Rotondi, pulling up a chair on the opposite side of a glass coffee table. “Compromise and negotiation. In its purest sense, it’s—”
“Purest sense?” she said. “Come on, Phil, you know there’s nothing pure about politics. My mother really respected you, maybe even envied Kathleen for having you as a husband. You did what you wanted on your own terms, no compromise, no negotiation, just honor.”
“You give me too much credit, Polly. There’s been plenty of compromise in my life.”
She ignored what he’d said. Instead, she said, “Look at Neil. All you have to do is pick up any newspaper on any day and read about the lobbying scandals, the payoffs to politicians, the fancy junkets, the sleaze. I don’t think Neil ever wanted to take that job with Marshalk, Phil. It was Daddy who pushed him into it because it would help feather his own nest on Capitol Hill.” She paused, head raised, index finger to her lips as though a sudden thought had come to her. “When Neil was a little boy, he wanted to be a garbageman.” She laughed.
“Did he?”
“Yeah. Looks like he got his wish.”
Rotondi let it go and sipped his lemonade. “Mind a bit of a history lesson, Polly, about lobbyists?” He didn’t wait for a response. “Lobbying—in its purest sense—I know, there’s the purity thing again, but many things start out pure and get corrupted along the way. Back when Ulysses S. Grant was president, he’d stroll over from the White House, sit in the lobby of the Willard hotel, enjoy a brandy and a cigar, and—”
“And be approached by men who wanted something from him,” Polly said. “Grant called them lobbyists because they hung around the lobby waiting for him. Neil told me that when he took the job at Marshalk. I think he was trying to justify what he’d done, make it sound, well…”
“Pure.”
“Yeah, pure. Neil gave me the standard speech that lobbying in its
purest
sense was an important part of the political process, that lobbyists help elected officials understand different points of view about a pending bill, that they bring expertise to politicians that the pols don’t have time to research and understand. Poor Neil. He wants so much to be his own man, but he’s never been allowed to. Politics! Purity! What a bunch of hogwash.”
“Look, Polly,” Rotondi said, “this is not the time to argue it. You and your dad and Neil have to pull together in this.”
“To make it look like we’re the all-American family? We aren’t.”
“That doesn’t matter,” he said, standing with the help of his cane. “I have to go. I told Neil I’d call him once I hooked up with you. Take my advice. Cool your jets when it comes to whatever hasn’t been right between you and your father. Your mother deserves that.”
She walked him to the door. He kissed her cheek. She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed tight. “I’m so glad you’re my father’s best friend, Phil. I think you’re the only true friend he has.”
He left wondering whether she might be right.
CHAPTER SEVEN
E verything about the Marshalk Group’s offices was modern, including the support staff. Secretaries and administrative assistants had to possess the requisite skills—word processing, data input, filing acumen, and other routine office responsibilities. But they also had to be young, nicely made up, and with it—a 34-D cup wasn’t overlooked when hiring took place—or young and handsome, slim, well groomed, and impeccably dressed among
“Well,” he said as he handed her the drink—he poured one for himself from a can of lemonade—“your father has been behind some important legislation over the years that has made a difference in some people’s lives.”
“And how many deals did he have to cut to get that legislation through?” she asked angrily. “How many bad bills did he have to sign on to get what
he
wanted?”
“That’s politics, Polly,” said Rotondi, pulling up a chair on the opposite side of a glass coffee table. “Compromise and negotiation. In its purest sense, it’s—”
“Purest sense?” she said. “Come on, Phil, you know there’s nothing pure about politics. My mother really respected you, maybe even envied Kathleen for having you as a husband. You did what you wanted on your own terms, no compromise, no negotiation, just honor.”
“You give me too much credit, Polly. There’s been plenty of compromise in my life.”
She ignored what he’d said. Instead, she said, “Look at Neil. All you have to do is pick up any newspaper on any day and read about the lobbying scandals, the payoffs to politicians, the fancy junkets, the sleaze. I don’t think Neil ever wanted to take that job with Marshalk, Phil. It was Daddy who pushed him into it because it would help feather his own nest on Capitol Hill.” She paused, head raised, index finger to her lips as though a sudden thought had come to her. “When Neil was a little boy, he wanted to be a garbageman.” She laughed.
“Did he?”
“Yeah. Looks like he got his wish.”
Rotondi let it go and sipped his lemonade. “Mind a bit of a history lesson, Polly, about lobbyists?” He didn’t wait for a response. “Lobbying—in its purest sense—I know, there’s the purity thing again, but many things start out pure and get corrupted along the way. Back when Ulysses S. Grant was president, he’d stroll over from the White House, sit in the lobby of the Willard hotel, enjoy a brandy and a cigar, and—”
“And be approached by men who wanted something from him,” Polly said. “Grant called them lobbyists because they hung around the lobby waiting for him. Neil told me that when he took the job at Marshalk. I think he was trying to justify what he’d done, make it sound, well…”
“Pure.”
“Yeah, pure. Neil gave me the standard speech that lobbying in its
purest
sense was an important part of the political process, that lobbyists help elected officials understand different points of view about a pending bill, that they bring expertise to politicians that the pols don’t have time to research and understand. Poor Neil. He wants so much to be his own man, but he’s never been allowed to. Politics! Purity! What a bunch of hogwash.”
“Look, Polly,” Rotondi said, “this is not the time to argue it. You and your dad and Neil have to pull together in this.”
“To make it look like we’re the all-American family? We aren’t.”
“That doesn’t matter,” he said, standing with the help of his cane. “I have to go. I told Neil I’d call him once I hooked up with you. Take my advice. Cool your jets when it comes to whatever hasn’t been right between you and your father. Your mother deserves that.”
She walked him to the door. He kissed her cheek. She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed tight. “I’m so glad you’re my father’s best friend, Phil. I think you’re the only true friend he has.”
He left wondering whether she might be right.
CHAPTER SEVEN
E verything about the Marshalk Group’s offices was modern, including the support staff. Secretaries and administrative assistants had to possess the requisite skills—word processing, data input, filing acumen, and other routine office responsibilities. But they also had to be young, nicely made up, and with it—a 34-D cup wasn’t overlooked when hiring took place—or young and handsome, slim, well groomed, and impeccably dressed among
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