The Kingmaker's Redemption

Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

The band was playing “Happy Days Are Here Again” as the newly elected candidate proclaimed victory, smiling to the cheering crowd with both arms raised above his head like a victorious prizefighter. “Seashells and balloons! Seashells and balloons!” Jack said, quoting former basketball coach Al McGuire. Not that he would have been heard over the cheers anyway. These election victory celebrations were opportunities for revelry, not conversation.

Jack McKay had guided another candidate through the morass of a special election campaign and brought him home a winner. On to the state legislature for Brian Gordon. Jack had done the same for Bill Richards, the current assemblyman who had resigned mid-term due to ill health, thus necessitating the special election. The Liberty Party would surely be most appreciative. Jack had again saved the district from the dreaded Opposition, a fact which was underscored by a tap on his shoulder.

“Nice job, Jack,” Randall Davies, the local Party chairman, bellowed as he pulled Jack into the hallway. “You’ve brought in another one.”

There was Jack, at a little over six feet tall, handsome, with salt-and-pepper hair, standing toe to toe with Randall, who was at least five inches shorter, balding, with a paunch and an unlit cigar in his hand. The two looked like something straight from central casting for a film noir drama.

“It was particularly difficult this time. Your boy actually had an opponent.”

Davies smiled. “Winning the unopposed races are equally important. Your ability to keep people out of a race is a wonderful byproduct of your many successes.”

“And the Party’s clout in the area doesn’t hurt either,” admitted Jack.

“Don’t sell yourself short, my boy. Power, money, and expertise are a winning formula. We supply the first two and you bring us home with the third.”

“Some would call it an unholy alliance.”

“Not at all.” Davies smirked. “It’s what moves our whole political system. Without influence, resources, and know-how, we’d only have ideas. And ideas are like an automobile—if you don’t have gasoline and a driver they go nowhere.”

“Wow, Randall. That’s deep.”

Jack knew full well that Davies’s idea of resources and knowhow included using any and all means necessary to achieve his objectives.

“So much for political theory,” said Davies. “I’ve got some business to discuss with you. We’d like to engage your firm to run our candidate for Congress. The primary is just a few months off, and we need to get started before the Opposition gets organized.”

The Reform Party had long struggled to gain a foothold in Wisconsin, and when the media dubbed them as the “Opposition,” the name stuck.

“So, who will you be running?” Jack asked.

“My son, William,” Davies said proudly.

His choice was an obvious one. Having his son in Congress would provide the perfect surrogate for Davies to achieve his objectives.

William was currently the head of the County Business Development Commission, an appointment his father had arranged by calling in a couple of markers. It was a visible enough position to get William’s name out, and one that allowed him to curry favor with the voters. A few well-placed, revenue-producing programs went a long way.

“Unopposed in the Party primary, I assume,” Jack said.

“Yes, and hopefully all the way to Washington,” Davies said proudly.

“Randall, I’m sure the Opposition will run someone. They can’t let a Congressional seat go unopposed.”

“True, but if we pull out all the stops early on, they will only put out a sacrificial lamb. They won’t waste a potentially strong candidate on a losing cause. We’re shooting for virtually unopposed.”

“Sounds like you’ve got this all figured out. Why do you need me?”

“You’re the expert, remember? And why do I have to sell you on this?” Davies smiled. “Here’s another guaranteed winner I’m dropping in your lap. A six-figure retainer to ride a shoe-in. Explain to me why you’re not, at this very moment, waving a contract in my face.”

“I just love it when you get angry,” Jack joked. “I’ll give it every consideration.”

He offered his hand. Davies took it and held it firmly in his enormous mitt. “I will hear from you by the end of next week.” It was a statement of fact, not a question.

“You will,” Jack assured him.

Davies released Jack’s hand and walked briskly away.

As Jack left the hall, he took a moment to reflect. He was a very skilled PR man. His specialization in getting candidates elected was unmatched, but had he turned into a puppet for the Liberty Party? He had worked for Reform Party candidates from time to time, but when the Liberty Party called, he always answered and ultimately delivered. The Liberty Party dominated the political landscape in southeast Wisconsin, gaining so much overwhelming influence that they had become known simply as “the Party,” and Jack had played a major role in that. Was it something to be proud of or just a way to make a living? Either way, he had most assuredly made a fine living.

His PR firm now had sixteen associates with clients ranging from major consumer products companies to candidates for the school board. In Lakeville, if you wanted to promote your product or your candidacy, you contracted with McKay & Associates.

While the firm was well respected in all areas, Jack specialized in politics. He was most skilled in getting hired to promote a candidate. His reputation was such that just his being retained was often enough to keep the opposing candidates at home. Capitalizing on a “hire me or I’ll find someone to run against you and make sure that they kick your ass” modus operandi, he intimidated numerous unopposed candidates into paying him to do nothing except to keep them unopposed. He rationalized that they got elected so they received fair value.

It did not, however, do much for his self-esteem, which was already waning. The cynical nature of the job was obviously taking a toll.

Jack hurried to his car in the crowded Marriott parking lot. It was a typical cool autumn night. This time of year, the brisk breeze off Lake Michigan was a sure sign that the seasons were changing. So, too, was his life.

The twenty-minute drive home gave him enough time to collect himself for the uncomfortable encounter that awaited him. It would be nothing unusual. A cool greeting from his wife Sandy, followed by a warm, adoring hug from his daughter Maya. It reminded him strangely of a hot fudge sundae, cold and hot all at once. That was his home life, a hot fudge sundae.

He was sleeping in the guest bedroom these days. Sandy was, as always, a warm and loving mom who took great pains to keep their home life as close to normal as possible. When Maya was around, Sandy was civil to Jack but showed no signs of affection toward him. Maya knew something was up but didn’t seem to be overly fazed by it. Six-year-olds were very perceptive, but Jack was convinced that her interpretation of what was going on was that Mommy and Daddy were mad at each other over some grown-up issue and that it would pass. Sandy was not about to let it pass.

Their house was one of those nouveau Tudors. It was enormous, almost six thousand square feet, and made to look like a seventeenth-century country estate in the Cotswolds. He parked the Lexus in the three-car garage and entered his castle.

“Maya, it’s time for bed,” Sandy ordered after Jack received his welcome-home hug from his gleeful daughter.

“Daddy just got here. Five more minutes, please!” Maya pleaded, pulling on her pigtails. She was small but nonetheless formidable when pleading her case.

“Daddy will tuck you in and that will be your five minutes.” Sandy had negotiated this before and was, like with this round, most often victorious.

Jack, the master dealmaker, was merely a bystander in these negotiations.

“Okay,” Maya conceded as she headed off to get ready for bed.

Jack turned to Sandy and told her, “You’re great at that.” He meant it.

“If only I had that kind of influence with you,” Sandy bemoaned. Her bright green eyes showed both anger and sadness.

“Listen, I have always respected your wishes,” Jack said as he stood. Even his seven-inch height advantage was no match for Sandy’s intensity.

“Let’s not have that discussion right now. It will only escalate, and we need to get Maya to bed. Tonight’s a school night, and it’s already an hour after her bedtime.”

“Fine, I’ll put her to bed and then we can put the boxing gloves on,” Jack said,

Sandy said nothing, but the tears in her eyes spoke volumes. Brokenness that had no tool for fixing. Where there was once a bright burning flame, he saw only a single ember, kept aglow for their daughter’s sake.

As ordered, Maya had gone to her stuffed-animal-filled room and was lying in bed when Jack entered. “Daddy, tell me a story,” she begged. Funny how all kids invoked that line to buy a few more minutes before lights out.

“Not tonight,” Jack responded. “It’s already way past your bedtime. I’ll owe you an extra one tomorrow.”

“All right, two stories tomorrow. Good, long ones with monsters and a princess and a turtle who’s really a handsome prince.”

“I thought it was supposed to be a frog who’s really a prince.”

“I like turtles better.”

“You also like to stall. Good night, little lady.”

“Good night, Daddy.”

Sitting on the edge of Maya’s bed, he kissed her, and then hugged her a little tighter than usual. Turning out the light, he closed the door and returned to the living room knowing that he had to go a few rounds with Sandy before he could rest.

“She’s in bed now. Let the games begin,” Jack kidded as he sat down in his usual spot, the leather armchair across from Sandy’s position on the couch.

Sandy kept a straight face. “It’s sad that you think this is in some way funny. Our marriage is ending. Our daughter will be devastated, and you see it as some kind of game.”

“What do you want from me? I’m only trying to be civil. A little humor makes it easier for me to deal with all this.”

“I didn’t see it as humor so much as trivializing our sorry state of affairs.”

“At least affairs aren’t part of our problem.”

“As far as I know,” she said sarcastically as she poured herself a glass of Merlot.

“Now who’s being pejorative,” he shot back.

“Okay. Let civility reign.”

“Sandy, I still love you and want a chance to try to save our marriage.”

“I know you do, but your version of love and mine are not in sync. I need to be the center of your universe along with Maya, of course. Your career consumes you to the point where there is almost nothing left for her and me. It would be unfair for me to ask you to change, even if I thought it possible. Which I don’t.”

“So, I get no chance to prove you wrong?” Jack poured himself a drink.

“No. I want out and expect you to go through with the collaborative divorce meeting on Monday. If we do this thing cooperatively, we can save a lot of pain for all of us, especially Maya.”

“Okay. But can I ask you one question?”

She nodded.

“Do you still love me?”

“I still love the memory of the man I married. Unfortunately, that man is long gone.”

This was feeling more and more like a prizefight, Jack thought. Lefts, rights, rounds won and lost. He decided it was time to throw in the towel.

“Fine. Monday then. I have a late dinner meeting tomorrow, but I’ll be home first to spend some quality time with Maya.”

“Good. I’m going to bed.”

Jack flipped on the TV and turned to the news. There was the victorious Brian Gordon with his hands thrust above his head like a football referee signaling a made field goal.

The newscaster reported, “The Liberty Party has retained the District Forty-Two seat in the state legislature. This win allows them to maintain their legislative majority.” Jack drifted off to sleep knowing that he had had a successful day on at least one front.