The Kingmaker's Redemption

Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

As promised, Jack hurried home from work to spend time with Maya. As he drove, Jack reflected on how he and Sandy had met nine years earlier when Jack was doing the PR for an event to commemorate a new wing at the art museum. Sandra Freeman, “call me Sandy,” was the assistant to the managing director of the museum. They had worked together planning the event and took an immediate liking to one another.

She was smart, funny, and very attractive. Jack had long been a bachelor and was not easily infatuated. In Sandy, however, he found that certain someone who totally captivated him. She, too, was taken in. He was tall, dark, and handsome, not to mention accomplished. The romance moved quickly. They were living together within a few weeks and married less than a year later. Now they were adversaries in a crumbling marriage.

Jack arrived as Maya was finishing her favorite meal, macaroni and cheese. Sandy nodded hello and vacated the kitchen quickly when he arrived.

“Daddy, want some mac and cheese? Mommy made lots.”

“No thanks, honey. I have a dinner meeting later.” Jack grabbed a Pabst Blue Ribbon from the refrigerator instead.

“I thought we were going to have a story night and everything.” Maya pouted.

“We are. My meeting doesn’t start until after your bedtime.”

“You work too much.” Maya sounded very much like her mother.

Jack couldn’t disagree. “You’re right. But I’m home now so let’s have some fun.”

“It’s story time,” she squealed as they adjourned to her bedroom.

Jack spent the next hour and a half by Maya’s bed telling her stories. Some he read, some he made up. They all had happy endings, which, like all fathers, he wanted Maya’s life story to have. He promised her silently he would do everything he possibly could so his little princess lived happily ever after.

After tucking her in and telling her the story of the turtle who became a handsome prince, he turned out the light and headed to the garage. On the way out, he encountered Sandy in the kitchen cleaning up.

“I’m really sorry about Monday. I know it will be a hassle rescheduling. It was unintentional, I assure you,” he said in his most conciliatory manner.

“I’ve reset it for Wednesday at two. I trust you can make it.”

“I have a twelve-thirty lunch date. It will be tight, but I can make it work.”

“See that you do.”

Jack resisted the temptation to respond. It would only end in rancor and cause him to be late for his dinner meeting. He left saying nothing further.

Jack accepted for the first time that his marriage was actually over. He had hoped somehow, someway he could save it. His feelings for her hadn’t gone away but Sandy was so bitter and full of blame directed at Jack, and there would be nothing he could do to stop it. It was time to move on, and no one would be a better sounding board than his dinner companion, Mickey Martin.

Mickey had been the first big-name client of Jack’s firm. In fact, he was Jack’s first client period. Jack moved to Lakeville from Milwaukee in 1992 after a four-year stint with Blackburn & Benjamin. B&B was the premier PR agency in Milwaukee and probably the entire Midwest. Jack had always wanted to be involved in the political campaign side of the firm but was stymied by his boss, Norman Dudley, who ran that department and didn’t care for Jack at all. Jack was the young up-and-comer, and Norman Dudley was old school. They clashed at every intersection. Jack knew if politics were to be in his immediate future, it would not be at B&B.

Jack’s big break came when Mickey called and announced he was running for Circuit Court Judge in Lakeville and wanted him to run the campaign. Jack jumped at the chance and bolted from B&B to open McKay & Associates.

Mickey was an old family friend, having met Jack’s father when Mickey defended some of the union workers involved in a highly publicized picket-line scuffle during a labor dispute. In those days, Mickey was ever the people’s champion, always rising up to protect the oppressed and unfairly accused. He relished being the underdog in a case. His reputation grew after winning numerous high-profile cases against enormous odds. He was a larger-than-life character, sort of a combination of Rocky Balboa and Robin Hood.

As esteemed as he was as a defense attorney, it was as a circuit court judge where Mickey did his best and most important work. He was known throughout the county as the most fair and impartial arbiter of justice in the court system. It was rare to find a judge so universally praised by both defense and prosecuting attorneys.

In his first election campaign, Mickey had fierce competition from the Party. Jack was masterful in exploiting Mickey’s reputation as the people’s champion fighting against the big political machine. Ironically, that campaign ultimately brought the Party to Jack’s doorstep, retainer in hand. Jack’s first and possibly greatest political accomplishment was getting Mickey elected to the bench in 1993. Fifteen years later, Mickey would be standing on the other side of the same bench.

Easing the Lexus onto the freeway, Jack dialed Mickey’s number on his cell phone.

Mickey answered quickly, “Jack, how are you?”

“How did you know it was me?”

“The powers of deductive reasoning, my dear Watson,” Mickey said in a poor imitation. “I was expecting your call. I seldom get any others except solicitations, so it was a good guess. Anyway, I had my housekeeper program special rings for certain callers. Amazing devices these new phones. Even a blind man like me can have caller ID.”

Mickey teased about modern technology even though he’d had one for years.

“What would you like to eat? I can bring something in, or we can go out,” Jack offered.

“Let’s go to Scarfido’s. I’d love a pizza and some garlic bread.”

“Sounds great. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

Mickey was legally blind, the result of a horrific car accident seven years ago on Valentine’s Day. He was an alcoholic, and that night he was driving home drunk from a romantic evening out with his wife, Dolores. Mickey had lost control of the car and drove into a ditch, flipping his Oldsmobile over four times. Dolores was thrown from the car and killed. Mickey suffered multiple broken bones and head trauma, rendering him almost completely blind. He endured a long, painful recovery in the hospital followed by an equally painful court battle on felony charges for drunk driving and manslaughter. Most of all, he suffered the painful loss of his wife and family.

Dolores had been the center of his universe for more than thirty years. She shared his life in every way. On that fateful night, he’d not only lost the love of his life, but he’d lost the love of his daughter, Roberta. Bobbie, as she was called, could not forgive him and subsequently moved to Madison. They had not spoken since.

His life was shattered. His wife was dead, his daughter was estranged, his career and eyesight were gone, and he only had himself and his alcoholism to blame. After a successful plea bargain, Mickey did thirty-nine months for involuntary manslaughter in a minimum-security facility in Allenton. It was there where he started to put his life back together. After overcoming the physical effects of withdrawal, he attended Alcoholics Anonymous meetings to work on his sobriety and emotional scars. His salvation was the only way to acknowledge Dolores’s sacrifice. Mickey studied the disease and wrote articles on alcoholism treatment and worked to draft legislation to fund programs that assisted the afflicted and their families. He had found a new purpose for his life.

When Jack drove up in front of Mickey’s, His Honor was sitting on the porch in one of his unusual costumes enjoying the beautiful fall evening. Mickey had always been the Antichrist of sartorial splendor, but after he lost thirty pounds in prison and stopped drinking, his appearance got downright silly. Mickey hated to spend money, particularly on clothes, so he refused to buy anything new that fit his current physique. So, there he was, all of five-six, looking like a fourteen-year-old boy going to a junior high school dance wearing his father’s blue blazer. A green- and white-striped shirt over madras plaid pants completed the comical ensemble.

“It’s nice to see you, Mickey. Dressed to the nines as always,” Jack opined.

“I wish I could return the compliment,” Mickey joked. Mickey’s blindness wasn’t total. He lived in a visual fog, only able to make out vague shapes and varying degrees of light. He saw just enough to allow him to live on his own. Fiercely independent, he took great pride in navigating without assistance.

“You see a whole lot more than you let on. I wish I had your powers of observation.”

“And my good looks,” Mickey playfully added.

“Enough with the amusing pleasantries. Let’s get going. I’m hungry and I have some serious stuff to discuss with you.” Jack took Mickey’s arm.

“My counsel comes at significant cost,” said Mickey.

“So I’m buying dinner again?”

“Yes. My pension from prison is meager,” Mickey lamented tongue-in-cheek.

“Are you kidding me? You still have your confirmation money. I’m only buying dinner because I feel sorry for you, you cantankerous, old sot.”

“Insults. You expect me to be an enjoyable dinner companion and to give you the benefit of my infinite wisdom and you insult me. I should turn around and go back in the house.”

“You won’t.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re hungry and I’m buying. Besides, you know I love you.”

“I do, but I still won’t sleep with you.”

It was good to know the playful repartee had never been lost.

On the way to Scarfido’s Pizza, Jack laid out the firm’s dilemma with PetroMark and Davies. Then he rounded out the story with the call from Lindsay Revelle.

“Well,” Mickey said, pausing for emphasis, “Peter’s solution is certainly the easiest and most prudent. You can probably get off the hook with the Party citing your ongoing representation with PetroMark. Randall Davies will most likely hit the ceiling, but you’d be able to move on without burning that bridge. That is, if you don’t sign on with Revelle.”

“Agreed.”

“But you seem intrigued with Revelle. Is it that you feel an affinity toward him because you were both jocks who turned out to have more to offer than a sweet fifteen-foot jump shot?”

“First of all, I rode the pines for four years in Madison. I’d hardly call myself a jock. Lindsay Revelle is a Rhodes Scholar. A well-respected man of ideas. The fact he averaged over twenty points per game in college and was known as ‘Ring the Bell Revelle’ has nothing to do with it.”

“Spoken like a true PR man. Are you sure he hasn’t hired you already?”

Without answering, Jack pulled into a parking space in front of the restaurant and took Mickey inside. Scarfido’s was a Lakeville classic. It opened in 1953 and hadn’t been updated since. Top-notch thin-crust pizza had made them the local favorite among those who preferred the wafer-thin, crisp variety to the deep-dish Chicago style. The crowded bar area still smelled of cigarette smoke from the past. The feisty waitresses scurried about the dining room serving pizza and drinks to hungry patrons seated at tables and booths covered in plastic tablecloths.

They made their way to their customary corner table in the back of the dining room. The waitress knew they didn’t need menus. Mickey agreed to share their usual, a large cheese and sausage along with an order of garlic bread, but with one caveat. “I’ll share, but no pepperoni.” Getting down to the business at hand, Mickey put both hands on the table and leaned towards Jack.

Listen. The real question is whether or not you’re willing to risk your livelihood for what you believe in. And frankly, you’re not even sure what you believe in since you haven’t yet met with Revelle. You must be expecting a Revelle-ation,” he quipped.

Jack smiled. “Your puns are getting worse in your old age. It’s not that all of a sudden. If I’ve gotten religion, it’s because I need a change from doing what’s expected or easy. I want to enjoy the challenge which can only come when the outcome is in doubt.”

“Sounds like religion to me.”

“Come on, Mickey. I’m talking about changing my life here.”

“Why the sudden revelation? Sorry, I mean new direction for your life. Is there something more going on here you haven’t shared with me?” Mickey said

“Well, there is one small thing. Sandy wants a divorce,” Jack replied sarcastically.

“Small thing, hmm. I’d hate for you to omit any big things.”

“That’s it for now. What’s your advice?”

“Stay away from the pepperoni. It’ll talk back to you all night. The last time I had the pepperoni, I drank an entire bottle of Maalox.”

“Mickey!” Jack growled, wanting Mickey to get back to the subject at hand.

“OK. I’m giving no marriage counseling, but it certainly complicates matters. You’re going to have to seek advice on that subject elsewhere. I will, however, be watching out for Maya’s wellbeing. I take that responsibility of being a Godfather very seriously. As far as your career is concerned, you obviously need to meet with Revelle and decide if he is the man you think he is. If in fact he is, you owe your associates an in-depth explanation of your position and together you need to decide what’s best for all concerned. They have a tremendous stake in all of this, particularly Peter. The long-term implications for the firm are enormous.”

“You’re right on all counts.

They laughed and made small talk for the balance of the evening. Mickey never let on, but Jack could feel the worry in his voice. The road ahead was going to be rough. Some very deep potholes were approaching at breakneck speed.