Teddy Davenport had two missions in life. The first was to get his senator re-elected, which frankly didn’t look like it was going to be all that much of a challenge. The second was to secure for himself a cushy job in the private sector with a nice big office; a secretary with an active, overdeveloped body whose moral sense was, shall we say, fluid; so few duties that he could spend the majority of his time on the tennis court (Public Relations would be perfect); and a salary big enough to keep him in the style to which he hadn’t yet had the opportunity to become accustomed. That afternoon in the Wilbur Forest, he saw those two fervent wishes come together in a Eureka moment so intense he felt like the guy must have felt who first thought of putting jelly with peanut butter.
It was all a matter of spin, he figured. First, spin Underhill into believing that if it weren’t for Teddy, Senator Finnerty would never have had the balls to get him his chemical plant, then spin the chemical plant into a great economic boon that was going to revitalize the whole western part of the State, thus getting Finnerty his seat once more and a probable shot at the governorship.
The second was the easiest. He did that sort of crap all the time. Convincing voters that a destructive development was actually good for them required little more than a few plausible lies they wanted to believe and a compliant press who’d take the photos he wanted them to take and not ask too many questions. He had both in his back pocket.
The first was going to be a mite trickier. Before he could strike a deal with Underhill and the Raven Chemical Corp, he had to maneuver himself into a position so crucial to the success of the project that Underhill would believe Teddy alone had the power to greenlight or kill it. Anything less and he’d have nothing to bargain with. He had an idea how to accomplish that but it would take some really creative number-crunching.
He began to lay the foundations in the limo on the ride back to Boston but he could tell almost immediately that it wasn’t going well. As he laid out the potential dangers and offered himself as the natural choice for keeping the process on track, all he got from Underhill were grunts.
“Of course, we do have an election year looming on the horizon and we have to make sure there won’t be a significant backlash on the environmental issue.”
Grunt.
“The Senator can’t afford to be caught on the wrong side here. Voters are very sensitive about the water supply, and the road is sure to be seen as a threat to clean water. The Brewer’s River is a key component of the reservoir system that uses Western Mass’ abundance of water to feed Boston’s needs, in fact the needs of the whole of Eastern Mass. If something happened to make its contribution unusable, Boston voters could discover that there’s no water available in July and August. That isn’t going to sit well.”
Grunt.
“And if word leaks out about the chemical plant, well…. I won’t say you can kiss the project good-bye but it’s going to take some very creative maneuvering, public-relations-wise.”
Grunt grunt.
Teddy had just about run out of things to say when the answer was delivered to him on a silver platter garnished with parsley and baby pearl onions, though it looked an awful lot like his cell phone.
“Yes? Yes. What? How? I see. Thanks. Call me back if you hear anything else.” He snapped the phone shut and sighed as dramatically as he could manage. “Well, that tears it for real.”
Quizzical grunt.
“They know about the plant.”
“They can’t,” Underhill dismissed him. “It’s not possible.”
“It is and I’m afraid they do. Someone heard us talking when we were in the woods this afternoon. By tomorrow morning, there will be a restraining order halting any construction on that section of the river and the day after that, the media will be all over it.”
Underhill groaned. “Goddamn it. They can’t do this to me.”
“They can if we don’t stop them.”
Underhill wasn’t an idiot. He caught the implied promise in Davenport’s tone and peered at him suspiciously. “We? What did you have in mind?”
“You know, you need someone in your PR department who knows how to handle problems like this. Half your troubles would vanish if your image as a friend to the environment were improved. Mind you, you don’t have to be a friend to the environment. You just have to look like one.”
Underhill got the message. “Handle this and we’ll talk.”
Teddy leaned back in the plush leather seat and thought, “I’m going to have to get used to living like this all the time.” Then he looked out the window so Underhill couldn’t see his face and smiled.
