Citizen Hughes - Michael Drosnin [162]
“Here, finally, is the first installment of names for the invitation list,” Hughes announced triumphantly.
“I have marked 3 of the names OK.
“I give my complete blessing to your going ahead and phoning these men.
“What time do you desire to ask them to arrive?
“As I understand it, there will be no written invitations. That is important.”
Three names. And one small problem. Hughes had still not told Maheu the opening date. He could not even invite the three guests Hughes had grudgingly approved.
Three. Maheu had been working day and night for weeks to put together the big party, having to call on all his skills as a clandestine operative to pull it off despite Hughes’s best efforts at sabotage. He had again gone without sleep to prepare the final revised guest list and humor his mad boss. Here was his reward. Three guests. No food. No opening date.
Maheu finally snapped.
“Howard, I really don’t know what you are trying to do to me,” he wrote more in pain than in anger, “but if your desire is to place me in a state of complete depression you are succeeding.
“Howard, I don’t mind making myself available to you every moment of the day, 24 hours a day. It is a hell of a sacrafice to do so, but your staff can verify that in the last 2½ years they have never spent but a few moments to locate me. I feel, however, that all of my efforts to cooperate with you in this matter are becoming an exercise of complete futility.
“Now, Howard, I am getting pretty damned disturbed about what seems to be developing into a compulsive need to give Bob hell,” he added, his anger rising. “I find it very depressing to pick up the telephone and, practically in each instance of the recent past, I am catching hell for what I did, or what I did not do. I am being second-guessed at each corner.”
The longer Maheu went on, the angrier he got. Finally, the scheming Jesuit lost all control, forgot his cold calculations, stopped caring about the consequences, and, as if this absurd party were what really counted, allowed himself to get drawn fully into the Landmark brawl.
“Now, Howard, this may come to you as a shock, but we are soon entering the realm of not being believable.
“All I know is that we have an opening taking place in a few days. Everyone seems prepared for it, except you. There have been many hours of sweat and blood poured into this project, and all we need is evidence of confidence from you. After all, Howard, in the last analysis, only you have something to gain or lose. In my present state of mind, I couldn’t care less if it takes place or not.”
But Maheu did care. Cared deeply. This was his party. It was his sweat and blood that had gone into planning it. And it was he, not Hughes, who was going to be up there in that bubble when the whole thing blew up.
“Howard, all I can tell you in conclusion, is that I have no desire to be identified with a fiasco. But if you are so hell-bent on being the author of one, I am afraid that there is nothing else I can do to prevent you from accomplishing just that.
“If this whole thing means nothing to you, why in the hell should I be concerned about it?
“The opening, if we have one, is now only a few days away, and, as much as I want to help you, we have almost, already, run out of time.
“It is becoming urgent that we announce a definite date.
“If, on the other hand, Howard, you would prefer that I not be involved at all in the Landmark caper, just simply tell me, and you will never live long enough to see how quickly this Frenchman can make the disappearing act thru the nearest escape hatch.”
This was the moment Hughes had been waiting for. Maheu had finally taken the bait. Now it was time to reel him in.
“I am sorry,” Hughes wrote with a heavy heart that barely concealed his secret satisfaction, “but I cannot give a go-ahead on the Landmark until the situation of disaccord which has developed between us is put