Murder on K Street - Margaret Truman [31]
“I hear it’s expensive,” Rotondi said.
“Hey, pal, it’ll be my treat.” He held up his hand against the expected protest. “I insist. What’s a few bucks when I can play Cupid for my best buddy? We’re on?”
Rotondi smiled. “Yeah. Thanks, Lyle. We’re on.”
The restaurant was faux Venice with murals of gondolas plying the canals and statues of nymphs spouting water through their mouths. Simmons was in his usual gregarious mood during the drive there, and continued to dominate the conversation at the table as a succession of courses were delivered; wineglasses were never empty.
“What does your father do?” Jeannette asked Simmons at one point in the conversation.
“Real estate in Chicago. He owns half of Lake Shore Drive.”
“Will you be going into business with him when you graduate?” Cynthia asked.
“Not me. I’m off to law school, U of Chicago. I tried to get my buddy here to come along, but he’s heading for Maryland. After that, who knows? I like politics.”
“Law school?” Jeannette asked Rotondi.
“Yup.”
“What does your dad do, Phil?” Cynthia asked.
He deflected the question with one of his own. “What’s your goal after graduation?” he asked.
She laughed loudly. “To marry a rich guy, have a bunch of kids, and live happily ever after.”
“How about you, Jeannette?” Simmons asked. “Same goal?”
“I’d like to teach English back home for a while,” she said. Her laugh was gentler. “So my dad doesn’t think he wasted money on my education. But sure, someday I’d like to be married and have a family.” She said to Simmons, “You want to go into politics?”
“I think so.”
“He’ll be president someday,” Rotondi said.
“Will you really?” Cynthia said with mock awe.
“Maybe,” Simmons replied. “Politics is where the action is. Everything that happens comes out of politics.”
“A lot of bad things,” said Cynthia.
“I like politics,” Jeannette said. “I worked back home in Connecticut on some local campaigns.”
“I bet you were good at campaigning,” Lyle said.
“I worked hard,” she said.
“The way I see it,” Lyle said, “I…”
The discussion of their respective goals went on for the rest of the meal. Rotondi, always a good listener, took in what they said without offering many comments of his own. His goals, he decided, weren’t worth discussing. He’d always been a tightly focused person, comfortable dealing with the here and now and convinced that overall success was achieved by a series of smaller successes, one upon another—excel on today’s exam, win today’s game, chase the next goal, and face the next challenge as each came, one at a time. The others at the table spoke in more sweeping terms about their futures than he preferred to contemplate. He recognized that his approach to life might be termed shortsighted by those with distant visions. Having money helped fuel grandiosity, he knew. For him, there hadn’t been the luxury of dreams beyond the day’s challenge. And that was all right. He was comfortable with it—and with himself.
Later, Rotondi and Simmons sat in their room.
“Thanks for treating us,” Phil said.
“My pleasure,” said Lyle.
“Cynthia’s very nice,” Phil said.
“She’s okay. She’s not the brightest bulb in the drawer but it’s not her brains that attract me. Speaking of brains, you’ve landed yourself a real winner, all that beauty—and brains, too.”
“I really like Jeannette.”
“That’s pretty obvious, Phil. I assume you’ll be seeing her again.”
“She’s—well, I’m not sure she’s for me.”
Simmons laughed. “You talk like you’re thinking of marrying her.”
Rotondi joined the laughter. “The last thing I’m thinking about is getting married, Lyle. I’ve got law school ahead of me and getting a career started before I marry anyone. I just like being with her.”
“She’s obviously money, Phil. Getting hitched to her could make getting through law school a breeze and set you up with a nice, fat law practice.”
Rotondi searched for something on his desk rather than responding. Lyle often viewed things from