The Garden of Betrayal - Lee Vance [15]
“You’re not thinking about this right,” I said, wishing I could cut through the bitterness and disappointment to the Alex I used to know. “You could become very influential.”
He shrugged and drained his glass, rattling the ice cubes at the barman. I kept quiet against my better judgment, wondering if I was going to have to carry him home.
“That reminds me,” he said, when the barman had left. “I’m supposed to invite you to the NASCAR lunch tomorrow.”
NASCAR was the extant political organization, an informal club that Walter and his protégés had first convened fifteen years earlier to coordinate their initial forays into Washington. The decidedly less high-minded name was an acronym of its closely held mission statement: Never accommodate stupid congressmen and regulators.
“Why me?” I asked.
“Senator Simpson is going to be in. His handler, Clifford White, called today and asked if you could join. The senator has some new thoughts on energy policy.”
Simpson was tipped as an early favorite for the Republican presidential nomination. It surprised me that he’d break bread with Walter and his cronies in the current political climate, but a moment’s reflection led me to wonder whether it mightn’t be a shrewd move. The newspapers would likely be vilifying someone else by the time the election rolled around, and the big money for national campaigns always came from Wall Street.
“Any other guests?” I asked.
“Nikolay Narimanov. White invited him as well.”
Narimanov’s name was more of an enticement to me than Simpson’s. The wealthiest and most successful of the Russian oligarchs who’d risen from the ashes of the Soviet Union, Narimanov had built an energy empire that spanned the globe. I’d been following his companies for years, but I’d never met him.
“That’s kind of unusual, isn’t it?”
“I’m just the messenger boy. Yes or no?”
Meeting Narimanov wasn’t an opportunity to pass up.
“Yes.”
“Okay, then.”
We sat in silence while Alex drank some more. The clown clock struck the hour overhead, hands spinning rapidly in opposite directions. Alex suddenly lurched toward me, spilling vodka onto the table.
“Tell me,” he pleaded, voice thick. “How do you do it?”
“Do what?” I asked, realizing he was about to cry.
“Not despair.”
I laid one hand on his as a tear trickled down the side of his face. After Kyle disappeared, I’d had panic attacks, bouts of crushing chest pain that dropped me to my knees and left me gasping for air. It had taken three separate cardiologists to persuade me that there was nothing physically wrong. The severity of the attacks had lessened through time, but I still felt the tightening in my chest when I got overloaded with work or family stuff.
“Everyone despairs. Trust me. What’s important is to find a reason to keep going. A job you enjoy, or a girl. A family …”
“You had something special. It doesn’t work out for everyone that way.”
I half closed my eyes, waiting a moment for the emotional pain of the thrust to dissipate. It was true. Claire and I had had something special, with each other and with the kids. Alex was the product of a bitter divorce, one that had left him and his mother estranged from his father and laid the groundwork for his obsession. I took a deep breath and plunged on.
“Sometimes it does, and sometimes it doesn’t. But it makes me sick to see you beating yourself up because you think you’re letting Walter down. You’re his son. You shouldn’t have to grovel for his affection.”
Alex rubbed his hairline again, nodded without meeting my eye, and threw back the rest of his vodka.
“You’re right,” he slurred. “I’m his son.” He got up, almost overturning the table. “I have to go now.”
“Back to the office?” I asked apprehensively.
“No.” He flapped one hand at me vaguely. “I have to be somewhere. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I trailed a few feet behind as he staggered out the door and flagged a taxi. He fell into the rear seat and slumped sideways as it drove away. Rubbing the back of my neck with one hand, I realized my underarms were damp with sweat. I hadn’t known he was drinking this