A Revolutionary Romance Page 2

  “Oh," she said sharply. An uneasy silence passed between them. "I’m so – "

  “Sorry. I know. You’re sorry. We’re all sorry. Now, if you’ll please excuse me, I have an appointment coming through the door right now."

  “Of course,” she said gently, turning to walk through his office door and out into the public office only to have her path crossed by a sprightly stepping Tom Jefferson coming through Jack's lobby door.

  “Ms. Franklin, delightful to see you again,” he said, smiling.

  “Senator Jefferson,” she said, extending her gloved talons, “it's my great pleasure and honor to welcome you to the Founders Committee.”

  And so they babbled mercilessly on beyond his range of hearing because, wanting to prevent nausea, Jack had returned to his desk to shuffle through the morning flotsam before the previous English voice made its way to his office door.

  “I can't believe it! Did you hear? I’m in!” Thomas said/

  “Yes, I’ve heard, believe me,” Jack said dourly. “Now come in and close the door before that arrogant, uptight old biddy comes back in here. Enjoy your little Mr. Smith moment on the Senate steps?”

  “Did I look like I was?”

  “Some of us wouldn't know. Some of us have to go through six years in Congress before we can graduate to the Senate. Some of us go Hollywood, serve one term in Congress, take the Senate in a year, and end up giving Mr. Smith epistles on the Senate steps."

  T.J. smiled playfully. “Don’t be jealous, Jack.”

  “I’m not jealous, T.J., I’m resentful. There’s a difference. Now, why have you chosen to go slumming in the office of a political capital-poor Senator who barely squeaked by his election when your rainbow flag waving acolytes are waiting for you in the streets below?”

  Jefferson grinned. “I’ve come bearing an invitation. The monument people want us both to unveil the refurbishments to Independence Hall. They asked that I bring the idea to you personally."

  Jack squinted with a thousand suspicions. "I can certainly see why. I mean, just last month you unveiled the redo of the Jefferson monument too. I suppose my invitation to unveil the Adams monument should be coming soon. Oh, no, wait, that’s right, President John Adams doesn’t have a national monument, does he?”

  Jefferson laughed and shook his head. “Christ, here we go again.”

  Jack squinted on, smirking with even great misgivings. “Yes, President John Adams, founding father, member of the continental congress, signer of the Declaration of Independence, first US Vice-President, and second US President doesn’t have a national monument. I keep forgetting, just like they do. So why would they remember me now? And why not come themselves?"

  "Perhaps it's setting a new trend. You certainly rag on them about it often enough. As for me being here in their place, well, for some unfathomable reason, it seems they’re afraid of you.”

  Jack shook his head, flipped open his laptop and hit the spacebar for the screen. He struck the keys for his business schedule. “Knowing you, you've already checked with Taneesha. You will already know that my schedule is free for whenever this is to take place --”

  T.J. grinned more widely. “Tomorrow at 2 PM. And yes, I've already asked."

  Jack shut his laptop. “Plenty of advance notice, I see. Very well, as I have sunk one paw in the tar pit of destiny already, I'll just surrender. Shall we drive in together or did you plan to have your leather-wearing minion hand-carry you triumphantly through the streets of Philadelphia?”

  “That’s a little ostentatious, don’t you think, Jackie? Let’s drive in together. Looks green, saves gas. I should warn you, Senator Paulson, as we'll be alone for some time on the road together, you’re really quite adorable when you’re sarcastic.”

  “As my late wife would assure you, I am always adorable. Tomorrow at nine say?”

  “Nine-thirty.”

  “That's right, I forgot all about your beauty sleep.”

  So the plan had been for Jack to jog up 14th Street to Constitution instead of his usual path down Independence Avenue. That change would nail another few minutes onto his daily pace to safely and plausibly make him reach the Senate by 9:45 am. This would make for a thoroughly innocent, or arguably so, degree of lateness which would force T.J. to leave DC without him. Even if T.J. waited, Jack would have the excuse of needing to change into his suit and then he would still be pardoned with an acceptable reason for absence. And he’d evade another hideous public appearance. Thank. God.

  But it seemed that T.J.'s counter-insurgency plan had been to drive up Independence to Constitution to see which route Jack took. At roughly 9:20 am, Jack heard the hideously annoying meep of Tom’s hybrid horn as the car pulled up at his side.

  “Lucky I found you!” Tom called over, popping open the door.

  Jack slowed his pace to a momentary plod. He stopped in his tracks, undisturbed by the threat of leg cramps while in the face of this gently looming hell.

  “Yes … lucky …” he said, his words chugging out with each breath. He pulled his neck towel around to dab at his face. He remembered and gestured down at his sweats. “Too bad I don't have time to change though.”

  “Yes, you do. I nicked a suit from the spares in your office closet. We’ll dodge by the truck stop off Manhattan on our way out of town. You can shower and change there.” He popped open the door. “Come on, be a man, stop pouting, get in.”

  Jack firmly exhaled, closing his eyes. He shook his head, resigned to his fate and climbed into the car. He settled into the seat and yanked on the seat belt to connect it. “At least turn on the air conditioning, would you?”

  Tom buzzed down Jack's window instead. “Air conditioning is bad for you.”

  “Worse for me than DC air? Get real!”

  “Yes, worse for you. Now shut up and stop moping. You agreed to this so act like a grown-up and deal with it.”

  “Yes, Marmee."

  “Who the hell is Marmee?”

  “The mother in Little Women, of course,” Jack said, scowling. “You’ve never read Little Women?”

  “Funnily enough, I don’t read books for little girls,” T.J said with a smirk.

  “Little Women is a fine piece of American literature. Anyway, I read everything when I was a kid. I'm secure enough in my masculinity to admit it.”

  Tom grinned to himself again. "You really thought you'd get away with that, I suppose?"

  “With reading Little Women?”

  “No, with that nakedly puerile attempt to avoid going to this unveiling with me.”

  Jack shrugged, glaring at him sullenly before turning his face toward the window. "I had hope. I don't suppose I could persuade you to let me grab a motel room for an hour rather than force me to shower at a truck stop."

  "Not enough time. Thanks to you. You're the son of a truck driver. You'll manage."

  The truck stop sat atop a kind of earth-built belvedere which provided a nice view of the interstate and Virginia in one direction. The lot was semi-crowded, quite literally, with every imaginable make of truck. It was early on a workday. Thankfully, there wouldn't be a line.

  Tom cracked open his newspaper and, without once looking up, gestured to the door. "Remember the suit. And your shaving kit."

  "Yes, Marmee," Jack shot back and leaned over to snag the black suit and accoutrements with which Tom had so thoughtfully accommodated him. He popped open the door and dragged himself and the suit toward a sign that read "Manhattan Tower Truck Stop -- SHOWERS THAT WAY".

  Jack had seen the good and decent man who was his father drag in, dirty and dragon-eyed, off enough long haul routes that Jack was not in the least afraid of the majority of dirty, dragon-eyed people who turned to look at him as he made his way to the shower.

  A couple of them smiled wanly in recognition of him. Probably vaguely recognizing him from CNN or CSPAN, he decided. He smiled. He nodded. He just wanted to curl up and die.

  The coin-op shower thankfully took paper dollars. He shoved o
ne in, went inside and did everything he had to in as brief a time as humanly possible. Finally, he stepped into the locking dressing room to throw on his city duds.

  As he walked up toward Tom's car, the trunk popped open with a hush. The implication was clear. Jack stored his sweats there and slammed the trunk closed.

  "You're insufferable," Jack said, climbing in and yanking down his seat belt again.

  "Thank you," Tom said. "By the way, you always look smashing in that."

  Jack leaned back a little, staring over at his friend in near amazement. "Good lord, was that an actual compliment?"

  "One should give the devil his due, I always say." He buzzed up the window then leaned over to click on a dashboard switch. "And now that we've deodorized you, we can switch on the AC."

  "Will you look at it?" T.J. murmured as they pulled into Independence Mall's special guest parking area. He hung halfway out the window while he steered them into the lot. He beamed his usual Independence Hall smile. "Isn't it magnificent?"

  "They painted wood and fixed floors, T.J., they didn't bedeck it in sapphires and saffron. Anyway, can we please temper your Independence Hall orgiastic glee just a little so you don't completely embarrass the crap out of me this time?"

  Jefferson shut his eyes and breathed it all in. "You can just smell the history."

  "Actually, I think that's the trash dumpster across the street," Jack said though his friend hadn't heard him. Thomas had sprung from the car already and started walking quickly in the building's direction.

  The front of the building wore a big red, white and blue plastic shroud that would have looked tacky on a used car lot. Here, it transcended the merely tacky to aspire toward a tragically chic, high-end glitz.

  "Unbelievable," Jack said. "They manage to take classic architecture and make it look like Glitter Gulch."

  "See!" T.J. said with a triumphant smile. "I knew you loved it! You were just going on to cover your tracks."

  "I recognize its importance enough that I don't want it to look like a whore house tourist attraction ... even if it is one. I don't maintain pointless emotion for big piles of brick, wood and glass."

  "Thomas!" a voice shot out of the sands of time and landed between them.

  There stood Charlie Puget, lieutenant governor, a tall man in business gray evidently covered with enough nuclear-powered Scotch to remain fragrant above the “Essence Polie pour les Hommes” he had splashed on to cover the Scotch.

  "How good to see you!" Puget said, greeting Jefferson with a capped tooth smile. He took up T.J.'s hand like a true politician and pressed serious flesh. "What a pleasure to see you again! And --”

  Puget turned toward Jack with a kind of hazy vague recall one saw in the eyes of a late stage dementia patient. Too much data, just not enough room on the drive.

  "Jack Paulson," Jack told him.

  "Of course!" Puget said in a loud enough voice to convince Jack he didn't know who the fuck he was.

  "Senator Jack Paulson," Jack went on. "I'm an Adams descendant. John Adams. You guys wanted me here, remember?"

  "Of course I remember, so good to see you again!" Puget said, in a convincing enough voice that further reassured Jack the man didn't know who the fuck he was. "If you gentlemen will follow me, we'll get the unveiling behind us." And Mr. Lieutenant Governor, wearing his air of eau de hooch, was just as quickly gone.

  When Thomas looked back, Jack was practically tanning him with red-hot eyes.

  T.J. gestured his capitulation. "Yes, all right, I lied. I didn't want to hear you whine about your not being invited."

  "I wouldn't have known about the stupid unveiling if you hadn't told me about it," Paulson said.

  T.J.'s reply was cut in half by the voice over the sound system announcing Thomas' name.

  "Here's your cue, Batman,” Jack said, with a tone of disgust. “Gotham waits."

  "You're coming with me," Thomas said, grabbing his arm to tow him along with him toward the temporary podium on the Hall's front steps.

  "Oh, no, I’m not."

  "Oh, yes, you are," he said and used his natural tall man’s leverage to pull Jack in the direction he was going.

  T.J. delivered his speech to the crowd and yanked the ugly tarp off the new front of Independence Hall. Glory hallelujah, Jack thought to himself, as the crowd dispersed.

  An hour remained before the Hall opened for tourism. Jack could see a few bored-looking camera toters herding scattered gaggles of children all over the mid-week sidewalk. The people occupied themselves with the reading of colonial history plaques: John Hancock spit there, Button Gwinnett here relieved his horse, that kind of thing.

  "I've asked security if we can go in before it opens and have a look around," T.J. said, grabbing Jack's arm yet again and towing him through the door before Paulson could even hope to object.

  Letting go of Jack's arm, T.J. hurried down the middle of the front hall where sunlight splashed from the high ornate window up toward rooms used often for great parties, and just as often as a makeshift hospital during the Revolutionary War. The sun, mediated by shadows, shimmered down the ascending stairs and over Thomas' face. He lifted his smile toward the particles dancing through its beam. He shut his eyes, as if in the act of receiving dusty bits of god.

  "You and Independence Hall seriously need to get a room," Jack said, shaking his head in wonder. “It's probably a gay thing, you know. A phallic obsession or something.”

  T.J. aimed good-humored pique in his direction then suddenly saw something past his old friend's shoulder. "Look, Jack, the assembly room is open!"

  "Look, Marmee," Jack said with equal eagerness, "there's no line for Splash Mountain!"

  Thomas swung a wounded look back in the other man's direction. "Can't you restrain your cynicism for fifteen minutes? Surely you know this place means a lot to me. You may have grown up mere hours from Philadelphia but I've only been here twice before. And I'd love a private audience with the assembly room before we get dragged out of here by our naughty scruffs."

  Jack felt a hard tug at his conscience. "I'm sorry. Okay, I know it's special to you. I'll play nice. I seem to remember that the assembly room is through that door."

  The primary shades in the Assembly Room were dark green and a deep honey wood but somehow the net effect was gold.

  "My god, look at it," T.J. said, sinking his fingers into his hair. I read the history on it last night again. "That's actually Washington's chair. Think of it, Jack, Washington's chair! Right there.”

  “Yeah,” Jack said disinterestedly, “where Washington's own holy butt cheeks were planted.”

  T.J. continued on, “Of course, most of the rest of the original furniture was burned when the redcoats seized Philadelphia, but the ink stand is also real."

  "Fascinating," Jack said dully, fighting a yawn and checking his watch.

  T.J.'s eyes narrowed as he pointed to a single window. "And Jefferson sat right there, by that window, not there, where they usually say he did," he said, in a soft ghost of a voice. "I know in my bones he did."

  "I thought you said you read the history last night."

  "I did, but that's not how I know, Jack," he said, his voice bright with wonder. "I just know, like I know that John Adams sat right there. Not the usual place they attribute to him, not the third chair but the second from the end. My god, I know it, Jack. To a certainty."

  Jack, finally clued in, shook his head at the very old ceiling. "Oh, god, not this reincarnation crap again!"

  "Scoff all you like, but we were here, Jack. The two of us. I know it sounds a bit crazy ... I know it does ... but I know equally well that I’m right."

  "Look, T.J., I’m glad you have something to believe in. With all the loved ones I’ve lost, I wish I could believe in an afterlife, but I can’t. I think we are here for seven or so decades, if we’re lucky, and then we’re dead. Dead and gone. Dust to dust. We have one life and nothing else remains but track marks through the ashes and a lot of empty words. P
robably a few beer cans. But that’s it.”

  "Then how do you explain your knowing where the assembly room was? You can barely find your way to the Congress men’s room and you went there every day for six years."

  "Lucky guess," Jack said. "Cellular memory from my ancestor, I don't know. Just not some past life nonsense."

  T.J. smiled at him knowingly. “The idea we were here before really scares you, doesn’t it?”