Memories Of Another Day Part 44

"As long as you can. I need you."

I went deep into those familiar eyes. "It's almost incest. It's my father you want, not me."

"There's nothing wrong in that. You are your father just as much as I am my mother. You said we were playing catch-up. At the time I didn't know what you meant. Now I do. We have to finish out the game."

I didn't speak.

"Have you ever been in love, Jonathan?"

I thought for a moment. "I don't think so."

"Neither have I," she said. "But I know it's there somewhere. My mother found it with your father. Maybe we can find it together."

This time I weot all the way into her eyes. And suddenly I wasn't myself any longer. I opened my arms and she came into them, her head pressed against my chest. Slowly I stroked her long, soft hair. "I think we've already found it, Christina." I turned her face up to me. ''But it's not ours. It never will be ours. You know that."

''1 know it," she said softly, her eyes filling with tears. ''But it doesn't matter whose it is. As long as we can feel it."

Logically, Jimmy, you're the next international president of the Teamsters. But will you be? Suppose Meany doesn't like it? You can't jump from the A.F.L. to the C.I.O., because they're all together now. You're f.u.c.ked. You have no place to go."

He turned to the other man. ''That goes for you too, Tony. John L. is not going to appoint you president of the ij.M.W. when he steps down. Tom Kennedy gets first crack. He's been around longer. But you can get executive v.p., and with a guy like Kennedy that's even better. You're still safe in the shadows, and it will be time for you to make your move when Kennedy goes."

''You got it all figured out," Jimmy Hoffa said.

"I've been around a long time," Daniel answered.

Tony Boyle laughed. "So why ain't you rich?"

"I was in no hurry," Daniel said, smiling. "I was waiting for you guys to grow up."

"You know I couldn't get Lewis to go along with a dime-a-member a.s.sessment for C.A.L.L.," Tony said.

"I know that," Daniel said. "But the individual locals can do it if they want. You can see to that. It's the same thing."

"The old man'11 go through the roof," Tony said. "He hates your guts after what you've said about him."

"What else is new?" Daniel said, smiling. "Meany, Beck, Reuther-none of 'em like me any better. They're all members of the same club. They've been after my a.s.s for years, but I'm still around."

Boyle shook his head in wonder. "I don't know how you do it. You haven't that many members-maybe forty, fifty thousand."

Daniel smiled. "Closer to a hundred thousand. But the numbers don't matter. They're all small unions. Independents. Which the big boys never bothered with because there wasn't enough in it for them. But they add up to something n.o.body else has got."

''What's that?" Hoffa asked.

"Balance of power. We've never had any trouble, any scandals. n.o.body's made off with any money."

'There wasn't enough there for anybody to take," Boyle said, laughing.

"Maybe," Daniel said. "But the fact remains. The public trusts us. We're the only labor group they approve of, and we have the surveys to prove that. And I speak for them."

"The Teamsters won't go for the deal either," Hoffa said.

"Lopal 299 will," Daniel said. "It's your local, and they do what you tell them. Two hundred thousand members is enough to start the ball rolling. In time they'll all come in."

"Okay, so we know what you're getting. What do we get?"

"Help and advice," Daniel said. "You're both young and ambitious men. I can help you achieve your ambitions. I can protect you against everything except yourselves."

"Talking to any other unions?" Hoffa asked.

"I plan to," Daniel said. "You two are the first."

"Why us?"

"Because you both are in businesses that are vital to the country's existence."

The two men were silent for a moment. Then Boyle looked at Daniel. "Can we think about it?"

Daniel nodded.''Of course."

"What do you do if we don't go along with you?"

"There are other men, just as young and just as ambitious, in other locals of the same union."

"That's blackmail," Hoffa said, without rancor.

"That's right." Daniel nodded agreeably.

"Do we have a week?" Boyle asked.

"You have a week," Daniel said.

They shook hands, and Daniel watched them leave the bar together. Through the open wmdow he could see them go to their separate cars. When the cars had gone, he looked down at his gla.s.s. He wondered if they knew just how desperate he really was. Ten years he had struggled to build up his power base, and in one stroke last year it had all been wiped out. The A.F.L.-C.I.O. merger had put it away. And now bit by bit, the individual unions he had signed up were drifting away. There was enough left in the treasury to carry them another month or two. Then it would all be over. The past twenty years down the drain. The dreams, the hopes, the ideals shattered beyond repair.

He rose wearily to his feet. ''Put it on the tab, Joe," he said to the bartender on the way out. "And add ten bucks for yourself."

''Thanks, Big Dan," the bartender called after him.

He blinked as he went into the sunlight of the street, waited a moment until the traffic cleared, then cut across to the two-story office building. He looked up at the spotted aluminum letters over the building entrance. C.A.L.L. They were clouded and pitted by time. He made a mental note to have the janitor polish the letters.

He went into the building, bypa.s.sing the big general office on the ground floor and going up a back stairway that led directly to his private office.

Daniel, Jr., was waiting for him. "How did it go. Father?"

"They listened," he said, sitting down behind his desk.

"Think they'll go for it?"

"I don't know," he said. "I don't know anything anymore." He opened his desk drawer, took out a cigar and lit it. "Any word from the school?"

Daniel, Jr., smiled. "I've been accepted at Harvard as an economics major."

Daniel got to his feet. His hand almost crushed his son's. "Congratulations. I'm proud of you."

"I feel good about it," the boy said. "But-"

"But what?"

"I don't have to go. Father." Junior hesitated. "I know the money situation. Fm old enough to go to work."

''You are going to work," Daniel said. "Someday, you're going to have to take all of this over. You have to be ready for it."

"But what if Hofifa and Boyle don't come through? You'll have to fold."

"I'll find a way," Daniel said. "You're going to school. That's, your job." The telephone rang. "You get it, Junior. I got to take a p.i.s.s."

Though Junior tried not to show it, his voice showed how impressed he was when Daniel returned to the office. "That call was from the White House. A Mr. Adams."

"Sherman Adams?"

Junior nodded.

"What did he want?"

"You're invited to a breakfast meeting with the President on September sixth. They want you to call back to confirm."

"Did he mention who else was invited?"

Junior shook his head. "I didn't ask."

Daniel picked up the telephone and asked his secretary to return Adams' call. While waiting for the answer, he looked up at Junior. "Eisenhower must be getting worried. Practically every union in the A.F.L.-C.I.O. has come out for Stevenson." Adams came onto the phone. "Sherman, what's up?" Daniel asked.

"The President thought it might be a good idea if you sat down and had a chat."

"Who else is coming?"

"John L. Lewis. Maybe Dave Beck."

"Don't invite Beck," Daniel said. "There are some things going on there that might turn up to embarra.s.s you."

"Can you talk about them?" The President's a.s.sistant asked.

"Not on the telephone."

''I see." Adams' voice sounded thoughtful. '*Will you be able to come?"

'Til be there."

*'Good. The President will be pleased when I tell him."

''Give him my best," Daniel said. "And I'll see you on the sixth."

"Eight o'clock," Adams said, and clicked off.

Daniel looked across the desk at his son. He smiled. "I guess the White House hasn't heard yet that we're in trouble." He looked down at the papers on his desk. "I've got to get to work."

"I'll get out of your way, Father," Junior said. He went to the door and looked back. "Will you be home for dinner tonight?"

"I don't know yet," Daniel answered. "Tell Mamie I'll call her later to let her know."

He stared at the closed door for a moment after his son had gone. Then he took a bottle of whiskey from the bottom drawer of his desk and took a long pull at it. Carefully he screwed the cap back onto the bottle and returned it to the drawer, then reached for the telephone and asked for his messages.

"Do you? You know what that means. Once you let them in, they never get out. I've heard you say that many times."

"Sure," Daniel said bitterly. "And where did it get us? Maybe it's time we just faced the facts of life. The others did it. I don't see where they're hurting."

"You're not them," Moses said.

"Maybe it's time I changed," Daniel replied wearily. "The whole world can't be out of step but me."

Moses was silent.

"Don't stand there like Mr. Righteous," Daniel said m a suddenly angry voice. "Even G.o.d had to make a deal with the Devil to divide the Hereafter."

"We're talking about the now," Moses said.

Daniel's voice was hard and flat. "If you don't like it, you can always quit."

"You know I won't do that." There was hurt in Moses' voice.

"I'm sorry," Daniel said contritely. "I didn't mean that. It's just if I can nail down the deal with Boyle and Hoffa, we'll put through. Meanwhile, I've got that White House meeting next week. That won't hurt. At least it will show that we're still alive and that the President thinks we're still important."

Moses was silent for a moment. "Okay. When do you plan to see Lansky?"

"Tomorrow, if it can be arranged. I can fly down to Miami on a morning flight and be back here in the evening."

It was almost six o'clock, and he was getting ready to leave the office, when his secretary buzzed. "Miss Rourke is here."

He drew a blank. "Miss Rourke?"

"She telephoned last week. You spoke to her. Something about her father not collecting his pension from his union. You asked her to bring in the details. I put her down for six today."

He remembered. The girl's father had been run over by a tractor and had lost the use of one leg. Now he was having trouble collecting his pension. *'Okay," he said wearily. '' Send her in."

The door opened and the girl came into the office. He struggled to his feet. 'Tm Daniel Huggins."

She was very young. Not more than nineteen, he thought. Soft black hair to her shoulders, blue eyes and Irish pale skin. "Margaret Rourke," she said, taking his outstretched hand. Her voice was soft and cool. 'Thank you for seeing me."

He gestured to the chair opposite his desk as he sat down. "That's what I'm here for. Now, what's the problem?"