Whatever He Wants

“We need to find someone we can control, someone who’s ‘our man’. Mel Martinelli took another swig of Miklos, his favorite beer, imported from Greece, dug a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his brow. His dark eyes and hair and swarthy complexion betrayed his Southern European heritage. 

“I agree.” Samuel Abrams, thinner, more aristocratic than Mel, who preferred a martini, stirred, no olive, nodded. “Someone we can train, who will vote as we tell him to.” His eyes scanned the room, as if that person might just be sitting there amid the other diners. 

A moody silence reigned as the two men sat in thought. Sam sipped his drink and continued to survey the luxuriously appointed room. The south wall was almost all windows, looking out on the green velvet golf course, which, when lighted at night, transformed the landscape into something other-worldly. Palm trees swayed in the south Florida breeze, and brushed against the windows outside, while smaller versions thrived in huge ceramic pots inside. 

Mel revolved the beer bottle in his hands. “He can’t have too many scruples. We need someone who won’t blink if we ask for zoning changes, and will close his eyes if money changes hands behind his back in order to get things done.” He raised one shoulder in a careless shrug. “It’s just politics, you know. It never changes.” 

“Agreed again. Sam continued to look around—at the wallpaper, brushed with gold, the hand-carved cornices and woodwork, and the curved glass bar, which was itself an aquarium, hosting an amazing assortment of tropical fish. 

“You did a fantastic job with this hotel.” Sam complimented Mel for the hundredth time. “This is the place the beautiful people come, and talk about after they’ve been here.” 

Mel grunted. “It was worth it. Generates money for me like you wouldn’t believe. I keep upping the prices for rooms, food and drinks, and people keep right on paying it.” 

Sam grinned. “Good. We’re going to need a bundle to finance this up-and- coming politician we’re going to create.” He turned as his attention shifted to the entertainment area, where a well-built, flaxen-haired young man with a guitar began to sing. His clear tones floated through the room like liquid silk, and a few couples got up and began to move over the white marble dance floor. 

“Who’s that?” Sam asked. “He’s good, really good.” 

“David Shepherd, one of Jesse’s kids in the law firm. “This is his avocation. He could have gone on and become somebody in the music world, but Jesse wouldn’t stand for that. Kid had to be a lawyer, like everyone else in the family.” 

“He’s one of Jesse Shepherd’s kids? A lawyer?” He met Mel’s eyes, and a slow grin overtook his face. “Maybe this could be the guy. Women would vote for him based just on his looks. Let’s have a talk with him— and with Jesse— and see how sharp he is.” 

Mel gave the young man an appraising look. “Top grades at Harvard, I heard, but he hasn’t accomplished much of anything since. We’ve done business with Jesse’s firm in the past. I think he’d jump at the chance to have a pawn in the political system, even if it is his own son. As you said, politics, you know.” 

“Hmmm. But let’s not jump too fast. If we don’t know everything there is to know about the guy, it might come back to bite us in the future.” 

“Remember the Manchurian Candidate? All we need is someone charismatic, reasonably intelligent, ambitious. We’ll pull all the strings, and he’ll never know what we’re doing.” 

Sam turned back to stare at the young man with the guitar. Tall, broad-shouldered, a thick thatch of slightly too-long blond hair, a face and physique that would make a Greek statue envious. 

Sam raised his glass. “We’ll set up a meeting with him and his dad. I think we may have found us our guy, Sam. He’s certainly personable enough, and must have a brain in his head to have made it through law school. If he can speak in public, and has an ounce of charisma, he’s it…if he wants it.” He shrugged. “Maybe he’d rather spend his life singing in a fancy hotel and living off his dad. Who knows? I don’t understand the kids today. They don‘t seem to have the ambition we had.” He drained his martini and then raised his empty glass again. The light from the diamond-faceted crystal chandelier sent rainbow glints of light through the glass. 

Mel nodded. “Ambition I don’t know about, but charisma he’s got. Check out the looks on the ladies’ faces. They can‘t take their eyes off him.” He bit his lip, thinking. “There might be one small hitch in this.” 

Sam raised his eyebrows. “A hitch? What?” 

“There was something in the political grapevine a few years ago…something about Jesse getting a young Muslim girl who worked for him pregnant. He talked her into getting an abortion, and her father forced her to quit and go home. That could be a problem for David if the rumors surfaced again. Would you be concerned about that?” 

Sam turned to stare at David again. Looking back at Mel, he scowled and nodded. “I sure would. In these times and this political atmosphere, anything that could incite the Muslims would be a problem. How many people knew about that?“ 

“I don’t think it got out beyond a few political insiders. And, her family would never make an issue of that— too much shame for the girl. At any rate, it’s Jesse’s problem, not David’s.” 

“Hmmm. As I said before, let’s hope it doesn’t punch us in the face later.” Sam sipped at his martini. “We’ll have to talk with him and his father first, but I think I like this guy. Let’s go for it.”  

Sam smiled. Here’s to our man, David Shepherd, the next state senator from West Palm Beach.” 

Mel laughed and drained the rest of his beer. “Let’s think big, Sam. Here’s to a future president of the United States.”