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Overview
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781440162558 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | iUniverse, Incorporated |
| Publication date: | 10/28/2009 |
| Pages: | 416 |
| Product dimensions: | 5.50(w) x 8.50(h) x 0.93(d) |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
Finding Harold
By Alana Kyle
iUniverse, Inc.
Copyright © 2009 Alana KyleAll right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4401-6255-8
Chapter One
Harold Pendergast strode through the Virginia state house toward his office, nodding with what he hoped was authority at fellow staffers scurrying along the building's lengthy halls. If he looked authoritative, he would be authoritative. So Harold assured himself, pressing his lips together and bobbing his head at the Governor's press secretary as she sailed past with a sly smile and perky, "Morning, Harold."Why had she looked at him like that? Did she know? Harold's pace quickened and he ducked his head, struggling to regain his resolve from breakfast to remember who he was, damn it. He was Harold Pendergast, legislative aide to Stratton Ellis, the most powerful and longest serving Lieutenant Governor and Senate President in the history of the great Commonwealth of Virginia. Harold could pick up the phone and get the Governor on the line, at will. He could barge into the office of the state's Speaker of the House and demand an audience, any time.
Dropping his gaze, Harold watched his shoes make their way along the tile floor. Actually, the only time he was allowed to approach an elected official was if his boss ordered him to. But that counted, didn't it? Didn't that mean Harold had power? That he had clout? So if anyone had read about his ex-wife's recent wedding in the social pages of the RichmondTimes-Dispatch, what difference did it make, really?
Harold reached the door of the suite he shared with the Lieutenant Governor and breathed a sigh of relief. Thank God. He could hide in his office and pretend it didn't matter that Julia had re-married so soon after their split. Jesus - how long had they been divorced? An hour?
He entered the office and walked toward Nina, the Lieutenant Governor's secretary, forcing a smile.
"Good morning, Nina, how are things?"
Nina smiled in return, and Harold wondered if he saw an element of pity in her expression.
"Hello, Harold. How are you today?"
He stopped by her desk and she handed him a small pile of papers.
"These are the priorities the Lieutenant Governor wants you to review this morning, and then he wants to meet with you at 11 to go over them. He's meeting with Gaston Smith at 10, and you're to be available as soon as they're through."
Well, this was good. Harold had important work to do. No time to wallow in self-pity, or wonder which legislative staffers were speculating as to how long Julia had been seeing her new husband while still married to her old one.
Harold hurried to his office, shutting the door behind him. God - how long was he going to obsess about this? Did anyone really care about Julia, and the fact that she had left Harold for her personal trainer?
Harold sank into his chair, clutching his briefcase to his chest. He was successful, wasn't he? He had attained a position of authority, of influence, he was a PLAYER. An INTELLECTUAL. SOMEONE WHO COUNTED.
Harold stared morosely into space and sighed. So what did his professional success get him? Not a lot. Julia had taken half of his 401K and sashayed off with her personal trainer to engage in endless squats and leg-lifts and all manner of other behaviors Harold preferred not to think about.
Was there anything so humiliating as being dumped for a personal trainer? A personal trainer, for God's sake!
Harold sighed again, momentarily surrendering to a smirking vision of his ex-wife. He closed his eyes.
Go away, Julia, said a small voice in his head. Please, please go away.
Harold rolled his head on his neck in the hope of dislodging his ex-wife, and sat up. He admonished himself to get to work - work was a good thing. Harold loved his work, probably more than he had loved his wife, if he really thought about it.
He put his armload of stuff on his desk and shrugged out of his coat, standing and hanging it on the coat rack. He settled into his chair and reached for the pile of papers Nina had given him, shuffling through them to see what crisis would dominate his world today. Thank God for the state legislature. Harold wondered what he would do without it.
Notes on a highway spending bill, legislation regarding state environmental regulations, some bill on tobacco money introduced by a friend of the Lieutenant Governor - lots of stuff to keep Harold occupied.
Feeling slightly better, Harold picked up the last item in the pile, a large envelope from an obscure state agency that funneled money to economic development projects. He opened it and removed a slim report from the agency's director. Harold scanned the first page of the document and frowned.
Crap. Not that again.
"Financials for the Goose Neck Creek Mountain Resort," read the subject line.
Harold tossed the report on a pile of papers at the edge of his desk. He didn't much care about the financials at the Goose Neck Creek Mountain Resort, even if his boss did. He would get to that at some point this morning, but it definitely wasn't at the top of his to-do list.
Harold pulled out his laptop before turning to the other documents the Lieutenant Governor expected him to address this morning. Humming, he got to work.
Three hours later, Harold sat outside the office of his boss, waiting for Gaston Smith, the Speaker of the Virginia House of Delegates, to take his leave.
Harold rarely sat in the public waiting area to meet with Stratton Ellis, but he felt a pressing need to get this particular meeting over with and he was finding his own office stifling in the extreme.
Not that he had anything to worry about necessarily, Harold told himself, his hand moving furtively to the knee of his trousers and plucking at the fabric. The day's stack of work was fairly routine, with one exception. But it was the exception that was causing his stomach to roll. When he had gotten around to looking over the report on Goose Neck Creek, he had been shocked. The state owned and built "luxury resort destination" had never been in the black, Harold knew, but to say it was losing money was an understatement. In reviewing the numbers, Harold couldn't quite figure out how the resort was staying open. It was bleeding money, in massive amounts.
Harold shifted in his chair and willed himself to stop plucking at his pants - he had ruined one of his best suits doing that. He smoothed the knee of his trousers with his palm, telling himself again that he really had no need to feel nervous. It wasn't his fault the Goose Neck Creek Mountain Resort was faring so badly. But Harold knew he was about to be subjected to a most unpleasant meeting with his boss, who would be incensed that the resort in his home district in the Shenandoah Mountains didn't have more people filling its rooms.
Harold wondered exactly how he was supposed to fix that, and he knew, logically, that it really had nothing to do with him. But as he was the bearer of the bad news regarding his boss's pet project, he knew it was he who would suffer the legendary wrath of Virginia's longest serving Lieutenant Governor.
Harold gulped nervously as the door to Stratton Ellis's office opened. Gaston Smith, the Speaker of the House of Delegates, strolled into the reception area. Short, skinny, and completely bald, he was chewing an unlit cigar, his teeth an unsightly yellow brown in his delicate, oblong head.
"I'll call you tomorrow about that transportation piece," Gaston was saying. "We need to be on the same page, need to get that going as soon as possible. The people in Arlington are chomping at the bit, and we need to make sure they get at least some of what they want."
Stratton Ellis stood in his doorway, looking at the ceiling as though preparing to paint it. Stratton Ellis never looked anyone in the eye, including his colleagues. People tended to assume it was because he was a deep thinker, always considering some pithy issue or other. Harold knew it was really because he found most people intolerably stupid.
"Yes, yes," he muttered. "Don't worry, Gaston, we'll get it done." Gaston departed and Stratton Ellis waved a hand at Harold Pendergast.
Harold breathed deeply and tried to concentrate on what he needed to say. He knew the media would never see the Goose Neck Creek report, and there would be no hearings in the State Senate regarding the massive amounts of money lost. Still, the Lieutenant Governor wasn't going to like it.
Harold stood and followed his boss. It was generally dark in Stratton Ellis's office, and today was no exception. The drapes were drawn against the morning sun, and lamps with dark shades threw small pools of light here and there around the room. Harold always felt like taking a nap after spending time here, and he often wondered how it was that Stratton ever got anything done. But the Lieutenant Governor was a heavy drinker, Harold knew, and the darkness of his office helped soothe the frequent hangovers that plagued his mornings.
The stocky form of Stratton Ellis moved to his imposing mahogany desk. He paused to straighten his decorative Senate President's gavel, his mammoth head cocked to one side. Harold stared, amazed, as always, that anyone could have a head that big. Had his body not been 100 pounds overweight, Stratton's head would look the size of a bison's. Luckily, his rotund torso gave him an initial look of normalcy, but one lingering glance at Stratton Ellis and it was clear he had a head of colossal proportions. The bullish skull was made all the bigger by a thick mane of snowy white hair.
Stratton's hairline was much as it had been when he was 20, and no patches of pink peeked from his crown. Vainly aware of the prize he had been given by the gods, Stratton kept his hair somewhat long, and though neatly trimmed it resembled a 'do one would see among the Founding Fathers.
Which was exactly where Stratton Ellis envisioned himself in historical terms - hence, Harold suspected, the hair. Stratton Ellis once confessed to Harold in a moment fueled by several belts of Glenlivit and a bottle of Chardonnay that he regretted the fact that his profile would never be enshrined for eternity on a coin - so unfortunate that the feds controlled the currency, the state's devoted Lieutenant Governor had sighed.
Yes, in the tiny, incestuous world of Virginia state politics, Stratton Ellis was an 800 pound gorilla. And after 25 years in Richmond, he showed no signs of going anywhere.
Stratton Ellis dropped his heavy form into his massive leather chair and turned toward the windows. Harold had no idea what he was looking at, as the drapes were pulled. But Stratton frequently inspected the drapes when Harold addressed him. When Gaston Smith or another elected official was around, it was the ceiling that was inspected. Harold got only the drapes, as if he weren't important enough for Stratton to bother tilting his head.
"Well, sir, I reviewed the Goose Neck Creek report from the Economic Development Quasi Private State Investment Fund office - you know, EDQ," Harold began rapidly. Best to just jump in, he thought. "Uh, it's not looking so good, sir."
Harold paused and looked nervously at his boss's profile. Seeing no reaction, he continued.
"Uh, well, the report indicates that it's actually losing money, in fairly large amounts," Harold hurried on. "The projection for the future doesn't look good either, sir. EDQ projects the losses to continue indefinitely."
Harold stopped, placing a copy of the report before the Lieutenant Governor, next to his decorative Senate President's gavel and in front of a photo of his wife, Regina.
Stratton ignored the report on his desk. He barely seemed to breathe. Finally, after a silence that stretched to a full minute, he spoke.
"What sort of loss are we talking about, Pendergast?"
Harold braced himself.
"Uh, well, uh, last year, for instance, in its third year of operation, it lost, oh, about $5.7 million." Harold stopped to let that sink in. Almost six million - in one year. Good God. But that wasn't the worst news. The state owned resort appeared to be losing more the longer it was in business.
"What about the first and second year?" Stratton asked.
"Well, uh, yes, the first and second year," Harold mumbled. He took a breath. "Well, uh, it seems the first year the project lost an even $5 million, and the second year it lost, oh, just a tad more."
The Lieutenant Governor did not move. But even in the gloom Harold could see the muscles in his jaw tighten.
"How much more?"
"Ok, uh, let's see. Yes, well, just about $5.5 million, sir."
"So you're telling me," Stratton Ellis began, "that the Goose Neck Creek Mountain Resort has lost $16.2 million? Is that what you're telling me, Pendergast? You fucking moron! Don't give me crap! Just tell me what the hell's going on!"
Harold blinked rapidly and stared at the report in his hand.
"Yes sir. That's what I'm telling you. And you also need to know, sir, that the EDQ staff told me that the private bond holders haven't seen any return on their investment, and they're making noises about foreclosing. It's not good, sir; it ... it ... it's just not good." Harold trailed off and sat, slightly slumped in the too large chair.
Stratton Ellis's chest rose and fell visibly as his breathing increased. The Lieutenant Governor turned with a violent jerk and smashed his fist on his desk. Harold flinched.
"What do those fucking investors want?!" Stratton shouted. "What the fuck do they expect?! That resort WILL NOT BE TOUCHED! Not touched, do you hear me?!"
"Well ... uh ... sir ..."
"WELL WHAT YOU DUMB FUCK?!" his boss screamed. "WHAT! WHAT! WHAT! WHAT!"
Stratton paused, his face the color of a soft, rotting tomato. He gasped for air.
"Ok. Now here is what you are going to do." He spoke in a lower tone, but Harold knew it was only because he was trying to breathe. "You are going to call that dumb fuck Robertson over at EDQ and tell him that NO ONE is going to foreclose on the Goose Neck Creek Mountain Resort. Do you understand me?"
Harold cleared his throat.
"Uh, yes, sir, yes I understand precisely."
"Good then. Tell Robertson to call me tomorrow afternoon at exactly 5:30 p.m. from his office."
State employees always knew when they were in the doghouse with Stratton by the times he demanded that they call. If the Lieutenant Governor demanded that an employee call at noon, all was well. If it was 4 p.m. or after - 4 p.m. being the general quitting time in state offices - it wasn't good. That meant you would be staying late because the Lieutenant Governor was pissed and wanted to jerk you around. The Lieutenant Governor liked jerking people around, and, Harold had to admit, he was really quite good at it.
Harold nodded in assent to the time of the call and rose from his chair. His work here was done, thank God. He hurried from the office lest his boss feel the need to scream some more. If more screaming were called for, it would have to be directed at someone else. Harold wished Stratton's wife spent more time in Richmond. She was always a good target, as the prescription painkillers she popped from a Woody Woodpecker Pez dispenser stashed in her purse generally kept her too befuddled to understand much of the wrath tossed her way.
Harold hurried to his office, much smaller and brighter than his boss's, and picked up the phone. He punched Myles Robertson's extension and waited.
"Robertson here," said a voice from what sounded to be a very deep well. Myles Robertson refused to pick up the receiver for anyone other than the Governor, the Lieutenant Governor, or the Speaker of the House. His refusal to pick up a handset was legendary.
"Harold Pendergast," Harold said. "I reviewed your report on the Goose Neck Creek situation, and Lieutenant Governor Ellis said that nothing is to be done. Is that clear? The Lieutenant Governor will discuss the situation with you tomorrow evening at 5:30 p.m. You are to call from your office."
Harold stopped and smiled to himself. He hated Robertson, who he considered arrogant in the extreme, so the fact that the Lieutenant Governor was after him made the screaming Harold had endured worth it.
Silence flowed from Robertson's office as he considered the news.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Finding Harold by Alana Kyle Copyright © 2009 by Alana Kyle. Excerpted by permission.
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