10.08.2008 / EP. 45
The Replacement
Milly’s 10:00 o’clock meeting passed like a knife through butter. There was neither argument nor misunderstanding. Boredom would describe the 90 minutes. Milly had plenty of opportunity to reflect on the rest of her day. Lunch, however, brought a grand surprise. The event took place in a Chinese noodle shop. The food came quickly and in abundance. Carrie was supposed to attend. The surprise was that Raylene took her place.
“Carrie is on special assignment. I’m standing in,” said Raylene. A circle of sunshine electrified the air around her. The sun poured through the window as though drawn to her seat and the patrons of the noodle house, denizens (if they were poor) or cogniscenti (if upwardly mobile), couldn’t take their eyes off her. Raylene basked in the double glow.
“Are you handling all her duties?” Milly asked.
“Carrie has the pharmaceutical and food inspection desk. Fred thought it made sense, because the subjects interface with law enforcement. The Chair was going to rotate between Steven Lin and Carrie, but Steven passed it up. He’s unambitious, that man. Honestly. Carrie didn’t want exclusive authority. I got the nod, because I know the system. So, for medication and what restaurants put on your plate, I’m your lady.”
“How can you know the system? You’re new.”
“Call me a quick study. Everyone had confidence in me and I chair the meetings well.”
The conversation flowed adroitly. Raylene astonished Milly. Here she was, barely into her twenties, and she stickhandled with the discreet cynicism of a campaign professional twice her age. She winked at Milly as the lunch ended. Milly wasn’t quite sure why. It might have been a younger woman fostering a connection with an older. Milly hoped the reason wasn’t more complex. She had enough subtlety in her life and – in the short run – a deluge of tasks before the 2 o’clock rush of assemblymen. The deluge amounted to petty office functions. While she daydreamed of what Raylene was after, Milly considered her schedule in the days ahead and what her drug business would demand after hours. Pam loomed like a threatening cloud on the horizon.
Two o’clock finally arrived, the hump of the afternoon. The meetings took predictable turns. The greetings were effusive on both sides. Coffee and tea were served. Milly had briefed herself on the families of each visitor. She inquired about husbands and wives, children and favourite projects. She asked to see photos. The assemblyman then had 30 seconds to outline a request. Milly repeated it to make sure she understood. “I like it. I’ll doublecheck to make sure there’s no conflict,” Milly invariable said, the biggest smile she could muster signifying her approval. The assemblyman explained further, unsure how to interpret Milly’s agreement. Then began the parting compliments, offers to help the Governor and do favours for the assemblyman. Each visitor received a choice of gift, a coffee table book extolling the beauties of New York or a native American handcarved paperweight. More smiles followed, along with avowals of desire to see each other again and firm handshakes. There was something comforting about the pattern, like fulfilment of a ritual obeisance, each segment prescribed in nature and extent, more mechanical than human act.
Which took Milly to four o’clock and a phone call from Raylene. No, Milly couldn’t meet her at five. Raylene made it plain this wasn’t a social visit. “You want to come,” she said. No, she wouldn’t explain why.
Milly walked to the Swerve, where the under 25s gathered for energetic dance and drinks. Part of a chain of drug dives Milly knew, this was the safest, the least sodden in addictive substances. Mortgage officers, receptionists, government clerks, stock brokers and trainees, wouldbees, wannabees and hopetabees, interns, university students, anyone and everyone raced home as the sun set and jumped into the coolest clothes they had. They gulped down a slice of microwave pizza and headed to the Swerve for excitement. Nothing from 8 to 4 mattered. It was the Swerve and who talked to them or danced with them and what they promised that counted.
The same people owned the Anarchist at the opposite end of town. If the Swerve was lightly dipped in the drug trade, the Anarchist was steeped to the roofline. Only a couple of clubs in Albany were independent and they’d soon go under. Milly was intimately familiarity with the Anarchist; her drug crews filtered through it all night long. Young Again was the Anarchist’s drug of choice. The Swerve was more a 1980s funky tribal scene, lights dimmed half a turn and music jammed up to blasting. Milly felt more at home in the Anarchist, but Raylene wanted to meet here. Milly wore sunglasses. She could hardly see a thing.
Raylene took her arm. “Are you visually challenged, Ma’am?” she asked. “Let me help you to a table.”
“Give me a break,” said Milly. Nevertheless she appreciated the assistance. She couldn’t see the floor.
A shy, seductive, soft-voiced sweetheart named Alyce brought drinks, and Raylene asked her, honey, to kindly leave them alone for a little while. She handed Alyce three times the price of their drinks. “The rest is tip for you, dear,” she said. Alyce smiled sweetly and invited them to signal if they wanted anything at all.
“Get to it,” Milly said, after Alyce left.
“I’m a strong supporter of Steven Lin,” Raylene said. Milly didn’t reply.
“He’ll do wonders for my career. All I have to do in exchange is pick the right bodies and protect the public. The picking is easy. We want the best advisors; it’s like an employment agency that gets the top applicants. Everyone wants to work for Brull.” Raylene’s eyes shone with excitement. “And protecting the public simply means applying common sense to science. Steven will parachute me permanently into this job after Albert is elected and what could be better? I’ll run the department competently, make piles of money and do a lot of good.”
“That’s wonderful for you, honey,” said Milly, with the gentlest trace of sarcasm. “Where exactly do I fit?”
“At the top. That’s where you fit in.”
“And how does that happen?”
“New York passes a law that everyone else will want. Albert spearheads the movement and the law creates an irresistible groundswell for his campaign. Voters nationwide support him. And no, I haven’t seen the law. Steven has a copy, but doesn’t want details to get out.”
“Ask Lin to show it to me.”
“Timing is everything.”
“Then why are you telling me now? And Arthur, not Lin, runs the department.”
Raylene laughed like a tinkle of musical chimes. She listened to her music a moment and gazed at the gathering crowd. What Milly had said didn’t seem of great moment. “You run the department, honey,” Raylene said, her voice dropped a register. It was severe and declaratory. She leaned forward. “You’ll slip the new Bill into the docket as soon as the Governor announces it. Make it seem a health emergency. It’ll be front-page headlines. Only a handful of people know about it and even we don’t know the subject matter. Start planning for a scramble in the assembly. Keep loose. Think about it to yourself. You’ll look good. Ms Competence of the year. Figure an emergency debate of six weeks for the new law. Once it’s over, you resume the session. You’ll want to be planning which Bills to pull, look at the emergency rules, organize it all in your head.”
“No, I don’t want another drink,” Milly told Alyce who’d passed by with eyebrows raised.
“You’ll be working day and night.”
“That’s no change,” said Milly.
“Handling things smoothly will make Albert look good. You can pick your job in the new administration.”
“I can?”
“Remember, Steven is Chief of Staff.” Raylene paid with cash. They didn’t talk as they left the table. “Good looking people come here,” Milly said.
“They do indeed. Interested in meeting someone?”
“I just got married,” Milly laughed.
“Nobody here looks at rings. Call me if you want something. Don’t be a stranger.”
Milly nodded.
They shook hands with brimming familiarity, successful colleagues wishing each other a pleasant evening, expecting to see each other tomorrow and the next day and the one after, indefinitely.
