Bulldog

“Cancel the damn meeting!” 

Senator Douglas Percy slammed the phone.

He was mad.  And not just a little.  His jowls were shaking and teeth sunk into his upper lip.  Bulldog, the newspapers called him, always depicting him as a caricature with the same, angry look. 

“Son of bitch,” he swore, looking across his D.C. office at his personal aide. 

            Theresa Jensen shifted uneasily in her seat.  “What do you need me to do?” she asked.

            Senator Percy leaned against his desk.  “I need you to get Mark in here right away.”    

Theresa nodded and stood up.  Without saying another word, she left.

            In silence, Percy considered his next move.  He dabbed the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief and seriously considered pouring himself a shot of whiskey.  He had to think.  His campaign advisor, Mark, would know what to do.  He’d put together the damage control strategy.

            A knock startled the senator.  He looked up to see Karen, his secretary, poking her head through the door.  “Senator, you’ve got a call on line two.  The man said it’s urgent.”

            Percy frowned.  “What man?”

            “He wouldn’t tell me his name.  But he said he knows about a ‘Charles Anderson.’   Does that mean anything to you?”

            The senator’s face paled.

            “Should I just take a message?” she asked.

            Percy shook his head.  “I’ll take the call.  Just make sure no one interrupts.  If Mark shows up, have him wait.”

            Karen smiled and quietly closed the door. 

Senator Percy looked at the blinking button on his phone.  He was still dazed.   But then, with a steady hand, he gripped the receiver and placed it to his ear.

“This is Senator Percy,” he announced in a strong voice.  “How may I help you?”

 The caller responded hoarsely.  “Senator, I don’t want to take up too much of your time, so I’ll come straight to the point.  We want you to publicly withdraw support for the proposed ‘Marriage Amendment’ immediately.”

Percy’s grip tightened.  “Who the hell is this?  Are you from that civil rights group, CHASMA, or whatever the hell it’s called?”

“Civil rights group?  No.”

“You said ‘we,’ didn’t you?”

“I did, but it’s not what you think.”

The senator pulled on his course, gray hair.  The sound of the man’s voice was driving him crazy.  “Who is this?” he demanded.

“You don’t recognize me?  I’m a little sick, but come on.”

Percy rifled through a mental catalog of everyone he knew.  The voice was extremely familiar, but he couldn’t get past the rasp. 

“Anyway,” continued the man, “let’s talk about your public withdrawal of support for that amendment, shall we?”

“You know I can’t do that.  It’s along party lines.  I’m not going to ruin my campaign over some ridiculous request.”  Then, viciously, Percy added, “I’m hanging up.  This call is over!”

 Before the senator could hang up, the man shouted the name that started the call.  “Charles Anderson!”

Senator Percy’s hand froze.  He brought the receiver back to his ear.

“Do I have your attention, Senator?”

“Yes.”

“Let me say what I have to say and then you can hang up.  Do we have a deal?” 

Percy pressed his teeth against his upper lip.  “Go on,” he said.  “Speak.”

“Today, a series of photos was released on the Internet.  The images were posted on several well-known websites.  They show two college roommates in a compromising position.  Are you aware of this?”

Percy tugged hard on the phone cord, nearly ripping it from its jack.  Of course he knew about the photos.   His chief strategist had just informed him minutes ago.  But his strategist also told the senator not to worry.  Any kid with Photoshop and an imagination could create such a thing.  The public would dismiss the charade as a hoax by morning.

“I’m aware,” said the senator.

“Good.  Then you recognize the men in the photos.”

Percy was being baited.  He’d admit to no such thing.

“Senator?”  There was silence.  The man continued.  “Well, if you want to play dumb, I’ll just tell you.  One of the men is your old college roommate, Charles Anderson.  And the other, is you.”

Senator Percy jumped up.  Even at a hundred pounds overweight, his motion was fluid.  The Bulldog was livid.  Despite the warning in his mind, he was falling for the bait.  “Now you listen to me!  Those photos were concocted--made up.”

“Then why are you angry?  You plan to categorically deny their validity, don’t you?”

“Those photos are false.  And I find your attempt to leverage them shameful.  So, let me be clear, whoever-the-hell-you-are.  This call is being traced.  I can have you in Federal custody in minutes.  You got that?”

The man’s tone suddenly deepened.  “You’d arrest your own son?”

“My own son?”  Percy gasped.  “Oh my God!  Peter, it’s you.”

“Yeah, it’s me--your son.  Remember?”

“But--” Senator Percy faltered.  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d spoken to his son.  And couldn’t believe he hadn’t recognized his voice.

“But what, Senator?”

“Peter--for God’s sake, what’s this all about?”

“It’s about you wanting to change the constitution, that’s what it’s about.  It’s about you saying gays and lesbians don’t have the same rights as their parents.” 

“I already told you, the amendment’s drawn along political lines.  It’s going forward regardless.”

Peter sighed.  “Well, I guess that makes two of us.”

“What do you mean?”

“It means we go public.  Charles and I.  Where do you think I got those photos?”

The senator’s political engine revved.  He was quick to counter.  “I’ll deny it.  The campaign will take a hit, but I’m way ahead in the polls.  I’ll smooth everything over--tell everyone my son’s just seeking to destroy my political career.”

“See, Senator, that’s the problem.  You just won’t do the right thing, will you?” 

“You’re bluffing, Peter.  You won’t do this.”

“Do you think I’d call you if I didn’t have proof?”

“You don’t have proof!  You have still photos.”

“From a video tape.  Where do you think I got the images?  Any good lab can validate the footage--even the voiceprint.”

Percy’s voice became strained.  “But why?  Why do you want to do this?”

“Why?  Do I have to spell it out for you?”

“Son, please…”

“Don’t ‘son’ me.  Especially after pretending I don’t exist.  What kind of father does that?”

The senator shifted uncomfortably.  “You don’t understand, Peter.  It’s complicated.”

“Unbelievable!  You act like I’m a goddamn alien, yet way back when you had that little experimental fling of yours.  You’re such a hypocrite.  Well, I tell you what.  I’m not going to sit back and let you take away my right to marry.  Sorry, but it’s over for you.”

“You can’t do this!  You can’t do this, Peter.” 

            “Senator, I’d say that it’s a little too late for that, don’t you?  Good luck with your campaign.”

            “Peter, listen to me.”  The phone clicked off on the other end.  “Peter!”

            But it was too late.  The call was over.

            Senator Percy fell onto his chair.  His son had just done what no political opponent could have done.  Percy stared at the phone for the longest time, imagining the ramifications.  Then he realized the unthinkable.  The Bulldog might not make it out of this one.

THE END

©2006 Steve Pantazis. All rights reserved.