Them Hustlers Page 21

  For a news business that has spent the year wallowing in the Monica Lewinsky quagmire, it has come to this: Larry Flynt is now setting the agenda.

  The Hustler publisher said yesterday he will release details in roughly two weeks about what he described as four extramarital affairs by incoming House Speaker Robert Livingston, along with sexual disclosures about other lawmakers or senior officials. It was Flynt's million-dollar reward offer that prompted the allegations that prompted Livingston to acknowledge his past affairs late Thursday.

  In short, at a moment of grave constitutional crisis, one of America's leading pornographers has inserted himself into the House debate over whether to impeach President Clinton for lying under oath about sex.

  "I just wanted to expose hypocrisy," Flynt said in an interview. "If these guys are going after the president, they shouldn't have any skeletons in their closet. This is only the beginning."

  Tucker was stunned. What did Flynt mean by "other lawmakers?" OMG! OMG. Call Tanya. He hadn't an issue with the president, had he?

  Tucker pushed on the intercom button. "Hon..."

  "Yes, Congressman?"

  "If Tanya Owens calls, you put her through lickety-split, you know that?"

  "Yes sir. I haven't forgotten."

  Never could tell with interns. This one was a cutie, would have to find out her name.

  * * *

  Then there was a comment from Barney Frank. Didn't the reporter know he was gay? ‘Rep. Barney Frank (D-Mass.) told reporters (wrote the Post): ‘It reminds me of [Dwight D.] Eisenhower being asked to comment on Nixon's achievement - if you give me a week, maybe I'll think of something that interests me less than Bob Livingston's sex life.’

  So this was Washington today, wondered Tucker? A homosexual politician was the only voice of reason?

  How he hated reporters. A class of humanity that snooped where they had no business snooping. He had seen a nature show on the Discovery channel how there were these small birds that lived off the backs of hippopotamus. Their role was to eat bugs that bothered the hippos. That was how he saw reporters, living off of well-meaning folks like him and other elected officials--the servants of the public. None of these publicity-hungry reporters grasped the toll the political battles took on your family. None cared. Just scavengers picking up bits of information that fell onto to floor.

  This guy--Tucker squinted to read the reporters name. Eric Pianin. Never heard of him. But he wrote some good stuff here, Tucker would give him that:

  ‘Finally, the debate had reached a rhetorical level that seemed to match its historic significance. Richard A. Gephardt (D-Mo.), the minority leader, came to the well to speak. He had won a bipartisan ovation Friday by declaring that "the politics of smear and slash and burn must end." He recalled those remarks yesterday in the context of Livingston's resignation.

  ‘It is with that same passion that I say to all of you today that the gentleman from Louisiana, Bob Livingston, is a worthy and good and honorable man." Both sides applauded. "I believe his decision to retire is a terrible capitulation to the negative forces that are consuming our political system and our country." More applause.

  ‘We are now rapidly descending into a politics where life imitates farce. Fratricide dominates our public debate and America is held hostage with tactics of smear and fear. Let all of us here today say no to resignation, no to impeachment, no to hatred, no to intolerance of each other, and no to vicious self-righteousness." Applause again.’

  Tucker had his own words. These are the Judas who traded their souls for a pornographer's gold coins.

  Like a condemned man seeking a saving clue in a pile of legal reports, the congressman from Louisiana rifled through the increasingly jumbled pile of newspapers, throwing some onto to the floor while ripping out helter-skelter bits and pieces to Scotch tape into the bank-green book that now chronicled the end of the world as he knew it could have been.

  But there was hope. Always hope for tomorrow:

  ‘Even as the House began voting articles of impeachment, Livingston's announcement precipitated an immediate leadership scramble among Republicans. Rep. J. Dennis Hastert (R-Ill.), the chief deputy majority whip, swiftly emerged as the leading contender for speaker, with the backing of virtually every outgoing and future leader.’

  Note to self (he wrote on a pad): Have Tanya send Hastert's wife a big bouquet of flowers. Real big. Colorful and happy like.

  A flash of inspiration: Find out the Illinois state flower and send a bunch of them!

  With that display of bi-partisan shrewdness, Tucker broke down. Just a little. He tossed the Scotch tape onto the mahogany congressional desk and wiped a tear or two from his right eye. It was so unfair. One more shot of bourbon was called for.

  Revenge will be mine and it will be sweet swore the congressman by means of the third toast.

  Tucker picked up the phone and tried Tanya again. She finally answered.

  "You doing good, baby?"

  He only half-listened but could tell how Tanya was already using her Friday voice, like when she was all done up by the week, but this was only Monday.

  Tucker interrupted Tanya's analytical review of how bad the situation was. This was a time when Tucker knew what he knew and he didn't need no adviser telling him everything was flushing down the drain. This was the time for strong leadership. Like General MacArthur.

  "OK, then we both agree. Let it fly darlin’, with all that you got. And tell Gigi to do the same. No one treats us like dirt and gets away with it. No ma'am. Scorch these guys. Now." He reached for one more shot of bourbon. It wasn't easy keeping apart the public and private life. But one protected the other. One greased the wheel of the other. And when one was threatened, it was fair game to use everything to save both.

  * * *

  *

  The first murmurs of pleasure had fallen out of Gigi’s lips just when the cell phone came to life. The candle had by now fully melted onto her exposed skin. After the expected call both hands moved quickly over her body, shaping and molding the hardening wax. Her fingers moved nimbly, pushing and squeezing the wax, bits of her skin and loose threads from the kimono into a ball. While still flat on her back with her robe open, and only a pillow under her head, she deftly remade the ball into an object--it was a face.

  The rest of the day would be on autopilot--doing what had to be done from memory and not from the heart. That's how you keep going when it all turns out bad.

  ~ ~ ~

  Chapter 27

  Phil let out a huge sigh of relief when he saw Rachel sitting in the back booth at the Post Pub. Rachel had come to be his Rock of Gibraltar especially now with Herb running all over who knew where.

  It was not yet noon on this Monday morning. To get here on time he had torn himself out of bed in the morning dark without so much as a kiss to Lucie. It was all very mysterious. The message from Rachel to meet, and warning him not to tell a single soul. Not Herb, not the "Babe de Jour" as Rachel called his string of women from the Psychic Pimp. No one. And he had obeyed.

  But first he had stopped at the Talbott Inn on 19th Street in downtown Washington. Violet, the final woman from Herb's magic phone book, maybe for all time, had a job greeting attendees at a two day conference. They had traded calls the last few days with Phil's enthusiasm for meeting waning. But Herb pushed him on. He had promised Violet that Phil was eager to meet. "It's the last damn woman I got for you at least for now. Just meet her. You'll like her. She's spiritual. Just meet her." Then the truest words of the year. "I haven't steered you wrong, have I?"

  The breakfast meeting was unexpectedly fun. The girl was different. She didn't talk about 900 dollar jeans like Tanya or the latest in expensive sailboats like Lucie or about her job like most of the other women or how they didn't like Washington men.

  Violet was genuinely funny with a sharp sense of humor. They spent the hour over breakfast mocking the conference guests. A non-profit from across the street was hosting the event on Eastern E
uropean art and Violet had even made fun of her temporary job. First she laughed at the sorry state of Eastern Europe. Then at all the old men chasing young girls in the name of cultural exchange. "The only cultural exchange in my country is foreign men chasing our women." Over the scrambled eggs she just came out and asked Phil if he wanted kids. Just like that. And then she flat out admitted that if Phil was Chinese and not American there would be zero chance "I would eat scrambled eggs with you in the hopes we will marry and I can become a bored Chinese housewife. America is where I want to be bored."

  She had an accent--Polish probably. He forgot to ask. Phil laughed. He was already comparing Violet to Tanya and Lucie. Still.....Oh, he just didn't know. He didn't feel like cheating on Lucie. But something was still eluding him. Something about Lucie...Phil caught himself. They weren't a couple, were they? There were no promises. Just a whole bunch of wonderful nights together. He didn't know what Lucie did when not with him, and already he was thinking all the worrying thoughts that he had with Tanya. Right now he had a good problem to work through, between spending time with Lucie or this new woman. Violet had invited him back for an afternoon drink at the Inn. The organizers had given her a room so she didn't have to drive back to Annapolis and return early in the morning. Maybe she had more in mind than a drink?

  Rachel sat in the back of the bar facing the bathrooms. Only Rachel Goldman would sit in a completely empty bar turned backwards from the entrance. The waitress arrived at the table the same time as Phil and put down a tall drink, probably a gin and tonic. All thoughts of Violet faded away.

  "You drinking, Goldman? It's not even noon." He tried to place a peck on her forehead, but it was difficult as the waitress was standing over the booth and Rachel made no movement to turn his way. Typical of her. Well, she was a one of a kind, that's for sure.

  "You'll be joining me in ten minutes, don't worry." Rachel turned to the waitress. "Deb, bring this child a gin and tonic."

  "You got it,” responded the waitress. “Must be a big story you're working."

  "No listening to us, don't forget."

  "Sure, sure, don't worry; I've heard it all in this dump." Debbie smiled warmly at Phil. Cute face, he realized. Fading freckles still showed on her pale Irish skin.

  "How's Donny?"

  Rachel said nothing. Instead she absorbed herself in a USA Today story. Phil snuck a look over her shoulder. It was a front page piece on the Bob Livingston scandal, as big a story as Clinton. Is that why they were meeting? Some news on Livingston or Tucker or maybe even Tanya? Everyone around him had seemed tense since Livingston announced his resignation. Even Lucie had discussed it over the weekend, almost with tears in her eyes. Why the hell should she care about it all? Phil flopped into the booth knowing there was nothing to do but wait until Rachel was ready.

  Rachel kept reading until Debbie returned with his drink.

  "Forget Donny. We're here because of you."

  "Sure, no prob." Phil took the first sip. Debbie had gone heavy on the gin. Damn. A strong drink would make his decision on whom to spend the afternoon with even more difficult.

  "See this story?" Rachel pointed to the newspaper.

  "Yeah."

  "I fed the reporter the information. You know why?"

  "Cause you sleeping with him?"

  "Jesus Phil, don't you ever get your mind off of sex?"

  "Sleeping with her?" He looked at the by-line. "Yeah, it’s a her."

  Rachel threw Phil a scowl while looking to make sure Debbie was busy prepping the bar for lunch. "I've been giving the inside scoop about Bob Livingston straight from the best source of my career and handing it on a silver platter to a handful of reporters at other newspapers."

  Phil was aghast. He knew how cutthroat was the business of reporting. Reporters dreamed of having Rachel's beat especially during crisis times like these. "Other reporters? I don't..."

  "The best source in my entire life" and again Rachel looked up and down the empty bar, "is none other than your psychic pimp."

  ~ ~ ~

  Chapter 28

  The first thing Herb did as he turned onto Route 2 was call his wife from his brand new cell phone. Tamay had become worried with all the driving, and the hours he was out of touch, so she had bought him a bright red cell phone. It felt good in his hand. A little clunky, but it kept him connected. Not that he used it much given the expense. But today was different--they were on high alert. So first he called Gregory and told him he was heading out to lunch with a client.

  Gregory was tense. The lawyer had mobilized with Livingston's downfall. The moment Livingston had made his dramatic announcement of resignation Gregory had ordered Herb to bring an extra shirt and a snippet of his hair. And to bring the same from Phil. When the Flynt press conference revealed that more revelations on Republican's hanky-panky would be made public, Gregory made Herb promise to stay close. See no strangers. On the phone just now he had acted like Herb's wife. "How do you know this woman...don't stay long." Herb promised the voodoo priest he would call in an hour. Uncharacteristically for a man who spent most of his life doing exactly as he wanted, the fortune teller didn't mind taking orders from the young man. He was feeling jubilant today. Maybe it was his new found respect for Gregory. Or the fact that the Washington hypocrites were being exposed at long last.

  Lingering guilt was long gone for Herb. Yeah, he had betrayed the trust of some of his most faithful clients. But a fortune teller wasn't a goddamn priest. For years it had made him angry, hearing the worst of political gossip from the mistresses and lobbyists who dropped by for a reading. But live and let live. Then the attacks on Bill Clinton started in force. By some of the same people. The same lobbyists and the same mistresses of the publicly righteous politicians.

  When Phil introduced him to Rachel the decision was reached, right there during her reading, to give this reporter all the political dirt he had accumulated in the last year. Still he had hesitated. Were there gradients of hypocrisy? Was his a tiny bit of hypocrisy when compared to what goes on in Washington? But if you let a man like Bob Livingston continue, what rules would he flout as president?

  And then Connie Wong came to see him. The young lobbyist, one of the women that had slept with Phil, had an impressive list of her own lovers that included several married Republican congressmen. Connie was toying with calling the number in the Flynt advertisement. "It's not the money, Herb, honestly. I know my doing this will hurt Phil's ex-finance and I want that door closed once and for all."

  Connie Wong was in love with Phil Greene and was ready to spill her dirt to Larry Flynt.

  Since money wasn’t the goal, the fortune teller introduced his client to the Associated Press instead of the pornographer. To Rachel to be exact.

  Good woman, this friend of Phil. When Rachel realized the quality of the passed-along info, that it was for real, she gave up the chance to score a dozen scoops and maybe even a Pulitzer Prize out of fear for Phil's safety. Our side was not about hypocrisy Herb assured himself.

  Rachel carefully fed to a few reporter friends the details of affairs and secret bank accounts that Herb was now passing along from Wong. Herb also included details from other tarot clients, but the juiciest info was from Connie Wong to be sure.

  It was an underground network of citizens rebelling against the system, that's what they were. That could be the reason he felt good. They were beating back the ugliest part of Washington politics.

  Or maybe he was feeling good because Phil had told of his falling in love with Lucie. He had accepted the lunch invitation today from Lucie to get to know better the woman who had won Phil's heart. Yeah, he had done some good for the world. To hell with Tommy Tucker and that Gigi Bienvenue. To hell with all those power grabbing politicians that controlled the Washington debate today.

  Once outside Annapolis he called Tamay. He had given her a gift as well, a motorized wheelchair. Lately her strength had been fading. The doctors couldn't pin down the reason but if his sudden new mobilit
y in the Saab made him feel better, he had reasoned that getting her out of the house more was also a good idea. There was no answer--so she was no doubt right now rolling up West Street.

  * * *

  *

  Rachel hung in the pub after Phil's hasty departure opting for a hamburger and another gin and tonic. The man was always in a hurry and always late. Once he arrived somewhere he was already plotting the next stop. But she had been able to get across to him the danger he faced. That was the real reason for the meeting. But as usual, Phil was preoccupied with his own life. While Washington was all abuzz about the Livingston resignation and the impeachment of the president, Phil was focused on whether to spend the afternoon and possibly the evening with Violet, his new 'Babe de Jour' or Lucie, the woman who he was madly in love with. Rachel smiled thinking about Phil. If he could find happiness in a single woman for more than three months, that would be true love. And it would mean there was hope for all.

  Around her the bar was filling up with Post reporters and office workers. Rachel felt at home--newspaper men and women were, by and by, good people who covered the big and little stories, hit their deadlines, all in the belief that knowing the truth was for the common good of the people.

  She was alone holding down a big booth while the lunchtime crowd continued to fill the place up. Time to leave. Just as she motioned to Debbie for the check the tattered poster caught her eye. Along the back wall, next to the jukebox and before the entrance to the bathrooms was a wall plastered with posters and advertisements. One sponsored by Air France stood out. From the wear and tear, it must have been there for ages. The poster was done in classic art deco style, with an old-fashioned propeller plane surrounded by pictures of the Eiffel Tower, a windmill from Holland, the Coliseum in Rome and Big Ben in London.