Free Five Fortunes by Beth Gutcheon Page B

Washington a lot, and people have mentioned it.”
    “You are in Washington? Why?” Rae asked.
    Carol shrugged. “I have clients who have matters there.”
    “Jimbo Turnbull,” said Glenna. “I hate Jimbo Turnbull.”
    Five Fortunes / 61
    “Of course you do, you have a brain.”
    “Is he still in the Senate?” Rae asked.
    “You mean after what he did to Ella Steptoe? I know, it’s hard to believe.”
    “No, I mean, he must be older than I am. I thought he was dead.”
    “Listen. Jimbo Turnbull bounced over three hundred checks at the House bank. He used the Senate postal system to launder campaign money…”
    “He has a daughter and two sons-in-law on his payroll and not one of them has set foot in the office, in Washington or Boise, in seven years…” said Glenna.
    “Is this all true?” Rae asked
    “Yes.” “Absolutely,” said Carol and Glenna together. They had both seen the same segment on 60 Minutes .
    “It’s disgusting,” Carol added. “He pinches women in the elevator, congresswomen . He calls Senator Kassebaum ‘honey’ on CNN, and she’s a Republican!”
    “I heard that he gave a speech to the Press Club and called Sandra Day O’Connor ‘that little girl down at the Court,’” Glenna said.
    “He’s against the ERA, he’s against Choice, and he honestly thinks he’s untouchable.”
    “He’s a disgrace,” said Glenna.
    There was a brief silence. Carol hitched her chair in as if she were confiding a trade secret, although the facts had been discussed in detail in both the Washington Post and the New York Times . “You know what they’re saying in Washington. They’re saying if it weren’t for Jimbo Turnbull, Roberto Lopez would be alive today.”
    This got a rise out of them.
    “No, really. That plane, that charter company, it’s owned by an old fishing buddy of Jimbo’s. He leaned on people to cut his pal some slack on the inspections.”
    “How can he get away with that?”
    “There was a hearing, but nothing came of it. They all do it. You know. It was just a courtesy to an old friend, no harm meant, no harm done. They can’t really prove what caused the crash, I mean they claim
    62 / Beth Gutcheon
    it was pilot error and maybe it was. Maybe there wasn’t something absolutely wrong with that particular plane. But the company’s safety record was, like, pathetic.”
    There was another silence. “If we wanted to do it,” Jill finally said,
    “if she wanted to run, how would we help?”
    “Listen,” said Carol. “There’s one woman here this week who raised eleven million dollars last year for a hospital in Los Angeles.
    There are probably ten right here who know how to do that. This morning I walked with a woman who owns a newspaper chain, and I have a friend in D.C., a policy wonk, who’s probably going to get a “genius” grant. You’ve all got friends like that too. Enough with the Old Boy Network. We’ve got money right here and we’ve got power, and we’ve got brains.”
    “Right,” said Rusty, rising from the table, her head scarf slightly askew and her little withered legs sticking out from the skirt of her bathing suit. She cocked her hip and said in her gravelly voice, “And we’ve got the babe factor.” She headed off for her massage.
    J ill was wandering around the Beauty Cloister with her schedule for the day in her hand. One of the white-uniformed Beauty people, a pretty woman with blond hair and olive skin, approached her.
    “Are you lost?”
    “I’m supposed to have a body scrub with Anna.”
    “She’s waiting for you in the bathhouse. Go through the weight room, and turn left.”
    “Thank you.”
    “Are you Miss Burrows?”
    Jill stopped. “Yes, I am.”
    “I am Solange.”
    Solange. Solange? Oh—the palm reader.
    “The self-defense teacher thinks perhaps there is something I can do for you,” Solange said in a low voice.
    “Really?” Jill stood, uncertain, thinking of nights shut up in the linen closet with a