Free Political Timber by Chris Lynch Page B

the shark-fin thing again.
    “Oh, so, remember, if you loved Fins Foley as mayor—and who didn’t?”—laughs, claps—“you’re going to love Gordie Foley. The common man’s new best friend.”
    I checked my watch, and realized that I was quite short of my seven minutes. I looked up to find Bucky frantically waving me down off the podium anyway. I waved, and left. That brought the big applause.
    As I stepped down, Bucky rushed to meet me. He smiled and shook my hand excitedly, then leaned close to my ear. “Please don’t say any more refreshing things. They’re going to kill us.”
    I shook hands, shook hands, took a beer that was offered me without thinking. Bucky, escorting me from table to table, snatched it out of my hand. “Thank you very much,” he said to the nice man who’d given it to me. “He’ll drink it three years from now, when it’s legal.” Laughs, laughs.
    “This,” said Bucky with unusual respect, “is a very good friend of your grandfather’s, Mr. Saltonstall.”
    Mr. Saltonstall stood up, a lanky and elegant white-haired guy about six three. I wiped my hand off on my pants leg and shook.
    “A pleasure, Gordon,” he said. “Have a seat.”
    I took the vacant seat at the circular table next to Mr. Saltonstall. Then he gave Bucky a look that quickly got rid of Bucky. Then others from his group quietly slipped away.
    “Manager wouldn’t let you have the beer, huh?”
    I shook my head, feeling now like the kid that I was.
    Mr. Saltonstall reached across the table and grabbed the neck of the orange-label champagne bottle. He poured two long, tall, dainty glasses and handed me one.
    “My parents are here, though,” I said.
    “I know. Your father sipped champagne while sitting on my knee at one of these a long, long time ago.”
    “Wow,” I said, and turned to check out my parents’ reaction. My dad nodded and blinked just slightly, like at an auction. Mosi pumped his fist.
    “I’m proud to see you doing this, Gordon,” Mr. Saltonstall said. “And I love your grandfather.”
    I sipped. “Everybody does,” I said.
    “I believe that’s true. And I’ll bet this all makes for a pretty heady senior year of high school, am I right?”
    I sighed, took a longer sip.
    “How are you holding up? Anything you need to make it easier? Anything, you just let me know.”
    “I could use another glass of champagne,” I said, smiling. He poured it.
    “I just wanted you to know, Gordie, how much all of us in this room feel for Fins. And that this”—he made a sweeping gesture over the full gathering of people—“is more or less our testimonial to that. To him.”
    I looked around the room, which was full of Fins’s people, his old friends, supporters, cronies. I noticed that even though they were all mingling, joking, drinking, buzzing around, they all seemed to have one eye on this conversation. Like they were awaiting some outcome.
    “And for me,” I said boldly, me and the champagne looking him squarely in the eyes.
    “Certainly,” Mr. Saltonstall said, brightly but without conviction. “Of course it’s for you too.”
    “Good,” I said. “Good. Now, tell me. How does it look? Have I got a chance to win, really?”
    “Oh,” he said, pulling back from me by a few very noticeable inches. “Oh, it looks quite good. Of the eight candidates for the preliminary runoff, four get into the final. I would be shocked if you did not reach the final.”
    “And then?”
    “Then,” he said, looking off over my shoulder. “Then. Well, Gordon, then, we just never know, do we? But if I were you, I would simply concentrate on having the best time of it I could have. This is a rare experience for a lad your age, a once-in-a-lifetime. Savor it. And do know, that all the people in this room are behind you ninety-nine percent.”
    Saltonstall stood up and started waving at somebody far across the room, the way you do when you want to get away from whoever you’re with.
    “Whoa,” I