The sun had long since set and whiskey laden as he’d been so often in the past, he wound up sleeping outside by the pool. It was the better part of a bottle of bourbon. In the morning he showered and shaved and threw on a seersucker suit, blue shirt and one of the three or four ties he had. That’s the way it had been, two seersucker, two corduroy, all shirts were blue and three or four ties…he always matched, rumpled beyond belief, but moderately coordinated. There was no question that he was out of place, but he had no idea how out of joint he would be politically. It was foggy when he geared up the TR6 and headed for the freeway. God, he loved the car and felt like Fangio when he tried to drift through the curves going down the hill to the freeway, which he hit going a suicidal 80.

He was taken aback when he pulled into the garage in Westwood and an attendant asked him if he’d like his car “detailed” regularly. The garage attendant explained that once a month he would not only wash and wax his car, but clean the crevices with a toothbrush and “work up” the leather. Each week, he said, he’d wash the car and each day “dust” it. Back in Washington he hadn’t washed his car once a year, but for $25 a month, it seemed like a good deal and would put him more into the Los Angeles milieu, something he clearly needed. The divorce, of course, would be his coronation into Los Angeles society.

I felt unusually good walking into my office that morning and reading the papers, an essential ritual and something that apparently set me somewhat apart from the rest of this corporate empire, unless, of course, there was an item about the company. I never could shake the disheveled look; hair like a Brillo pad, jacket tossed on the couch, tie loosened and sleeves rolled up. I was reading the dregs of Watergate when Maggie walked in and asked me if I wanted coffee.

Maybe I got it myself or she brought it to me, I don’t remember. I do remember that I put away the papers and asked her to sit down. She was exquisite, almost ethereal, and I hadn’t the slightest idea what to say.
As I didn’t know what I was supposed to do to fill the day, we talked more about her job, figuring that would give me a clue.

“I’m an editorial assistant on the company magazine,” she explained.

“Company magazine? What the hell is that?” was my response, when we were interrupted by Rosemary, the Chairman’s executive assistant who summoned me to the 15th floor and a meeting with the man. As I left the office, Maggie said, “You ought to put on your coat and tighten your tie, he’ll expect that.

I smiled, said “Thanks,” left the coat on the couch and went on my way. I never made particularly good first impressions anyway, figuring my charming eccentricities would carry the day.

I’d seen it all before, I thought, as I entered his office. Custom desk, expensive paintings and appointments, small man, big office, no soul.

“You should go to Washington for a couple of days tomorrow,” he said, “and solidify your contacts there. Jimmy suggested it would be helpful to what we’re doing.”

“What are we doing?” I asked.

“Take an early flight, when it’s appropriate, I’ll tell you what’s going on,” was the answer as I was obviously dismissed.
Back in my office, the flight had already been booked by corporate travel and Maggie said the tickets were on the way down. I did my part, calling my old poker buddies to set up a game for the following night at the Watergate, where I would be staying. What the hell, I thought, I could expense the losses.

Any respite from Janet was a positive, but I found myself not wanting to leave. I’d loved travel in the past, anywhere away from the house and the whale, even Newark, was a plus. But I didn’t want to go. I didn’t resist. It would be a break. It would be buddies. It’d be poker and booze. But it wasn’t comfortable.