Holland Taylor Trilogy by David Housewright Read Free Book Online

loved her butterscotch hair, unblemished skin, thin waist and long, curvy legs. Which helped explain why the newspapers, weekly tabloids and magazines printed so many pictures of her cutting ribbons or delivering addresses, why such a high percentage of her sound bites made the evening news. That and her sharp tongue. When a member of the opposing party criticized her health care plan because of the expense, C. C. laughed and shouted, “Put another quarter in the jukebox, baby, ’cuz we’ve heard that song before.” Not exactly “Where’s the beef?” but for weeks afterward even the local ballplayers repeated the line.
    â€œAt least St. Paul’s mayor paid child support,” C. C. said in a clear, unwavering voice, answering a reporter’s question. “He did not abandon the child as so many other men have in similar situations. He did not run from his responsibility. For that I think he should be commended. As for the rest, fathering a child while married to another woman, keeping the existence of the child secret”—C. C. shook her head just enough for her long, butterscotch hair to brush both cheeks—”I have no comment. If the people of Minnesota believe those actions make him unfit to govern this great state, they will say so in November. I leave it to them. I will say this, however: For The Cities Reporter to print the mayor’s personal income tax information without his consent is the height of journalistic irresponsibility. I think the media have a lot of soul-searching to do.”
    One reporter in the back corrected her, reminding C. C. that The Cities Reporter did not print the mayor’s income tax records but merely asserted that the reason the mayor refused to release them, unlike the governor and herself, was because they would prove he was supporting an illegitimate child.
    â€œThat kind of hair-splitting rationale might impress First Amendment scholars, Mr. Sheehan, but the people know an invasion of privacy when they see it,” she scolded him. Sheehan grinned and recorded the quote in his reporter’s notebook.
    â€œBeautiful,” I said, not even thinking about C. C.’s looks.
    A woman of about twenty turned and shushed me, her index finger pressed to her lips. A man stepped next to me, his mouth curled in a snarl. He also was young, tall and blond, with a thick neck and a too-tight sports jacket that threatened to rip when he flexed his muscles—the result of too much time in the weight room, I reckoned. He reminded me of Arnold Schwarzenegger in Conan the Barbarian , only with better teeth. I smiled at him. He didn’t smile back.
    C. C. continued to excoriate the media for “gutterizing” the campaign, to the applause of her supporters and indifference of the reporters until Sheehan asked if “family values” weren’t important, especially given the importance of the office for which she, the governor and the mayor were contesting. C. C. allowed that they were. Then, Sheehan continued, wasn’t it the responsibility of the media to print the mayor’s story?
    â€œTo me, the timing of the whole thing makes it sorry journalism,” she said. “This isn’t a campaign story. It is a campaign rumor story. It has allegations, but no proof. Should it be printed? Probably—on the day after the election.”
    â€œYou say that even though it may very well get you elected?” Sheehan asked.
    C. C. paused, took a deep breath and answered, “It is the people who will elect me to office, Mr. Sheehan, not your newspaper. Especially not your newspaper.”
    More applause. And why not? C. C. Monroe was putting on a clinic: “Politics 101—How To Exploit Your Opponents’ Personal Problems Without Looking Like It.”
    â€œImpressive,” I said.
    â€œIsn’t she?” the young woman replied, not knowing sarcasm when she heard it.
    â€œDo you believe these