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Payne’s eyes scanned the ballroom. “How?”
“By going through it alone. Not having you suffer, too.”
“But I want to be there for her.”
Amy nodded. “I know, Matt. And I wouldn’t expect any less of you. But she’s a tough one. Always has been. You can help her by being understanding. In a very real sense, those hormonal surges are no different than the chemical imbalances in the brain that cause mental illness.”
“A temporary insanity?”
“I wouldn’t term it that. Look, just know it’s not her fault. The best you can do is be tender and patient until her body gets back to normal.”
Payne was quiet.
“What are you thinking, Matt?”
“That I now appreciate why certain cultures segregated women from the general population and put them in menstrual huts on the far edge of their villages.”
Amy shook her head.
“Those primitive practices are still in use. But don’t be a caveman, Matt, if only for Amanda’s sake.”
—
As they rejoined the others, Aimee Wolters said, “Camilla Rose raised funds for everyone who opposed him in his mayoral and gubernatorial runs.”
“Him who?” Payne said.
“Bailey,” Aimee said. “It’s hard, though.”
“Raising money?” Wohl said.
She laughed.
“No, that’s the easy part. What’s hard is picking which of the pols is worthy of your support. Which ones can pass your smell test. Bailey didn’t. But it didn’t matter. Because he had Frank Fuller’s machine.”
“Five-F was the money behind him?” Payne said.
“Frank Fuller, and everyone who wanted to please Fuller. He starting raising money for Bailey behind the scenes after Fuller convinced him that he should run for Philly district attorney. Then he got Joey Fitz—Fuller owns all the unions, more or less, with the exception of the teachers, thanks to them working for his various companies, from the carpenters and electricians building his skyscrapers to the longshoremen—to rally behind him for mayor. Mayor Bailey, after eight years of spreading the city’s wealth among his supporters—”
“Five-F and friends,” Payne put in.
Wolter nodded. “And the unions, and passing out patronage no-show jobs to family and friends. You know, the usual. After eight years of that, with Fuller’s machine laying the groundwork for a run on Harrisburg, Bailey announced his candidacy for governor. Meantime, anticipating that there would be a vacancy at the top in City Hall, Fuller went to work behind the scenes.”
“He went to Carlucci?” Payne said.
“Not directly. He sent an intermediary,” Wolter said. “Fuller and Carlucci are polar opposites. Plus, Carlucci, as police commissioner, had the reputation as a law-and-order hardass and couldn’t be perceived as being bought.”
“Perceived?” Payne parroted.
“Matt,” Wohl said evenly, “every damn politician owes somebody something. You should write that down. It’s simply a matter of how they pay that debt.”
“Which is what got Bailey in trouble,” Wolter said. “He put too many operatives in state jobs, and the kickbacks and bribes went off the charts. Bailey would have moved on to Washington, but there simply was too much stink sticking to him. He’s lucky he didn’t go to jail. So he crawled back to his law firm and now plays the wise elder statesman as he quietly works the machine, facilitating for Fuller and friends, doing their bidding.”
Aimee nodded toward the corner of the room.
“And with the primaries coming,” she said, “you can expect to see a lot more of that.”
They all looked and saw Bailey having a quiet conversation with Carlucci.
