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Her attention was caught again by the chunky silver chain-link bracelet. Why not? She pointed. “Tell me about the bracelet, Alex. Does it have any special meaning to you? Is it a gift from a friend? A lover? Have you had it long?”
He cocked his head to one side, his smile as firmly on his mouth as Mia’s was on hers. He raised his hand and studied the bracelet. “My first bracelet was a gift from my uncle Xavier on my thirteenth birthday. He said, and I quote, ‘A real man does and wears whatever he wants.’ He told me never to forget that as long as I live.”
“Uncle Xavier?”
“My father’s second cousin, not really my uncle. My family thinks he’s a nasty old man because he thumbs his nose at all their rules, still likes his cocaine, and spends much of his time cruising the Back Bay, carefree, his own man. Ah, but when I was thirteen, he was my idol.” He laughed, shrugged.
Was that the truth? Or was Xavier a bit of exaggerated family lore to show her how human he was? “You said the original bracelet. Have there been others?”
“Why all the interest in the bracelet, Mia?”
“Human interest, Mr. Harrington—Alex. It’s something personal about you, a proven draw, just like your story about your uncle Xavier. If people can connect to you as an individual, as a real person, not just a politician who wants their vote, well, you get the idea. That’s what my first piece will be about—your background, your family, your personal anecdotes, and talk about a draw, Uncle Xavier.”
“Fair enough. Actually, it’s the third silver link bracelet I’ve had. My mom bought me this incarnation last Christmas when the second one broke.”
She typed three, nothing more, and sat forward, her eyes sparkling with interest. “How did you break the first and second bracelets? Anything fun?”
He laughed again. “I broke the first one when I was playing lacrosse at Harvard. I was heading to score and one of the Yalies whacked me on the bracelet. Probably saved my wrist from getting broken, a lot of pain time in a cast, but the bracelet was toast. The second time was only a couple of years ago, when I fell off a mountain bike, and no, I learned my lesson. No more mountain bikes.”
Mia said easily, “I saw a photo of you holding up a championship trophy for the Bennington Prep lacrosse team.”
His eyes lit up with remembered pleasure.
“And your friend Kent Harper is standing next to you; you have your arm around his shoulders.”
He nodded. “Kent and I have been close friends since we were boys. Like me, Kent manages his family’s branch office here in New York. I imagine you’ll be speaking to him.” He cocked his head again, a longtime habit, she supposed. It made him look friendly, approachable.
“Oh yes. I’m hoping he’ll have some clever stories about you.”
“I’ll have to tell him to be very selective.”
Mia smiled, said without pause, “Tell me about your stand on guns, Alex. Your party is in favor of a gun ban. What is your position?”
“I’m not a hunter, but some of my friends take off for Canada to hunker down in blinds while other friends enjoy competitive shooting. Why should I want to deny them an activity they enjoy? But assault rifles, now that’s another matter entirely. Gun violence in schools, it sickens me. So, even though I’m not in favor of a complete gun ban, I am committed to banning all weapons that could kill people.”
She nodded, made notes. “Let’s talk about education. What do you think of charter schools?”
He sat forward, his hands clasped. “I believe some charter schools can fill a need, but I also believe caution is mandatory in terms of how the schools are structured, their educational approaches, their philosophies, their underpinnings. We don’t want a Hogwarts school here in New York City.”
Mia obligingly smiled since she saw he expected it. She wrote down, Charter schools—waffles well. So what did he really think?
She asked about unions and their influence in the lives of everyday New Yorkers and was treated to his political “tribe’s” honored position, that is, unions must continue to flourish to protect New York citizens and the rights of the worker. And taxes. “Ah, taxes, the bane of all our existence, from rich man, to poor man, to Indian chief.”
Again, she gave him an expected perfunctory smile.
He leaned forward, his eyes on her face, sincerity ringing in his voice. “Regardless of who we are, how much money we earn, we must all contribute fairly to the city coffers. Our great city must function at a high level, to keep not only our citizens safe, but our thousands of yearly visitors. Of course we must also keep our social programs properly funded, and this means evaluating need and impact.” He continued in this vein and Mia kept looking at the bracelet on his wrist. He used his hands a lot. He was articulate and sometimes amusing, but still, she could have written what he said without speaking to him. She could have also written what the termed-out incumbent would say without speaking to him. Political tribes repeated their stands like mantras.
When Alex glanced down at his watch, gave a rueful shake of the head, Mia rose. “Thank you for the enlightening interview. As I said, in my first article I’m planning a background piece to start off as an introduction to a series on your campaign. What we spoke about today, that will be in my second article. I’ll be heading up to Boston to speak with some of your family there, friends, college connections. Perhaps you could give them a heads-up for me? Tell them I don’t bite?”
Mia wished she didn’t have to ask him to pave the way, it gave those she was going to speak to time to carefully plan what to say. She’d much rather catch them off-guard. But Milo had insisted.
“Certainly. Unfortunately my parents are on a cruise at the moment, but there are people in Boston who can tell you everything you need to know for a background article better than I can.” He gave a rueful smile. “I can only hope they’ll be kind. I’ll have Mrs. Millicent text you a list of people to see.”
Mia said smoothly, “Thank you. Of course I won’t have time to speak to all the names on your list.” She wondered if any of the names on his official list would cross with the people she wanted to speak to.
She was shown out of his office by the big kahuna himself. He smiled at her and touched her elbow at the door.
During her torturously slow taxi ride to Kent Harper’s Madison Avenue address, Mia pulled out Dirk’s print of one of the photographs from the Godwyn frat rave. She stared at the chunky silver bracelet on the man’s wrist as he reached out his hand toward Serena’s glass, well, maybe toward Serena’s glass. Maybe. What could she do with these photos by herself? She could look up college friends she remembered were at the rave, and then what? Why would anyone remember more than she did after seven long years? But maybe, just maybe, someone would remember something they’d seen and wondered about. All she could do was try.
