Page 13 of Smoke Screen
“Jesus, Phin.” Zeke shook his head, stared up at the ceiling for a second before coming back to Phin. “As long as you know who you are and you’re satisfied, people like Blakely shouldn’t even be on your radar.”
“What if I’mnotsatisfied?”
And, oh crap.He said that. For a second, his mind went berserk.Take it back. Talk your way around it. Explain yourself. Say something.
But Phin had nothing. The master schmoozer silenced.
“Whoa.” Zeke put a hand up. “What specifically are we talking about? The job? Or you as an individual?”
Phin slouched back, scrubbed his hands over his face. Fatigue. That’s all this was. Between having to play his role last night, the constant living behind a smokescreen and the townspeople gossiping about those shady Blackwells, he was zonked. Add the lack of sleep and his body hadn’t just protested, it lobbed grenades.
“Forget it,” Phin said. “I’m tired.”
“I can tell. Take the morning to decompress. It’s a nice day. Hop in the jeep and go for a drive. Do whatever it is you need to do to get rid of the sewage floating in your mind.”
Good advice. Advice he’d thought of himself an hour ago. “I planned on it. What about Maddy Carmichael’s offer? I told her I’d talk to you and call her ASAP with an answer.”
“I’m intrigued. I’d like to see the scene. Get a handle from inside on how this happened. Call her and ask if we can come by this afternoon for a look. That’ll give me the morning to run numbers with Mom. Until then, get some rest. I need you sharp.”
3
Maddy strodefrom the Thompson Center cafeteria, stopping to drop off a couple of trays she’d collected from a coffee table near the lounge area windows. She never minded helping out when necessary.
The Thompsons had a vision for the Center. That vision included patrons spending the day wandering exhibits, grabbing a brick-oven pizza or freshly made salad and dining at a pristine table.
After lunch, folks could move to the interactive parts of the Center. Maybe the indoor basketball court President Thompson occasionally dropped in on for a game of HORSE. Other options included ping-pong and pool. Not interested in games? No problem. The library contained the president’s favorite books and research papers. Magazines and trade publications. Law journals.
All of it designed to give visitors a taste of the president’s life, but more importantly as a refuge for children and teenagers struggling with poverty and the lure of crime.
Having come from modest means, President Thompson understood that if they, everyone at the Center, could get kids off the street, dreams might come true.
Maddy rode the escalators from the basement level to the first floor where she’d walk the exhibits, scouring each floor until she made it back to the executive suite on level four.
Part of her job meant checking on exhibits, talking to patrons, getting their reactions to certain pieces. What they loved. What moved them. What left them feeling “meh.”
Did the college exhibits need to be moved? Did anyone really care that President Thompson worked his way through Yale as a janitor?
On floor two, she spoke with a teacher leading her fifth-grade class through the exhibits, letting her know the basketball court and ping-pong tables were available if the kids had energy to burn.
Maddy continued to the third floor, stepping off the escalator where Percy, one of the security guards, stood at the entrance to the Congress years exhibit. His kind face and white beard had earned Percy the nickname of Santa.
“Hello, Ms. Maddy.”
“Hi, Percy. How’s everything today? Any complaints?”
“We have a toilet paper shortage in the second-floor bathroom. I let maintenance know about that. One kid said the middle-school projects exhibit was boring.”
Kids. Such a challenge. “No shock there.”
What kid enjoyed seeing school projects? They wanted excitement and adventure. Navy SEALs. Covert missions, the photos of Air Force One. Still, they needed to know, tosee,that becoming president didn’t magically happen. It required hard work. Basic learning taken to higher and higher levels until dreams came true.
If they could dream, they could achieve.
Thatwas the message.
Maddy clearly had work to do on the middle-school exhibits because the message wasn’t clear.
Sigh.
