Fellow Travelers

by Thomas Mallon

“So where’s the ostensible boss?” he asked, meaning Potter. Tim wanted to sink from the hotel’s rooftop to its basement. “Home in Arlington with the missus,” said Tommy, neither surprised nor displeased by the query. Tim tried not to stammer. “It would’ve been awfully hard for him to come here. After all, he hired Mr. Jones.” “And he fired him, too,” said Tommy. “We like Senator Potter having things both ways. It’s this flexibility that gives him a certain utility. “ A secretary from Senator Kefauver’s office came and pulled Hawkins away. “Someone I want you to meet,” she said. Tommy took the opportunity to tug Tim in the opposite direction. “Look at them lappin’ it all up,” he said, tracing the whole senatorial panorama with his glass of 7Up. “Some of the girls they’ve brought along could get ’em charged under the Mann Act. Of course, their aides have to settle for simpler pleasures, with smaller penalties. Jenkins over there will be heading off any time now to the men’s room at the G Street Y.” Tim looked skeptically toward Lyndon Johnson’s executive assistant, a family man by all accounts. “Oh, yes,” said Tommy. “He’ll have time enough to make it back here after a bit of relief—even if there’s got to be an arrest, a booking, and a fifty-dollar fine in between. He’ll tell himself it was all the fault of the alcohol.” “I’m not doing so bad myself,” said Tim, nervously setting down his highball.