Night Extra

Caldwell’s campaign headquarters were on the third floor, in an ornate ballroom with mirrored walls, gold columns and a gilt ceiling that was fantastically cluttered with carved cherubs and cupids. A dozen or so college girls sat at card tables distributing campaign leaflets, lapel buttons and automobile stickers to anyone who wanted them. They might have been stamped from a press, Terrell thought; cashmere sweaters, single strand of pearls, tweed skirt and loafers — and all burning with conviction and self-sacrifice. Mayor Ticknor had called them “Caldwell’s Virgins” and someone else had said, “Ward heelers or round heelers, take your choice.” However you took them, they were a potent force, Terrell knew, these dead-serious college girls.

Caldwell’s photograph, was at both ends of the room, smiling self-consciously down on his busy volunteer workers. He was a handsome man, forty-five or forty-seven, with even features, a good jaw, and mild, intelligent eyes. There was nothing distinctive in this picture; except for a lock of hair that had got out of place, he looked a bit like a bank teller or the high-minded agent in a life insurance advertisement. In person he was more formidable, Terrell knew. Something simple and honest and stubborn went from the man to his audience. Terrell had seen and felt this happen. They should have tried for a better picture, he thought, something more informal and engaging. But Caldwell’s advisers were all dedicated amateurs. They went about their jobs bluntly and awkwardly. They scorned tricks. They were sold so completely on Caldwell that they didn’t bother selling him to the people.

One of the girls came over to him with a button for his lapel, but Terrell smiled and told her no thanks. He gave her his name and asked for Caldwell.

“Mr. Caldwell’s not here right now, but please don’t go away. I know Mr. Sarnac will want to see you. He handles the press for us.”

“Well, good for him,” Terrell said.

“Now don’t go away.” She hurried off, her pony-tail bobbing with excitement, and several of the girls looked Terrell over with what he rather hoped was a new interest.

In a few seconds a small man came through a door at the end of the room, and hurried toward Terrell. They shook hands, introduced themselves, and Sarnac asked him to come into his office. “We can relax out of this traffic,” he said, laughing a bit too quickly. “There’s always a mob up here. Remember that for your story. Good little touch, eh? It’s what you’d call color, I guess.”

Amateurs, Terrell thought, as he followed Sarnac into a cloakroom that had been put to use as an office. Filing cabinets and desks took up one wall and campaign pictures of Caldwell were piled high on a table under the windows. Rolls of election posters were stacked in a corner.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Terrell? Just sit down anywhere.” Sarnac bustled about removing leaflets from a straight-backed chair and piling them on the floor. “Here, sit down, please. We don’t have very formal appointments, I’m afraid. However, we’re not complaining.” He smiled rather wistfully at Terrell, an unimpressive little man with dark hair and a sallow complexion; in his gray sack suit and rimless glasses he could lose himself quickly and effortlessly in any crowded street in America.

“How do you fit into this set-up?” Terrell asked him.

Sarnac seemed somewhat flustered by the question. “Me? Why I’m Mr. Caldwell’s press secretary. And I’ve worked on the campaign booklets, radio and TV announcements and so forth.”

“Are you on a regular salary?”

“No, I’m on leave from Union College for this semester.” Sarnac looked puzzled now. “But I thought you wanted to talk about Mr. Caldwell.”

“Perhaps I was being irrelevant,” Terrell said. There had been nothing accidental in his approach; he wanted Sarnac off balance. “Would you go back to college if Caldwell were elected? Or stick with him?” He took out his cigarettes and looked around for an ashtray.

“I’m not sure — I haven’t really made up my mind yet. Here, use this, please,” Sarnac said, pushing a saucer toward Terrell. “Ashtrays disappear in the most mysterious fashion around here.”

“Thanks. Now tell me about Eden Myles,” Terrell said. “I know she’s been seeing Caldwell. But I’d like the rest of the story.” He smiled at the stricken look on Sarnac’s face. “There are no secrets in a political campaign. Not for long, at any rate.”

Sarnac stood and removed his glasses. “I haven’t the faintest notion what you’re talking about. Not the faintest.”

Terrell smoked his cigarette and let the silence stretch tightly across the dusty little room. Sarnac replaced his glasses and sat down behind his desk. “You heard me! I don’t know where you came across this absurd rumor, but I can assure you it’s completely false.”

“Now, please,” Terrell said in a pained voice.

“I have no further comment. None at all.”

“You deny categorically that Caldwell and Eden Myles have been — in conference?”

“I deny nothing. I make no comment at all.”