Sunday, May 6, 2007
Shawn Seidel's Residence, Alexandria, Virginia
Mr. Sutton Seidel (R-TX) and Senator Shawn Seidel (R-TX)
The shuffling of feet and the quiet noise of a television left on overnight nudged through the silence of the junior Senator from Texas' home, cashmere drapes being pulled back from large windows to let in the outside world. "Fuck", grunted Shawn as his eyes found themselves exposed to the sun's penetrating and hot rays. Whatever Brisa had given him for the throbbing headache he'd developed wasn't working, he thought to himself, his college t-shirt deeply stained from last night's exploits and his pajama bottoms adorned with purple hippopotamus. The staff had all already come and gone it seemed, his request for some privacy with his father granted, even if he hadn't intended to oversleep to such an extent and find himself with just a few minutes to look presentable. Scratching his beard, the young politician headed to the master bathroom, stripping down and hopping into the shower for a quick rinse to try and remove the overpowering stench of spilled alcohol. Not before turning on the radio though, tunes filling the room as the switched on the hot water. It was supposed to just be a little thing last night, and it was, but a little thing in the world of Shawn Seidel normally meant a couple dozen people showing up and more than one getting so blasted that they ended up in the hospital. With the physical evidence of last night's misadventures gone, he'd just have to make sure that his dad didn't sense that anything was less than ideal in in terms of his person. "Oh shit," Shawn said to himself aloud, as he recognized the song coming on.♫ I'mma buy you a drank ♫
♫ Then i'mma take you home with me ♫
♫ I got money in the bank ♫
♫ Shawty whachu think bout that ♫
The former basketball player began moving along to the music, singing along and completely oblivious to the fact that his front door was being opened. Into the dark house stepped Sutton Seidel, one of the richest men in America and the only reason that the person in the other room was anywhere near the levers of power. The elder Seidel's towering frame made its way deeper inside the residence, his trusted bodyguards flipping on light switches before taking parallel posts next to the front door. The beefy man's stretch limousine parked conspicuously outside, its driver turning his attention towards the copy of People Magazine he'd picked up on his way to work that morning.
The sound of the shower in the other room was faint, but audible nonetheless. Late in his own house, Sutton mused as he took a seat in a living room chair, reaching into his suit pocket and withdrawing a thick but rather compact black journal, its exterior cover smooth and dark. Opening it to the notes he'd made during the Republican debate that had taken place not so long ago, he reviewed them studiously before flipping a few pages over and scribbling some occurring thoughts down about some people he might need to visit while he's in town. His eyes passed onto the tv, where the anchors were talking about that Fleming person, before they passed further onto the clothing that had been seemingly haphazardly half-crammed underneath a couch cushion. His eyes narrowed as he made out the logo of American University on what he now realized was an athletic shirt, one that, upon further inspection, was rather small for his son. Putting that aside to avoid addressing what that might mean, the older man instead turned his attention to the call he was now getting on his cell. He answered brusquely.
"This is Sutton Seidel. Hello Chloe. Huh? No. Ok, I don't need to hear about that, what about the damage... Anyone hurt? How bad? Well get the lawyers on it obviously. No, its not going to end up in the press, obviously. It sounds minor, one little fire... Well I don't agree with that, it sounds like some rookie made a mistake. I've been to that facility before, back once in '03, part of the springing upwards thing. Yeah. Ok, sounds like you've got it handled. Alright, bye."
Sutton hung up, his hand going to rub his forehead. The Philippines was always giving him problems these days, some dipshit knocking over a lantern shouldn't be something you call the CEO over. But he'd brought it on himself, if he was being fair, what with asking her to keep him updated and all...
His line of thought was interrupted by the frightened scream of his son, adorned in a wifebeater and fruit of the loom undergarments, who walked into his living room and jumped at the unexpected sight.
"Dad! What the fuck, how did you get in here?"
"I own this property son." the older man said with a sigh. " I have a key. Sit your ass down, we need to talk."
The Senator followed instructions, sitting down on the couch and staring at the shirt that now sat on one of the cushions beside him, before his eyes went back to his father.
"Listen, Shawn.” he began, his features hard and his tone rough. “I don't know what the hell you’ve been doing in your spare time but whatever it is it better not be endangering your job, you understand? I had to pull enough strings to get your ass planted in that chair, I’m not gonna lose it because you’ve decided you’re gonna get sent to Walter Reed with a dead liver. Not to mention… whatever else you’ve been doing." He said, his eyes wandering to that shirt again. “Do I need to put a permanent tail on you? An ankle monitor? Maybe I can get one of those things that pervs put on womens cars and hang it around your neck like a fucking amulet.”
“No dad, that’s not necessary.”
“It better not be, I’ll do it in a heartbeat and you know I will, so I don’t know why you keep fucking around. Not finding enough work to do as one of the 100 most powerful people in America?”
“Dad-”
“Shut the fuck up and listen to me. Greg told me that you didn’t like the bill.”
What color existed in Shawn’s face before drained out of it.
“Well, I- I-”
“You’re a fucking idiot? Yeah I already knew that. What’s wrong with it?”
“What?”
“What. Is. Wrong. With. It? If you dislike the bill so much what’s the problem with it?”
“I never said-”
“Don’t you fucking lie to me or I’ll rip this house out from under you so goddamn fast you’ll get whiplash. Greg told me you that you two went out to dinner and you said you thought the bill would hurt kids. Now why in the fuck would I want to hurt kids? Nobody wants that. Do you think I would do that?”
“No dad-”
“Exactly. So what the fuck is the problem?
“I was just worried, ya know, about like, schools getting shot up.”
Sutton glared at his offspring.
“That’s the point son, come the fuck on, you can’t stop a bad guy with a gun unless there’s a good guy with a gun. Why shouldn’t students be allowed to carry guns? If those kids in Virginia had glocks they would have blown that son of a bitch away quicker than you can say “Second Amendment”, right?”
“I mean, I guess, but-”
“But nothing, it was a good bill and you’re going to propose it, do you understand? We're even going to pretend that you wrote it.”
Shawn looked at the ground.
“Yes I understand.”
“Good.”
Mr. Seidel flipped his journal back open and tossed it on the cushion beside him, his neat writing visible to his son's keen eyes.
“What do you think of your colleagues? Mostly the ones running for President.”
"Well, uh, Senator Smith is nice-"
"That woman is a shit tornado that Virginia did nothing to deserve, I listened to her talk and all that came out of her mouth was shit. I don't really mean her anyways, I mean Deborah Feyrer. Or any overlap you've had with that Putnam fella. He seemed a little queer, do you know anything about that?”
Shawn’s face turned red.
“I- no I don’t. Um, Senator Feyrer is… tough? She reminds me of Erna Jo.”
“Yeah I thought so. She serious about being the nominee?”
“Well, uh, I don’t know dad, I haven’t really talked to her all that much.”
“Maybe you should get on that.” Sutton said, irritation in his eyes. He stared at his son for a moment, before his angry demeanor broke and he let out a long sigh.
“You know what, I’m hungry, let's discuss this some more over lunch. Get dressed, we’re going for ribs.”
Shawn stood and went to his bedroom to change, as the elder Seidel shook his head. What was the point of sticking him in there if he’s gonna keep acting like this…
“And make it quick son, I need to drop by a few places while I'm here, and I’ve gotta catch a flight tonight for Cancun. You know Mariana doesn’t like being kept waiting. It's our anniversary.”
