The Prodigal Daughter Read online

  “I do not apologize for being the daughter of an immigrant. I do not apologize for being wealthy. I do not apologize for being a woman and I will never be apologetic about wanting to represent the people of Chicago in the United States Congress.” The applause was deafening. “If it is not my destiny to represent you, I shall support Mr. Brooks. If, on the other hand, I have the honor of being selected to be your candidate, you can be assured that I shall tackle the problems that Chicago faces with the same dedication and energy I put into making my company one of the most successful hotel groups in the world.”

  Florentyna sat down to continuing applause and looked toward her husband, who was smiling. She relaxed for the first time and stared into the hall, where some people even stood to applaud although she was only too aware most of them were on her staff. She checked her watch: 8:28. She had timed it perfectly. That week’s “Laugh-In” was due on TV and the Chicago Black Hawks would be warming up on another channel. There would be a lot of changing of channels in the next few minutes. Judging by the frown on Ralph Brooks’s face, he was equally aware of the scheduling.

  After questions—which brought no surprises—and the closing statements, Florentyna and Richard left the hall surrounded by well-wishers and returned to their room at the Baron. They waited nervously for a bellboy to deliver the first edition of the papers. The overall verdict was in favor of Florentyna. Even the Tribune said it had been a very close-run affair.

  During the last three days of the campaign before the primary, Florentyna pounded pavement, pressed flesh and walked the entire length of Michigan Avenue. She collapsed into a hot bath every night. She was wakened by Richard each morning with a hot cup of coffee, after which she started the whole mad process over again.

  “The great day has at last arrived,” said Richard.

  “Not a moment too soon,” said Florentyna. “I’m not sure my legs can go through anything like this ever again.”

  “Have no fear. All will be revealed tonight,” said Richard from behind a copy of Fortune.

  Florentyna rose and dressed in a simple blue suit of a noncreasable fabric—although she would feel crumpled at the end of the day. She put on what Miss Tredgold would have called sensible shoes, having already worn out two pairs on the campaign trail. After breakfast, she and Richard walked down to the local school. She cast her vote for Florentyna Kane. It felt strange. Richard as a registered New York Republican remained outside.

  In a heavier turnout than Edward had predicted, 49,132 other people voted for Florentyna that day, while 42,972 had voted for Ralph Brooks.

  Florentyna Kane had won her first election.

  The GOP candidate turned out to be Stewart Lyle, who was an easier opponent than Ralph Brooks. He was an old-fashioned Republican who was always charming and courteous and who did not believe in personal confrontation. Florentyna liked him from the day they met and had no doubt that, if elected, he would have represented the district with compassion, but after Nixon had resigned on August 9 and Ford had pardoned the ex-President, the Democrats looked set for a landslide win.

  Florentyna was among those elected on the bandwagon. She captured the Ninth District of Illinois with a plurality of over 27,000 votes. Richard was the first to congratulate her.

  “I’m so proud of you, my darling.” He smiled mischievously. “Mind you, I’m sure Mark Twain would have been as well.”

  “Why Mark Twain?” asked Florentyna puzzled.

  “Because it was he who said: ‘Suppose you were an idiot and suppose you were a member of Congress. But I repeat myself.’”

  Chapter

  Twenty-Seven

  William and Annabel joined their father and mother for Christmas at the Kane family house on Cape Cod. Florentyna enjoyed having the children around her for the festivities and quickly they recharged all her human batteries.

  William, nearly fifteen, was already talking about going to Harvard and spent every afternoon poring over math books that even Richard didn’t understand. Annabel spent most of her holiday on the phone talking long distance about boys to different school friends until Richard finally had to explain to her how the Bell Telephone Company made its money. Florentyna read James Michener’s Centennial and under pressure from her daughter listened to Roberta Flack singing “Killing Me Softly with His Song” loudly, again and again. Richard got so sick of the record he begged Annabel to turn the damn thing over. She did, and for the first time Richard listened to a popular record he knew he would enjoy for the rest of his life. Annabel was puzzled when she saw her mother smile at the lyrics her father seemed entranced by:

  Jesse, come home, there’s a hole in the bed Where we slept.

  Now it’s growing cold.

  Hey, Jesse…All the blues…

  When the Christmas vacation came to an end, Florentyna flew back to New York with Richard. It took her a week of going over reports on the Baron Group and being briefed by the heads of each department before she felt she had been brought up to date.

  During the year the Group had completed hotels in Brisbane and Johannesburg and had begun refurbishing old Barons in Nashville and Cleveland. In Florentyna’s Richard had slowed the forward planning program down a little but had still managed to increase the profits to a record $31 million for the year. Florentyna was in no position to complain as Lester’s was on target to show a massive increase in the profit column that year.

  Florentyna’s only anxiety was that Richard, for the first time in his life, was beginning to look his age: lines were appearing on his forehead and around his eyes which could have resulted only from continual and considerable stress. Even his cello practice seemed less frequent. When she taxed him with working uncivilized hours, he chided her that it was a hard road to toil when one wanted to be First Gentleman.

  Congresswoman Kane flew into Washington in early January. She had sent Janet Brown on to the capital in December to head up her congressional staff, and when Florentyna joined her, everything seemed to be organized, down to the George Novak Suite at the Washington Baron. Janet had made herself indispensable during the last months and Florentyna was well prepared when the first session of the 94th Congress was ready to open. Janet had allocated the $227,-270 a year each House member was permitted for the staffing of an office. She chose carefully from the many applicants, keeping the emphasis on competence whatever a person’s age. She had appointed a personal secretary for Florentyna named Louise Drummond, a legislative assistant, a press secretary, four legislative correspondents to research issues as well as to handle mail, two secretaries and a receptionist. In addition, Florentyna had left three staff workers in her district office under a capable Polish field representative.

  Florentyna had been assigned rooms on the seventh floor of the Longworth Building, the oldest and middle of the three House buildings. Janet told her that her office had been occupied in the past by Lyndon Johnson, John Lindsay and Pete McCloskey. “‘Hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil,’” she commented. Florentyna’s office suite was only two hundred yards from the Capitol and she could always go directly to the chamber on the little subway if the weather was inclement or if she wished to avoid the ubiquitous herded groups of Washington sightseers.

  Florentyna’s personal office was a modest-sized room already cluttered with massive brown congressional furniture, a wooden desk, a large brown leather sofa, several dark, uncomfortable chairs and two glass-fronted cabinets. From the way the office had been left, it was easy to believe that the previous occupant had been male.

  Florentyna quickly filled the bookcases with her copies of the U.S. Code, the Rules of the House, the Hurd Annotated Illinois Revised Statutes and Carl Sandburg’s three-volume biography of Lincoln, one of her favorite works despite his party. She then hung some water colors of her own choice on the drab cream walls in an effort to cover the nail holes left by the previous tenant. On her desk she placed a family photograph taken outside her first store in San Francisco and when she discovered that eac