Rick Curtis for President

Copyright © 2011 by Steven Granson

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This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-4620-5635-4 (sc)

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iUniverse rev. date: 10/03/2011

Contents

Prologue:

Part One

There Comes a Time

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

Part Two

The campaign

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12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

29

30

31

32

33

34

35

36

37

38

39

40

41

42

43

44

45

46

47

48

49

50

51

52

53

54

Part Three

Rick Curtis President

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56

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84

85

TO MY WIFE, SUSAN

Prologue:

The year was 2007 the Democratic and Republican National Committees had, after a great deal of behind the scenes negotiations and arm twisting, come to terms on the selection of their candidates for the office of the President of the United States.

That had been the hardest part. Going forth it was expected to be business as usual—just as it had been every four years for the past century. There would only be two candidates in contention: Democrat Louis Lederer, the senior Senator from California, and Republican Vice-President John Foster; heir apparent to the incumbent President, who having served the maximum two terms allowed would be stepping down.

For the Parties a great deal was at stake. To the victor would go the spoils and in America the spoils were unimaginably great. Campaign money was abundantly available; thrown about like water by the lobbyists for the special interest groups. With so much to gain or lose depending on the outcome, the lobbyists were coming forward dollars in hand to support the candidates they felt would do their bidding. More than a few special interest groups elected to hedge their bets by donating to both Parties to insure they would be rewarded regardless of who won.

The format for running the campaign was largely cut and dried. The Democrats promoting the ideology they thought would get their man elected, while the Republicans were promoting the one they thought would get their man elected.

Though each Party talked up what they stood for, and would spend hundreds of millions of dollars to convince the people of this, the voters found no matter which Party was victorious little changed—all the campaign rhetoric seemingly forgotten.

Disillusioned, increasingly smaller numbers of voters turned out to cast their ballot, feeling it made little difference which candidate was elected. All the while America’s greatness continued to slide downward, much in the way all past great empires had.

Now faced with a serious downturn in the economy a growing level of dissent and restlessness was in the air, as an ever-greater number of people were having difficulty getting by—there comes a time for change and the time was now.

Rick Curtis for President

Part One

There Comes a Time

1

He had been debating whether or not to get out of bed when the phone rang; it was early. He couldn’t imagine who would be calling this early. More to the point he couldn’t think of anyone he cared to speak with. More than likely he thought it was probably a wrong number. It was on the fourth ring, just before the answering machine would take over, he said to hell with it and picked up.

Hello, whose calling me at this hour, he said, sounding more irritated than he actually was.

I’m sorry, I know it’s early. I just wanted to be sure to get hold of you before you went out … it’s kind of important. The voice at the other end said.

Important to who? You or me?

Hopefully to both of us … this is Mr. Curtis, Rick Curtis, I’m speaking to?

Yes, one and the same. But, if it’s not too presumptuous of me to ask, who are you? … And what’s so important you need to call me at this hour? Do you know it’s still dark out?

I’m George Karras, we met a few years back. You were the lead speaker at an international business seminar; do you remember?

Something about the name sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place it. So he said, Tell me more, your name sounds familiar, but I can’t place it.

Listen Mr. Curtis, I wasn’t then, but I’m now the national chairman of the Independent Party. I’ve always remembered your speech that night. I can’t begin to tell you how impressed I was with you … and that’s why we need to talk. Time is of the essence. I’m going to be in your area tomorrow for a town hall meeting to help us select our candidate … can you be there?

Not able to make head or tail out of what the caller was talking about and impatient to get off the phone, Rick said, Mister I don’t have a clue what in hell you’re rambling about, and I’m going to hang up if you don’t start making some sense fast.

Don’t hang up, the person at the other end almost shouted, I don’t blame you, I know I’m not explaining myself well … it’s just kind of hard to come right out and tell a person I would very much like to consider proposing him as our candidate for the presidency.

What? he exclaimed in shock, What are you on? Is this some kind of a spoof? I’m no politician—I’m a businessman … or at least I was. Now I’m just a retired beach bum.

Mr. Curtis, please, I’m beseeching you, I’m not on anything, and I didn’t become chairman of the Independent Party because of my good looks. All I ask is for you to hear me out. The town hall meeting tomorrow evening is at the Fontainebleau, that’s no more than ten minutes from you. Meet me there at seven.

Still totally up in the air as to where the man was coming from, but somewhat intrigued, he answered, I don’t know? After some hesitation, I’ll have to think about it … no promises, this all sounds pretty screwy.

Look, if you come, and I really hope you will, just ask for me. I’ll be at the chairman’s table. I’ll leave word at the door and save a seat for you.

Curious, before putting down the phone he asked, How did you get my phone number I’m not listed?

Mr. Curtis, you’d be surprised how much I know about you. I truly hope you come tomorrow and listen to what I have to say.

* * *

After hanging up, he stared at the phone for a moment or two, trying to determine whether the person who’d called was for real or some kind of crackpot. Finally, with a shrug of his shoulders, he decided since he was up he might as well go for his morning run.

Donning his running gear, he was up and out the door within a few minutes. Since the security in his beachfront condominium was good, he closed the door to his penthouse apartment without bothering to lock it; which would otherwise have necessitated his having to take his keys with him. When he stepped out of the elevator, he once more couldn’t help admiring the spectacular lobby, with its coral colored marble floor and massive crystal chandelier hanging from the thirty-foot high ceiling—enhanced further by the waterfall cascading down the entire side wall. The lobby was as impressive as any on Miami Beach and largely the reason he selected to buy here.

He noted that Walter the concierge had not yet arrived. Jimmy the doorman, impressively attired in his dark navy uniform with the gold shoulder braids said, Good morning Mr. Curtis, enjoy your run.

Without stopping he waved saying, Thanks Jimmy, I hope to.

The sun was just beginning to break through, as he left his condo to start his run on the beach. He didn’t need the weather bureau to tell him the day was going to be a scorcher. It wasn’t even 7:00, yet already it felt like it was near ninety degrees out.

At this hour the beach was empty, except for the seagulls flying about cawing as they went. The sound of the ocean waves as they lapped onto the sandy beach absorbed him. In short order he forgot about the early morning phone call, as he ran near the shoreline feeling his body responding to the demands he was placing on it.

His thoughts flashed back to when he’d divested himself of all his holdings … a short five months ago. After all those years focused solely on building his business empire, his once strong body had softened, grown less healthy. Though only forty-eight he had felt old, beaten up. There was no way he could have physically done then what he was now doing. It felt good the way his body had slowly snapped back to its present state … not that far from where it had been when he won the athletic scholarship to Penn, or so he wanted to think. His pasty white coloring had given way to a golden tan and though he’d never really been overweight his six-foot one-inch frame was now leaner, harder than it had been before he retired.

By design his three-mile run ended just across from the News Café, where he had gotten into the habit of stopping for a light breakfast of juice, toasted Danish and coffee. Sometimes he would order a full breakfast, but not often. For the most part he sat and watched the scantily dressed young people passing by; reminding him of a time in his life long gone. A time he was too busy being serious to enjoy.

On an impulse he took out his cell phone and called Joan, a lady friend he had met a few months back at a party, to see if she was free for dinner that night. They had gone out a number of times after the first date. He found her to be intelligent, easy to be with, and a willing bed partner. He had no interest in taking their relationship any further than that, and was pretty sure she felt the same way. She had divorced shortly before he had met her, ending a ten-year marriage. She had told him on their first date the last thing she was interested in was a serious relationship and he had taken her at her word.

When she answered the phone he said, Hi, it’s Rick, would you be free for dinner tonight?

Now I’m glad I answered the phone, she immediately responded, I almost didn’t. I was just walking out when it rang. Either way, yes I’d love to have dinner with you tonight … what time will you be by?

How’s 7:30 for you?

That works. See you then … I really must run now I’m late for an appointment.

Getting off the phone he ordered another cup of coffee and lingered sipping it slowly; continuing to watch the youngsters he took to be in their late teens or early twenties strolling by cell phone in hand, without it seemed a care in the world. He was taken aback by how many of them had tattoos. In his day tattoos were considered taboo, now they seemed to be the in thing. He wondered as he sat there when this change in attitude had happened; and how many of them would still be happy with their tattoo twenty years down the road … and then he wondered if somewhere along the way he had gotten off the track. If he had not kept up with the changing times? Finally, feeling restless, he paid his bill and walked the few blocks to his new abode, passing restaurant after restaurant, pausing here and there to read the menus on display; making mental notes of which ones looked interesting enough to try. Strolling slowly back to his apartment, he took pleasure in the feel of the sun’s warmth, while reflecting how much his life had changed in the last months. From time to time men looking for handouts approached him. More than a few did not look like the derelicts one would expect to see panhandling and he wondered to himself what their problem was.

Jimmy, the doorman, was in the street trying to flag down a taxi for one of the residents whom Rick had seen before but did not know. Nodding to her as he went in, he saw that Walter, the concierge was now there.

I see you were out early today Mr. Curtis, Walter called out as he passed by, have a good run?

Yes thanks, I did, he responded as he stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the thirty-fifth floor. Once there he showered and after some thought picked up the book he had started several days before thinking to read it on the terrace. After a few minutes he put it down and instead stared out into space.

He was thinking back to the day he’d made the decision to sell his businesses. At the time it seemed like the right thing to do. His heart was no longer in it; he was tired and feeling old beyond his years. Now he wasn’t so sure. He’d never learned how to deal with leisure time—he’d never had any. Now that’s all he had and he was feeling restless.

For lack of anything better to do, he put on his swim trunks and taking a beach towel walked the short distance to the ocean, where he swam out to the first line of buoys and back. After, as he lay in the sun, his mind flashed back as it often did to his first years in business. He could have never imagined in those tough early times how successful he’d one day be. Back then it was a daily struggle to keep his head above water; to simply survive. If he had known what he knew now he possibly wouldn’t have had the courage to start the business, with almost no money and little business acumen. Still he had an all-consuming drive to succeed, and that was what sustained him every time common sense told him to throw in the towel, go to work for a company. It took nearly two years of working seven days a week, often sleeping at the shop too tired to drive home. He recalled the times he didn’t have the money to meet payroll, the sleepless nights worrying—of banks turning him down for the small loans he desperately needed, before his business turned the corner. After that things just seemed to fall into place. Suddenly the banks that hadn’t wanted to know him were throwing money at him, and though it was never easy it became easier. The years that followed were like a blur as one successful venture followed another. Then the bankers were chasing him. Where once they were hesitant to loan him thousands, now when he no longer needed it, they wanted to loan him millions and toward the end billions.

Back then there never seemed to be time for anything but his business. As it grew he was continuously approached to take it public. Not willing to have to abide by all the rules and regulations imposed by the Securities Exchange Commission on public companies, he never would.

Then one day he found his heart was no longer in it. After over two decades of pushing himself to the limit to the exclusion of all else he was tired—burned out. And he cashed it all in. It was only then after selling his business that it fully registered how wealthy he was.

2

He would have preferred to make the date with Joan for an earlier time, but traffic getting to the Grove during rush hour would have turned a twenty minute ride into an hour one, by making it at 7:30 p.m. he would avoid the rush hour traffic. Allowing himself a little extra time he elected to take the more scenic route over the Julia Tuttle Causeway; with its spectacular view of the Biscayne Bay, leading onto interstate 95 and then continuing on US1 the few miles to Coconut Grove. With light traffic he made good time.

He was a few minutes early when he pulled up in front of her home. It was a ranch style house with a stone façade, on almost an acre of lush beautifully landscaped grounds. He couldn’t help dwelling on how much more beautiful the foliage in Florida was than up north, and to reflecting what a tropical paradise he was living in.

She had lived there with her husband; now she lived there alone. When he rang her doorbell and she opened the door she was still in her robe. Saying, I’m running late, make yourself a drink … I’ll be ready in a jiffy.

He couldn’t help smiling to himself, she was always running late. By now he knew where she kept things; walking over to the bar he called out to her, Shall I make you one as well?

There’s an open bottle of Merlot, pour me half a glass please.

After making a scotch and soda for himself and pouring the Merlot for her, he sat down on the easy chair in front of the television and sipped his drink. Her home was nicely furnished with an interesting mix of traditional and contemporary furniture, set off by earth tone colored fabrics. The overall affect of which he found soothingly pleasant.

She had apparently been watching the news and had neglected to turn it off when he arrived. While sitting there enjoying the scotch and soda, he was only half watching the television, when he heard the name George Karras mentioned and the scheduled town hall meeting of the National Independent Party. At that moment Joan came in saying, I’m ready. Where’s my drink?

Holding up his hand, he said, That’s the guy who called me this morning.

What? Who called you?

This guy they just mentioned, George Karras. He was spouting some nonsense about wanting me to run for the presidency or something … I thought he was a nut job.

You mean George Karras, the Chairman of the Independent party?

Yes, that’s right. You’ve heard of him?

Of course, and he’s no nut job. He’s a very bright and capable person. … Wait a minute, let me get this straight, you said he wanted you to be a candidate for the presidency? Why in the world would he say that?

Exactly, that’s why I thought he was a nut job.

Now Rick, stop playing with me, she snapped, You know what I mean, why you? How does he even know who you are?

Oh, he claims he heard me make a speech at a business seminar some years ago, and it impressed him.

For a long moment she said nothing, then looking directly at him she quietly said, You know Rick, we’ve been seeing each other for a few months. Just now I realized other than finding you to be pleasant company and perhaps one of the most intelligent men I’ve ever known, I don’t know a damn thing about you. Why is that?

I don’t know? he replied somewhat sheepishly. What would you like to know?

For openers what company had you been representing when you made that speech at the seminar?

That’s easy, it was R.C. International Enterprises.

Isn’t that the giant conglomerate that was recently sold? What did you do for them? Were you in public relations, you’d be good at that?

Yes I always thought I could be and for sure in my capacity I did do a lot of that, but no I kind of owned the company.

You mean you owned shares in the company, don’t you? It was a public company wasn’t it?

No, it was privately owned.

Looking hard at him she said, And if I may ask, what portion of it did you own?

All of it.

You got to be kidding, she exclaimed, that company sold for billions! Then she said, R.C. Enterprises, did that stand for Rick Curtis?

I’m afraid so. Kind of trite don’t you think?

I just don’t believe it … here every time we went to dinner I made a point of ordering the least expensive dishes, because I wasn’t sure you could really afford it. And now I find out I was dining with a billionaire … is that right are you actually a billionaire?

All right. I hear you, but in all fairness how would’ve it sounded when I first met you, if I introduced myself by saying, Hi, I’m Rick Curtis I’m a billionaire? After that well, it’s just something I don’t usually talk about; fact is there are times I have to remind myself I have that much money, it seems so surreal. However now that I find you’ve been doing without because you were concerned about my being able to afford more, which by the way I think was very sweet of you … I’ll tell you what, tonight when we go out I want you to order the most expensive dishes on the menu, even if you don’t like them. Would that earn your forgiveness? He said with a smile.

Laughing, she said, Maybe, but I’ll have to think about it.

To really earn her forgiveness he took her to one of the most expensive French restaurants in Coral Gables La Seine, and insisted she select only the most expensive dishes; including their most expensive bottle of champagne. When he showed her the check at the end of dinner, she took his hand and looking up at him, solemnly stated he was forgiven.

But before that, she had said something that he couldn’t get off his mind. She had said, Rick, I really think you should meet with that Mr. Karras … I think you should seriously consider running for the presidency.

Why is that, he asked, more than a little surprised.

Call it a woman’s intuition if you like … I just have a hunch you’d be a great one. And if ever our country needed one to come along—now’s the time.

When he drove her home and walked her to the door she expected him to come in, but he begged off saying, As always I enjoyed the evening with you … if you don’t mind tonight I’m kind of distracted, I have some thinking to do.

About meeting with George Karras or about running for the presidency? She inquired.

Maybe both a little I guess, he answered after some hesitation. But mostly what I want to do with my life. When I decided to sell my business the idea of simply laying around becoming a sort of beach bum playboy sounded appealing. You know no pressures, no have to’s. No deadlines to meet, Just doing my thing.

And what’s wrong with that? She interrupted to ask.

Nothing, except I’m starting to think it’s not my thing. Frankly I’m not sure what my thing is. I kind of feel I’m in a state of limbo. All my life I had a sense of purpose … a direction. Now each day I get up with nothing to do and it’s getting to me. It’s not the way I imagined it would be.

Does that mean you will consider accepting Karras’s proposal to run?

No way, he almost snorted, I’m no politician. The whole idea is ridiculous. How he could even think of asking me to be a candidate makes no sense.

Well will you at least meet with him? Hear what he has to say. The man’s no fool … what do you have to lose hearing him out?

I don’t see the point to it, I’d just be wasting his time and mine. I can’t imagine anything he could say that would interest me enough to even consider such a thought.

I can, she responded with a little smile. For what it’s worth I think you should at least meet with him. With that she briefly kissed him on the lips saying good night and went inside leaving him standing there.

3

It was nearing 11:00 p.m. when he arrived home, though he was tired, he was much too wound up to sleep; instead he went to his computer and spent the next two hours researching everything he could find on George Karras and the Independent Party.

All the next day he contemplated without success what he could devote himself to other than just being a beach bum with little direction or purpose? What he could throw himself into that would be more satisfying than what he was now doing? He tried imagining himself running for the presidency, but he couldn’t; the very thought was too foreign to even consider. The very idea seemed ludicrous to him. Still, more because he had no other plans for the evening and was feeling too restless to just sit around, he decided there was no harm in listening to what Karras had to say—even though he knew he would be turning him down.

The Fontainebleau Hotel was perhaps, with its storied history, the most prestigious hotel on Miami Beach. Located on Collins Avenue across from the Intercostal waterway, it was the place of choice to hold events. Rick arrived at the Fontainebleau a few minutes after 7:00 o’clock. Upon asking for Mr. Karras’s table, the guard at the door after inquiring if he would be Mr. Curtis, insisted on escorting him there.

When Karras saw him, he jumped up from his chair and with a big smile greeted him saying, I’m so glad you came. Come I want to introduce you to my right hand man, or as I’m sure you can tell, in this instance Cindy Johnston, my right hand gal.

She was the only other person at the table, and yes, he could tell she was a woman—she was stunning. There was only one other chair, which he guessed was for him. As he was sitting down, he heard Karras say, sounding more than a little proud, Mr. Curtis, don’t let her looks fool you, besides being beautiful she is brilliant and perhaps one of the most astute political analysts around.

While looking at her he responded, Please call me Rick; and no I won’t allow her beauty to blind me to her other attributes. Though I can readily see how one could, as he reached out to shake her extended hand.

Now, George Karras, interrupted to say, the three men sitting on the podium are potential candidates, who have been suggested by other people in the party to be our candidate for the presidency. Each will shortly introduce himself and will have thirty minutes to impress the delegates in this room. When they are finished I would like to hear your evaluation of each of them.

George, he answered, "I