THE DOGS OF LENIN

By Linda Freeny

The DOGS OF LENIN involves a doomed love story about the main characters, Lisa Danton and Grant Chandler. From the moment they met they knew that each would follow a different path but tried to keep it together, because their love was real and overpowering. They spoiled themselves to ever love anyone again. Lisa wanted to be a journalist, networ

• Language: English
• Publisher: TOPLINK PUBLISHING, LLC
• Release date: Aug 23, 2018
• ISBN: 9781949502701

Linda Freeny

Linda Freeny, who has two very well reviewed crime mysteries out, changes course in this story of a third unnamed arm of the political system, too blind or biased to see a plot to take over the USA from within by Russians planted here a long time ago. She researched the material to make the story believable for two years, before putting a word on paper. She still likes her crime and mystery stories, but this one just begged to be written.

Book preview

The Dogs

Of Lenin

Linda Freeny

Copyright © 2018 by Linda Freeny.

COVER BY ALEX RIES FREENY

Hardback: 978-1-949502-69-5

Paperback: 978-1-949502-68-8

eBook: 978-1-949502-70-1

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

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Printed in the United States of America

Contents

Forward

Part One

Lisa

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Part Two

Grant

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Part Three

Reunion And Conflict

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Forward

THE DOGS OF LENIN you are about to read, is about media bias which was giving unwitting help to a Russian take over from within. All of this didn’t start now, that the subject is prevalent today, but started in the 1960’s, before the Berlin wall came down, and before the American people and the world became complacent about the Soviet th reat.

Some say that what you are about to read, though a work of fiction, laced throughout with true facts, took two years of research before a word was written, and it borders dangerously on the truth. Under the right circumstances, as we see today, and given the right chain of international events, it could happen again. In fact it is happening now.

It is something to think about.

Part One

Lisa

Chapter 1

Lisa Danton Cummings parked her white 280 Mercedes in the spot reserved for her in the studio parking lot, next to the area allotted to David Lessing’s red Fer rari.

She smiled, visualizing the absent low slung vehicle. The car, like its owner, was flamboyant and arrogant.

Inside the studio, lower echelon nodded to her with a mixture of respect and envy.

At thirty-two years of age, Lisa had managed to reach a height many journalists aspire to, but never achieve. She was the most popular local news anchorwoman of all the major networks, more widely watched than any man, some media watchers would argue.

She pressed the elevator arrow pointing up. Lisa knew what most of the people in the lobby were thinking, and took pleasure in it. I’ve fought hard to get there, she thought, and I deserve it. And there were times you fought just a little bit dirty, a small voice inside of her whispered.

Not true, another inner voice argued. I just didn’t miss any opportunities. Or any chances to create one, the troublesome voice intervened.

Mercifully, before she was forced to deal with that thought, the elevator door opened. By now, several people waited with her. Out of respect not only for her gender, but her status, they waited for her to enter the car.

Lisa went directly to her dressing room. As usual, she arrived three hours before air time. A hangover, from the days when she was climbing up the ladder.

This was when it all began to take shape. The news lineup was outlined, revised at least once, often several times, and in the last ninety minutes before airtime, the story list was translated into a program. Always subject to change in case of late breaking stories, up to and including commercial breaks.

Lisa often walked among the preoccupied news staff, smiling warmly at engineers, grips, property people, and harried writers. Not too long ago she’d been one of them.

That was before Steve Porter had entered her life.

She took time to read her mail. Unlike her co-anchor, David Lessing, who let a secretary read and sort his mail in order of importance, Lisa derived enjoyment from scanning her own.

She took the first letter off the six inch stack on her dressing room table. Another proposal of marriage. How many did that make? Almost five hundred, she calculated. A complaint followed. A woman from Covina thought Lisa should take the news more seriously and smile less. Lisa placed the letter to one side. She always answered complaints personally.

It was one of the reasons she was so popular. Odds were that within a week the same woman would write a glowing report about Lisa’s on camera demeanor, and Lisa would make sure the second letter fell into the right hands.

Halfway through the stack, Lisa glanced up as Alice Cromwell entered the room. She had been Lisa’s personal make-up woman since she’d become co-anchor of the six o clock news.

Was it that time already?

Lisa allowed herself to be made-up as she continued to read the diminishing stack of mail. She glanced at her reflection in the mirror and grimaced, thinking she looked like she felt. She’d drunk too much at the party last night, but then it wasn’t every day a rival network offered you almost twice as much as you were earning. Or that your own network, afraid you might consider it, guaranteed the same figure for staying with them.

She yawned. Alice. You’d better do your best work today. I look like hell.

Alice Cromwell was a motherly, slightly overweight woman in her late fifties. She not only liked Lisa, she understood her. We should all have such problems. She surveyed dark blue eyes, clear creamy skin, a small up tilted nose, and high cheek bones. She patted the thick lustrous short raven hair. A little dab here, a puff there, and you’ll look your usual dazzling self.

Lisa grinned. She knew it was true. She reached for another letter.

How many proposals and propositions today? the older woman asked, smiling in the reflection of the mirror.

A slow day, Alice. Only two honest proposals, and so far, only one slightly obscene suggestion.

Well, take heart. You still have a few left.

You really are an incurable romantic, Alice. Or, a dirty old woman. I’m not sure which.

The woman’s response was lost on her as Lisa paled at the handwriting on the envelope she’d just picked up. Only one person ever hooked the bottom of the L in her first name like that! Yet it couldn’t be! But who else not only penned her name with that distinctive symbol, but also wrote in that bold, almost unreadable style?

Her hands shook as her gaze remained transfixed on the missive.

Alice anxiously stared at Lisa. Is everything all right?

Lisa didn’t answer immediately. The letter lay limply between her fingers. She recovered slowly, throwing the offensive envelope back on the table. I’m tired, I guess. Last night took more of a toll on me that I thought. I’ll read the rest of the mail later.

Shortly before airtime, as Lisa prepared to leave her dressing room, she hesitated, her hand on the doorknob. Despite her resistance, her eyes were drawn to the letter she hadn’t been able to open. Its presence filled the room with memories she’d spent years trying to erase.

***

It was January, 1967, in San Francisco.

Lisa sat in the front row of the American History class. Because Grant was located in the rear of the room, she hadn’t been aware of him.

Until he disrupted the entire class.

Professor Myers was discussing the erection of the Berlin wall and the events in the history that had led up to it. He closed his textbook, removed his glasses, and said, "So, you see, there was little or nothing we could have done to stop it.

Bullshit! a voice exploded from the rear of the room. We were tested and we failed. For Christ’s sake, don’t whitewash what happened.

Everyone turned to stare at the person responsible for the disruptive outburst. Lisa found herself staring into dark, smoldering eyes.

Your name, young man? Myers demanded.

Grant Chandler. The voice was impatient. Maybe you should ask the poor bastards behind the wall if they think we couldn’t have done more.

Just then the bell rang.

Myers dismissed the class. He held back the dissenter.

Lisa didn’t analyze why she waited outside, missing her next class. When Grant emerged fifteen minutes later, reasons didn’t seem important.

He appeared to take her presence for granted. Let’s get the hell out of here. He glanced at his watch and tapped it. This says it’s too early for lunch. My stomach is rumbling a different message. Do you feel adventurous enough to cut class and leave these hallowed halls for some good food?

Thirty minutes later they sat in a small café in China Town eating egg rolls. Grant asked the question she hadn’t bothered to ask herself. Why in the hell did you come with me? I could be a dangerous radical.

Lisa smiled. Maybe I came because I knew you weren’t. Despite the fact American History encourages hecklers, you aren’t one of them.

He grinned, pushing back a lock of unruly black hair. How do you know?

Intuition. I felt a sense of purpose, a reason for what you did. She shrugged, and took a bite of the stringy Chinese concoction. You’re new at San Francisco State, aren’t you?

Yes, to both. I’m new to the campus and the city. This is my last college, I hope. With luck, I’ll graduate next year. It’s taken four schools to get close to that dubious honor. The other three let me go.

She swallowed the last bite of the egg roll and gently wiped her mouth with her napkin before looking up at him. Expelled?

No. It burnt their butts, but I was too good a student for that. I never got less than a 4.0 average. Unsettling was the word used to describe me at one college. Self-destructive, at another. Disruptive was the adjective used by the last one, I believe. They were however, happy to give me great academic references before I left.

And, the reason for today’s outburst?

Personal, and patriotic. My father was a captain in the America Army during World War II. It was the last war he was ever proud of being a part of. He resigned his commission during the Korean fiasco. My mother is German. He hesitated. A German Jew. My grandparents died in Auschwitz. I still have relatives in Germany. Most of them are behind the wall that Myers flipped off like it was nothing.

Lisa wondered if he was always this intense. Professor Myers believed what he said, Grant. Anyway, was there really anything we could have done?

Grant glared at her. What made me think you might be different? Of course we could have. Russia was testing us. Testing Kennedy. They built the wall in retaliation for not withdrawing our troops from West Berlin. So, he snorted, we stood our ground and let a nation be divided. And the liberal fucking press whitewashed it and allowed compassionate Americans to pretend it was okay.

He IS always this intense, she realized. And you think we should have withdrawn?

Of course, not. We could have had it both ways. All it took was balls. We didn’t have any.

Lisa felt a need to change the subject. To, anything. At the risk of seeming like a glutton and an expensive lunch date, I could eat another egg roll. How, about you?

No. Eat all you want. We’re going Dutch.

Lisa flushed. Are you always this chivalrous?

He nodded. Most of the time.

He brooded into his half empty coffee cup while she waited at the counter for her egg roll. When she returned to the table, he said, You still haven’t explained why you came with me, or why you were waiting outside the classroom. All we’ve done is talk about me. I know nothing about you.

Lisa took a sip of her coke, now mostly ice. My father is city editor of the Herald. He wanted his son to follow in his footsteps. Problem is he never had one. Just, me. He let me know early in my life he didn’t expect me to cut it in journalism. I decided to prove him wrong. I hope someday to become a viable part of the media you seem to despise. As to why I wanted to get to know you, it was probably my natural curiosity. That, and the unshakable feeling that someday you’ll be somebody’s big story. Maybe I was thinking you could be mine. Whatever it was that made me wait outside the classroom, I wish I hadn’t, she added fervently.

Grant smiled. He placed his hand over hers. Enough truth. It’s bad for the digestion. Are you going to be a model student and finish the day at school, or risk censure and show me the city?

Logic and good sense dictated she leave now and stay away from him. Not just for the rest of the day, but permanently. A stronger feeling made her throw caution to the wind. Why, not? Who knows? It might be fun. Anyway, one day of rebellion surely can’t hurt.

She couldn’t be expected to know how drastically that impulsive decision would affect both their futures.

Or, that no matter how much either of them tried to alter the course of their lives in later years, because of today, there would always be a bond between them that could never be completely broken.

Chapter 2

Lisa showed Grant the San Francisco she’d grown up in and loved. Through her eyes he saw the city as few newcomers were ever privileged. They toured quaint back streets that housed a vast number of diverse enterprises. Antique shops crammed with priceless objects, exquisite in nature, and thrift shops, tawdry in comparison, but equally fascina ting.

She ended their tour with what seemed to Grant like a cliché after the intimate look at the city he’d been treated to.

They stood silently below the Golden Gate Bridge, the brisk San Francisco wind whipping through their hair. He followed her gaze seaward to the infamous Alcatraz. Glancing at her, he saw fascination in her eyes. He sensed that no matter how many times she came, that look would always be there. What do you think about when you look at that hell hole? he asked.

She turned toward him, pushing her hair out of her eyes. I think about the stories that will never be told. About all the secrets locked in the decaying granite walls. And I was wishing I’d been born sooner so I could expose those secrets and write about them.

What’s to stop you from doing it now?

She turned away. Nobody cares. It’s a part of history that has lost its fascination.

Except for you, he thought. Grant felt a stirring within him. Just when he thought he had her figured, she was surprising him. But for the fact that his obsession involved political ploys, indiscretion, manipulation and blunders, they could have been kindred spirits.

He hardened himself to the reality that it was likely her interest in the abandoned structure was hardly altruistic.

He linked his arms through hers. Turnabout is fair play. Want to see my San Francisco? The place I call home?

Lisa let out a sigh of relief. Missing from her tour was the affluent Presidio Heights dwellings. One of them, the place she called home. Not that it mattered, she tried to convince herself, and yet she couldn’t help believing that one look at that imposing residence would send him running.

Home for Grant was a one room apartment over a warehouse in the Mission district. The closet in her room on the hill was almost as large. The only furnishings were a soiled couch, a ragged chair, a scarred coffee table, and in the corner, a small stove and refrigerator.

Grant looked embarrassed. This is the first time I’ve really looked at this dump. Seeing it through your eyes makes me wish we’d gone to your place instead.

No, you don’t, she said quickly. Then, added. I live with my parents. Besides, it’s not so bad.

Yes, it is. Tomorrow, you can help me find something better.

Strange, she thought. Like him, I expect there to be a tomorrow for us. You’ve got yourself a deal. Right now I have a question.

Shoot.

Where in the hell are the bed, and the bathroom?

He pointed with a flourish to a narrow door alongside the kitchen area. Voila! The, head. And, he said, If you’ll move your gorgeous buns, I’ll show you the bedroom.

Lisa stepped backward, a grin spreading across her perfect features. Grant pulled open double doors she’d assumed was a closet, and pulled a bed down from the wall.

She shifted uncomfortably. What was it about a simple bed that made her feel vulnerable? She raised her eyes to his and knew he too, was affected, but certainly not vulnerable.

She was wondering how to make a quick and graceful exit when he reached for her. He pulled her into the circle of his arms. His kiss was insistent and urgent. Like his opinions and beliefs, she thought. He has no doubts. Not about me. And, certainly none concerning himself.

Get out now, a voice inside her warned. If, you don’t…

She looked down with surprise to find herself almost naked. She wore only her slip and bra. As her eyes travelled upward, she realized he wore even less. All that remained between them was an open pair of Levis’ and her willpower. But that too, it seemed, had fallen away along with her clothes.

The bed that had seemed ludicrous moments earlier beckoned now with the magnetic force of a snake charmer’s flute. She made no attempt to resist when he lowered her down onto it. Reason gave way to the tingling sensation she experienced as his fingers explored and taunted the receptive areas of her body. Her last rational thought before he entered her was that nicely bred, sensible, career minded young ladies should have more sense than to tumble into bed with a complete stranger. It was the closest to rationality she came as she decided it was possible she’d been waiting for Grant all the twenty-one years of her life.

Afterward, as they lie close together, the narrow bed demanding it, Grant with one leg draped over hers, she wanted desperately to tell him she didn’t make a habit of making love to men she’d just met.

As if he’d read her mind, he said, I wish I’d been the first.

She looked into the eyes that always questioned. She took a deep breath. Would he believe her? It surprised her to realize how important it was that he did.

Brian and I was an item in high school. We were both seniors when it happened. One night, after saying no repeatedly, and meaning yes, I gave in. We made love like animals in the back seat of his car.

Grant placed a finger on her lips. You don’t have to.

But she knew she did. He couldn’t wait to spread the word. By the end of the week, everybody knew. She sighed. I’ve been afraid ever since to give myself to anyone. Until now. Because, she smiled, whatever else I don’t know about you, and that’s a lot, I know you won’t feel the need to put out a news bulletin.

He ran his fingers through her dark hair, now worn long. That’s the only reason you let me make love to you?

It was there again, she realized. Along with the gentleness, a touch of arrogance and self assurance. She pulled away from him and reached for her clothes. If you’re looking for a testimonial, you’re out of luck. I think I’d better be going home.

When he dropped her off at her car in the campus parking lot, he kissed her cheerfully. See you tomorrow.

As he walked back to his weather beaten Chevy, she called after him. It won’t work, you know. We don’t believe in the same things.

He smiled. People change.

But not you, she whispered. And she wondered if she could, or if she really wanted him to.

***

They were inseparable. Grant didn’t attend Professor Myers class again. Lisa found out that he had never registered, but had only been curious. He was, in fact, registered in Professor Arnold’s advance course.

She still knew little or nothing about him, except the basics, and even those details were sketchy.

Grant’s father had died six months after buying a farm just outside Oklahoma City. His mother had lived there alone for the last two years. When she pressed for more, he clammed up.

Lisa wondered if it was Grant’s penchant for privacy, a reluctance to talk about himself, or his passion for politics that always turned the topic conversations to political theory.

Once, a week after their first encounter, she asked, Why San Francisco State? After all, it is a liberal arts college, and I would think the very word liberal would make you want to choke.

It does, he smiled. But if you don’t get among them, you can’t combat them.

Several days later, she inquired, You never discuss your major.

I don’t?

The perfected innocence again, she thought. He knows damn well he didn’t mention it.

Political Science. He smiled again. Surely you aren’t surprised.

Lisa knew she couldn’t avoid taking him home to meet her parents forever.

In their second month together, Lisa invited him to dinner.

On the drive to the house she tried to justify her surroundings, and her existence up until now. She moved close to him in the beat up Chevy. I want to warn you. The house is pretentious. She added quickly as he turned toward her, Old money. My mother’s.

And, your father? What does he think of pretentious living and old money?

Lisa shrugged. He’s gotten used to it, I guess. I can’t remember him ever feeling guilty about it.

And, you?

Lisa flushed. I haven’t thought about it.

The hell you haven’t. It’s all you’ve thought about since we met.

It’s true, she shot back. You affect people that way.

He grinned. Then it works.

Lisa wanted to throttle him, but just then the house loomed ahead of them. Turn into the next driveway, she ordered.

Grant raised an eyebrow. You weren’t kidding, he said, surveying the huge two-story dwelling.

Lisa’s mother, Valerie Danton, greeted them at the door. She looked with disapproval at Grant’s car. Her expression wasn’t lost on him. He put out his hand. "Happy to finally meet you, Mrs. Danton. Don’t be too hard on the heap. It has good tires and good brakes. Anything else is only show anyway.

Valerie Danton released her hand as if she’d been burned. Yes, well, won’t you come in? Dinner is almost ready. Maybe you’d like to tour the house.

Is the rest of it like this? he asked, gesturing at a wide marble floored entryway.

Lisa intervened. Yes, Grant, it is.

Then I think I’ll pass.

Lisa looked over at her mother. She recognized the warning signs. Valerie Danton was about to start hyperventilating. Lisa grabbed Grant’s arm. Come on, you incorrigible jerk, I’ll show you the garden. She looked back over her shoulder. Call us when dinner is ready, Mother. In the meantime, I’ll try to keep him on a leash.

Howard Danton didn’t put in an appearance until dinner. Lisa was sure he’d gotten an earful from her mother. The meal was painful. Conversation was polite, but controlled.

Until dessert was served.

Howard Danton took a slip of the vintage wine. Just what is it you plan to do with your life? He stared at Grant, waiting for an answer.

You mean who do I want to be when I grow up?

Lisa thought her father was going to choke on his wine. She shot a warning glance at Grant. Grant is majoring in Political Science, Daddy.

Her father looked relieved. Politics was a subject he was comfortable with. Good. For a moment I thought you were one of those radicals.

My husband runs the editorial department of the Herald, Valerie Danton offered.

Grant put down the spoon he’d been toying with over the chocolate mousse. He disliked chocolates. That must be a heavy responsibility, Mr. Danton, telling people how to think.

Howard Danton looked to Lisa for an explanation of Grant’s hostile behavior. She shrugged nervously.

You’re very sure of yourself, aren’t you, young man? Maybe no one told you we operate a free press in this country. It’s called that because anyone can have their say. That’s why we print letters to the editor.

I’ll remember that. Grant pushed his plate away. Maybe I’ll write one. If I do, will you print it?

Howard Danton flushed. Of, course. That is, if it’s reasonable.

Who decides?

We have people who do that.

And the final decision in case of a dispute?

Mine.

Yeah, we’ll I’ll see what I can come up with. By the way, who are you pushing for President?

Lisa tossed down her napkin and stood up, fire in her eyes. Oh, for God’s sake! I didn’t want to bring you here, Grant. And I tried to warn you both, she glared at her parents. But, no. You wanted to inspect each other. Well, I’ve had enough. I think we’d better be going."

Valerie Danton stood and moved behind her husband. She placed a restraining hand on his shoulders. They don’t call politics volatile dinner conversation for nothing. We all have a right to our opinions. It’s just that in most cases it’s better to keep them to ourselves.

That was my point, Ma’am.

Valerie Danton tightened the hold on her husband’s shoulder. In spite of the surroundings, our reactions are only those of any concerned parent. We care what happens to Lisa. And right now, you are what are happening to her. You have to admit you came here today with all the force and hostility of a Texas tornado.

There was guarded respect in his eyes. I care about Lisa, too, Mrs. Danton. We don’t appear to have much in common, but I love her. That’s why we’re going to be married. After all, he grinned mischievously. Someone has to take her away from all this.

The look of horror in her parents’ eyes was lost on Lisa. She stared instead at Grant, her surprise evident. She was jarred back to reality by her father’s voice demanding, Why in the hell didn’t you prepare us for this, Lisa?

She continued to stare at Grant, her eyes searching his to determine if he was really serious, or if this was just another of his shock tactics. Deciding he was in earnest, she answered, Because, along with you, this is the first I’ve heard of it. Do you really want to marry me, Grant?

He smiled. It seems like the only way to keep you to myself. For some reason, that seems important. Are you going to turn me down?

She was aware of her mother saying, Lisa! You barely know each other. And you both should finish school?

No, Lisa whispered. I’m not turning you down.

Good. And Mrs. Danton, don’t worry. We won’t make it legal until I’ve graduated. He glanced down at his faded Levis and worn shirt. And I promise to wear a suit for the occasion.

Grant and Lisa left together. On the way back to Grant’s apartment, Lisa asked, Why’d you do it?

What? Ask you to marry me?

No. Deliberately pick a fight with my father and attack him? Anyway, you didn’t ask me to marry you. You announced it.

I didn’t attack your father. I attacked what he stands for.

Why? He just does his job. Some people think he does it well.

That’s what the son of a bitch said who scooped a surprise American attack on a North Korean stronghold. Problem was, he announced it hours before it took place. It cost the lives of several good men.

Without asking, she knew it was why his father had resigned his commission. It left her nothing to argue with.

It was only later that she realized he hadn’t responded to her accusation of announcing his plan to marry her. It was on her mind as they made love in the apartment over the warehouse he still occupied, in spite of his declared intentions to move.

***

The next day, Lisa moved out of the only home she’d ever known. Her departure was anything but pleasant.

She was responding to an ultimatum from her father. Leave the house, or give up Grant.

It had never occurred to Howard Danton that Lisa would choose Grant.

The words that her father and daughter exchanged would be difficult to forget or forgive. Howard Danton fueled the fires of confrontation as Lisa haphazardly threw clothes into a suitcase. You’ll live to regret this, he warned. What in the hell will you do now, and where will you live?

Lisa slammed the lid on her suitcase. Maybe it’s time I learned to survive like a lot of the other students. I’ll get a job. As to where I’ll live, I guess I’ll move in with Grant. Thanks to grandmother’s trust fund, I won’t be totally destitute. It will get me by until I can make my own money.

How long do you think that will last? At least the old lady had the foresight to make you wait for the bulk of the estate until you were old enough to think straight. What about your lofty ambitions to be a classy journalist? Don’t expect me to help you if you walk out of here.

The last thing in this world I ever expected was help from you. Now neither of us has to pretend you meant to give any. She brushed past him. I’m going to make it, Daddy. And proud of me or not, someday you’ll be forced to acknowledge my worth.

Howard Danton obstructed her path by placing his arm across the doorway. It’s that scum you brought here last night. If you hadn’t met him, this never would have happened.

She smiled. True. I must remember to thank Grant for that. Tell Mother I’ll call her. In spite of her class barriers, she at least had the sense to stay out of this.

Lisa descended the staircase. Howard Danton yelled, You’ll regret this, Lisa. And you’ll be back.

She looked up at him. Only if I decide to give up more than my freedom, Daddy.

***

After a few days of living with Grant above the warehouse, Lisa dipped into the small trust fund and rented them an apartment close to the wharf.

Hardly luxurious, especially by Lisa’s former standards, it was a giant step upward. For openers, it has a real bedroom, a real kitchen, and a bathroom you could turn around in.

Grant immediately got a job at the wharf three nights a week loading cargo to supplement the meager allowance he received from his mother. Lisa, after finding out the hard way she had no real working talents, took a job at a gift emporium as a clerk.

Grant never asked why she’d left home. When she showed up on his doorstep, suitcase in hand, all he said was, Come in. As you’re well aware, it isn’t much, but it’s all yours if you want it.

Living with Grant had definite pluses. The commitment to him and her obvious choice of loyalty allowed him to share more of himself. Including information about his recent affiliation with a group of people who called themselves Americans Against Media Madness. Or, as Grant told her with a smile, Survival against the enemy within.

The enemy she found out, was anyone left of a right thinker. One day, risking his displeasure, she asked, Did it ever occur to you that too far to the right is as bad as too far to the left?

All the time, he answered. Until people find that perfect middle ground, I’ll take the right anytime.

As a group they supported the nomination of Ronald Reagan over Gerald Ford for the Presidency. Realizing she was being tested, Lisa accepted Grant’s invitation to man the phones at Reagan’s downtown primary headquarters.

After two days of her repeating a canned speech across the wires, Grant said, Congratulations. You have everyone here fooled. You don’t give a damn who wins the nomination, do you?

She looked up at him as he towered over her desk in the corner. I give a damn about you, and you care, and you believe. Isn’t that enough?

He didn’t answer her directly. He looked off into space. You know, Carter is probably a decent man, but he isn’t Presidential material. I know it, he nodded at people across the room talking animatedly on the phones, and they know it. But the media can’t sell Ted Kennedy, so they’re selling Carter. If they have their way he’ll be in the White House next January. He stared into dark blue eyes. So for now, this is all we can do. That and put our message in print. You want to come with me this weekend to a writeathon?

She wrinkled her nose. A writeathon?

Yeah. Two days nonstop of writing letters to the editors of every major newspaper in the country. All pro-Reagan, of course.

Isn’t that just a little bit premature? He may not even be the nominee. Ford looks like he’ll make it. Republicans hate change, especially if they think their political image is working.

Grant’s eyes narrowed. A direct quote from Daddy?

She flushed, No, but I read, and I watch television.

He shrugged and looked smug. Same difference.

She refused to let him goad her. Even if Reagan gets the nomination, he still has to win the election. You don’t know yet who he’ll be running against in November.

Grant smiled. Yes, I do. He’ll be running against the media. Just like Ford will if he makes it that far. Only then they’ll have more ammunition. They’ll have the Nixon pardon to ram down everyone’s throat. That’s why if the Republicans are smart, they’ll run Reagan.

She pushed her chin forward. All right. I’ll come to your damned writeathon.

His eyes searched her face. We’ll be writing to the Herald.

Lisa had known that even before he spoke the words. It would be another wedge between her and her father. As long as you don’t put words in my mouth, I can handle it. The comments have to be my own.

For a moment, regret at forcing her hand showed in his face. It was quickly replaced by admiration he willingly voiced. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

They left the building hand in hand. Lisa was torn between annoyance and frustration with Grant’s attitude, and her pleasure at his outward show of pride in her. In her heart, she knew he still had doubts about her. For that matter, she had some serious doubts about herself.

Chapter 3

It was as if she were two people, Lisa realized. A part of her wanting to return to her former carefree existence, which included a host of friends. And the new Lisa, who seemed to be an extension of Grant, too busy for anything as unproductive as idle friends hips.

There wouldn’t have been time anyway, she rationalized. Her life consisted now of school and meetings in ugly, often offensive smelling basements or crowded rooms. The subject was always the same: politics and media brainwashing.

She’d passed the writeathon test. Grant smiled when she handed him her letter addressed to the Herald. It was brief.

Dear Editor:

Wouldn’t it be refreshing to look for the good in our Presidential candidates, instead of harping on their mistakes? Especially, in your reports and editorials on candidates that your newspaper opposes.

Lisa Danton

Well? she challenged.

It’s a start. They won’t print it, of course. Not when they see who it’s from.

She shrugged. That wasn’t why I wrote it, was it? It was to prove something. Did I?

He looked at her searchingly. You have a lot of spirit, Lisa. Don’t let anyone break it?

He’s warning me, she realized. Warning me against his domination. All that thought did was confuse her further.

One night after work, instead of rushing home to Grant, she stopped by the home of Trudy Everest. She’d been a good and close friend when Lisa had the time and room for her in her life.

Trudy was home studying for mid-term. Like I should be, Lisa thought guilty.. Trudy welcomed Lisa inside a house that closely resembled the one she’d recently fled. They retreated to Trudy’s bedroom.

What’s up? Trudy asked, Did you and Grant have a spat?

No. I just needed to talk. You know foolish girl stuff.

Trudy reached for a cigarette. She offered Lisa one. Lisa shook her head. She’d quit smoking because Grant hated it. Do you still remember how?

Lisa flushed. Is that what everyone thinks?

Trudy sat cross-legged on the bed; her slender frame bent forward, her pleasant features sympathetic and questioning. To hell with what they say. It’s you I’m worried about. You used to be the girl labeled with most likely to succeed. You knew how to get enjoy yourself. Grant is certainly handsome, but...

But, what?

He’s so damn serious. Some say dangerous.

Lisa looked alarmed. In what way?

Damn, Lisa. He doesn’t know when to stop. You did hear about the ruckus he caused in Arnold’s class the other day?

Lisa hadn’t, but she could imagine what it was about. She knew they were covering the Nixon years, and Grant was protective and argumentative every time the subject came up. No. But it sounds like him. He can’t help it, Trudy.

A look of impatience passed across Trudy’s face. Do you love him? And at Lisa’s look of resentment, Trudy added, I know you left home to live with him, but do you LOVE him?

It was strange; Lisa realized. No one had asked her that before. Not her parents, none of her former friends, not even Grant. More importantly; she hadn’t asked herself that question.

I guess I do. I know I don’t want to think of a life without him.She stared earnestly at her friend. Trudy, I’ve never met anyone like Grant before. He’s so sure of himself, and unlike most guys his age, he knows exactly what he wants. Once when I questioned his dedication to his ideals and his obsessions that don’t always make sense to me, he answered I intend to count for something, Lisa. I want to make a difference.She laughed, and twisted around in the chair beside the bed. How in the hell do you argue with that?"

Later lying beside Grant in bed, Trudy’s words came back to her. Had she forgotten how to make small talk? She realized it was a troublesome possibility. Their entire conversation had been about Grant.

***

The month of June was fast approaching, and with it, the all important primaries. Grant seemed to have resigned himself to the fact that Reagan might not get the Republican Party nomination. He and his political friends were already geared to put all their efforts behind Ford if they had to.

Also approaching were final exams. Always an A student, Lisa was having trouble maintaining a C in some classes, and she was dangerously close to flunking Math.

She tried to explain away the problem by making excuses to herself. There was never enough time. It might have worked, except for the fact that in spite of the fact that Grant never seemed to study, he maintained high academic scores.

Lisa considered the fact that he might just be a genius. Grant, however, had a far simpler explanation. I was blessed with a photographic memory. All I do is read in class when I’m supposed to be listening.

She hadn’t been able to resist. And, when you’re not causing trouble.

He grinned. Touché. Need some help with your studies?

She accepted without hesitation, and managed to pass all her finals.

When the voters went to the polls for the primary elections, it was confirmed. It would be Ford against Carter.

In less than a week, Lisa would never have known Grant was a Reagan man. All he talked about now was Ford holding the White House. That, and his favorite subject, media bias. They’re selling Carter like a fucking cure for cancer, he exclaimed one warm day in July. And they’re insinuating that keeping Ford in the White House will be like taking a dose of cyanide.

And you’re starting to sound like a broken record, she countered. It’s summertime, Grant. Before you know it, we’ll be back in school. Let’s do something totally indecent, like have some fun.

He surprised her by agreeing. She suggested Phelan Beach, an idyllic spot with gentle waters. After one day there, he took her to Baker Beach.

Baker Beach was in complete contrast to the safe quiet waters of Phelan Beach. The waves were so high swimming would have been suicidal. Standing on a rock beside Grant, Lisa shivered. This place is violent and unpredictable. Like you, she added. She hadn’t realized that she’d said the last two words loud enough for him to hear.

I’m sorry, Lisa. I haven’t made it easy for you.

Then he surprised her by pulling out a small box from his jacket pocket. He opened it. Inside was a tiny diamond ring. He slipped it on the ring finger of her left hand. Sorry, it could not be bigger.

She felt like crying. Until today, she’d never really believed he meant to marry her. Now, with his ring on her finger, she felt chilled, and knew it wasn’t only from the cool sea air.

He threw a rock into the choppy water below them. I’m going to have to go to Oklahoma for a week. My mother is ill.

I’m so sorry. Let me go with you, Grant.

He turned and took her into his arms. Not this trip. She wouldn’t want you around when she’s not at her best. She does want to meet you, though. Anyway, you need some time alone. I can be pretty demanding. Why don’t you do your piece on Alcatraz? You keep telling me you want to be a journalist, and yet I’ve seen nothing you’ve ever written.

The day he left, Lisa sat down at her typewriter and pounded out an article on the prison’s elite guest list, with insights into the character traits of Al Capone, the Birdman, and other notable inmates of Alcatraz.

Grant read it when he returned. He grunted, said he liked it. You sound just like my father. He never gave me any credit either.

When the summer ended,