Whatever He Wants: The Pleasures and Perils of Power

By Joan Conning Afman

This book is a result of one of the years of Bible study and discussion at Jupiter First Church. Plowing through the events of the Old Testament Davids life, the author began to think how interesting it might be to transfer the personality and life of this biblical character to the modern world. If David were a politician, hoping to become president of the United States, would he still be the brightest and best? Would he be able to hold on to his beliefs and ethics in the face of the pleasures and perils of accumulated power? How could the events of his life in biblical days be updated to fit the modern world? This book is the result.

The reader acquainted with the Old Testament story will recognize many names and events; to others it will remain primarily the tale of an ambitious young man and his journey.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: May 26, 2015
• ISBN: 9781490878898

Book preview

Copyright © 2015 Joan Afman.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Scripture taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

WestBow Press

A Division of Thomas Nelson & Zondervan

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.westbowpress.com

1 [phone]

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-4908-7888-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4908-7889-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015907082

WestBow Press rev. date: 5/22/2015

Contents

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Questions for Discussion

Dedication

To my sister, M. Judith Conning Best,

her husband, the Reverend William J. Best

and all their ever-expanding clan of children,

grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

Chapter One

W e need to find someone we can control, someone who’s ‘our man’. Mel Martinelli took another swig of Miklos, his favorite beer imported from Greece, dug a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his brow. His dark eyes and hair and swarthy complexion betrayed his Southern European heritage.

I agree. Samuel Abrams, thinner, more aristocratic than Mel, who preferred a martini, stirred, no olive, nodded. Someone we can train, who will vote as we tell him to. His eyes scanned the room, as if that person might just be sitting there amid the other diners.

A moody silence reigned as the two men sat in thought. Sam sipped his drink and continued to survey the luxuriously appointed room. The south wall was almost all windows, looking out on the green velvet golf course, which, when lighted at night, transformed the landscape into something other-worldly. Palm trees swayed in the south Florida breeze, and brushed against the windows outside, while smaller versions thrived in huge ceramic pots inside.

Mel revolved the beer bottle in his hands. He can’t have too many scruples. We need someone who won’t blink if we ask for zoning changes, and will close his eyes if money changes hands behind his back in order to get things done. He raised one shoulder in a careless shrug. It’s just politics, you know. It never changes.

Agreed again. Sam continued to look around—at the wallpaper, brushed with gold, the hand-carved cornices and woodwork, and the curved glass bar, which was itself an aquarium, hosting an amazing assortment of tropical fish.

You did a fantastic job with this hotel. Sam complimented Mel for the hundredth time. This is the place the beautiful people come, and talk about after they’ve been here.

Mel grunted. It was worth it. Generates money for me like you wouldn’t believe. I keep upping the prices for rooms, food and drinks, and people keep right on paying it.

Sam grinned. Good. We’re going to need a bundle to finance this up-and-coming politician we’re going to create. He turned as his attention shifted to the entertainment area, where a well-built, flaxen-haired young man with a guitar began to sing. His clear tones floated through the room like liquid silk, and a few couples got up and began to move over the white marble dance floor.

Who’s that? Sam asked. He’s good, really good.

David Shepherd, one of Jesse’s kids in the law firm. This is his avocation. He could have gone on and become somebody in the music world, but Jesse wouldn’t stand for that. Kid had to be a lawyer, like everyone else in the family.

He’s one of Jesse Shepherd’s kids? A lawyer? He met Mel’s eyes, and a slow grin overtook his face. Maybe this could be the guy. Women would vote for him based just on his looks. Let’s have a talk with him— and with Jesse— and see how sharp he is.

Mel gave the young man an appraising look. Top grades at Harvard, I heard, but he hasn’t accomplished much of anything since. We’ve done business with Jesse’s firm in the past. I think he’d jump at the chance to have a pawn in the political system even if it is his own son. As you said, politics, you know.

Hmmm. But let’s not jump too fast. If we don’t know everything there is to know about the guy, it might come back to bite us in the future.

Remember the Manchurian Candidate? All we need is someone charismatic, reasonably intelligent, ambitious. We’ll pull all the strings, and he’ll never know what we’re doing.

Sam turned back to stare at the young man with the guitar. Tall, broad-shouldered, a thick thatch of slightly too-long blond hair, a face and physique that would make a Greek statue envious.

Sam raised his glass. We’ll set up a meeting with him and his dad. I think we may have found us our guy, Sam. He’s certainly personable enough, and must have a brain in his head to have made it through law school. If he can speak in public, and has an ounce of charisma, he’s it…if he wants it. He shrugged. Maybe he’d rather spend his life singing in a fancy hotel and living off his dad. Who knows? I don’t understand the kids today. They don’t seem to have the ambition we had. He drained his martini and then raised his empty glass again. The light from the diamond-faceted crystal chandelier sent rainbow glints of light through the glass.

Mel nodded. Ambition I don’t know about, but charisma he’s got. Check out the looks on the gals’ faces. They can’t take their eyes off him. He bit his lip, thinking. There might be one small hitch in this.

Sam raised his eyebrows. A hitch? What?

There was something in the political grapevine a few years ago…something about Jesse getting a young Muslim girl who worked for him pregnant. He talked her into getting an abortion, and her father forced her to quit and go home. That could be a problem for David if the rumors surfaced again. Would you be concerned about that?

Sam turned to stare at David again. Looking back at Mel, he scowled and nodded. I sure would. In these times and this explosive political atmosphere, anything that could incite the Muslims would be a problem. How many people knew about that?

I don’t think it got out beyond a few political insiders. And her family would never make an issue of that— too much shame for the girl. At any rate, it’s Jesse’s problem, not David’s.

Hmmm. As I said before, let’s hope it doesn’t punch us in the face later. Sam sipped at his martini. We’ll have to talk with him and his father first, but I think I like this guy. Let’s go for it.

Sam smiled. Here’s to our man, David Shepherd, the next state senator from West Palm Beach."

Mel laughed and drained the rest of his beer. Let’s think big, Sam. Here’s to a future president of the United States.

Chapter Two

Y ou gotta hear this guitarist who plays during the piano breaks. Mel gave his daughter, Michelle, a covert look to judge her reaction to his suggestion. He sings— coulda been a musician, except his old man, a lawyer, wouldn’t go for that.

Mel always insisted that the three of them— he, Michelle and her brother Jonathan, eat breakfast together at the white wrought iron table in the sunny nook papered with yellow flowers, or at least share a cup of coffee, so that they would have some family time together before they went their separate ways for the day.

What does he do professionally? Michelle shook her dark hair away from her face, and picked at her scrambled eggs with her fork. Why can’t Martha learn to cook eggs so they aren’t oozing all over the place? She pushed the plate away with an expression of disgust, and shaded her eyes against the morning sun flooding in from the garden outside. She gestured toward her brother, and asked in an irritable voice, Can’t we close those curtains?

You’re in a great mood. Jonathan, sandy-haired and blue-eyed in contrast with his sister’s dark beauty, reached up and drew the curtains across the windows.

He’s a lawyer with his old man’s firm, Shepherd and Sons. We’re grooming him for state senate, and maybe more later. I’d like you to meet him.

Subtle, isn’t he? Michelle flicked a glance at Jonathan, who had finished his eggs and helped himself to seconds from the buffet. Dad would just love to see me married to a politician he could control.

Jonathan chuckled. There are worse fates, Michelle. You’re not dating anyone else. Might as well go take a look at this guy.

Michelle glared at her brother, and Mel wished again that she’d inherited the delicate features of their deceased mother Judith, her fine chestnut hair and eyes so blue that in the dim light of their love-making, they had looked black. Jonathan had the finer features, while Michelle bore the heavier frame, larger features, darker hair with a tint of red, eyes gray as rain. In spite of the fact that Mel thought she was beautiful in a steamy Mediterranean way, he considered with a heavy dose of irony that Jonathan was the pretty one.

That’s not the point. The point is that I don’t want my father running my life and picking my husband for me. I can do that myself.

Mel harrumphed. If you ever get around to it. I’m the last one in my group to be a grandfather, Michelle.

Tough bunnies. I’ll provide them when I’m good and ready, and not on demand, thank you very much. She tossed her head, got up from the table and stalked out of the room.

She’ll go check him out, Jonathan said and grinned at his father. Michelle can’t resist a challenge, and you just threw down the gauntlet.

And I think she’s in the market for Mr. Right, even though she won’t admit it.

Mel cocked an ear as they heard Michelle’s high heels clatter across the tile floor. The door closed behind her and she left the house. He raised his glass of orange juice with the same confidence as when he toasted with a hard drink.

Here’s to the future Mr. and Mrs. David Shepherd.

Jonathan smirked. I’m sure you’ll do your best to accomplish that.

Mel leaned toward his son. And how are things with you and Erica? There’s a girl I didn’t pick out. Art teacher at your school, right?

I like her, but I don’t love her. Jonathan shrugged. But she’s fun, and pretty, and a good-dresser—

And bi-racial, Mel put in.

Jonathan’s mouth tightened. You just don’t get it, Dad. That doesn’t matter to our generation. It just might be good for your future politician’s career, attract the minority vote, you know. And Erica’s a wonderful girl, a talented teacher…

But any children the two of you might have— Mel began, but Jonathan cut him off. Won’t be of your precious pure Sicilian blood. Well, I don’t care. Not in the least, Dad. Shepherd isn’t Italian, either.

Yeah, there’s that, Mel remarked. But do you really want to take on all the flack you’ll get with a mixed marriage? It still isn’t all that accepted in our circles. And, I admit that I’d like any grandchild of mine with the last name of Martinelli, to be Italian. Now there’s Paul Gratti’s pretty daughter, Rita—

Jonathan made a gesture of impatience and stood up. Dad, I haven’t made any decisions or any commitments to Erica. But I’m telling you this, to keep the peace in this family you have got to stop butting into our business, Michelle’s and mine. We’ll make our own decisions in our own time.

Mel’s eyes followed his son as Jonathan left the room. Never hurts to have a little help, he murmured, knowing that he and Michelle had no idea at all how often he had made decisions for them behind the scenes. There was something to be said for having a politician father with lots of contacts.

He reached up and pushed the curtains back. He liked the sun, and plenty of it. Why live in south Florida if you didn’t? He gazed out at the garden without seeing the native Floridian plants and flowers that grew there. He’d never bothered to learn the names of any of them; he just knew there weren’t any iris or roses or pansies or daisies, none of the flowers he’d been familiar with in Connecticut. The gardeners took care of things out there, and that was fine with him.

He drummed his fingers on the table as he thought about the meeting he and Sam had taken with Jesse and David. It had gone well, no doubt about it. The younger Shepherd was personable and articulate, and appeared to be quite interested when they’d laid their proposal before him. They would arrange and pay for his campaign, put out the publicity, hire the workers. All he had to do was to be familiar enough with the issues that he could speak on them without notes, make public appearances around West Palm Beach, turn on the charm, and smile, smile, smile. And of course, they expected a modicum of loyalty when it came to votes in the legislature that might affect them, zoning, building permits, and such…small potatoes, really.

But you wouldn’t want me to do anything illegal? David had asked, a doubtful look crossing his handsome face for the first time.

No, no! Sam boomed in his hearty voice. But, we might expect your dad’s law firm to go to bat for us from time to time. That all right with you, Jesse?

Sure thing. Jesse nodded and sat back in his chair, his eyes on his youngest son, filled with pride.

David had leaned forward, his elbows on the table, looking very intent. But nothing illegal or immoral, he’d insisted.

Nothing illegal. Immoral is up to you," Mel said, and chuckled, crossing his fingers in his lap.

David’s got a bit of a religious thing going on, Jesse said in an indulgent voice. But I’m sure we can keep everything legal.

Legal, yes, but ethical too, David persisted.

For the first time, Mel felt a pang of irritation. What was with this kid, anyway? Here they were offering him a chance of a lifetime; run for state senate, in four years or so run for the House of Representatives in Washington, then on to the Senate— what was his problem? He forced his annoyance back and said in his best, fatherly tone, We’ll never ask you to do anything against your ethical code, David."

"How about your ethical code?" the kid shot back.

That rubbed Mel the wrong way, and his irritation returned. A warning glance from Samuel calmed him down. This is important, the look said. Don’t blow it all with one of your fits of temper.

It’ll be fine, David, he said, forcing a smile, promising everything and nothing at all. The primary will be coming up in March. You’re a shoe-in for that, and you’ll be running against the incumbent conservative—

David’s expression turned thoughtful, then he laughed. Gil Lester. I’ve heard him speak, I know his political record. He never changes his rhetoric. I can beat him, piece of cake.

Mel studied the young man. Did he really have what it would take to go all the way? Sure seemed to have plenty of confidence—and those golden good looks. The public would swoon all over him, the way they had over the Kennedys years ago.

David narrowed his eyes. And I know how he’s in thrall to ALEC. Everything they ask him to do he does, and he has gotten some legislation through that benefits corporations and harms the environment. I can bring that up too.

Mel nodded, pleased that David had an understanding of ALEC, the conservative organization that lobbied to change state laws one by one, thereby hoping to make the nation as a whole more conservative."

They’re supposed to be bi-partisan, Mel offered, testing him.

David snorted. They have one Democrat in a leadership position. Everyone else checks out as conservative, even tea-partyish, some of them. I’d hardly call that bi-partisan."

Mel grinned. The kid had done his homework. Mel stood, exuding satisfaction, and the other three men rose with him. That’s the attitude we need, he said.

Jesse extended his hand, and everyone shook hands all around. Looking forward to working with you. He put his arm around his son’s shoulder with a look of pride. I always knew David would go far, whatever he decided to do. He chuckled. "When he decided what he was going to do."

David smiled. I’m only twenty-eight, Dad. Plenty of time. But I already know I don’t want to spend my life arranging mortgages.

By the way, Mel said, David, I would like you to meet my daughter, Michelle. She’s going to stop in at the hotel some night and give you a listen.

The look that flickered across David’s face said it all: Now he wants to fix me up with his daughter? The look vanished as fast as it had come. I’ve seen her picture in the society pages of the paper. Beautiful girl. Sure, love to meet her, he replied, flashing a bright if somewhat insincere smile.

All right then, we have a deal, and we’ll be in touch soon. Sam said, and walked the father and son Shepherds to the door.

Mel watched them leave. The kid had a really bright future ahead of him, if he played his cards right. If he had a brain behind that impossibly good-looking face, and if he displayed energy and ambition, the kid could have whatever he wanted, including his own daughter, Michelle.

The phone jangled, interrupting his reverie and his personal plans for his daughter and his new political protégé.

Chapter Three

A bby tossed back her copper-colored hair, which she wore long and straight. Let’s go to your dad’s place. I’ll drive. I hear there’s a really hot new guitar player and singer there on Saturday nights.

What is this, a conspiracy? Michelle asked, sliding into the passenger seat of Abby’s white BMW convertible. My father practically insisted that I meet this guy. I sometimes think anybody would do if I would just get married and give him a grandkid.

Abby laughed. Uh uh. Not just anybody for you, Michelle. You’re your dad’s chief prize, and he’ll sure you make the right marriage.

Yeah, what is it with parents? Hannah chimed in. That’s all I hear from my mom too. I think her generation should have been more career-centered, like we are.

Michelle turned to look at her. According to my dad, it’s just the opposite. They worked their socks off to make good careers for themselves and their families, but all we want to do is play. She often thought how interesting it was that the three of them looked so entirely different, and had such separate interests and personalities, but had still wound up the best of friends. Abby, tall and redheaded, Hannah— petite, blonde and perky, while she herself was of medium height, dark-haired and gray-eyed, like her father. Added to that, Abby wanted a high-flying career that would bring her success and money, and made no secret of the fact that she was fishing for a rich husband. Hannah was happy with her job editing for a publisher— although she hoped to write a book herself someday—and as for Michelle, well, she just didn’t know what she wanted. She had her part time job at the Country Club coaching tennis and sometimes substituting at the trendy club store, and really—what kind of job was that, anyway? She just didn’t seem to have yearnings for more. She wondered to herself if her lack of ambition was a result of always having everything she wanted given to her. She’d had no need to strive.

You said it, Michelle said. Even though I don’t have a mother to boss me around, I have a father who wants to run my life for me. She looked out the window of Abby’s sporty new car. Turn down Rosemary if you want to go to my dad’s place. I thought you knew the way by now.

Abby snorted. Don’t get testy. I just thought it would be easier to take the little streets. There it is— no time lost.

The great hotel, situated so that its five-star restaurant looked out on the Intracoastal Waterway, loomed like a pink and beige rococo wedding cake. Finished in stucco, so popular in South Florida, it boasted an array of terraces and balconies, and the array of flowering trees made it look like the entrance to a botanical garden. They drove into the parking lot, and a uniformed attendant leaped forward to take the wheel. He started to hand Abby a parking ticket, but recognizing Michelle he drew it back and smiled. On us, ladies. Have a good evening.

Well, that’s one advantage of knowing you, Hannah chirped, as they made their way along the flagstone path lined with soft lights housed in shimmering alabaster shells.

Even though there were several couples waiting for tables, the hostess came to greet them immediately, ushered them through the crowd and guided them to one of the tables near the dance floor, always reserved for important guests.

Yes, there are advantages to being friends with Michelle, Abby observed dryly, nodding at the waiter who pulled out a chair for her. Every time I’ve been here with someone else it’s been an hour wait."

At least, chimed in Hannah.

Michelle pretended to be annoyed. Oh, cut it out. The perks I get here don’t begin to even out with having to put up with my father.

Yes, it must be tough getting used to the best, Abby observed, grinning.

Even Michelle found that funny, and she joined in the laughter with the two other women. Have anything you want, she said to them, as she perused the menu. You know there won’t be a bill.

The most expensive wines on the menu flowed like water, the waiter hovering and refilling the crystal goblets the second they were empty.

Michelle half-turned and glanced at the piano. I don’t see any guitar player.

He plays during the piano breaks, Abby said, and I’m telling you, he’s hot! She put her hand over the top of her glass, as the waiter bent over her. I’m driving. I’ll switch to Diet Coke for the rest of the night.

Oh, enjoy yourself. Michelle gestured toward Abby’s glass. We can take a taxi home. Hannah and Abby raised their eyebrows in her direction. Well, she couldn’t help it if her father was filthy rich, and money had never been a problem for her. Money opened doors, made life a lot easier. More enjoyable too.

They ordered whatever they wanted from the menu, beginning with the most expensive appetizers. I’ve always wanted to try escargot, Hannah said. But I never wanted to spend the money on ordering something I might not be able to eat once I get it.

Order anything you want, Michelle said with a careless shrug. I’m having caviar and truffles. What do you want, Abby?

Brie and crackers, Abby replied. "I have simpler tastes, but I’ll follow it up with the best steak on the menu. Maybe steak and lobster."

Go for it, Michelle repeated. Let’s just enjoy ourselves. Forget about the price of anything, just for one night, okay?

Abby and Hannah glanced at each other, exchanged shrugs, and nodded silently at Michelle. She rewarded them with a big grin. Friends; they were the best.

Conversation flowed, the wine glasses were filled and refilled, and their laughter flavored the air. In no time at all, it seemed, their appetizers were gone and the waiter appeared with their dinners.

Michelle was admiring her own beautifully presented veal Oscar when she realized the pianist had stopped playing. She twisted around to look, but didn’t see anyone with a guitar. Just a piano and a bench. Well. maybe the ‘hot’ vocalist had the night off, or maybe her father was just plain misinformed. Whatever. Deep in conversation with the other two girls, she heard him begin his song— soft as velvet, seductive as a snake, his voice bringing all conversation in the busy dining room to a sudden halt. She slowly swerved around her chair to look at the owner of the voice. Her breath caught in her throat. Oh, what a gorgeous guy!

She froze, fork in midair, as he looked up and their eyes met. She wondered if years later she would still be asking herself what happened in that moment. It was almost physical—she felt it as if a bird had fluttered against her chest, the way they sometimes flew against a window pane. So many people said love at first sight didn’t happen, wasn’t possible, was a myth you told yourself. But— something did happen, something she didn’t ask for and never expected.

If she could have designed and built a man to her own specifications, he couldn’t have looked more perfect than this David Shepherd. Handsome-to-the-max in just the way she preferred—not Hollywood handsome, but boy-next-door cute! Cute! Cute! And in addition to the thatch of thick blond hair and piercing blue eyes, she just knew that under the casual shirt and expensive jeans lurked a body that would fill all her expectations too. Her breath caught. Sometimes God did come through with the most amazing gifts.

With an effort she wrenched her gaze away and turned back to her dinner, but she knew in her deepest places inside that from now on everything would be different.

Didn’t I tell you he’s hot? Abby hissed across the table. Do you think he’s rich too?

Hannah gave her a disapproving look. Probably not if he’s playing guitar in a hotel bar. But he’s Jesse Shepherd’s son. Take it from there.

I want to marry rich. But, I’d really like to go out with him too, rich or not. Like to find out if the rest of him is as gorgeous as his face.

Michelle smiled, and felt her face heat up a little, as