Joe Steele by Harry Turtledove Page A

not for long. “One of the reasons nobody can prove anything is that a lot of the paperwork’s gone and disappeared. That tells you something right there, or it does if you’re not a cheerleader for the bum in the White House.”
    â€œI’m no cheerleader, dammit.” Charlie wasn’t kidding around any more, either. “I watched Mikoian on the convention floor when news came of the fire in Albany. He almost dropped dead. Nobody’s that good an actor.”
    â€œAnd you heard Scriabin order it, too.”
    â€œI heard Scriabin on the phone talking about something. I don’t know what any more than you do. They deserve the benefit of the doubt.”
    Mike took a deep breath, blew it out, and then took another one. “Okay. It’s your wedding. I don’t want to fight with you on your big day. But it sure seems you’re banging Joe Steele’s drum for him with those stories you keep cranking out.”
    â€œThe bills are important. They’ll help clean up the mess we’re in. I don’t care if the Devil wrote them. They’re still good bills.”
    â€œWho says the Devil didn’t?” Mike said. Charlie threw up his hands and went over to the bar for another bourbon. He didn’t want to fight with his brother, either, not on a day like this.
    Esther had a fresh drink in her hand, too. “What were you and Mike going on about?” she asked.
    â€œNothing that has anything to do with you, babe,” he said, and kissed her. “Just dumb old politics.”
    â€œHe really can’t stand the President, can he? That’s so funny—it’s not like he’s a Republican or anything.”
    â€œHe doesn’t trust him,” Charlie said, which was putting it mildly. To his relief, the band Esther’s folks had hired started going through its paces. He gulped his bourbon and led Esther out onto the dance floor. “C’mon, Mrs. Sullivan. Let’s cut a rug.” If he was dancing, he didn’t have to think about his brother or Joe Steele or anything else.
    â€œMrs. Sullivan. I like that.” Esther smiled at him. She spread the fingers of her left hand so the tiny diamond in her wedding ring sparkled. “I’ve got to get used to it, but I like it.”
    â€œYou better get used to it. You’ll be wearing it the next fifty or sixty years.” He leaned close to whisper in her ear: “And tonight you won’t be wearing anything else.” She squeaked and made as if to hit him, but they were grinning at each other.
    They honeymooned at Niagara Falls. It was not too far and not too expensive. Charlie didn’t much care where they went. He didn’t plan on seeing much besides the hotel room they’d rented any which way. He and Esther did finally go to the Falls the day before they were supposed to head back to New York City and Charlie to continue to Washington and to find a bigger apartment than the cramped place he’d had up till then.
    The Falls were impressive. Damned if he’d admit it, Charlie spoke to his new wife in a mock-gruff growl: “I wouldn’t even know what this place looks like if you hadn’t worn me out.”
    This time, Esther did hit him. No one around them paid any attention. A lot of the people gaping at the Falls were young couples too tired fromhoneymooning to do any more of it right that minute. One of these days before too long, Charlie figured, Mike and Stella would come here, too. He wondered how much of Niagara they’d see.
    *   *   *
    â€œL adies and gentlemen, live from the White House in Washington, D.C., the President of the United States.” The radio announcer had the rich, slightly plummy tones of an actor who’d spent a lot of time in first-rate vaudeville and a few short stretches in Broadway flops.
    Charlie noticed the hamminess but didn’t fuss about it. At least half the leading radio