At least Enzo Gallo is properly attired for the occasion, and properly mannered. He seems to know almost as many people here as I do. Not the new-money socialites, but anybody deeply connected to old Chicago. I can see them shaking his hand with respect. Maybe my father wasn’t entirely wrong about the benefits of this alliance.
My parents come over to check in on us, with Madeline Breck alongside them. Madeline is almost seventy years old, black, with close-cropped gray hair, a plain suit, and sensible shoes. She’s got a calm and intelligent face. If you were stupid, you might think she’s a friendly grandmother type. In actuality, she’s one of the most powerful people in Chicago.
As President of the Cook County Commissioner’s Board, she controls the purse strings of massive publicly-funded projects from parks to infrastructure. She also has an iron-clad grip on the liberal democrats of Chicago. Without ever appearing to stick her finger in the pie, she manages to get whoever she wants appointed to key positions like city treasurer or state’s attorney.
She is shrewd and subtle, and not at all someone I want to get on my bad side. So I’m almost sick at the thought of Aida saying something obnoxious in front of her.
As she approaches, I hiss to Aida, “Behave yourself. That’s Madeline—”
“I know who she is,” she interrupts, rolling her eyes.
“Madeline,” my father says, “you know our son Callum. He’ll be running for the Alderman seat in the 43rd Ward in a few weeks’ time.”
“Excellent,” Madeline says. “It’s about time we had someone in there with some vision.”
“What sort of vision are you hoping for?” I ask her. “Maybe someone who can keep Lincoln Park in one piece?”
She smirks at me. “Who told you I was against the re-mapping?”
“A little bird,” I say. “If I become Alderman, I wouldn’t want Lincoln Park chopped up and portioned out. Luckily, I’m close personal friends with the head of the Rules Committee.”
“Jeremy Ross is stubborn,” Madeline says, peering at me over the top of her glasses like she thinks I don’t actually have any sway over him.
“He’s stubborn as hell, but he owes me a favor. And not a small one, either.”
“Well, I only want what’s best for the neighborhood,” she says magnanimously.
“Of course. I feel exactly the same. Lincoln Park has history. We can’t allow it to be farmed out to other districts that won’t see it as a priority.”
“That’s the spirit,” she says, patting my arm. “Nice to meet you, dear,” she says to Aida.
I’m a little confused about why she ended our conversation so abruptly. I’m pretty sure we both want the same thing.
As she walks away, Aida takes another swig of the drink she swiped from somewhere and says, “You know she doesn’t give a fuck about Lincoln Park.”
My father whips his head around sharply. “What are you talking about?”
“She gets kickbacks on the garbage service in the 44th and 32nd Wards,” Aida says, as if it’s obvious. “You add half of Lincoln Park to that, and you double the value. She’s just opposing the re-mapping in public because it’s unpopular.”
A glance passes between my parents.
“I better talk to Marty Rico,” my mother says.
As they split off to confirm, Aida laughs softly.
“How did you know that?” I ask her.
“Looks like the Griffins aren’t so well-connected after all,” she says. “I guess nobody was talking about it at the North Shore Country Club.”
“How would you get her to come around, if you’re so smart?” I demand.
“Why should I tell you?” Aida says, narrowing her gray eyes at me and taking another sip of her drink. She looks sly and malicious when she does that, like some sort of jungle cat high up in the branches, about to drop down on my head.
“Well,” I say, “in another week’s time, what’s mine is yours. Which means my successes . . . and my failures . . . will all be on your shoulders too. So it makes sense for you to help me.”
She sets her empty glass down on the nearest planter, color coming into her cheeks.
“You think I’m going to be some little woman standing behind you, working behind the scenes to help launch your bright shiny star?” she snaps.