Billy Luck, Episode 7: Hanging With Senator March (May Be Hazardous to Your Health…)

Heading for Billy Luck

Alison Heasley

Half a day and many miles north of Billy and Elaine and company stood an immense stucco mansion with an enormous green capped roof and olive awnings to match.

As the sunlight faded into dusk, much laughter and clinking of glasses was heard, wafting out of the growing shadows.

Inside, Skipper, wife of the stocky, red-faced junior senator from Tennessee, winced at the depraved tone of this bigwig party in their home and quickly pulled shut the flocked, silken beige draperies across the front living room windows.

“Haw-Hawww–have I got one for you, son,” growled Hastings Marsh, the Tennessean, as he mock embraced the city’s mayor, mustached and much shorter than his drunken host.

“No-lissen’ to MY story,” began Mayor Kelsey.

“First, clean that crap off your face, bud,” Marsh broke in, with a jovial jab to the mayor’s
midsection. “What IS that white powder, anyhow,” he whispered disingenuously.

Caught with his addiction showing, Mayor Kelsey blurted, “Wh’WHAT? It’s..uh, it’s donuts, senator. Hostess DONUTS–Why heh, look at the BOX.”

“Hogwash, your honor. Now straighten up and hear me out,” Marsh said.

Marsh pulled a scroll of fancy blueprints from a hidden drawer of the living room trestle table.
“Wait til you folks get a blink on this plan I’ve come up with for downtown D.C. These ‘improvements’ are gonna curl your hair!”

The mayor, carefully wiping his mouth with a fresh napkin, intoned, “But it’s already curly!”
Mrs. Skipper Marsh quickly sent up a dry retort, “Of course it is.. You’ve been in on this
sordid little deal right from the start!”

Marsh practically screamed over his wife, “SHUT UP!! That’s enough, and if you don’t
like what we’re doing, go ahead and LEAVE!”

“You know, I believe I’ll do just that!” Skipper pulled her paisley wrap around her simple blue Givenchy dress and, jumping through the startled throng of guests, dashed for her metallic-green Buick Electra convertible, nearly knocking down the Thai ambassador as she left the house.

“Forget her,” murmured Marsh to nobody in particular. “Hey. Folks, Listen up, ’cause
you all will just LOVE what we have in store for all the space-wasting bums downtown..”

Marsh rattled the plans with a huge flourish, and spread them out for all to see.

“So, who likes flophouses … and the filthy parasites who dwell therein!”

Groans went up.

“NOOOO…BOOO…” was the universal response.

“That’s right … How about it, mayor?”

Mayor Kelsey looked around nervously, then squeaked, “I’m all for it. Sure I am!”

Marsh bent over the diagram. “See, my friends, ‘Luxury Inn’… ‘Empire Corporate HQ,”Diamond Estates Inn,’ that’s for only WELL-HEELED visitors … Do you ‘Comprende?'”

One lady in diamonds and a mink shawl chirped out, “How do you move the ‘Intransigents?”

“Ohh, my dear lady,” oozed Marsh, “that is for US to know and THEM to find out,” Senator Marsh coughed and held his hand up. “Now, if you all’ll excuse me..”

Marsh slipped into a tiny paneled study with Wanda Sholes, a local TV reporter. He quickly proffered a silver vial of high-quality Bolivian nose cocaine. “Nice ‘f you comin’, Wanda…”

They took turns taking a deep sniff of the drug.

“Of course, Senator,” He chuckled, and moved closer to Wanda, almost hovering.

“Yeah, for us to know and them NOT to find out!!”

Down Mass Avenue, past the Naval Observatory, Skipper Marsh, the one-time Miss Memphis 1963, roared down the hill, headed nowhere in particular.

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