issue I’ll give to Tomlinson,” Jake said.
“Energy efficiency,” Cardwell echoed.
“And it’ll be clean energy, too,” said Jake. “No sulfur emissions. No carbon dioxide greenhouse gas.”
Cardwell nodded as he picked up his glass of beer. “And what else?”
“What else?”
After a sip of his beer, Cardwell asked, “What did you think of Lignite?”
Mildly surprised at the seeming change of subject, Jake shrugged. “It’s pretty much of a dump. Practically a ghost town.”
“Lev and I honeymooned there,” said Mrs. Cardwell.
“You did?”
Smiling at the memory, she said, “Lignite was a bustling town in those days. And the Main Street Hotel was a lovely place.”
“The coal mines were prosperous then,” said Cardwell. “My first job, out of college, was in the company’s laboratory out there.”
“Really?”
“We were developing products out of coal tar.”
“That was more than forty years ago,” Mrs. Cardwell said.
“You’ve been married that long?”
“I was barely out of my teens,” Cardwell said, grinning across the table at his wife. “Alice was practically jailbait.”
She blushed prettily.
“Yes, Lignite was quite a town back then.”
Jake nodded and turned his attention back to the remains of his dinner. And then it hit him.
He looked up at Cardwell. “MHD can use high-sulfur coal!”
“That’s what I’ve heard,” Cardwell said mildly.
“I mean,” Jake said, growing excited, “MHD could make the high-sulfur coal in Lignite profitable again. It could revitalize the state’s coal industry!”
Obviously pleased that Jake had finally figured it out, Cardwell said, “Now that’s an issue that can get Tomlinson elected to the U.S. Senate.”
JACOB ROSS’S APARTMENT
Jake was still bubbling with excitement when he got home. That’s what Lev was after all along, he told himself as he parked in his space behind the apartment building and bounded up the steps to the second floor. Push MHD power generation as a way to bring back the state’s coal industry. Plenty of votes in that!
He unlocked his front door, flicked on the lights, and rushed to his desk to look up Amy Wexler’s phone number. The apartment was small: one bedroom, a living room that Jake had turned into a paper-strewn office, and a kitchen that he barely used except for the microwave oven. When Louise died, he couldn’t bear to stay in the home they’d built together, so he returned to the run-down part of town near his old neighborhood and took the first apartment he saw.
Amy’s phone was ringing. Jake had her number and e-mail address on his desktop computer screen. After three rings her voice came on: “Hello. I’m not home at the moment. Please leave your name and number and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”
Jake nodded to himself. Of course she’d be out. She’s probably having dinner at one of the nice restaurants uptown. She’s a busy woman. She’s probably got a dozen guys chasing after her.
“Uh, this is Jake Ross,” he said, even while his mind was wandering. “I’ve got an important idea that I want to talk over with you, Amy. I think it could be a winning issue for Mr. Tomlinson.”
He left his number and hung up. For a moment he considered calling her cell phone number, but decided he didn’t want to disturb her if she was out having dinner with some guy. Sagging back in his creaking desk chair, he surveyed the room. A mess. Newspapers and magazines littered the sofa. The books in his makeshift bookcase were jammed in helter-skelter, with no rhyme or reason. Whenever he wanted a particular book he had to search through all the damned shelves from scratch. Through the open bedroom door he could see that he hadn’t bothered to make the bed for several days.
Maybe I should get a housekeeper to straighten up the place once a week, he thought. But he shook his head, dismissing the idea. Not in this neighborhood. That’d be an open invitation to have the
“Energy efficiency,” Cardwell echoed.
“And it’ll be clean energy, too,” said Jake. “No sulfur emissions. No carbon dioxide greenhouse gas.”
Cardwell nodded as he picked up his glass of beer. “And what else?”
“What else?”
After a sip of his beer, Cardwell asked, “What did you think of Lignite?”
Mildly surprised at the seeming change of subject, Jake shrugged. “It’s pretty much of a dump. Practically a ghost town.”
“Lev and I honeymooned there,” said Mrs. Cardwell.
“You did?”
Smiling at the memory, she said, “Lignite was a bustling town in those days. And the Main Street Hotel was a lovely place.”
“The coal mines were prosperous then,” said Cardwell. “My first job, out of college, was in the company’s laboratory out there.”
“Really?”
“We were developing products out of coal tar.”
“That was more than forty years ago,” Mrs. Cardwell said.
“You’ve been married that long?”
“I was barely out of my teens,” Cardwell said, grinning across the table at his wife. “Alice was practically jailbait.”
She blushed prettily.
“Yes, Lignite was quite a town back then.”
Jake nodded and turned his attention back to the remains of his dinner. And then it hit him.
He looked up at Cardwell. “MHD can use high-sulfur coal!”
“That’s what I’ve heard,” Cardwell said mildly.
“I mean,” Jake said, growing excited, “MHD could make the high-sulfur coal in Lignite profitable again. It could revitalize the state’s coal industry!”
Obviously pleased that Jake had finally figured it out, Cardwell said, “Now that’s an issue that can get Tomlinson elected to the U.S. Senate.”
JACOB ROSS’S APARTMENT
Jake was still bubbling with excitement when he got home. That’s what Lev was after all along, he told himself as he parked in his space behind the apartment building and bounded up the steps to the second floor. Push MHD power generation as a way to bring back the state’s coal industry. Plenty of votes in that!
He unlocked his front door, flicked on the lights, and rushed to his desk to look up Amy Wexler’s phone number. The apartment was small: one bedroom, a living room that Jake had turned into a paper-strewn office, and a kitchen that he barely used except for the microwave oven. When Louise died, he couldn’t bear to stay in the home they’d built together, so he returned to the run-down part of town near his old neighborhood and took the first apartment he saw.
Amy’s phone was ringing. Jake had her number and e-mail address on his desktop computer screen. After three rings her voice came on: “Hello. I’m not home at the moment. Please leave your name and number and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”
Jake nodded to himself. Of course she’d be out. She’s probably having dinner at one of the nice restaurants uptown. She’s a busy woman. She’s probably got a dozen guys chasing after her.
“Uh, this is Jake Ross,” he said, even while his mind was wandering. “I’ve got an important idea that I want to talk over with you, Amy. I think it could be a winning issue for Mr. Tomlinson.”
He left his number and hung up. For a moment he considered calling her cell phone number, but decided he didn’t want to disturb her if she was out having dinner with some guy. Sagging back in his creaking desk chair, he surveyed the room. A mess. Newspapers and magazines littered the sofa. The books in his makeshift bookcase were jammed in helter-skelter, with no rhyme or reason. Whenever he wanted a particular book he had to search through all the damned shelves from scratch. Through the open bedroom door he could see that he hadn’t bothered to make the bed for several days.
Maybe I should get a housekeeper to straighten up the place once a week, he thought. But he shook his head, dismissing the idea. Not in this neighborhood. That’d be an open invitation to have the
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