STRESSFUL TIMES: CONTEMPLANYS HERMI
2, Of Pursestrings & Other Innuendo
On a good day, the two men were friends. Forthrightness and fair dealing were not too common in the Senate Building that one could afford to take it for granted when one recognised in a fellow colleague, even if that colleague was politically one's opposition. In another place and at another time, this meeting would have been a pleasant enough surprise. As it was, Garm fought back a thinly held rage. To start with, the Nié Noir was his retreat on Coruscant. He came here to escape work, mingle with the young idealists and pretend the weight of a world did not rest on his shoulders. It was as far away as possible from the popular, high-profile restaurants favoured by the senators where business was always inevitably mixed with pleasure and even the simple tax of eating was deciphered for implications. It was certainly a change from the even more popular, seedy nightclubs and bars that were equally patronized by his colleagues and - for want of a better definition - contacts.
Now, it was ruined for him forever. He wondered for how long Alderaan Intelligence had watched and scrutinized his activities here. It was stupid to be so offended, of course. Garm was no novice to Galactic politics, he was well aware that his adversaries would always keep a close eye on his activities, and his supposed allies an even closer one. But he had always considered Bail a friend.
He really was starting to get soft.
"Give me a moment, Bail," he murmured blandly, "let me smell the roses a bit before you unleash your claws. And you can buy me a drink while you're at it. The most expensive one on the menu if you mean business."
The white-robed Twilek waiter took their order and was back almost immediately. Garm ostensibly sipped his drink and grinned up at his friend's sombre face. "With that look you fit here like a charm, do you know?" He quipped. "By the way, do you really think this is the place to have the kind of conversation you undoubtedly came here to have?"
Bail smiled wryly. He too could play the game. "Your opinion might count more than mine this time around." He sipped his own drink carefully - he had ordered the same as Garm - and smacked his lips appreciatively.
"Not bad, huh?" Garm commented. "Even better especially since it's coming out of the Royal Pursestrings."
Bail did not so much as flinch. Garm was impressed. When the then young groom of Queen Breha had taken up the reserved appointment in the Alderaan delegation, he had been expected - like his forbears - to only be an honorary Senator and not actively participate in Galactic politics. His attempt to break the mould had been actively discouraged and some political rival's news media had taken to poking fun at the Prince/Senator. One of the more popular slogans then was the Royal Pursestrings, the alias given to his special allowance as Prince Consort. Bail Organa had borne it all with remarkable dignity and had not allowed the smear campaign affect his determination to do a good job. Gradually, he had earned the respect of not only his sceptical colleagues but the very press that had tried to ridicule him. And here he was now, a driving force in the Senate with the ear of the Chancellor himself. It was during that time that the much older Garm had first taken note of the man and had formed a friendship based on mutual respect with him.
A friendship that might soon end.
"So cut to the chase," Garm said, speaking in the informal Corellian Basic that he was most comfortable with. "What do you think you have on me?"
Bail lifted his coat and put in his hand. Garm stiffened. The hand came out with a thick plasti-paper in its grip. Garm relaxed and felt foolish. Was he starting to become paranoid?
Bail slid the plasti-paper blank face up across the wet table. Garm made a mock-grimace as he picked it up and turned it over.
The little humour in his body left him.
For a full minute, Garm stared silently at the paper while the wheels in his brain turned over a selection of lessening options. Then he finally spoke: "For once, you and I definitely see eye to eye on something. Indeed, my opinion does count more in this situation."
He drew out a pen and wrote clearly on the blank side of the sheet and he slid it across to Bail Organa.
He got up. "It was nice bumping into you, Bail. Thanks for the drink. And don't forget - they only take credits."
He passed through the beautiful room without pausing to appreciate the atmosphere. He knew it was not paranoia that made him sense more than one pair of eyes on his back just before he passed through the swinging doors.