Chapter Two. Bijal sat at her new desk, jotting down some highlights from Congresswoman O’Bannon’s website onto a yellow legal pad

Bijal sat at her new desk, jotting down some highlights from Congresswoman O’Bannon’s website onto a yellow legal pad. Tallying up the time it took her to drive to the office, pick up her laptop from the office manager, and get situated, she already felt like she’d been working for an eternity. She glanced at her watch and was appalled to see that it was barely ten thirty in the morning. How could that be?

Donna Shoemaker, the mayor’s dour campaign manager, a thin, no-nonsense, dark-haired woman sporting a grim, intense expression, walked over to Bijal’s desk and perched her flat behind on the corner. If someone she’d known well had performed the gesture, it would have seemed intimate and friendly. But somehow coming from this woman, to whom Bijal had only been briefly introduced at the interview the day before, it seemed both ominous and inappropriate. “So, how’re you settling in, Ms.…is it Roo?”

“Rao,” Bijal said. “Rhymes with ‘cow.’ Bijal Rao.”

Donna’s brow furrowed ever so slightly, as she no doubt struggled to process the name to identify Bijal’s ethnicity. It sadly was an expression that Bijal recognized immediately at this point in her life and in this rather xenophobic social climate. “Where are your parents from?” Donna asked, rather transparently.

“Philadelphia,” she replied, being purposely obtuse. It amazed her that being born in the United States wasn’t really good enough for most people if you looked like you were from anywhere east of Baltimore. “And, yes, I’m settling in just fine. Thanks.” She forced a smile.

“I see you’ve already got your nose to the grindstone. Found anything useful?”

“Absolutely.”

Donna crossed her arms. “I’m all ears.” The way she said it definitely sounded like a challenge.

“Well, I’ve taken a look at the election results of this district over the last twenty years.”

“Yeah, a lot of this district is rural—which is part of the reason we feel so confident that the Republican Party can take back this seat in Congress. It’s a red pocket in a red state.”

“A red state that’s had a number of Democratic governors, where both U.S. senators and seven of the twelve congressional representatives are Democrats,” Bijal elaborated.

“Well, that’s true.”

“And a red state that went blue in the last presidential election.”

Donna looked irritated by the facts. “So then you see that we have our work cut out for us,” she snapped, her attitude suddenly shifting 180 degrees. “We need to stop the blue tide that’s coursing through Virginia, break their momentum. We only lost this seat in the first place because our candidate was a pedophile.”

“An insurmountable obstacle,” Bijal said with a nod. “But this district has been slowly trending blue for nearly a decade.”

“Really?” She sounded surprised.

Bijal pushed through a stack of papers on her desk and produced a graph that she handed Donna. “Really. It hasn’t been a radical swing, but a steady one nonetheless. Chalk most of it up to slow urban sprawl in the areas that aren’t rural, and the rest to the fact that the median age of residents is much lower than it used to be. Younger voters tend to be more liberal.”

“Do we know why they’ve gotten younger?”

Bijal glanced back to her legal pad. “Palmer College opened several years ago. The district now has several thousand new residents under thirty.”

Donna paused and seemed to turn this information over in her mind like compost. “This is good information,” she finally said.

“There’s more.”

“Oh?”

“Congresswoman O’Bannon is very helpful in that she publishes a daily schedule on her website. She definitely has someone tech savvy on her staff, and she seems very interested in transparency.”

Donna stood and started eying O’Bannon’s website over Bijal’s shoulder. “Hmm, that is good.”

“But after a fairly thorough search, I discovered she’s had a surprisingly blemish-free first term in office.”

“Here we go,” Donna said, rolling her eyes.

“She’s co-sponsored a couple pieces of legislature—both of which were very popular and passed easily. She’s bucked her own party more than a few times when she disagreed with either aspects of their bills or their questionable methods. I’ve found no allegations of corruption or impropriety. In fact, many members of both parties regard her quite highly.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard this sermon before.” Donna shifted closer to Bijal. “Let me share with you what I told your predecessor. Everyone, and I mean every-fucking-one, has dirt. And this woman is no different. We may just need to scratch a little deeper to find it.”

Bijal had a sinking feeling in her gut—not just from Donna’s inexplicable mood swing or even her disquieting use of profanity. But something in the words themselves seemed to hail back to what Fran had been telling her just the night before. “I’m assuming you don’t want to run against O’Bannon’s sexual orientation.”

“No, a large portion of moderates wouldn’t like us making that an issue. So you need to find an issue that we can use.”

“Um—”

“And whatever you do, don’t come back to me later and tell me O’Bannon has never misspoken, never made an error, or never supported a grossly liberal measure.”

“Because?”

“Because I’ll shit can you like I did the asshole who sat at this desk before you.”

“Riiiight,” Bijal rasped incredulously. “Which is precisely why I’d never do that.”

“Well, not if you want any kind of career in politics, right?”

Bijal suddenly doubted what she really did want. Up until about a minute and a half ago, she’d thought she’d known. “I do, yes. And, on the outside chance this carries any weight with you, my landlord was kind of counting on my paycheck. He’s elderly.”

Donna straightened her jacket. “Then I’d say we’re all working toward the same goal, Roo.”

“To keep me gainfully employed?”

“And ensure you a job recommendation, yes—something free of public ridicule.”

This was becoming surreal. “Wow, I didn’t even realize that public ridicule was an option. Are there any other possibilities that I should know about? Caning? Stoning?”

Bijal’s nervous attempt at humor didn’t seem to remotely faze Donna. “Here’s my expectation, Roo. You’re to burrow yourself into the congresswoman like a tapeworm.”

Bijal began writing on her legal pad. “Let me just add latex gloves to my shopping list.”

“I want to know every person she’s misled, every math test she ever failed, and every goddamn check she’s bounced. I don’t care how insignificant it seems, just bring everything to me. I’ll judge what’s useful. Don’t stop digging until you hit pay dirt.”

“Or the digestive tract, apparently.”

“Right.” Donna glanced back to Bijal’s computer screen. “And just what is the congresswoman up to?”

Bijal clicked back to the schedule page. “Actually, this afternoon, it looks like she plans to speak at a dedication ceremony for a co-op for the homeless in Richmond.”

“That’s perfect. I’ll get you a video camera, and you can film the whole liberal welfare-fest.”

“Actually, that would be useful, since I haven’t been able to find any video clips of her. Didn’t she ever debate Buddy Campbell on television?”

“No, Campbell was afraid of questions about his indiscretion, so he backed out at the last minute. That guy was an idiot.”

“Being an idiot sounds like his best feature,” Bijal said, almost to herself.

“Okay, so what time is this thing?”

“Uh, two o’clock.”

Donna glanced at her watch. “Then we need to hurry. Get online and map how to get there. I’ll have Dan, the office manager, bring you the A/V equipment and give you the rundown on how to operate it. Make sure both batteries are charged.”

“Will do.”

“Great. You can show us the footage in the morning.”

“Sounds good,” Bijal said as Donna walked away with purpose. If she’d known how much driving was involved with this job, she might have mulled it over more before she accepted.

She glanced back to Congresswoman O’Bannon’s Web page and examined the small picture in the upper right corner. A dumpy woman around the age of fifty stood in front of a group of younger people, probably the staff—the highly technical, motivated, grass-roots staff, the staff she was starting to envy.

“Shit.”

She pulled up Google Maps.

Bijal arrived at the event a little early and entered the building lobby relieved that she would have ample time to find the room the congresswoman’s event would be in and set up the video camera she was carrying under her arm. If only she felt more confident using it.

As she glanced over to the building directory, she spied a tall, bespectacled woman, probably in her mid-thirties. Though she was dressed as a businesswoman in a blue pinstriped suit with a pencil skirt, something about her emanated a certain androgyny. Perhaps it was her muscular hands with close-cropped fingernails. Maybe it was the casual way she swept her shoulder-length hair out of her eyes, or her strong, firmly set jaw. Whatever the quality was, Bijal found herself appreciating things like the small shock of gray that contrasted so strikingly with the rest of the woman’s dark hair.

For some unknown reason, the stranger’s head suddenly turned and she made eye contact with Bijal. They shared a polite smile, one that seemed to pleasantly linger. A discernible heat built in their gaze. Bijal found it unmistakable.

Suddenly, a man bumped Bijal from behind and she was forced to turn around and apologize for standing idly in the lobby, blocking the main entrance. When she spun back around, she saw that the object of her affection was now waiting for the elevator.

Bijal bypassed the directory and hustled over to catch the elevator, not caring what floor it was going to. “Nice suit,” she said, neither able to keep the flirtation out of her voice nor wanting to try.

The woman surveyed her and, from so close, her green eyes were striking. “Thank you.”

Bijal clung to the increasing signs that this attraction was mutual. The warmness in her expression encouraged her. “You fill it out very nicely,” she added boldly.

Green eyes fixed on hers again. “Well, obviously that red-dot sale at J.C. Penney paid off for me.” The elevator doors opened and they both stepped inside. “What floor?”

The woman’s husky voice was all the final circumstantial evidence Bijal needed. This woman was not only a lesbian, but she was clearly flirting back. “I’m not sure. What floor will give me the most time with you?”

“I’m getting out at eleven,” she said with an alluring smile. “Do you think you’ll be able to maintain your string of come-ons that long?”

“Are you kidding? I once hit on a woman sitting next to me on a plane nonstop from DC to Houston. Eleven floors is nothing. ”

“Impressive,” the woman remarked as the doors slid shut. “Tell me, is the camera so you can film it?”

“Huh?” Bijal glanced down, having forgotten she was even carrying the thing. “Oh, no. I’m filming Congresswoman O’Bannon’s speech.”

“Really? Is it something like a student project?”

Bijal beamed. “What a smooth way to ask my age.”

“You think you’re the only accomplished flirt in this elevator?”

“I’m Bijal Rao,” she said, extending her free hand. “And I haven’t been a student in years. I work for the congresswoman’s opponent.”

“Ooh, so you’re a spy? That’s kind of thrilling.” She held Bijal’s hand gently and for much longer than the duration of the average handshake.

“No, nothing as exciting as that, unfortunately. I just do their research—you know, look for weaknesses to exploit.”

She seemed intrigued. “I don’t know, all that espionage still sounds very…secret agenty.”

“That would require a level of smoothness I don’t possess,” Bijal said, somewhat modestly. “Though I can drive a flaming speedboat over an open waterfall. Don’t ask me how I know that.”

The elevator emitted a single chime and the doors opened. “Here’s my floor.”

“Wait, I didn’t catch your name.” Bijal held the doors open expectantly.

“Congresswoman Colleen O’Bannon, but you can call me…the opposition.” She winked playfully.

“Shit,” Bijal hissed without thinking, pulling her hand back so the elevator could close and either her embarrassment could abate or she could privately wither away in mortification, whichever came first.

“Good luck, Bijal. It was very nice meeting you.”

The doors slid shut, but it was several moments before Bijal realized she wasn’t moving. She hadn’t hit a button.

As Colleen drove home, her cell phone rang. Pressing the Speaker button, she instantly recognized the number as that of her campaign manager. “Hey, Max.”

“Hey, Colleen. How’d it go?”

“Great. We had a decent-sized crowd, local media was there.”

“You didn’t have any crazies picketing with signs saying ‘Screw the Homeless’?”

She laughed. “Not unless you count that guy in the back who was shouting something about soylent green being people.”

“Did he look like Charlton Heston?”

“A little…oh, and Denton did send a staffer to film me.”

“No shit?”

“None whatsoever. She recorded the whole event.”

“Hmm,” he said, his voice tinged with suspicion. “And you’re sure she’s with Denton?”

“Yup, not a doubt in my mind.”

“Did she say or do anything to try to discredit you?”

“No, in fact, she was surprisingly friendly. Not to mention easy on the eyes.”

“Crafty,” Max said. “Send a hot-looking Republican to distract you while you’re addressing a crowd. Did she at any point remove her blouse?”

“Sadly, no. She kept her clothes on through the whole thing.”

“Whew, you just narrowly escaped with your reputation intact.”

Colleen gently slapped her turn signal. “So if I told you I motorboated her while a state delegate was speaking, you’d be mad?”

“Mad and jealous, yes,” Max replied. “At any rate, I wanted to check on your event, as well as let you know that you picked up a couple of points in the latest Gallup Poll.”

“Nice to hear.”

“So I suppose we shouldn’t be surprised that Denton is getting nervous. They started behind and just keep falling farther back.”

“Well, let’s not get too cocky, Max.”

“What are you, Han Solo?”

“If I only had a tenth of his swagger. Is that all the news?”

“For now, but stay away from bounty hunters.”

“Thanks, Max. I can always count on you for the invaluable insight.”

“And always check your hyperdrive,” he added.

“Yeah, bye, Max. See you tomorrow at the office.”

“Bye,” he said, chuckling at his own humor.

Colleen pressed End and shook her head. “Geek.”

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