Chapter Three

Bijal was still toiling at the computer when Fran walked through the apartment door.

Fran glanced at her watch, no doubt surprised to see it was nearly one in the morning. “Ooh, good. You’re still up.” She shuffled over to the refrigerator and took out a chilled bottle of water. “You should have come out with me, girl. Some butch laid the worst line on me ever. ”

Bijal propped her chin up on her fist and blinked tiredly. “Worse than ‘you’ve got beautiful thighs—what time do they open?’”

Fran unscrewed the cap and took a long drink before sitting on the couch. “I’d say so. This short chick with a wallet chain and a leather vest saunters up to me while I’m on the dance floor, leans in, and says, ‘My friend over there says you look like you’d taste like chocolate, and I bet her twenty bucks that you taste more like mocha.’”

“Wow.”

Fran nodded slowly. “Uh-huh, that’s what I mean. Epically bad.”

“No one’s ever told me that I looked like I taste like anything. So what did you say?”

“We’re going out Friday.”

Bijal laughed and rolled her eyes. “Damn, you’re a real piece of work.”

“What? Can I help it if I’m a sucker for leather and shitty pickup lines?”

“Yes. Yes, you can. You just have to want to.”

“Whatever. What’s eating you? Did you get fired today or something?”

“No, but I probably should be,” Bijal replied with a sigh.

“Ooh!” Fran quickly kicked off her shoes, ran over to the kitchen, grabbed a chair, and pulled it up next to Bijal at the computer. “Okay, go ahead.”

“So I was sent to this dedication ceremony to film the congresswoman.”

“Did you punch someone in the back of the head?”

Bijal blinked at her slowly, wondering why that had been the first thing that had occurred to her. “No, but I saw this amazingly hot woman in the lobby.”

“Did you miss the whole thing because you were busy fucking some CPA in the ladies’ room? Can I just go on the record and say that we, as lesbians, aren’t doing ourselves any favors with all the toilet-stall sex? People poop in there, for God’s sake.”

“There was no toilet-stall sex.”

“Well, a public sink isn’t much better. People do some filthy-ass things in public restrooms. Just the other day I saw some nasty—”

“Fran, try to focus here. There was no sex of any kind.”

“Oh,” Fran said softly. “For some reason, I’m kind of disappointed.”

“Well, if that disappoints you, you may have to take a moment to steel yourself for the rest of this story.”

“Hmm, well, let’s see if I can figure this out on my own. You saw a hot woman, and because you’re Bijal, you hit on her.”

“I did,” Bijal said with a nod.

“And did she seem receptive?”

“Actually, yes. She was funny and flirty.”

“So you made a date with her?”

“No, I can’t.”

Fran scowled. “Why not? Is she married?”

“No, even worse. She’s the congresswoman my boss is running to unseat.”

“Shut your fat, sassy mouth!”

“I wish I had,” Bijal said, running her hands through her hair in frustration.

“Okay, I’m officially done guessing. What the hell happened?”

“I practically grabbed her tit on the elevator.”

Fran couldn’t stifle her laughter. “Smooth, as always.”

“I bragged to her that I was in the building from Mayor Denton’s office to do political reconnaissance.”

“Holy crap.”

“Then she told me who she was.”

“Did she flip out on you and get up in your face?”

“Not at all. On the contrary.” Bijal spun her chair back to face the monitor and began fiddling with the video controls. “Check this out.”

Fran stood and watched over Bijal’s shoulder as she advanced the video player. She suddenly clicked the Play button as a woman at the podium was speaking.

“And part of the moral imperative that drives us should be ensuring that people who are struggling have somewhere to get help. It’s unconscionable that our society vilifies people who, in many instances through no fault of their own, have fallen on hard times. And this functional co-op will be the first in what we hope is a series of facilities throughout the country that will reduce the homeless population in our urban cities, assist people currently without access to health care in becoming more mentally and physically healthy, and teach them both marketable and self-sustaining skills. This is the prototype that will turn inadequate welfare into practical, multifaceted rehabilitation and restore dignity and self-sufficiency for those willing to work toward it.”

Fran whistled. “Damn, you’re right. She’s super-brainy hot. I’d like to see her in a Catwoman suit.”

“Stop it,” Bijal said as she fast-forwarded.

“Does Mayor Denton look this good?”

“No, now watch this.”

“Ooh, does she take off her jacket?”

The action on the monitor suddenly started again, this time clearly after the ceremony was over. People were milling about, and Congresswoman O’Bannon approached the running camera and looked directly into it. “Did you get everything you needed, Bijal?”

Off-camera, Bijal’s uncomfortable response could be heard. “Um…yeah. Thanks.”

“Because I can do it again, if you need me to.” Her voice definitely held a hint of innuendo.

“No, I’m good. Thanks,” Bijal repeated.

“Well, it was nice meeting you. Tell Mayor Denton hello for me,” O’Bannon said with a saucy smile. Bijal’s nervous laughter faded as the congresswoman turned and walked out of frame.

Bijal clicked Pause, and she and Fran sat in silence for a minute or two.

“Wow,” Fran finally said, her face registering stunned bewilderment.

“Yeah.”

“You’re going to cut out all that stuff at the end, right?”

“You bet your mocha ass I am. How would I explain that she knew not only my name, but that I was with the mayor’s office?”

Fran took another sip of her bottled water. “I suppose that is a little incriminating for you. You think she’ll out you?”

“I don’t know. I hope not.”

“Maybe you can divert attention back to her. Can you re-edit that video so she’s admitting to being a socialist, illegal immigrant who hates our troops and wants to force you to have a late-term abortion?”

Bijal’s sense of humor evaporated. “Is this you helping? Is that what this is?”

“Sorry. Can you use anything in her speech?”

“I’m not sure. I mean, her indictment of the current welfare system didn’t sound very capital-D Democratic to me.”

“But the little bit you just played that talked about helping poor people didn’t sound very Republican either.”

“Fran.” Bijal sighed. “I’ve been working today for over twelve hours. My new hyperaggressive campaign manager threatened my job for what feels like will be the first of many, many times, and I practically invited our opponent into my mouth after revealing my intent to destroy her.”

“Mmm, that’s a full day, all right.”

“Can you cut me some slack and not try to pick a fight with me about political ideology, please? Can that be arranged?”

Fran pretended to be completely put out. “I suppose just this once.”

“Thank you. I’ll edit this down to only the congresswoman’s speech, and I’ll let the folks at work decide if there’s anything useful in it. But I don’t see much.”

“You know what you really need to find out about her?”

“What?”

“If she’s single.”

Bijal rolled her index finger along the wheel of her computer mouse as she scanned the search-engine results for something useful. She yawned, then took another sip of her lukewarm latte.

Donna had told her she’d be presenting the video of the congresswoman at nine a.m., and it was now over ninety minutes past that time. Bijal understood that schedules were hard to keep in a political campaign, but she was exhausted from operating on so little sleep.

As she started to mutter another curse under her breath, she spotted an interesting link and clicked on it. Up came an interview with a gay magazine named QPolitic from just after the congresswoman’s election win. The title was “O’Bannon Pulls No Punches: Congress’ Newest Openly Gay Member Tells It Like It Is.”

Bijal skimmed it until she spied some of the same questions she herself had.
QP: So with no political experience, you, as an out lesbian, decided to challenge a Republican incumbent in a red district of a red state.
CO: It does sound a little crazy, I guess.
QP: Were you driven by your opposition to Congressman Buddy Campbell?
CO: Partly, but mostly I’m going to Washington to fight for civil rights—reproductive rights, hate-crime legislation, anti-discrimination laws.
QP: That’s a very ambitious agenda, especially when the majority of Americans may not support those initiatives.
CO: Four years ago I lost my partner in the bombing of the East Bay Women’s Health Clinic.
QP: I’m very sorry. She was a doctor there?
CO: A nurse—one who was doing her job helping women who chose to have abortions as well as those who chose to carry to term.
QP: Was anyone ever prosecuted for that bombing?
CO: No, even though a group who calls themselves Missionaries of the Light essentially claimed responsibility. Three people killed, seven others injured, no one formally charged with the crime. And why? Because legislators in this country are afraid to appear unsympathetic to the far right wing—even the small subset that’s filled with lunatic extremists who violate the law, engage actively in intimidation, and ultimately murder people in their zealotry.
QP: That’s quite an indictment.
CO: I can tell you that a large percentage of politicians in office who claim to be anti-choice aren’t. They’re afraid to be labeled as too liberal or not religious enough, and some are simply petrified to break with the established party platform.
QP: But don’t the Democrats do that too?
CO: Absolutely, because they’re more interested in their futures as career politicians than in standing up for their convictions.
QP: It sounds like you might make enemies on both sides of the aisle.
CO: We’ll see. I’d like to think we still have enough independent legislators that we can work together, irrespective of party, to effect some positive change. That’s really what people want—not more political posturing and hypocrisy. They want representatives who stand for something, and if ultimately my constituents don’t agree with my positions on the issues, or if they feel I’m not effective, they’ll vote me out of office.
QP: That’s a refreshing perspective.
CO: [laughing] What, honesty?
QP: More specifically, your Lincolnesque acceptance that you can’t please all people at all times and your frank refusal to pretend otherwise.
CO: The real tragedy is that we’ve stopped expecting our politicians to have integrity. We assume everyone is lying, on the take, and operating only in their own interests. It’s mind-boggling that with a governmental system so entrenched in favoritism and quid pro quo, and with a stable of elected officials who almost seem to be racing each other to be indicted on corruption charges of some sort, our citizens aren’t marching in the streets demanding reform.
QP: Do you think they should be?
CO: The saying holds true that if people aren’t outraged, they haven’t been paying attention. Americans are disgusted that their politicians openly lie and don’t act in the best interests of the public. But instead of galvanizing into a force that can change the system, we’ve simply stopped participating. People have stopped voting because they don’t think it matters since all the candidates are crooked. They need to start holding people accountable. If legislators break campaign promises, then their constituents need to vote them out of office.
QP: Aren’t you worried that philosophy might backfire on you?
CO: Not at all. I didn’t run for Congress because it’s what I’ve always wanted to do. I was very happy in my previous job. I ran because I was angry. I’m still angry. The people we’ve sent to Washington should be working for us—to ensure our rights are recognized and upheld, and they simply haven’t been. I’m not here to embed myself into the House of Representatives. I’m just trying to do what I can to fix things. And the minute I compromise my principles, I’ll walk away.
Bijal pushed her chair back from the desk and pondered those comments. A seasoned politician hadn’t made them, for sure.

That O’Bannon openly accused members of her own party of pandering was certainly unexpected, but not as much as her call to the people of the United States to unite against their corrupt and duplicitous representatives.

Clearly when she’d heard such vague descriptors of the congresswoman as “unconventional,” “straightforward,” and “without pretense,” this was what people had been referring to. By all rights and means, if they were running a campaign against someone who refused to be evasive, vague, or neutral, then Denton stood a good shot at winning. Mix in the fact that District 12 was more conservative than not, and that their opponent was openly gay and loudly pro-choice, and O’Bannon’s odds seemed even steeper.

So why was she currently leading in the polls by five percentage points?

“Roo,” Donna called from the doorway. “Come on into the mayor’s office and bring your notes.”

“It’s Rao,” she mumbled as she stood and tossed her tepid java into the trash can before grabbing her legal pad and pen. Perhaps if this went well, they’d let her go home early and get some rest. She chuckled at such a ridiculous thought as she settled into the mayor’s black leather sofa. Donna closed the door so the three of them could speak privately.

“How are you, Bijal?” Mayor Denton asked with a pleasant smile.

“I’m well, Mayor.”

“Call me Janet, please. So Donna tells me that you did a little strategic reconnaissance last night.”

“I did, yes.” Bijal tried to look bright and cheery, not like the half-dead piece of roadkill she felt like.

“Give us a rundown, Roo,” Donna said impatiently.

“Rao.” Bijal felt the flutter of fresh irritation building within her. “Um, okay. Did you get a chance to read the report I sent you?”

“Huh?” Donna looked caught off guard. “Oh, sure. I glanced at it. But why don’t you go ahead and brief Janet?”

“Right.” Bijal’s irritation now flowered into full-blown annoyance at being lied to. “I attended a dedication of a new homeless co-op in Richmond. Other speakers besides the congresswoman included a couple of state delegates as well as Senator Flynn, who, as you know, is quite popular and has a very high approval rating.”

“A co-op?” Janet asked, her voice thick with derision. “That sounds a little hippie/socialist, doesn’t it? Can’t we make some hay out of that?”

Bijal cleared her throat. “Well, I was thinking that too…at first. But then I got the details. It’s actually taking the place of an existing ramshackle shelter in the city that’s been limping along on donations and subsidies and just providing beds and meals. The new program works like this. Homeless people are taken in from the streets and given medical exams and assigned beds. Those deemed healthy enough are enrolled in a job-training program. Those who aren’t start receiving medical or mental-health care to try to get them healthy.”

“Wait, let’s not get too far ahead. What kind of job training?” Janet asked.

“Here’s the remarkable part. They contacted a series of local Virginia business owners—contractors, plumbers, electricians, landscapers—and by assuring them local work as well as giving them substantial tax incentives to participate in this program, they agree to employ these people in various capacities at a reduced salary. They train them, essentially. As long as the employer abides by certain requirements—”

“What kind of requirements?” Donna asked sharply.

“The work has to be inspected upon completion. They have to use parts and supplies made in the U.S. whenever possible. There can’t be any improper hiring procedures, things like that. As long as they manage that, the city and state guarantee the company work.”

Janet groaned. “Which generates local jobs.”

“Exactly,” Bijal said. “Trainees eventually graduate to living spaces that are more like apartments. The program bought some dilapidated buildings in the city that will be the first projects worked on. Those will become program housing.”

“Which revitalizes downtown,” Janet said, sounding vaguely impressed.

Bijal nodded. “Right. When they’re ready, the participants move in and start paying a small rent, which goes back into the program. On-site people will reside in the complexes to provide assistance and keep an eye on everyone.”

“More fucking jobs,” Donna hissed.

“And once residents are ready to be mainstreamed, the program helps find them permanent jobs and residences.”

Donna scowled. “Who’s paying for the medical care you mentioned? The taxpayer?”

“Actually, no,” Bijal explained. “The program has partnered with the local medical school and hires the participating local companies to upgrade the school’s facilities. The patients then receive treatment from the resident physicians, who demonstrate techniques and medical theory to the medical students. They hope it’ll become a state-of-the-art school and a huge draw for medical and nursing students all over the country.”

Janet looked defeated. “And in doing all this, they still reduce the number of homeless people on the street.”

“Who’s paying all the up-front costs?” Donna asked. “Who’s backing the construction projects?”

“It’s part of the stimulus package. This is considered a shovel-ready project.”

“And how many jobs are they estimating this will create?” Janet asked.

Bijal flipped through her notes for the number. “Well, you’ve got participating employers who’ll be ramping up staff, direct employees of the program itself, and medical college personnel. They’re estimating a couple hundred.”

“If it works,” Donna added. “We can still ultimately spin this as bigger government. It shouldn’t be a federal job to clean up every drunk on the street. Some of them are there because they’re fuck-ups.”

“True,” Janet said.

“But some are there because they were laid off, defaulted on their mortgages, or had steep medical bills and no health insurance. Democrats can easily spin opposing this as us simply being callous and greedy.” Bijal searched for another statistic among her scrawling. “Preliminary poll numbers show Richmond residents are predominantly behind it. It’s been sold to them as revitalization, more jobs, economic stimulus, and renewed infrastructure. O’Bannon and the Democrats have done a good job of talking that up and haven’t had any strong opposition.”

“You’re saying roll over on this?” Donna asked incredulously.

Bijal shook her head. “I don’t see any way for you to be against this co-op and win points—not now. Maybe if we’d been engaged months ago and mounted a vocal campaign against it.”

Janet sighed. “Let’s leave this alone unless O’Bannon starts talking it up.”

“That’s already happened,” Bijal said. “She has a new thirty-second radio spot that launched this morning with highlights from her speech.”

“That bitch,” Donna grumbled. “Did you find anything in her speech that we can use?”

Bijal glanced nervously at the floor as she tried not to look like she was hiding something. “No, I’ve gone through it several times. It was brief and well-worded. I think our best response is an indirect one—tout a positive measure that you’ve implemented as mayor of Ravensdale that shows your innovation and commitment to fiscal responsibility.”

The silence that fell over the room was excruciating. This was surely not a good sign.

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