Chapter Seven

Bijal stepped out of the taxicab in The Klit N’ Kaboodle parking lot and was happy to see her car waiting patiently for her. Contrary to her fears from the night before, she had no signs of a hangover and was feeling surprisingly good.

Perhaps she’d been right that she had just needed to blow off a little steam. Though it would have been even better if she’d ended her evening rolling around naked with a certain hot congresswoman, she was still riding the remnants of the adrenaline rush from their flirting, coupled with the intimate ride home.

As she unlocked her car door, she saw a piece of paper jammed under the windshield wiper blade.

“If that’s a parking ticket, I’m going ballistic.” She slid it out and unfolded a piece of notebook paper that sported handwriting she didn’t recognize.
Bijal~

I enjoyed chatting with you last night a great deal, and I hope we can do it again sometime. You never know when our paths may cross again, after all. If not sooner, perhaps we can plan something in a couple months. (I’m thinking sometime after the first Tuesday in November).

Here’s wishing you a better workday today, though obviously not too good.

Take care,

Spyxie
Bijal chuckled as she ran her fingers lightly over the signature before folding the note back up and slipping it into the sun visor. She started the engine and pulled out into the road, headed for work.

It had been nearly a year since Bijal had seriously dated someone, and even longer still since someone had conjured butterflies in her gut the way Colleen did. In the absence of someone who was the irresistible force to her immovable object, she’d dated women she found physically attractive, but unfortunately hadn’t experienced any deep personal connection. As a result, nothing more than casual sexual relationships had developed, and she was surprised by the unforeseen pang of loneliness that now came out of nowhere. Had she really been missing something deeper and just hadn’t noticed until now?

Perhaps so, because these new feelings seemed somehow foreign and exciting, though of course the least convenient person possible had sparked them. That was so classically Bijal’s bad fortune—sort of like being rescued from a burning building by a large razor blade. She laughed softly to herself. The only thing worse than her luck was her penchant for crappy similes.

As she waited for the red light to change, she considered Colleen’s offer of a post–Election Day date. True, that was many weeks away, but in the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t all that long, she supposed.

Of course, this might be just some elaborate, fucked-up strategy to distract Bijal from properly doing her job. Her stomach sank a little. If Colleen thought that Bijal’s heart wasn’t completely in this fight, it might be a form of passive sabotage—and perhaps Colleen found that political game more palatable than simply outing Bijal to Janet Denton and the rest of the campaign staff. Mind games, instead of something overt that could be construed as hypocritical.

As Bijal pulled into the parking lot of the mayor’s campaign office, she was surprised to see a dozen or so people standing outside with picket signs and a van from the local news affiliate.

“What fresh hell is this?”

Though at first they seemed to be mostly leaning and sitting on the ground, as Bijal parked and turned off her ignition, they all sprang to life and started waving their signs, which read things like “Liberty and justice for ALL,” “Civil rights aren’t special rights,” and “I am NOT a second-class citizen.”

“God damn it.” Bijal braced herself for this confrontation. And she had nearly sustained a good mood for a few hours too. She leapt out of her car and tried to move briskly past the crowd to the office entrance.

The news crew began filming as the picketers began chanting, “Let us be! Let us be!”

“Excuse me,” Bijal said, trying to push her way through the protesters.

“Tell the mayor we want an apology!” a dark-haired woman said, her face twisted in anger.

“From her and her husband,” an unseen voice behind her demanded.

Bijal tried to swallow and found it a challenge. “I’ll pass that along.” She continued her slow progress toward the building.

A blond newscaster shoved a microphone in Bijal’s face. “Do you work for the mayor’s campaign, ma’am?”

“Um…yes.”

“Is Mayor Denton planning to apologize for her husband’s remarks?” the reporter asked.

Bijal was starting to feel queasy. “The mayor made a public statement yesterday.”

“She didn’t apologize for her husband saying that we deserved to be gay-bashed,” someone shouted, prompting other members of the crowd to loudly agree.

Bijal’s pulse quickened in fear. This couldn’t possibly end well. She just needed to get inside without saying anything to anyone. “I’m not authorized to make any formal—”

“We’re not subhuman!”

The reporter tried again. “What’s the mayor’s response to this protest?”

“Just let me—”

“We want to see the mayor!” a protester shouted.

“Yeah, send her out!”

Bijal was close enough to the front door that she could finally touch it. Now if she could just gracefully duck inside without looking like she was fleeing from an angry mob. “Look,” she began, casually resting her hand on the handle, “I’ll definitely s—”

The office door flew open, cracking Bijal in the left side of her face. “Shit!” she snapped, recoiling and covering her throbbing jaw with her hand.

She looked up to see Donna glaring at her before she leaned in discreetly. “Roo, what are you doing out here? You’re not authorized to make any statements.”

“I was trying to get to my desk,” she hissed back defensively.

“Well, get inside, for Christ’s sake, before something regrettable happens.”

Bijal’s blood was boiling. “I’m pretty sure it’s too late for that.”

As though sensing the shift in the power dynamic, the blond reporter shoved her microphone at Donna. “Where is Mayor Denton? Will she be addressing this crowd?”

“Mayor Denton isn’t here today,” Donna said, looking into the camera as though she was trying to seduce it. “She’s at a fund-raiser.”

“Well, does she plan to respond to this protest?”

Donna chuckled smugly. “Honestly, I don’t even think she’s aware of it. If I speak to her, I’ll let you know what she says.”

Bijal couldn’t watch any more and, sensing her opportunity, she slunk into the building and headed to her desk. Before she was even able to sit down, Kristin intercepted her. “Holy shit, Bijal! What happened to you?”

“The great diffuser out there hit me with the door. Is it bad?”

Kristin eyed Bijal’s jaw and grimaced. “We’d better get something cold on that. Come on.” She pulled Bijal into the office kitchen and began tossing some ice cubes from the freezer into a plastic baggie.

“Kristin, how long have those demonstrators been outside? It’s eight a.m., for Christ’s sake.”

“When I got here half an hour ago, they were already here. Channel Nine must have showed up some time after that. As soon as Donna saw the media arrive, she called Janet and told her not to come in.”

“What? Where is she?”

“Ooh, this is already starting to swell,” Kristin said, lightly applying the ice. “Remember that NRA rally Donna said it wasn’t necessary for Janet to attend?”

“Wait, she sent Janet to the NRA rally that we already declined?”

Kristin released the plastic bag to Bijal’s firm grasp. “That’s exactly what she did.”

Colleen hit the Pause button on the remote. “Her,” she said, pointing to the television. “That one right there.”

Her campaign manager Max crossed his arms as he scrutinized the Denton aide the local news affiliate had cornered on her way into the office. “The one getting clocked in the face? Or the one doing the clocking?”

“The recipient,” Colleen said, sitting on the edge of her desk.

Max laughed. “Well, she looked good before that blow to the face, sure.”

“Stop.”

“You said you ran into her at the K and K?”

Colleen nodded. “Uh-huh, but I met her at the shelter dedication in Richmond first.”

Max snapped his fingers. “She was the one in the back of the room filming you.”

“That’s her.”

“I have to say, I underestimated Denton. It’s a smart move for her to have an openly gay campaign staffer. It doesn’t endorse anything, but it implies a tacit tolerance.”

Colleen strode behind her desk and sat. “Well, it would if she was actually out.”

“Shut up,” Max said excitedly. When he saw her expression, his face fell. “You won’t let me leak that, will you?”

“Of course not. It’s her business, Max. So I don’t want it leaving this office. I’m not trying to get her fired or turned into a headline.”

He scowled and sat down facing her. “Sometimes I just want to shake you. After Denton’s husband spewed his anti-gay diatribe, we could bust them as hypocrites here.”

“I know, but I like her too much to do that.”

“Denton?”

Colleen laughed and hit Play on the remote. “No, not Denton.”

“You mean your hot young Republican there?”

“She is hot, isn’t she?”

“I’d say so,” he said, watching the rest of the news coverage. “Even though it’s completely wrong for us to even be discussing this.”

“True.”

“Col, are you sure she’s not a plant?”

“Like a ficus?”

Max rolled his eyes. “No, not that kind of plant. I mean, are you sure she’s not some hired seductress whose sole purpose is to expose to the public the fact that you’re a poonhound?”

Colleen paused the DVR again and rested her chin in her hand. “You know, I considered that for a second. Not that I’m in any way admitting to being a poonhound.”

“You don’t need to convince me. You haven’t gone on more than a few dates in the three years I’ve known you. If you’re a poonhound, you’re a very bad one.”

“Thanks for that, Max. But I don’t think she was hired to seduce me. Number one, she admitted that she was doing reconnaissance for Denton while she was hitting on me. I’m ninety-eight percent certain she didn’t know who I was.”

“Not very smooth.” Max propped his feet on Colleen’s desk and crossed his ankles. “Though it’s possible she’s either not a very good seductress…or she’s so good that seeming closeted and bungling—”

“Adorably bungling,” Colleen added.

“—is all just part of her master plan.”

“Aren’t you giving the Denton campaign a little too much credit? I haven’t seen much evidence of a plan, period, much less a master plan.”

He seemed to consider this. “True.”

“And don’t you think that since I’m already an out lesbian, they’d have a little more to lose if it became known that I was dating one of their female staffers?”

Max’s eyes narrowed for an instant. “You’ve really got it bad for this girl, don’t you?”

Colleen contemplated the question. “I love how you like to sum everything up as though it was a Bruce Springsteen song.”

“Well, he is the boss.”

“All I can say at this point with any degree of certainty is that I like her a lot. I find her outrageously sexy, in a brainy, earnest way.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And so what if I purposely made a couple of wrong turns taking her home last night? It was a nice evening for a bike ride.”

“Well, I’ll be damned. You are a poonhound. Can I assume that you’ll be able to keep it in your pants until after Election Day?”

“Come on, Max. Give me a little credit. It’s not like I’m a man.” She pressed Play again and listened as the network bleeped Bijal’s expletive. Her assailant then eyed the camera like it was a lover and blatantly lied her ass off. As Colleen watched the picketers chant, she was suddenly struck by an idea. “Max, do me a favor.”

“What?”

“Get one of those mobile lunch trucks to head out there to feed those protesters—on me.”

Max beamed. “You’re brilliant.”

“Let’s see if we can make this protest just a little bit bigger. And let them know that Denton’s staff is welcome to the food too.”

“I’m on it.”

Bijal touched her jaw again and flinched. The knot there felt enormous, like the size of a grapefruit. Between that and being generally pissed off, she was finding it difficult to be productive.

“Rao,” Donna called from her office. “Come in here, please.”

Kristin smiled. “See? She must feel bad about hitting you. She got your name right and said please.”

Bijal had lost both the ability and the will to craft a pithy reply, so she stood up and shuffled morosely to where she was beckoned.

“Shut the door and have a seat,” Donna said. Across from Donna sat Paige, a plump and overly friendly coordinator who was in charge of the volunteers. Bijal had no idea how this day could get any worse, but she felt certain it was about to.

“Paige here tipped me off to something I think we can use against our opponent,” Donna said smugly.

“Really?” Bijal was intrigued.

“Yes,” Donna replied. “Apparently, O’Bannon’s dating some local woman.”

“She is?”

Donna cocked an eyebrow. “You look surprised.”

“Oh…well, it’s just that I looked into that—her personal life—and nothing came up.” And the fact that Colleen had told her as much just last night contributed to her bewilderment. What was the other thing she was feeling? Was it disappointment? Perhaps a tinge of jealousy?

“Well, obviously she’s been hiding it,” Donna said. “I mean, election time isn’t exactly the best time to flaunt a lifestyle that the majority of your constituents disapprove of, you know? What we need are some pictures or video to remind people just how uncomfortable it makes them.”

Bijal was stunned. “Are you serious?”

“As a fucking heart attack. And guess who’s going to tail her?”

“What?” Bijal’s quick outburst hurt her jaw, and she protectively brushed it with her fingers.

Donna appeared unmoved. “It’s research, Roo. And it’s what we pay you for.”

Feeling fairly certain that Donna had nothing else she wanted to hear, Bijal turned her attention to Paige, who was still sitting quietly. “Can I ask what this tip was?”

“Well, my sister-in-law went to some book signing last night, and apparently she saw Congresswoman O’Bannon leave with some woman.”

Bijal was stunned. “Um…what kind of book signing?”

“Some romance writer or other,” Paige replied dismissively. “My sister-in-law is forever complaining that my brother’s not romantic enough for her. So I guess she gets what he can’t give her somewhere else.”

“Clearly,” Bijal said softly. It would seem that romance wasn’t the only thing he wasn’t giving her.

“This is all inconsequential,” Donna said, the irritation evident in her voice.

Bijal remained undaunted. “How does she know this woman was O’Bannon’s date? Maybe she was a friend or relative.”

“Apparently she was outside smoking when they both walked by her. She said she immediately recognized O’Bannon from the news earlier in the day. One of them yelled something about humping the other one’s ass and they jumped onto a motorcycle and sped away. Apparently the date was groping O’Bannon like she was testing a melon to see if it’s ripe yet.”

“Holy shit,” Bijal wheezed.

“Exactly!” Donna slapped the desk with her palm. “And that’s what we need to show the rest of the twelfth district. I can guarantee they’ll stop talking about Albert Denton’s fire-and-brimstone speech then.”

“So you actually want me to follow her and film her?” Bijal asked, worried that she was noticeably blushing.

“Well, someone’s got to.”

Bijal’s stomach clenched. If they hired someone else to tail Colleen, they might see something between the two of them—a knowing look, a wink, perhaps another drink at the women’s bar up the road. “I’ll do it,” she blurted.

“Good,” Donna said. “Go grab the video camera and make sure you have charged batteries and plenty of blank DVDs. You can head out now. Then you can follow her straight from her campaign office.”

“So I’m working all night?”

A muscle in Donna’s cheek twitched. “You can stop when you get something good.”

“What if nothing good happens tonight?”

“Then sleep in and start again tomorrow night. This is more valuable than any work you could be doing in the office.”

Bijal was both insulted and disgusted. “So now I’ll be like the paparazzi?”

Donna cleared her throat. “No, you can’t be that overt.”

“What if last night was just some random hookup?” Bijal asked.

“Then she’ll no doubt do it again,” Donna replied. “She’ll give in to her wanton cravings and you’ll be there for it.”

Bijal pondered that thought. “With any luck.” Had she just said that out loud?

Kristin rapped on the office door before timidly poking her head inside. “Donna, sorry to interrupt, but you wanted an update on the protesters outside.”

“Have they finally dispersed?” Donna asked.

Kristin’s gaze dropped to the floor. “Um, no. There are more of them now.”

Donna’s eyes took on a crazed glassiness that scared Bijal. “What? Why? I sent the mayor to an NRA rally in Hereford and told the press she wouldn’t be here today.”

“It seems that Congresswoman O’Bannon made a statement to the press about the protest and sent a catering truck full of free food. It’s out there now serving everyone. People are coming from all over for a free lunch,” Kristin said sheepishly.

Donna leapt to her feet. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“No,” Kristin whispered, her voice apparently frightened away.

“All right, we need to get these bastards off the premises.” Donna was clearly losing her grip. “Call the cops. Someone needs to pepper-spray those fuckers!”

“But we don’t own this property,” Bijal said.

“So what? We pay rent,” Donna shouted.

“If they’re not obstructing anything, and they’re peaceful, then you need to get the landlord to ask them to leave. Do we even know who that is?”

A silence fell over the room as they all looked at each other expectantly.

“Roo,” Donna said. “Find out who it is.”

“I don’t know. That kind of research might cut into my ‘hiding in the shrubbery’ time.”

Donna’s eyes narrowed. “You’re just not a team player, are you?”

Bijal was rapidly becoming worn out. “Look, why don’t you have the mayor address the crowd and give them what they want? Let her condemn the violence of that assault.”

“And risk alienating her conservative base? Are you crazy?”

Bijal bristled. “The conservatives aren’t going anywhere. Don’t you think most people would agree with denouncing an unprovoked assault?”

Another awkward silence followed that question as Donna seemed to mull something over.

“Kristin, find out who owns this building.”

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