Chapter Eight

Bijal sat in her Subaru across the street from Colleen’s house and pressed the Zoom button on the camcorder to try to see anyone through the living-room window. She was thankful Colleen lived in a rural area, since that reduced the risk of any vigilant neighbors noticing her voyeurism.

When her cell phone rang, Bijal set down the camera only long enough to put the call on speaker. “Hello?”

“Bijal,” Fran said, “I just wanted to let you know that the lab results came in today. They confirm that you’re completely fucking crazy for keeping that shit-ass job.”

“Thank God,” Bijal replied, picking up her lukewarm fast food. “When you said ‘lab results,’ I was afraid you’d say that you picked up crabs from one of your late-night bar trysts.”

“Ooh, someone’s a testy little stalker, I see. Are you outside her place right now?”

Bijal sighed. “Yes.”

“Is your hand down your pants?”

“No, it’s holding my quesadilla.”

“Is that a euphemism?”

Bijal was rapidly losing her sense of humor. “Fran, did you just call to give me shit, or did you have a real reason?”

“Well, personally I think that giving you shit is a real reason, but I wanted to ask if you’d seen the latest polls on your girl.”

“Yes,” Bijal replied, taking another bite. This food would have been so much better if she’d eaten within the first thirty minutes of purchase.

“So you know that y’all have dropped another three percentage points since Adolph McHatespeech’s little ‘hetero über alles’ tirade?”

“Unfortunately.”

Fran continued, undeterred. “Couple that with the embarrassment of Mayor Denton being snubbed at an NRA rally—”

“They didn’t know she was coming.”

“And having them, instead, introduce a performer who made balloon animals.”

“He was on the posted schedule,” Bijal explained lamely.

“But Pigglestink the Clown isn’t running for office, Bij.”

“Well, I hear he went over great with the kids.” Bijal set down her rather unappetizing food and looked through the camera.

“Uh-huh, I’m starting to think your candidate couldn’t beat O’Bannon in a dick-sucking contest.”

Bijal couldn’t stifle a chuckle. “Only because her husband would first declare it immoral. Then she’d probably show up on the wrong day.”

“Or she’d show up at a preschool, by mistake. So what’s your campaign’s plan to recover those voters?”

“I wish I knew, Fran. I’ve been out of the office for the last three days following Colleen around like some kind of international spy.”

“Or someone on that scuzzy TV show Cheaters. ”

“Jesus, can’t you let me have anything? Not even the delusion of mystique around this demoralizing fucking job?”

Fran’s tone seemed to take on a hint of concern. “Do you think Donna just wants you out of her hair?”

“You know, I’ve considered that. I haven’t ruled it out yet.”

“So how much longer do you plan to waste your nights sitting in your car with your fingers smeared with quesadilla…juice?”

“First of all, quesadillas don’t have juice.”

“When they’re euphemisms, they do.”

“I call Donna every morning and tell her that all Colleen did the day before was work and go home. Although someone’s at her place with her right now.”

“Really?” Fran sounded intrigued. “Like a hot woman?”

“I’m not sure. I was starving so I went through a drive-thru on the way here.”

Fran laughed loudly. “You’re the shittiest international spy I know.”

“Well, so far Colleen has had a very boring, predictable routine. And I was really hungry.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Anyway, when I got here, there was an extra car in the driveway.”

“Is it a lesbian car?”

“What’s that?” Bijal asked.

“You know, does it have any classic lesbian iconography? Like a rainbow sticker that says Vagitarian or Indigo Girls…maybe a picture of a penis with a slash through it?”

Bijal zoomed in on the car. “No, it’s just a black four-door sedan. Wait, the bumper has a sticker that says Amnesty International. Damn it.”

“Yeah, those damn anti-torture, bleeding-heart bastards,” Fran said sarcastically.

“No, I just mean that it’s not very helpful.”

“Bij, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were actually bothered.”

“Maybe a little,” she said softly.

“And why is that?”

She blew her hair out of her eyes. “Well, partly because I think this whole thing is ridiculous. It shouldn’t matter who a candidate sees in his or her free time, unless it’s a prostitute, a drug dealer, or a minor.”

“Or maybe someone working for the opposition,” Fran added. “So what’s the other part?”

“Colleen told me she wasn’t seeing anyone. I’d be kind of sad if she lied to me.”

Fran scoffed. “Because politicians are renowned for being so honest and trustworthy.”

“I know, I know. But for some reason, I got a different kind of vibe from her. She seems somehow…authentic to me.”

“Hmm, and maybe you just really want her to be single.”

Bijal watched a smile slowly creep across her face in her sideview mirror. “Maybe.”

“Well, nothing impresses a woman with scruples and a rigid moral compass like spying on her from her rose garden. Just add stealing her credit cards to the mix and you’ll have her in your bed in a second.”

“As much as I’d love to listen to you berate me, Fran, it looks like someone’s moving around in there. I have to let you go.”

“All right, but be careful,” Fran said, exasperation evident in her voice. “I need you back as my wingman.”

“I’ll bet.”

“I’ll get your bail money ready. Call when you’re in custody.”

“Will do.”

“Bye, sweetie.”

“Bye.”

Bijal saw someone move past the window, though she couldn’t make out anything more than an adult of indeterminate gender. Colleen was tall enough that it might be her.

If only Bijal was looking into the window from the side yard, she’d have a much better view. She evaluated the possibility of getting out of her car. There wasn’t a street light nearby, and no fence to try to jump. She’d just need to hop over the drainage ditch and walk about twenty-five yards to have a perfect view into the house and see exactly who Colleen was entertaining…and how.

It seemed reasonable, so she quietly got out of the Subaru and began to creep across the street with her camcorder. She hadn’t factored in the recent heavy rain and the resulting mud. She carefully navigated the soft ground and got past the ditch before she stopped to zoom in on the window again.

Bijal could see two people embracing, and she felt like someone had just punched her in the gut. They quickly separated and moved out of her line of sight.

Suddenly the front door opened, and she panicked. A round bush large enough to shield her was directly behind her, and she lunged for it. Not taking the deep mud into account, she lost her balance as her foot slid backward, sending her into the drainage ditch, the cold water and thick mud cushioning her fall in what she imagined was probably the worst way possible.

She was motionless on her back as she heard Colleen say, “Okay, Max. I’ll see you at the office tomorrow.”

A man’s voice (presumably this Max) answered with, “Right, have a good night,” followed by what sounded like Colleen going back into her house and shutting the door.

Bijal heard him start his car, back out of the driveway, and speed off into the distance.

This was easily her most humiliating moment, though, admittedly, there had been some real doozies. She sat up in the mud and tried to get to her feet without losing her footing again. How long would she need to wait before Colleen went to bed and she could leave? Had the mud ruined the camcorder? How the hell would she be able to get in her car without getting the interior completely filthy?

Could she make it home without wearing her pants? What were her odds of being pulled over while she was driving in nothing but her underwear? Would that help or hinder her chances of getting let off with just a warning?

She finally stood, but then heard the front door creak open again. She dove back into the ditch, this time face-down as she heard a jingling sound and rolling footsteps approaching. Apparently a wild animal was coming for her.

True to her terrible luck, she heard the animal stop near her and start barking. She looked up, and that’s when she saw the werewolf, or the coyote, or the hyena, or whatever the fuck it was. It clearly wanted to eviscerate her and then roll in her entrails.

She put her head back down in the futile hope that the beast would lose interest if it couldn’t see the fear in her eyes. It only continued to bark at her.

The door opened again.

“Callisto! What is it, girl?”

New, non-animal footsteps approached as the hellhound continued to bark.

“Did you find another possum, girl?”

Bijal recognized the voice as Colleen’s. She revised her previous assessment of her most humiliating moment as the beam from a flashlight came to rest on her as she lay in the ditch.

“Um, hello,” Bijal said, looking up. She silently prayed for a bolt of lightning to strike her and instantly turn her to a smoldering pile of cinders.

“What the hell?” Colleen asked. “Bijal? Is that you?”

“I’m sorry to say it is.”

“What are you doing in my front yard wallowing in mud?” Colleen scanned the area with the beam of her flashlight. “Ah, it’s all becoming clearer now. Is this your video camera?”

“Yes,” she answered dejectedly.

“I’m…I’m speechless. Are you hurt? Can you stand up?”

“I’d rather just lie here and continue to die a little inside.”

Colleen held her arm out. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“Please don’t be nice to me,” Bijal implored. “It only makes this more mortifying.”

“Well, maybe if you’re lucky I’ll kick you in the chest later. Now take my hand.”

“Here,” Colleen said, offering a steaming mug of something to Bijal before taking a seat beside her on the sofa.

Bijal sniffed it. “What’s this?”

“Hot tea—to take the chill off.”

Bijal grabbed one side of the terry-cloth robe she was wearing and pulled it tighter around her. She couldn’t recall a time when she felt quite as guilty or out of place as she did at this moment—now that she was naked underneath a borrowed polka-dot robe, sitting in the living room of her boss’s campaign opponent, whom she had been caught spying on while cowering in a mud-filled ditch. If she was ever to stumble across the definition of the word “disgraced,” she was certain that a picture of her, dejected in polka dots, would be right next to it.

“You’re being exceptionally nice,” Bijal said softly.

Colleen showed no hint of a smile. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, it’s requiring a monumental amount of effort.”

“Nope, that doesn’t make me feel better.”

“Get comfortable. Your clothes are in the washer.”

“Thanks,” Bijal mumbled. As though Colleen’s dog could sense both the tension in the air and the utter sadness in Bijal, she approached her and nudged Bijal’s hand with her head. Bijal complied and scratched the dog between the ears. “You look a little like Lassie,” she told her as she stroked the animal’s ears.

“She should,” Colleen said. “She’s a collie.”

“But she’s not all fluffy like a collie.”

“Callisto’s what they call a smooth-coated collie. She can still rescue a little boy from a well. She just sheds less when she does it.”

Bijal sipped her tea. “She sounds handy. So her name, is that Greek?”

“Uh, yeah. My late girlfriend and I were fans of Xena: Warrior Princess. Callisto was a character on that show.” Colleen looked a little sheepish.

“Really?”

“That’s how we met, actually, on a Xena message board. You know, back in the dark ages before Facebook and Twitter.”

“Wow, I thought lesbians only met in women’s bars, or through their exes.”

Colleen smiled. “Nope, that’s a myth. Don’t underestimate the drawing power of a spirited debate about which character’s development was more critical to the arc of the story—Xena or Gabrielle.”

“And you think it was…?”

“Gabrielle, of course,” Colleen explained calmly, with a wave of her hand. “She evolved from a meek victim to a fierce warrior wielding multiple weapons with fluid dexterity. You can’t stack her progression beside a flicker of personal redemption that took seven seasons and think they’re even remotely comparable.”

Bijal stared back at her.

Colleen laughed self-consciously. “You don’t have the foggiest notion what I’m talking about, do you?”

“Well, no. But I think they’re both hot. Does that count for anything?”

“It might, in a different argument. I guess you didn’t watch it.”

Bijal shook her head slowly. “No, sorry. But had I known I could meet women through it, I would have.”

“Wow.”

“What?”

Colleen leaned back and put her feet on the coffee table. “You know how they say dogs are food-motivated? You’re apparently snatch-motivated.”

“I know it may seem that way, but I’m not really. Now, my roommate Fran is a different story.”

“The dry-humping Democrat?”

“Um, yeah. Can we forget that happened?” Bijal asked with a wince.

“Which part?”

Bijal mulled the question over for a moment. “You know, every time I meet up with you, something humiliating happens. Can we rewind all the way back to the beginning and start over?”

“But then how would I explain you naked in my living room?”

The only sound audible for nearly a minute was the loud ticking of the clock on the wall.

“This is really good tea,” Bijal finally said.

“I’m glad you like it.”

“What brand is it?”

“I think it’s called subject-changer tea.”

Bijal chuckled as she swept her hair behind her ear. “I could have used this years ago. So, look. You’re remarkably gracious and nice, Colleen. Most folks would have shot someone crawling through their yard toting a video camera in the middle of the night.”

“Luckily for you, I support gun control.”

“Of course you do. May I assume that I’m safe from being executed by lethal injection while I’m here as well?”

“You may.”

“That’s a relief.”

Colleen crossed her arms. “So, let’s get right down to it, now that you know that all you’re potentially at risk of is my refusal to use fabric softener on your clothes.”

“Okay, I really have no excuse. I was clearly violating your privacy—”

“As well as trespassing.”

“Right,” Bijal said. “But I bet you’ll be surprised when you find out why.”

“Because you work for my political opponent and she wanted you to get dirt on me?”

“Well…yeah. But surprisingly, I was the catalyst for that.”

Colleen scowled. “So this was your idea?”

“No, not like that. Someone saw you and me leaving the bar together the other night and called it in to the mayor’s office.”

“That I was socializing with a member of her staff?”

“No one knew who I was, apparently. But it was enough to spark the rumor that you’re seeing someone.” Colleen seemed transfixed as Bijal spoke. “Our idiot campaign manager decided we should stake you out and try to get video of you…in a romantic situation, shall we say.”

Colleen held her hand up. “Wait, I want to make sure I get all the layers here.”

“There’s a lot,” Bijal said. “It’s like baklava.”

“Baklava made of spite and shit, perhaps.”

Bijal’s voice became a near whisper. “I’ve never had that particular kind,” she murmured.

“So even though you knew I wasn’t seeing anyone, and even though you realized that the person they suspected was my ‘date’ was actually you, you went along with their idea of spying to get some R-rated video of me in the privacy of my own home?”

“Boy, it sounds a lot worse when you say it. Look, I didn’t want some stranger peering through your windows.”

“Because having someone I’ve flirted with peer through my windows is somehow better? A gentler violation?”

“No, because I wasn’t planning on actually invading your privacy. I just intended to go through the motions because I genuinely feel like you deserve better than that.”

Colleen’s expression was inscrutable. “Then what changed between your initial intentions and when Callisto found you slinking through my ditch like a water moccasin?”

“You had someone over.” Bijal looked evasively at the floor.

“My campaign manager, Max.”

“Well, I couldn’t tell it was a man from my car. And I suppose I wanted to make sure you’d been completely honest with me the other night.”

“When I told you I was single?”

“You two hugged right in front of the window,” Bijal explained. “I became…mildly curious. I wasn’t actually filming you.”

“I know,” Colleen said, the edge no longer in her voice.

“You looked at the DVD?”

“Uh-huh, while you were changing. The last thing you successfully recorded was a menu board at a Taco Rojo drive-thru.”

“I stopped and got a quesadilla.”

“You’re a terrible undercover operative.”

Bijal nodded and held her mug in both hands. “You’re not the first to tell me that tonight. This wasn’t exactly how I pictured my future in politics, you know? I envisioned being in energetic strategy sessions, traveling to candidate appearances, writing press statements.”

Colleen rubbed her lower lip lightly with her thumb. “And instead you’re shimmying up drain pipes for a quick peek at someone on the toilet.”

“Just to be clear, there was absolutely no toilet surveillance,” Bijal replied adamantly. “Or anything of you in the shower.”

“How long have you been spending your work shift watching me?”

“Just a few days.”

“Did it, at any point, occur to you to decline this particular assignment?”

“I’m not sure where you think I fall within the hierarchy of the campaign team, but it’s slightly below a houseplant. I don’t really have that kind of relationship with my boss. It’s more like she barks at me and threatens my job, and then I thank her.”

“That sounds really fulfilling.”

“Yeah. Can I ask you something?”

Colleen seemed to think about it before finally nodding. “Okay.”

“Is professional politics this utterly shitty all the time? I mean, will it always involve people lying and cheating and treating everyone else like crap? Is it nothing more than a gaggle of strutting, competitive, cannibalistic bastards? Does it at any point get better?”

“It does. There are brief bursts of time that don’t suck, surrounded by long periods of partisanship, shouting, deception, and shameless self-aggrandizement.”

“But that sounds horrible.” Bijal felt tired.

“There’s that potential, sure. But in those fleeting moments where you do something substantial and really think you make a difference, you suddenly remember why you ran for office. It feels good.”

“I guess this just isn’t what I’d envisioned.”

Colleen nodded quickly. “Unfortunately most politicians aren’t as interested in effecting change or contributing, as much as they are in gaining power and notoriety. Those types will always be the lowest common denominator.”

“Lowest common denominator?”

“Sure, those people—the ones who grandstand the loudest and point fingers at the opposition for everything that’s wrong in the world—they bring down the caliber of the rhetoric. They go negative, and then everyone feels like they’re forced to. They stop talking about the measurable merits of a piece of legislation and spew out a few buzzwords like ‘socialism’ or ‘tax increase,’ and it drags everything constructive to a screeching halt. It’s like trying to have a discussion about tax reform with a rabid wolverine.”

Bijal wondered if Donna was one of those rabid wolverines. She’d certainly seemed on occasion to froth a bit at the mouth—particularly when she was shouting. Perhaps her presence in the campaign was infecting everyone else with hydrophobia.

Colleen seemed now to be studying Bijal close enough to make her feel even more uncomfortable. “Colleen, look, I’m really sorry.”

“So how’s your jaw?”

Bijal’s hand flew to her face reflexively. “Christ, did you see that on TV?”

Colleen chuckled softly. “I may have DVR’d it.”

“Shit.” Bijal put her face in her hands.

“It seems to be healing nicely.”

Bijal wouldn’t open her eyes as she tried to somehow will herself into a different reality. Would there be no end to this humiliation? “Can I do anything else to make you think any less of me? Tuck my skirt into the back of my pantyhose and then visit the children’s ward at a hospital? Or maybe I could push your grandmother down a flight of stairs after I shit my pants?”

“Wow, you really think big. No wonder you went into politics.”

Colleen’s lighthearted tone made Bijal curious enough to steal a glance at her, and sure enough, she looked amused. “You don’t sound like someone who hates me.”

“That’s because I don’t.”

“Is this more of that monumental effort you mentioned earlier? Are you secretly fantasizing about exacting some kind of revenge on me?”

“No. Sorry, Bijal. I don’t hate you yet.”

“No?”

“If I did, I would’ve called the cops and made sure the press got the story that a member of Mayor Denton’s campaign was arrested outside my dining-room window filming me. I don’t think that’d look too good for y’all.”

“No, that would very likely damage us…irreparably.”

“Instead, I’m washing your clothes, letting you use my shower, making you tea, and inviting you to join me in watching an old movie on TV.”

Bijal decided to drop the talk of revenge and hate and embrace the offer of the olive branch before Colleen recanted for some reason. “Any old movie in particular?”

“One of my favorites.” Colleen picked up the remote and turned on the TV. “It’s September Moon, starring Violet London and Wil Skoog.”

“I’ve never heard of it—or either of them, for that matter.”

“Well, when I said ‘old,’ I wasn’t kidding. It’s from the early thirties—not long after the advent of sound.” She changed the channel and raised the volume slightly. “Violet London was a lesbian pioneer.”

“Really?”

“Yup, she was a Hollywood gay long before it was trendy. Back before the public found it titillating.”

“Before women made out with each other on reality shows because men found it arousing?”

“Exactly,” Colleen replied. “Violet was the real deal. By the way, would you like something a little more fortifying than a fast-food taco?”

“Quesadilla.”

“Whatever it was. I have some spaghetti, meatballs, and garlic bread if you’re interested.”

“You know, that sounds wonderful.”

“So emmy get tiss tate,” Fran slurred incoherently, shifting her toothbrush to reach her back teeth.

Bijal rested against the bathroom doorway, clutching a steaming mug of coffee in the vague hope that it would make her feel whole again. “Sorry,” she said, stretching. “I’m too tired to understand you if you don’t use consonants.”

Fran spat and rinsed. “So you’re telling me your political opponent found you skulking outside her window in the mud, armed with a video camera with which to spy on her in her own home, and instead of calling both the cops and the local newspaper, which incidentally I’d have done in a New York fuckin’ minute, she invited you in, washed your dirty clothes, let you rinse off your filth, vice, and shame in her shower, and then fed and entertained you?”

“Did you even take a breath during that question?”

Fran began applying mascara in the mirror. “Air-flow control is the only positive thing I gained from seven years of playing bass clarinet.”

“Impressive.”

“Thanks, but stop changing the subject, Bij. Was my run-on synopsis accurate?”

Bijal sighed. “Yes.”

“So when did y’all fuck?”

Bijal nearly shot java out of her nose. “There was no fucking, Fran.”

“Why not? I mean, I know it’s not your personal integrity holding you back, Ms. Crawl-around-in-the-goddamn-dirt-like-a-Peeping-Tom. Does O’Bannon have scruples? Is that the problem?”

Bijal rubbed her eyes wearily. “I’m too tired and demoralized for this line of questioning.”

“Look me in the eye and tell me you didn’t size up that tall Irish potato and imagine jumping on her like a hot chive.”

Bijal stared back at her blankly. “Tall Irish potato? Really?”

Fran’s face lit up. “Aha! I knew it. And I couldn’t think of anything else Irish, so shut up.”

“There’s no moral compromise in being attracted to someone and not acting on it.”

“Is that something you heard from Oprah? ’Cause please enlighten me. When have you ever not acted on an attraction?”

“Hey, I’m not some compulsive sex addict who rubs up against strangers on the Metro. I can keep it in my pants, thank you. Besides, did you just get a little taste of something bitter in the back of your throat as you were saying that? Know what that is? That’s hypocrisy, baby.”

“Just because I’m slutty doesn’t mean your behavior can’t appall me.”

“I guess I assumed that your inherent narcissism would keep you from noticing.”

Fran glared. “You are so lucky you’re right, because otherwise I’d be hurt. So do you plan to go back to the office to talk to Frau Blücher and tell her your cover is blown?”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Why?”

Bijal was incredulous. “You want me to tell my sadist boss that the surveillance she asked me to do, that was a direct result of my drunken flirting with our adversary, is now pointless because I was caught red-handed trespassing on her property? Which of my many fuck-ups do you think I should start with? I mean, I wouldn’t want to lose the flow of the narrative.”

“So you’re just going to keep wasting your time?” Fran asked, propping her hand on her hip.

“What choice do I have?”

“Well, don’t take this the wrong way, because I’m not remotely rooting for your side to win, but shouldn’t you be spending your working hours doing something that might help Denton get elected?”

Bijal took a deep sip of her coffee. “Are you implying that spending the evening watching old movies and eating pasta didn’t help Janet’s polling numbers?”

Fran’s eyes narrowed. “If I didn’t know better, I’d almost think you want O’Bannon to win. Thus, you don’t so much mind spending your workdays on useless endeavors.”

“What?”

“I mean, it’s certainly easier to reconcile working against someone you like when you’re not working against them at all.”

“I can’t just be motivated by not wanting to be fired?”

“You tell me,” Fran replied with a shrug. “If Denton loses, will you feel guilty that you didn’t do more?”

Bijal considered that question for a moment. “I hate it when you have the high ground.”

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