Chapter Thirteen. Colleen locked her car door, and as she gathered her belongings, she spied a familiar blue Subaru about six spaces down from her

Colleen locked her car door, and as she gathered her belongings, she spied a familiar blue Subaru about six spaces down from her. Her stomach lurched in anticipation before her brain rudely reminded her that Bijal was part of the opposition and therefore she really shouldn’t be considering her a friend, much less a smart, attractive friend whose naked body she might have occasionally visualized.

Perhaps the stress of campaigning was making Colleen more inclined to seek a pleasant distraction. Or had Bijal just really gotten under her skin? Regardless, Colleen thought frequently about her extraordinarily smart and sexy adversary. Sometimes it was her radiant smile, other times something witty she’d said or the way she idly brushed her hair away from her face. But at any rate, all roads led to the same place—a deep attraction with a side of infatuation.

Before she had even started walking toward the college auditorium, Colleen could make out Max quickly crossing the parking lot toward her. The sun was setting, but she recognized his distinctive stride. “I should have known you’d be early,” she said, glancing at her watch.

“I’m just eager, I suppose,” he said, motioning politely for her to head back with him toward the building.

“Mmm, you seem especially enthused now that we’ve had this sudden influx of donations…not to imply anything, of course. I’m just saying.”

He grinned. “We passed the million-dollar mark this afternoon, Col. You have now officially more than tripled the amount in our coffers inside a week, based primarily on your public pummeling of that anti-gay creep. I’m thinking, come hell or high water, we need to get you back on TV.”

“But what if the next one doesn’t go as well? What if some rabid conspiracist fanatic waving around a crucifix and a farmers’ almanac rips me apart?”

He scowled momentarily and rubbed his chin. “What do you think this person’s conspiracy might entail? Something to do with when Jesus wants the turnips harvested?”

“Hmm, you know what?”

“You intend to ignore my question?”

“Besides that,” Colleen said.

“What?”

“Go ahead and get back with Guzman. Tell him I’d like to come back on his show, but only if I can talk about the Patient Access Reform Act—specifically the Saturday amendment.”

“Ah, you want to use a little of your newfound political capital?”

“Maybe,” Colleen replied. “We’re certainly not as beholden to the Democratic Party for financial support as we were a week ago. Let me know if he’s game, okay?”

Max nodded and opened the door to the auditorium for Colleen. “Will do, boss. Oh, and I have a shit-ton of new television ads for you to review too, so we can add your little ‘I approved this message’ blurb.”

Colleen stopped walking and eyed him appraisingly. “Did you keep them positive, like I asked?”

He bit his lower lip, what Colleen knew to be his critical tell. “Most of them,” he confessed.

She glared. “You don’t take direction very well.”

“I just wanted you to consider taking advantage of some of the opportunities for negative ads that Denton has so generously presented us with. You can still nix them if you don’t like them.”

She shook her head slowly and lowered her voice. “The way I see it, Denton’s been everyone’s punching bag for the last few weeks, and I just don’t feel like piling on. Personally, I hate those vindictive, inflammatory commercials. I think most people do. Don’t tell me to vote for you because the other candidate sucks more. Explain what you stand for. Do you disagree?”

“No.” He stepped closer so he could speak more softly. “Look, I’ll make you a deal, okay? If you check out all the proposed spots, I won’t say a word to you about them.”

Colleen was skeptical. “You won’t try to sell me on any of them?”

“Scout’s honor.”

“Fine,” she said, looking around. Bijal had to be here somewhere.

“Oh, and just so you know, this place is already packed.” He slid his hand in his pants pocket and propped himself casually against the cinderblock wall. “Not only are the local media outlets set up in the back, but a whole lot of gay folk are here tonight.”

“Sue’s handiwork, no doubt.”

Max shook his head. “This is bigger than that, Col. This goes beyond the standard homegrown backyard LGBT crowd that your events draw. This is more fallout from Tank Guzman’s show. Some of these people have traveled to see you because you did the unthinkable and spoke out on their behalf.”

“And my own behalf, incidentally.”

“Exactly,” Max replied. “You’re their spokesperson, their best hope for equal rights. If I were you, I’d expect to have a very sympathetic crowd tonight.”

“Huh,” Colleen said, considering the weight of such a statement. “That’s kind of cool.”

“It is, yes. Take a look for yourself.” Max motioned to the auditorium entrance several feet away, and Colleen couldn’t suppress her desire for a quick glance.

She shuffled through the propped-open double doors, exhaling loudly when she saw just how crowded it was, with nearly twenty minutes still to go before the debate was scheduled to start. A cursory scan of the crowd showed a lot of familiar faces, rainbow banners, and O’Bannon campaign signs. Max was right that the audience seemed disproportionately in her favor.

In the back, among the media, was Bijal, and Colleen’s breath caught as she studied her. Bijal was setting up her trusty camcorder, but she was an absolute vision. Her gray tweed business suit fit her perfectly, the jacket short enough that it afforded a phenomenal view of her impressive butt, made even more spectacular by how flawlessly it was accentuated by her pants—the slacks of ass-angels. Her black hair hung beautifully as she attached the tripod and adjusted the angle. She was, in a word, stunning.

And then Bijal saw her.

Colleen anticipated that being caught staring at Bijal might be awkward, something that might have immediately prompted the average person to sheepishly look away. Instead, she felt bold and unabashed. Perhaps the smoldering expression on Bijal’s face made it impossible for Colleen to tear her eyes away. Or maybe it was the rush she got when Bijal licked her full lips sensually.

As Colleen exhaled long and loudly, she heard vague murmuring, but nothing that seemed important enough for her to turn her head. “Hmm?” she mumbled disinterestedly.

“Did you catch anything I just said?” Max asked, standing beside her, droning on for God only knew how long.

“Was it something about a cottage cheese piñata?”

“Not even close. Hey, is that your hot—”

Colleen’s paralysis miraculously vanished, and she spun quickly, shushing Max as she pushed him back out the door and into the hallway.

“Your hot Republican sex muffin?” he whispered. “Did you know she’d be here?”

“Max, can you do me a favor and scrounge up a piece of paper and a pen?”

Bijal stood motionless as she watched Colleen suddenly turn and leave the auditorium, her campaign manager in tow. While Colleen was unquestionably striking in her crisp tailored suit, Bijal had sensed something else remarkable, something beyond that.

She had caught Colleen looking at her with what was clearly some mixture of attraction, admiration, and perhaps desire. What she wouldn’t give to see that expression again. Preferably up close.

“Wow,” Bijal said, fanning herself with her notepad. Her hormones hadn’t been prepared for a quick kick in their gland-pants. Hopefully she wasn’t blushing.

“Are you all set up?” Eliot asked, startling her so badly she jumped an inch or two. “Good Lord, you’re a big bag of nerves,” he said.

“Yeah, I guess I am,” she replied, trying to calm her thrumming heartbeat.

“Janet’s even worse,” he said, watching as Bijal verified the charge on her batteries. “I sent Paige to her dressing room to help her get composed and focused. I just hope she’s able to.”

“There’s a lot of pressure on Janet, Eliot. If she can’t spark a comeback tonight, this campaign might be essentially over.”

“Not necessarily,” he said. “We may just have to shift into a different mode.”

Bijal tried to read his face, but saw little written there. “As in, smear mode?”

Eliot’s brow contracted in thought, but before he could answer, Paige appeared and propped her right hand on her full hip. She blew her bangs out of her eyes in what was clearly frustration.

“How’s Janet doing?” Eliot asked, the concern in his voice belying his calm posture.

“She was kind of a mess,” Paige said, sighing.

“But you finally got her calmed down?” Eliot asked.

“Well, I had to try a few different methods,” Paige explained. “At first, I tried reason. I assured her that in a hundred years, no one would care about this debate or even remember who the candidates were.”

“Let me guess,” Bijal said. “Somehow that watertight argument didn’t put her mind at ease?”

Paige seemed to bristle at the sarcasm. “What’s wrong with it?”

“It implies that she has to wait a century for her sense of failure to completely dissipate,” Bijal replied. “Other than that, it’s awesome.”

“Oh,” Paige said, momentarily deflated now that someone had explained the flaw in her logic. “Anyway, when that didn’t work, I tried to convince her that she was too prepared to fail.”

“What did she say to that?” Eliot asked.

“She just kept repeating ‘Thai food’ over and over. It was exasperating.”

Bijal couldn’t blame Janet for having a case of the jitters. Things had been going so badly for so long, it was hard to see a nasty case of pinkeye as a harbinger of good fortune. “But you’re out here now, so you must have made some kind of progress, right?”

“Eventually, I just broke down and gave her my Valium,” Paige replied evenly.

Bijal and Eliot looked at each other in horror.

“You what?” Eliot barked.

“Shh,” Paige said as she looked at him in mortification. “Let’s not have some kind of incident here in front of the press.”

“You’re joking, right?” Bijal asked softly. “About the Valium?”

Paige blinked at them blankly. “No, why? I take it whenever I feel a panic attack coming on, and it works wonders.”

“So let me get this straight,” Eliot said, half whispering and half screaming. “Just before the mayor’s scheduled to take on her opponent in their one and only debate, you decided to counteract her anxiety at having blood-red eyes by giving her a tranquilizer prescribed for someone else?”

“Do you know if Janet’s ever even taken Valium before?” Bijal added.

“No,” Paige said quietly. “But she says she has a high drug tolerance. That’s why she insisted on taking two.”

Eliot’s face was now crimson, and veins were protruding from his neck and temples. His hands shook as he struggled to speak. “I…want to…kill you!”

“Eliot!” Bijal intervened, her mind racing with images of local late news stories with graphics that said things like CAMPAIGN CARNAGE running alongside footage of Eliot stomping Paige to death and shrieking expletives. “How much time do we have before the debate starts?” He glanced at his watch. “About fifteen minutes.”

“Should we go ahead and cancel?”

Paige scoffed. “You guys are making a big deal out of nothing. Janet’s ready. She’s been practicing for weeks. Her nervousness should be subsiding now. It’ll be fine.”

“You can’t know that,” Eliot said.

“Look, I have a couple dozen volunteers positioned through the crowd,” Paige said. “I’ve briefed them on when and how to respond throughout the debate. We’re all good. You know that debates are all about how you spin them once they’re over anyway.”

“Do you know how fucking fired you’ll be if this goes badly?” Eliot murmured sinisterly.

Eliot was starting to sound amazingly like Donna.

“Relax,” Paige said dismissively. “What could go wrong?”

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