Chapter Fourteen

By the time the debate moderator—Dr. Constance Hill, a poli-sci professor on campus—entered and began her opening statement, Bijal was bordering on hyperventilation. She’d managed to momentarily keep her boss from strangling her coworker, but was fairly certain the members of the press nearest them had sensed a budding altercation.

What’s more, now that Bijal had spent some time among the attendees, she realized that Colleen’s supporters outnumbered Paige’s measly twenty-two volunteers ensconced in the crowd, along with all the other conservatives, possibly by as much as three to one.

Bijal had also concluded that God was a Democrat.

Or maybe Janet had taken igneous rocks from Hawaii and now the Goddess Pele was punishing her. Perhaps she’d cut a Gypsy off in traffic and, in return, received the evil eye. Who knew the real story? Regardless, the planets were aligned. The spell had been cast and the bones thrown. Janet clearly had a date with destiny that would culminate in nothing less than her complete and utter ruin.

But she couldn’t blame it all on chicken feet and gris-gris. Bijal needed to accept her culpability in this fiasco. They should have canceled this debate earlier in the day when they had the chance. Their gamble of making such a highly visible public appearance when Janet was in less than top form was one that was, at best, a long shot. At worst, it was a disaster from which they’d never recover.

The crowd clapped enthusiastically as Colleen was introduced. Bijal quickly focused the camera and watched through the viewfinder as the debacle began to unfold, like a beautiful overture that plays just before the bassoonist leaps out of the orchestra pit and cuts you with a scythe…that she happened to have hidden in the tuba next to her.

Bijal noted sadly that her simile sense was still utterly dreadful. Were shitty non sequiturs a genetic defect? Like a deviated septum or feet that smelled like ripened French cheese?

As Colleen strode onto the stage looking confident, poised, and beautiful, Bijal’s extraneous thoughts of murderous woodwinds and Camembert extremities dissolved. She made a mental note not to curse, groan, or suck in appreciatively—anything that might be loud enough for the camcorder to pick up. God knew she already had enough problems.

Dr. Hill then introduced Janet, and when she didn’t immediately appear, Bijal began to silently count the seconds. Surely it couldn’t be taking as agonizingly long for Janet to join them onstage as it seemed at that moment.

Seven Mississippi…eight Mississippi.

“Mayor Janet Denton,” Dr. Hill repeated.

Eleven Mississippi…twelve Mississippi. For an instant, Bijal almost expected Dr. Hill to call out “the Family Von Trapp,” soon followed by the Nazis’ sudden realization that the mayor had fled Virginia up into the mountains, while singing at the top of her lungs. She would never appear for this debate, and that would indeed be the happiest ending of all.

Before Bijal could hum the first verse of “Climb Every Mountain,” Janet stepped tentatively out from the wings, wearing her dark glasses and moving at a pace somewhere between a mosey and a slow saunter. As she reached the lectern, she shuffled through her note cards, seeming rather disoriented.

“Good evening, Mayor,” Dr. Hill said, though Janet did not immediately respond. “Is everything all right?”

Janet leaned forward, presumably to speak into the mic. But either her irritated eyes, the effect of taking someone else’s prescription tranquilizers, or the stage lights bouncing off the lenses of her sunglasses caused her to misjudge its proximity. She struck the head of the microphone with her nose, resulting in a horrific screech of feedback. “I…I have an infection,” she announced flatly.

The silence that overtook the auditorium was both awkward and horrifying. Janet was supposed to explain her eyewear with something innocuous, like, “Please excuse my glasses. I saw the ophthalmologist today.” Instead, she’d shuffled out like an escapee from a lobotomy clinic and announced that she had some affliction that she had more than likely obtained via unprotected anal sex with animals.

Dr. Hill finally broke the unnerving quiet. “Um, are you prepared to begin, Mayor?”

“Yes,” Janet replied. She didn’t appear aware of her faux pas. Meanwhile, Colleen looked absolutely aghast, but unlike the majority of people in the audience, she’d somehow been able to fight the urge to gasp and murmur incredulous profanity under her breath.

“Okay,” Dr. Hill replied hesitantly. “Uh, let me take a moment to go over the rules that you’ve both agreed to. I’ll take alternating turns asking you questions on social, foreign, and domestic policy. The recipient has three minutes to respond, and the other candidate will have a one-minute rebuttal. It is permissible, and even encouraged, for you to use any part of your time to address each other directly, though obviously if I feel that discourse is becoming unproductive or disrespectful, or has veered off the original topic, I reserve the right to either refocus the discussion or stop you completely and move on to the next question.”

Dr. Hill looked at both candidates, more than likely for a sign of acknowledgement. Perhaps in Janet’s case, any indication of comprehension. “Are you ready?”

Colleen and Janet both nodded, and Dr. Hill began. “Very well. Mayor Denton, the first question is for you. During her term, Representative O’Bannon has been an outspoken advocate for marriage equality in the state of Virginia, including supporting the repeal of an amendment to the state constitution that limits marriage to heterosexual couples only. What is your stance on marriage equality?”

“Fffuck,” Bijal breathed without thinking. Damn, she realized. Between her muttering and the people around her, she’d have a lot of editing to do when this was over.

Janet shuffled her note cards for what seemed like an eternity before finally answering. “Gay marriage is a state issue. And as someone who currently supports our state constitution, I think it’s imperative that we allow the voters to have their say. Elections have consequences, and when the people speak, it’s our duty as elected officials to heed them.”

Though she’d had three minutes to fill, Janet stopped. When it became clear that she was done, Dr. Hill responded. “Um, okay. Well, Congresswoman O’Bannon, you have your minute, plus two minutes and twenty-nine seconds of the mayor’s time to rebut.”

“May I use the time to respond to Mayor Denton directly?” Colleen asked.

Dr. Hill nodded. “Please do.”

“Mayor, I disagree with everything you just said. First, marriage equality should not be left up to the states, because it’s a civil right. Putting the civil rights of a minority up for a vote is unconscionable and is nothing more than politicians passing the buck on making a difficult and potentially controversial decision.”

The O’Bannon supporters in the crowd began to clap, but when Colleen continued speaking they settled back down. “If we had put desegregation up for a vote in 1954, would a majority have supported it? And what about interracial marriage? If that had been on the Virginia ballot in 1967 instead of decided by the U.S. Supreme Court, do you honestly think it would have passed?

“Second, regarding the state constitution, what you’re talking about is the Marshall-Newman Amendment of 2006, one of the most invasive of the recent wave of laws that attempts to define marriage. Not only does it outlaw same-sex marriage, it bans civil unions and invalidates legal contracts, including wills, medical directives, property settlements, and powers of attorney. Just a few months ago, Mayor, you referred to yourself as a moderate Libertarian. How do you reconcile allowing Virginia’s electorate to vote away my right to bequeath my possessions to whomever I please? Why are my liberties less important?”

Janet still looked disoriented, and she gazed at Dr. Hill and cocked her head.

Dr. Hill, in turn, looked mystified. “Mayor, you may answer the congresswoman.”

“I’m sorry, can you repeat the question?”

Colleen stared at Janet incredulously. It was as though a pod person had taken Janet’s place, though perhaps that was an insult to pod people. “I asked how a self-avowed Libertarian—and correct me if something’s changed, but the last I knew, Libertarians wanted to make government smaller to keep it from infringing on the rights of the people. Do I understand that correctly?”

“Well, basically, yes,” Janet replied.

“What about my rights?” Colleen asked coolly. The crowd began applauding again.

Janet squared her shoulders. “The states define everyone’s rights, including yours.”

“Even though I just explained how the state stripped me of my rights and ensconced their bigotry into the constitution? So if this year the Virginia House of Delegates proposed an amendment that banned marriage between people of different religions, as a Libertarian, you’d have no qualms with that kind of government intrusion?”

Bijal could tell that Janet was struggling with more than just her mental clarity. These were exactly the types of positions that Eliot had coached her on.

“Not if that was the state law,” Janet replied. “And not if that was the will of the people. As a representative for Virginia’s twelfth district, I should speak for my constituents. That’s the whole intent of representative government, to ensure that everyone’s voice is heard.”

Colleen set her jaw sternly. “Then why do we spend our time telling the voters what we believe? It’s not our constituents’ job to educate themselves on every bill and amendment. It’s ours. It’s what we’re paid to do. The people don’t elect followers, they elect leaders—officials who they expect to listen to all arguments, learn the facts, then vote for what’s in the best interest of everyone. Not to just support something we think might play well in our district even though we know it’s destructive or unethical, or to simply side with those who’ve made large campaign donations. Anyone can do that, and in my opinion, it’s nothing more than moral cowardice. It takes courage to always vote your conscience, and that’s what these people both want and deserve from us.”

At that, the audience erupted into a thunderous ovation of cheering, whistling, and clapping. Bijal was utterly stunned as she watched Dr. Hill try to quiet the crowd.

Colleen had come out of the gate swinging, and by taking advantage of all the time Janet had opted not to use, she’d so far made Janet look like a scattered, calculating, morally compromised sellout with no real vision for the future and a mysterious infection of unspeakable origin.

As calm once again began to descend, a young man near the back shouted, “We love you, Colleen!”

“No outbursts, please,” Dr. Hill replied.

“Christ,” Bijal said softly. This was going to be the longest two hours of her life.

Bijal and Paige stood off to the side watching Eliot try to spin the debate as a victory for Janet to the local television team interviewing him.

“Tonight was a clear win for Mayor Denton,” he said. “She articulated her plans for job growth, a balanced budget, and educational reform. And she showed that she’s the candidate who listens to what the public wants.”

The reporter didn’t look to be buying it. “It did seem that a number of times the mayor was either speechless or confounded, though.”

“She was simply being thoughtful. Mayor Denton realizes the weight that words can have and therefore chooses them carefully.”

“Mr. Jenkins, what about the confrontation on the death penalty? Mayor Denton didn’t even try to respond to that. She just stared off into space.”

Bijal winced. That had been an evident touchdown by Colleen. No way would Eliot be able to polish that into anything else. After using the term “pro-life” several times in an answer regarding abortion, Colleen had replied, “Mayor, as someone who professes to be ‘pro-life,’ how can you support the death penalty?”

It had, as the journalist was now describing, been a momentum breaker. Janet stopped, reached into her foggy cranium as though it was the bottom of her purse, and apparently came out with nothing but a used Kleenex and a lint-covered lozenge. After fifteen or so seconds of silence, Dr. Hill asked if they were ready for the next question, and everyone just moved on. All parties involved seemed to simply accept that Janet had no response and silently agreed to allot the points appropriately.

“Do you think I still have a job?” Paige whispered.

Bijal was torn between wanting to put Paige’s fears to rest and the urge to fire her herself. “I don’t know,” she replied. “It’s pretty obvious that the Valium made things worse than they would have been had Janet simply been nervous.”

“You know it wasn’t my idea. Janet was begging me for it.”

“Look, it’s not my decision, Paige. You have two choices now. You can either slip out of here while Eliot’s busy and just operate like you still have a job—if you don’t get a call over the weekend, show up Monday and see if he’s calmer. Or you can wait around and talk to him tonight. Make your case and see if Janet will stick up for you. Though at this point, I’m not sure having her take your side will matter much.”

“You’re right, Bijal.” Paige looked back over to Eliot, who was now losing his cool and cultivating a ball of white spittle in the corner of his mouth like some kind of tiny vile pearl. “I’ll see you later,” she said, dashing up the hallway and out the door into the parking lot.

Bijal hadn’t expected that, but at this point, she was ready to do the same. This election seemed to be already over, even though they still had several weeks to go. They simply couldn’t make up this lost ground.

With a heavy sigh, she hefted her video equipment over her shoulder and started toward the door, searching her bag for her car keys. It didn’t help her state of mind that her silly fantasies about bumping into Colleen in some secluded changing room hadn’t borne fruit. Other than the nanosecond of electricity she’d felt when she’d seen Colleen staring at her, this day had been a complete and utter disappointment.

After reaching her car, she unlocked it and started stuffing the camera bag in the backseat. She felt chilled as she started to get into the driver’s seat, then noticed something folded underneath her windshield wiper. Hopefully it wasn’t yet another flyer for a local masseuse.

“Do these things ever persuade anyone to get a massage?” she asked as she unfolded it. She was surprised to see a handwritten note, in neat and familiar cursive.
B,

You look beautiful tonight—breathtaking, really. So forgive my reckless impatience, but I’d love nothing more than to have dinner with you. If you’re busy, or if, unlike me, you have your wits about you, just tear this up. Believe me, I’ll more than understand.

But if you’re either hungry, craving a diversion, looking for company, feeling gutsy, or any combination of the above, call me on my cell phone at the number below.
Spyxie
P.S. Did I mention how beautiful you look?
Bijal stared at the phone number before reading the note again. If she’d been chilled by the night air before she’d picked this up, she felt no sign of it now. She folded the paper and got in the car and shut the door.

She read it a third time before setting it in the passenger seat. Should she call? Everything inside her wanted to. Everything except the tiny sliver of her brain that handled propriety and conflicts of interest, that is. And that part was rapidly coming around as well.

“Well, just because I call her doesn’t mean I’ll actually meet her,” she said, hoping that hearing the words out loud would make them more credible.

She picked up the note, before setting it back down again and putting her key in the ignition. She had nearly turned the engine over before she snatched the note and her phone and rapidly dialed the number. Sometimes she hated her lack of willpower.

“Hello?” Colleen’s voice sounded warm and alluring.

“Um…hi. It’s Bijal.”

“You called.”

Bijal was starting to feel foolish. “I did, yes.”

“Sorry, I tend to state the obvious when I’m nervous. I’d already convinced myself that you weren’t going to.”

“Did you say you’re nervous?”

“Maybe a little.”

“About what?” Bijal asked.

“About approaching you—asking you out while we’re still in the middle of this…”

“Steaming bucket of feces?”

Colleen laughed. “You’re such a smooth talker. I suppose I should be congratulating you.”

“For what?”

“For your victory tonight. I heard your new campaign manager declaring to reporters that y’all won.”

Bijal sighed in exasperation. “Do you have no mercy? I was just starting to forget about all that.”

“Were you?”

“Well, yeah. See, I got this note from an incredibly hot woman who told me I was beautiful.”

“Twice,” Colleen added.

“And even though I know that I shouldn’t be socializing with her, I can’t get past the fact that I really want to see her.”

“That’s mutual. I’ve missed having you tail me.”

Bijal was giddy at the admission. “So meet me at the K and K.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea now that I’ve been on both national and local television. If someone were to recognize me, we’d have a real problem.”

“Then doesn’t that kind of rule out going somewhere for dinner?”

Colleen mumbled something unintelligible. “I have an idea if you’re game. Do you like sushi?”

“I love it, and I haven’t had it in months.”

“Yeah, I’m thinking your body could probably use a meal that’s not fried. I’m on my way to pick up Callisto right now.”

Bijal wasn’t really sure where this was going. “Where is she?”

“With Hepburn.”

“I thought Hepburn was dead.”

Colleen chucked softly. “Katharine is, sadly. Hepburn is a husky mix that lives down the road from me. When I work long hours my retired neighbor is good enough to take Callisto to her place to play with Hepburn.”

“A nice arrangement.”

“Definitely. So what I’m proposing is this. Are you still at the college?”

“You mean the scene of the crime? Yes.”

“Good. There’s a great sushi place not too far from you. I’ll call ahead and order take-out, and I’ll pay over the phone. They know me there. I’m a regular. You stop by and pick it up, then meet me at my place for dinner.”

“At your house?”

“Is that too forward of me? I just thought we’d have a little more privacy. But if you feel like it’s crossing a line—”

“No, it’s fine,” Bijal said.

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to feel coerced or anything.”

“I won’t, as long as we agree to keep things nonsexual.”

After a pause, Colleen replied. “Well, I can certainly agree to do my best.”

“That sounds a little noncommittal.”

“It does, doesn’t it? My head has no problem consenting to that arrangement, but I keep picturing you in that snug tweed suit and I start to experience conflict. You didn’t change out of it, did you?”

“No.” Bijal felt the blush that must have been spreading across her neck and cheeks.

“Outstanding. Look, we’ll compromise. You wear that suit, and you have my word that I’ll only ogle you from afar.”

“That sounds agreeable.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Do you like spicy tuna?”

“Even more than I like spicy shrimp,” Bijal replied blithely.

“Then you’ll love this place. If you’ve got a pen, I’ll give you directions from where you are.”

“Hang on.” For a moment Bijal nearly flipped Colleen’s note over to write on it, but didn’t want to ruin it. In her glove compartment she found a beige Taco Rojo napkin and a pen. “Okay, fire away.”

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