Chapter Nineteen

Doug Patel, the media specialist for the O’Bannon campaign, stared through the camera viewfinder. “And cut,” he called, making a slashing motion with his hand.

“How was that?” Colleen asked, feeling fairly confident about it.

“Perfect,” Doug said. “You’re a natural.”

Max stood nearby with his arms crossed, staring in interest over Doug’s shoulder. “I told you this would be a breeze.”

“Yeah,” Doug said with an affable grin. “But just so you know, everyone says that and it’s almost never true. Luckily our subject wasn’t horrible.”

“Thanks for setting the bar so low for me,” Colleen said, taking out her BlackBerry and scrolling through her e-mail.

Doug’s face froze. “That came out wrong.”

“I was hoping it was unintentional,” Colleen replied without looking up. “Do you need anything else?”

Doug watched the commercial as he played it back on the camcorder. “I’d say we’re good. In fact, that last take was so first-rate, we can use it unedited—just a single shot that slowly pulls in tight.”

“Excellent,” Max said. “I want to see your first cut the second you have the graphics and music incorporated.”

“You know what I’m thinking?” Doug stopped the playback and spun in his chair to face Max.

“What?”

“Let’s not have music. Have it just be the congresswoman talking to the voters—no gloss. In fact, maybe we put the sponsorship message at the beginning so we don’t lose the impact at the end.”

Max smiled broadly. “Ooh, nice! Does that sound good, Colleen?”

It wasn’t that Colleen didn’t care, but the prospect of being done with this was the best news she’d had all day. “Whatever y’all say.”

“Were you even listening?” Max asked as he yawned.

“For most of it. Sorry, Max, but I have to head over to the television studio to get ready to film my spot on The Tank Guzman Show. Then, first thing in the morning, I jump on an international flight.”

Max raised his hands in feigned surrender. “Okay, you win. You officially have too much to do. Don’t worry, I’ll send you the ad as soon as it’s ready for your approval.”

“Thanks, guys.” Colleen stood and gathered her belongings.

“Try to mention the campaign website at least twice when you’re on TV,” Max said.

Colleen paused long enough to respond. “Max, my goal is to encourage the public to get involved with the Patient Access Reform Act, not to campaign. Sorry, but I won’t be prostituting myself tonight.”

“You could just sort of toss it in at the end,” Max said hopefully.

“Nope, won’t happen.”

“Maybe just the phone number?”

Colleen shook her head slowly. “Get me the ad as soon as possible, so I can approve it before I leave in the morning, okay?”

“You’re ignoring me again?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Colleen replied, heading out the door. “Thanks again!”

They waved good-bye as she headed out to find her car. She unlocked the driver’s door and got inside before stopping to once again consider the impetus of this impromptu commercial—Denton’s inflammatory and deceptive attack ad.

She really wished Bijal didn’t work for that campaign. But as much as she sensed that Bijal hadn’t been a party to all their shifty schemes, Bijal had been the one with a video camera rooting through the mud in Colleen’s front yard.

She shut her car door and tried to massage the tension headache out of her temples. Perhaps she’d been impulsive to get involved with Bijal before the election. It wasn’t like her to act recklessly—but it had been so long since she’d found anyone this alluring.

Unfortunately, as disappointed and burned as she felt politically, she was just as saddened that things were now awkward between her and Bijal.

She turned the key in the ignition and the engine started.

Bijal sat dejectedly at a dimly lit booth in the Cheshire Grille, a place not too far from her apartment that served delectable comfort food and strong mixed drinks. Glancing at the door, she saw Fran walk in and make a beeline for her.

“Hey,” Fran said, sliding in across from her. “What’s up? Your text had a lot of punctuation.”

Bijal groaned and took another sip of her libation. “A bad day at work.”

“I thought those were the only kind of days you have anymore.”

“Pretty much.”

“What happened now? Did Denton slap a nun?”

“Nothing that forgivable.”

The server arrived with a menu, which Fran quickly waved away. “No, thanks, Chuck. I already know what I want. I’ll have the meat loaf and a light draft beer.”

Chuck nodded. “And for you?”

Bijal grimaced. As much as her appetite had left her for a sunnier climate, if she was drinking, she needed to eat something substantial. “I’ll take the chili and cornbread, and another whiskey, please.”

“Will do,” Chuck replied, then spun away toward the bar.

“Okay.” Fran propped her chin in her hand. “Lay it on me.”

“As of today, we’re running a deceptive, contemptible anti-gay ad.”

“And?”

“What do you mean ‘and?’” Bijal snapped.

“Okay, don’t get all pissy about this, but look at the base of your party, honey. Their mutual hatred of other people is the glue holding them all together.”

The muscles in Bijal’s neck tightened uncomfortably. “I’m not supposed to get pissy about that?”

“No, because it’s true.”

“It’s not true, Fran. It’s a Democratic talking point. The Republican Party was originally founded on the principles of advancing the middle class, small businesses, and civil rights. We can and should still be about those things.”

Chuck appeared with their drinks then vanished again.

Fran picked up the frosty mug and gave it a taste. “Well, then, someone needs to tell the folks in charge, ’cause they’re the ones running on an anti-gay, anti-immigrant, anti-affirmative action, pro-corporate conglomerate, pro-gun platform.”

“So you’re saying that because I don’t subscribe to the ideology of the far right of my party, I should just walk away from it? How would a mass exodus of the moderates improve things exactly? Don’t you believe in a two-party system?”

“Sure.”

“As long as the party other than yours is reduced to a small pocket of angry, socially regressive people who can be easily mocked, right?”

“It sounds bad when you say it.”

“Because it is! This isn’t how things are supposed to work. Politicians are supposed to stand for things, not make up ridiculous lies that appeal to the most frightened and base aspects of human nature. Government should not be like Lord of the Flies. It’s supposed to make our lives better and safer.”

“Bij, why aren’t you running for office?”

“Huh?”

“I’d vote for you.”

Bijal shook her head as she downed what was left of her first whiskey so she could economically transition to the next. “You would not.”

“I would! Because you’re sincere, which makes you better than ninety-nine percent of the people currently seeking office in all parties.”

“Including Janet Denton, apparently,” Bijal said cheerlessly.

“So she totally Nixoned out on you?”

“I’m not sure. I haven’t even seen her since we got our new marching orders this morning.”

Fran’s left eyebrow arched. “Hmm, so it may be more your new campaign manager or the NRCC?”

“I don’t know, Fran. Ever since I signed on I’ve been giving Janet a pass. First I blamed Donna, then I blamed the NRCC. But it’s Janet’s voice at the end of this appalling ad saying she approved it, not anyone else’s.”

“It’s that bad?”

“Like Hindenburg -oh-the-humanity bad, yeah.”

“Wow, what’s it say exactly?”

“It calls Colleen a ‘deviant’ and spews some ridiculous shit about how if gay marriage is legalized, it’ll force schools to teach second-graders about strap-ons and donkey shows.”

“Damn, did you say anything to anyone?”

“I said it wasn’t true and mentioned that Janet supports gay marriage just as much as Colleen does.”

“Did you walk out?”

“I thought about it…but no.”

“What’s the plan now?” Fran asked seriously. “Swallow your ethics?”

“I plan to try to talk to Janet tomorrow, to find out if she’s completely onboard with this. I mean, Colleen wouldn’t entertain something like this for a second.”

“Aha.”

Bijal started to speak, but just then Chuck delivered their food. Once they’d assured him they didn’t need anything else, Bijal said, “What did that ‘aha’ mean?”

“That’s what this is really all about—what Colleen would approve of.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.” Bijal tore off a piece of cornbread in irritation.

Fran jabbed her meat loaf forcefully with her fork. “You had no qualms creeping around and following your opponent like she was Lindsay Lohan with no panties on, hoping to catch her doing something gay.”

“I did so have qualms—all kinds of crazy qualms. I was practically swimming in…qualminess.”

“But apparently not quite enough to tell your bosses to take their witch hunt and stuff it up their fat, bigoted asses.”

“They would just have gotten someone else to do it. Maybe I was fighting them via sabotage. Did you think of that?”

“Or maybe you can’t admit to yourself that not only do you no longer support your candidate, but at this point, you don’t even qualify as impartial.”

Bijal stared at Fran. “Bullshit.”

“Bij, listen to yourself. You’re clearly in the bag for O’Bannon, which I’m sure is exactly what O’Bannon wants. Honestly, what could be handier than a sympathetic insider in the opposition’s camp who just so happens to be fascinated by your rack? You don’t think she might be using you?”

“No, I don’t.”

Fran continued her conjecture. “And now in response to your shitty ad, all she has to do to mount a valid defense is to out you—show what a collection of hypocrites y’all are with your fake outrage against gays.”

Bijal suddenly had a sinking feeling in her gut.

“You see where I’m going with this?”

“I think so. Hopefully Colleen wouldn’t do that.”

“But Denton would if she was in the same position, wouldn’t she?”

Bijal ran her hand through her hair as she pondered the possibilities Fran was posing. “This completely sucks.”

“I believe I predicted some kind of suckage quite some time ago, did I not?”

“Yeah, yeah, what do I do now, though?”

“Whatever you do, don’t contact O’Bannon.”

“Um…”

Fran looked incredulous. “Jesus, are you under hypnosis? What the hell?”

“I just wanted to give her a heads-up,” Bijal explained, regretting the admission as soon as she spoke the words.

“Which is completely what a loyal Denton supporter would do, right?”

“I can’t help it if I had a momentary pang of conscience when my boss decided to suddenly ally with the Klan.”

“Uh-huh.” Fran was clearly not buying it.

“Look, maybe my expectations of Colleen are totally unreasonable. For all I know, she could be just as shady as everyone else in this town. It’s possible I’ve been nothing more than a naïve idealist who never should have entered politics without the blanket assumption that I’d have to sell my soul just to cheat someone into office whom I neither support nor respect.”

Fran chewed, then swallowed. “I don’t disagree with any of that.”

“So, yes, I texted her about it, but she’d already seen it.”

“How’d she take it?”

“Bad.”

“ Hindenburg bad?”

“Well, I didn’t hear her voice, but it sure seemed that way.”

Fran sat back and stared at Bijal for a moment. “Now what?”

Bijal rubbed her tired eyes. “I wish I knew. Part of me wants to tell Eliot to fuck off and just storm out on principle. But then I couldn’t pay my bills. And what, do I just go back to waiting tables for the rest of my life and hope the tips will cover my student-loan payments? Or do I adjust my scruples to be more realistic and stay in the fight to try to make a difference? Do I quit before I’m outed and unwittingly take down not just myself, but the whole Denton congressional campaign as well? Or do I refuse to let them make my sexuality an issue—because it shouldn’t be?”

“You sure have a lot of questions. Regardless, I think you need to stop this little side fling with O’Bannon.”

“I think she beat me to it,” Bijal said morosely.

Fran cleared her throat. “Not to be callous, but you really should take advantage of the opportunity. Every time you two interact, you compromise yourself.”

Bijal buried her face in her hands. “I know. You’re right.”

“And maybe when this is all over you can look her up and ask her out—once there’s nothing left to hide.”

“Doubtful. I think I blew it,” Bijal replied wistfully as she stood up. “I need to run to the restroom. I’ll be right back.”

She had painfully hobbled only a few steps when Fran stopped her. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Hiking.”

“I told you that healthy shit will kill you.”

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