Parties in Congress

They say politics makes strange bedfellows...

Elated to secure her first paid political staff position, Bijal Rao is eager to focus her efforts on the election of her candidate to U.S. Congress. However, Bijal's first unforeseen obstacle is her profound and unexpected attraction to their opponent—incumbent Congresswoman Colleen O'Bannon—who is outspoken, charismatic, and openly lesbian.

An even greater hurdle is the subterfuge and pretense that prevades the climate in Washington, D.C., where small missteps are readily painted as major gaffes, and lies are explained away as "in the public's best interest." During the heated campaign, both Bijal and Colleen struggle not to cross the lines of propriety—and perhaps more importantly, their party lines.

Parties in Congress

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Parties in Congress

© 2011 By Colette Moody. All Rights Reserved.

ISBN 13: 978-1-60282-502-4

This Electronic Book is published by

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First Edition: February 2011

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Credits

Editor: Shelley Thrasher

Production Design: Stacia Seaman

Cover Design By Sheri ([email protected])

The Sublime and Spirited Voyage of Original Sin

The Seduction of Moxie

Parties in Congress

Firstly, thank you, person holding this book. Without your interest (and my neurotic and borderline tragic need to please others), I’d just be the neighborhood loon who drinks entirely too much and mumbles stories into her armpit. But thanks to you, I’m an AUTHOR who drinks entirely too much and mumbles stories into her armpit. The distinction is small, yet significant.

My deep appreciation goes to Cathy, who called upon her close political circle to help me vet this book and ensure that I veered closer to cogent plausibility than I did to deranged idiocy. I like to think we found that happy medium.

As always, I thank the staff at Bold Strokes (and my fellow BSB authors) for their tremendous efforts on my behalf, support, and camaraderie. Thanks especially to my editor, Shelley, for embracing my lunacy and letting it wash over her like a warm tide—though, at times, I imagine it was much like the warm tide that results in an uncomfortable blast of salt water up your nose.

And to Laura, who helps me curb my instances of inappropriate behavior and keeps me out of jail, I’m grateful for your unwavering patience and for all you do (both naughty and otherwise). I love you deeply.

This book is dedicated to Congress members Tammy Baldwin, Barney Frank, Jared Polis, and David Cicilline, as well as Houston Mayor Annise Parker and every other politician who bravely and unapologetically serves in public office as openly gay. You are making history.

Bijal balanced the bags in her arms precariously as she turned her key in the lock. Just as her apartment door popped open, she heard the voice of her roommate Fran from inside.

“Oh, baby. Your ass is sooo tight.”

The door swung wide to reveal Fran sitting in the recliner, running her fingertips lightly over a glossy magazine page. She appeared to be caressing the image of a bikini model who was bending provocatively at the waist. “Why is this fucking thing not scratch and sniff?” She absently took another sip of wine and looked up. “Oh, hey. How’d your interview go?”

Bijal exhaled in relief, happy that she wasn’t walking in on some sexual hijinks and that her dinner wouldn’t have to get cold while she sat dejectedly in the hallway, waiting for Fran and her paramour to finish. She held out her trappings in answer to the question, clutching the neck of a bottle in one hand and a greasy paper bag in the other.

Fran’s eyes lit up. “Wow, champagne
and
manicotti? I’m assuming it went very well indeed.” She set down her vices and followed Bijal into the kitchen.

“You could say that.” Bijal smiled broadly. “I start tomorrow.”

“Congratulations. Um, which job was this again?” Fran began picking through the contents of the take-out bag, and her stomach gurgled as though from the sheer power of suggestion.

Bijal sighed in irritation. She was sure she’d told Fran about this position at least twice already. Perhaps if she’d been wearing a bikini at the time, Fran would have paid a bit more attention. “I’m the new research coordinator for Mayor Janet Denton’s U.S. congressional race.”

“Hmm, what happened to the
old
research coordinator?” Fran asked suspiciously as she pried the lid off the aluminum manicotti container and dove directly into it with a plastic fork.

Bijal struggled to open the champagne. “From what I could glean, he wasn’t terribly engaged.”

“What exactly does that mean? Not engaged?”

“He wasn’t finding enough dirt on the mayor’s opponent.”

“Ah, so you’re the mudslinger,” Fran said, waggling her meat sauce–covered utensil in recrimination.

Bijal bristled slightly. “I don’t sling the mud. I’m more the person who…harvests it from the earth,” she said, finally generating enough force with her thumbs to shoot the cork across the room.

“How very green of you,” Fran said, then scowled. “Or would that be brown of you?”

“Is that a racial slur?” Bijal asked, arching her left eyebrow in mock-accusation. She poured the warm bubbly into two coffee mugs, the only clean glassware they owned at the moment.

Fran scoffed. “Oh, please! You think you Indian Americans
own
brownness? For the record, my brown people were in this country getting shit on long before yours were.” She indignantly picked up her mug, which sported an image of Jane Fonda from the movie
Barbarella
, replete with tight space suit and ray gun, and took a sip of the champagne.

“Are you saying you want to have a brown-off?” Bijal joked, diving hungrily into her own take-out container.

“You can’t bring the brown, Ms. Life of Privilege. And you’re getting manicotti on your blouse.”

Bijal glanced down at the stain in horror. “Shit!” She put the food down and moved to the sink for a damp towel. “I need to start buying marinara-colored clothing.”

Fran laughed and took a seat at the kitchen table. “Okay, so tell me about your new boss. What’s she mayor of?”

“Ravensdale, Virginia.”

“I think I drove through there once…by mistake.”

Bijal continued to dab the sauce from the fabric. “Yeah, it’s not a big town. And it’s kind of out in the sticks.”

“So you’re saying she’s like the mayor of Mayberry? You’re really selling me.” Fran drank again from Jane Fonda, who was no doubt providing her with sweet succor.

“Now, now. They have both electricity
and
plumbing,” Bijal said, pulling up a chair, her blouse now sporting a huge wet spot over her right breast.

“And newfangled horseless carriages?”

“Maybe one or two. But no one in her campaign is named Goober.”

Fran took another bite of the magical pasta. “Here’s the real test. Would I hate her?”

“Probably,” Bijal answered absently. “She’s a Republican.”

“I was afraid you’d say that.”

“Easy, don’t blow ricotta cheese out your nose. My old boss, Dr. Hayes, recommended me and got me the interview. But don’t worry. I did some research on Mayor Denton before I even went to meet her. I definitely feel good supporting her candidacy, especially since it’ll be my first real job inside the Beltway.”

“So, when you say you feel good,” Fran said, punctuating the last two words with air quotes, “you mean she’s hot? Is that it? She’s bangable? Because if so, maybe you need to power down that snatch of yours for a little while, Bij.”

Bijal stopped mid-chew to glare, then swallowed what was in her mouth. “My snatch is on screensaver mode already, thanks. But I don’t want to sleep with her, Fran. I want to get her elected. Remember, this is primarily a job, but, luckily, I happen to agree with a lot of her political positions.”

“So she’s for marriage equality?”

“She’s for civil unions, which is close.”

Fran looked as though she smelled something unsavory. “Well, I’m glad we’re all fine with settling for something ‘close’ to equality,” she said sarcastically. “Wasn’t it Dr. King who famously said, ‘As long as it’s close, we’re cool’? No, that sounds wrong, doesn’t it?”

“Point taken,” Bijal said. “But please keep in mind that I said she was a Republican. Being pro–civil unions makes her exceptionally progressive for her party. She considers herself a moderate Libertarian.”

“What about on abolishing ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’?”

“She’s not opposed.”

“Is that the same as supporting it?” Fran asked, squinting.

“I would put her in the ballpark of not
sponsoring
legislation to repeal it, but she would vote for it if it came to the House.”

“Reproductive rights?”

“She supports Roe v. Wade.”

Fran seemed stunned. “And is she willing to run on these issues as a Republican in a red state?”

“We may need to downplay her more socially progressive views a little during the campaign to make sure she doesn’t alienate the far-right base.”

Fran sat and silently stared at her for a moment. “Were you hypnotized shortly after you arrived?”

“Look, we’ve talked about this before. Conservatism is founded on fiscal responsibility and small government—two things I believe in. I don’t happen to support the Republican Party’s social platform—”