Parties in Congress (16 page)

Sue looked wary. “Why?”

“Based on the naming conventions of your menu, I was hoping it didn’t come with a tampon in it,” Bijal replied matter-of-factly.

“Ooh! Instead of a spoon,” Sue said excitedly, snapping her fingers.

Colleen shook her head as her BlackBerry vibrated. “Sue, stop. That’s completely and utterly vile.”

“You gotta have a gimmick,” Sue explained.

Colleen scrolled to the text message she’d received. “Considering that you’re trying to sell food, your gimmick probably shouldn’t be anything that makes people nauseous or reminds them of cramping.”

“That sounds like sound business advice,” Bijal said.

“Hmm, looks like I’ll be on TV tomorrow night,” Colleen declared, happily changing the subject.

“Really?” Sue asked. “Local network?”

“Actually, I’ll be on a cable news show debating a state senator from Alabama.”

“Which cable news show?” Bijal asked.

“
The Tank Guzman Show
.”

“I can’t stand that guy.” Sue sneered. “He asks questions, but he never lets anyone answer them. It’s like he just invites people on so they can listen to him drone on and on.”

“He
is
a bit of a douche,” Colleen said before ingesting a spoonful of soup.

Bijal snorted. “No offense, but calling Tank Guzman a douche is an insult to Massengill. What will you be speaking about?”

“Alabama has proposed a piece of legislation making it illegal to allow gays to adopt children.”

“Nice,” Sue said sarcastically.

“And you don’t think it’s a bad idea to put yourself on TV arguing for an LGBT issue so close to your election?” Bijal asked. “Isn’t that like wearing a big sign that reads, ‘I’m a liberal’?”

Colleen thought before she answered. “I suppose I should care about stuff like that, but so few politicians are willing to stand up for our community that I can’t bring myself to turn my back on them. Even if I wanted to say it’s better for the LGBT movement for me to get reelected so I can keep working for equality, I can’t. It’s the same with the Patient Access Reform Act. It’ll get voted on in this session, before Congress adjourns. It won’t wait for my election.”

“Attagirl,” Sue said. “Just for that, your Kotex soup is on the house.”

Colleen glared at Bijal. “See what you’ve done?”

Bijal settled into the cushy corner of Janet’s campaign office sofa. She clutched her latte and tried to blink the fatigue out of her eyes. A glance at her watch showed she was exactly on time for the meeting with Charles Hammond, yet even though she’d been out late, she was still the only one here.

Why was punctuality such an uncommon quality? For some reason, she’d assumed that since a candidate’s success was based on how he or she chose to present himself, people might actually try to be on time.

She took another sip of coffee. She should have gotten an extra shot of espresso.

Donna halted dramatically in the doorway, as though seeing Bijal waiting there made her question if she was in the wrong room. “What the hell are you doing here?” she asked abruptly as she shuffled in. “Get out, we have a meeting scheduled.”

Bijal was simply too tired for Donna’s bullshit and didn’t bother to feign politeness or even respect. “I know. I was asked to attend.”

“Is that so?” Donna sat on the edge of Janet’s desk—presumably to be higher than Bijal, a typical alpha-dog trait. “Then I’ll take a decaf with two sugars and a doughnut—a jelly one—if any are left.”

“Well, perhaps if any volunteers are left who you haven’t been shitty to yet, they’d be willing to get that for you. What do you think the odds are?”

Donna’s gaze narrowed in obvious irritation. “Did I miss the e-mail that went out saying you suddenly matter, Roo?”

“It’s Rao, and considering that you don’t bother reading your e-mail, I imagine you’ve missed a lot of things.”

“I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but here’s the deal.” Donna’s voice had dropped an octave and made the journey from smarmy and oily to sinister. “You’re going to shut up and leave—” Janet entered the room in time to hear the end of Donna’s directive. “Or you’re fired.”

“No, she’s not, Donna,” Janet said dismissively. “Bijal is here because I value her knowledge and instincts. I want her involved in our strategy sessions from now on.”

Donna seemed incredulous. “You
what
? Why don’t we invite the homeless guy that picks through our Dumpster too?”

“Good idea,” Bijal said. “Maybe he’d be willing to get you your coffee.”

Janet put her hands up. “Ladies, please. Let’s try to be constructive. We have quite a steep climb ahead of us, and sadly it seems to be getting steeper every day. Bijal, have you had a chance to see what the blowback of yesterday’s little microphone gaffe is?”

“The video is all over the Internet, and it certainly didn’t help that CNN and every show in MSNBC’s evening lineup ran and openly mocked it. So I still support the game plan of calling the guy in red to apologize to him, then you making a separate statement to the press personally.”

Donna sucked air through her teeth, making a sound Bijal decided was perhaps more annoying than a car alarm set off by the loud pealing of a pod of whales as they ran their barnacle-encrusted fins down a blackboard. “Oh, please, people don’t care about silly shit like this. They care about the issues—why they can’t get a job, inflation, taxes, homeland security.”

“You’re joking, right?” Bijal asked. “Have you not been paying attention for the last couple of decades?”

“What do you mean, Bijal?” Janet asked, taking a seat at her desk.

“I mean that the people in this room are politically minded. But most Americans aren’t. Do you think C-SPAN is pulling in a bigger share of viewers than VH-1 or MTV? Sure, people have concerns about the economy and terrorism. But most would rather watch someone get drunk on a reality show and vomit off a balcony, or see who gets voted off the bus, the island, or the house full of tequila and stripper poles.”

Donna crossed her arms. “That’s simply not true.”

“No?” Bijal asked in amazement. “The average voter spends nearly fifteen times the amount of time that they spend watching or reading the news, on social networking sites. Nearly one-third of high-school graduates won’t read a single book after receiving their diploma.”

Janet’s jaw sagged. “Holy shit. Is that true?”

Bijal nodded. “Unfortunately, yes. Statistics can be very depressing. For example, in the last dozen years, only one in three registered Virginia voters has bothered to vote in mid-term elections.”

“So first you say the American people are stupid,” Donna said with a sneer. “And now you’re calling them lazy as well.”

“No, I’m giving you facts, and you’re attributing your personal biases to them.”

Janet leaned back in her chair. “So you’re saying we need to be energizing Virginia Republicans more.”

“Exactly,” Bijal replied. “We should be showing them why it’s important to get out to the polls and vote for you.”

“Well, there’s a shock.” Donna snorted. “I can see why you’re here now, Roo. We never would have recognized that we need to appeal to voters in our party. That’s genius.”

Bijal turned her attention directly to Janet. “Do you see now why Donna should
never
be the public face of this campaign?”

Donna’s eyes flashed with anger. “Now look here, Ms. Diversity Hire—”

Whatever the insulting end to that sentence was going to be, Bijal wouldn’t hear it, as in strolled NRCC Chairman Charles Hammond with another gentleman, both wearing crisp suits and grim expressions.

Hammond closed the door behind him and surveyed everyone morosely. “Hello, Mayor Denton.”

“You can call me Janet.”

He eyed Bijal and Donna suspiciously. “And who are these ladies?”

Janet sprang up suddenly. “Oh, I’m sorry. This is Bijal Rao, my researcher and recently promoted strategist. And this is my campaign manager, Donna Shoemaker.”

Hammond pursed his lips for a moment and looked at his associate. “Ah, then I suppose you both should stay. Ladies, this is Eliot Jenkins. I imagine you all may have some idea why we made the trip out here to meet with you in person.”

“Things haven’t been going well,” Janet offered.

Hammond scowled. “What a huge understatement.”

Donna clearly shifted into defensive mode. “Excuse me?”

He looked at her as though she smelled of rancid cabbage. “Do you disagree, Ms. Shoemaker? After all, as the campaign manager, you’ve been steering this sinking ship, have you not?”

Donna stood. “It’s not a dictatorship, Mr. Hammond. There’s plenty of blame to go around.”

Hammond obviously disagreed. “While that may be true, that doesn’t diminish your role in this fuck parade.”

Janet blinked twice. “Fuck parade?”

“Would you prefer ‘shit sandwich’?” Hammond asked.

“So you’re making me the scapegoat,” Donna hissed. “Is that it?”

“In addition to replacing you, yes. That’s where Eliot comes in. He’ll be your new campaign manager, effective immediately.”

Donna’s face no longer registered rage, as it was instantly replaced with shock. “What?”

Janet’s eyes flashed in concern. “Chairman, I think you may be overstepping your bounds.”

“Oh?” Hammond seemed unfazed. “Mind if I use your dry-erase board to illustrate my point?”

“Go right ahead,” Janet replied.

Hammond removed his suit jacket, folded it neatly, and draped it over the back of a chair. He uncapped a blue marker and drew a large grid with three columns. “Okay, three candidates are in this race—you, the Democrat, and a conservative Independent.” He wrote the names in the top row. “Now, please tell me if I get anything wrong. Let’s look at the issues. The Republican Party is against abortion. Of our three candidates here, which one agrees with the party platform? Certainly not the Democrat and, remarkably, not you. Just the Independent.” He put a check in the Independent’s column. “Interesting, right? Gay marriage or civil unions?” He again put a check in the Independent’s column. “Oh, look—same thing. You and the Democrat have the same opinion. Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell? The same. Climate change? The same. Cap and Trade? The same.” He added three more checks. “Do you see a trend here?”

“In that handful of issues, yes,” Janet said.

Hammond spun around to face Bijal. “Me too. Ms. Rao, do you have the latest polling data?”

Bijal cleared her throat nervously. “Yes. As of this morning, O’Bannon is up with thirty-eight percent, we’re second with twenty-three percent, seven percent goes to Phillip Taylor, the Independent, and thirty-two percent are still undecided.”

Above the candidate names, Hammond wrote the polling numbers. “This is still statistically a red district, right?”

“Yes,” Bijal replied.

“So if voters were considering no factors other than party affiliation, we’d expect to win, right?” he asked.

Bijal shifted uncomfortably. “Well…”

“I mean
no
other factors. Not name recognition for the incumbent, not advertising, not stated political opinions, not announcing that you have to take a dump on local television. If all the voters knew of the three people running was their party,
would we win
?”

“Yes,” Bijal replied softly.

“Thank you,” Hammond said with an air of superiority. “So let’s look at what you’ve done, Ms. Shoemaker. You took an inherent lead and pissed it away. You’ve positioned yourself as just as moderate as your opponent. You’ve snubbed the NRA, insulted your constituents, and wasted your time sucking up to the eleven centrists that live in this district. What the hell kind of strategy is that?”

“I’ve been trying to convince her that we need to move to the right,” Donna whined.

“You’ve been
trying
?” Hammond asked. “Let me tell you what I see, Ms. Shoemaker. This campaign has been a bag of flaming horseshit for months. And if we weren’t working so hard to gain the majority in the House, or if you’d managed to fuck this up just a little
less
spectacularly—perhaps fewer embarrassing YouTube videos, no televised protests in your parking lot—then I might not be here now. But in addition to becoming a regional laughingstock, you’ve been catapulted into the national spotlight, so now the stakes are raised.”

Donna stared at Janet imploringly. “Are you going to let him come in here and insult us all and…and
fire
me?”

Hammond put the cap back on his marker. “Yes, she is. And let me tell you why. Let’s go back to our whiteboard.” He pointed to each column again. “So as the chairman of the NRCC, who here looks like the candidate I should be supporting? And which one do you think has the better chance of energizing the conservative base and increasing voter turnout? You may have won the primary—”

“We ran unopposed,” Bijal said without thinking.

“That explains quite a bit,” Hammond replied. “However, I have real doubts that, if you were elected, you’d work with us to support the party’s agenda.”