The iCandidate (13 page)

MICHAEL

Walking into the
Perkfect Buzz with Kylie prompted more than a few incredulous stares from the dozens of students occupying nearly every corner of the shop. For those used to me walking in with Jessica, seeing me enter with this beautiful ‘other woman’ is a week’s worth of rumor fuel in a high school. I wonder what they would think if they had seen me sitting next to her in a parked car three minutes ago.

Lucky for me
, Vince recognizes Kylie immediately, and I am spared the Gestapo-style interrogation from my teenage work force. Whether he took over the escort duties because of his role in the campaign or because he has a major crush on the stunning, brown-haired journalist shall remain a mystery. Wagering a guess, I would say the latter.

I realize
this is becoming quite the burgeoning operation as Chelsea and Vince show Kylie around the room. In the far corner to the right of the counter, there is some sort of planning session involving students I both know and have never met. On the left side, fifteen teens are huddled into the corner of the seating area. Eight of them toil over open laptops while the others scribble notes and look on.

I walk over, my prese
nce barely registering with them as they pore over various tweets, Facebook messages and emails. One appears to be working on a blog post for Tumblr, and another is posting an image to Instagram.

“
Alice Kravitz wants to know how you think you are qualified to be in Congress,” Amanda reads from an email without looking up.

“
Tell her I have an I.Q. over twenty which actually makes me overqualified.”

“
This woman thinks you're a Mormon!” Xavier says, reading from our Twitter account. I lean over and read the tweet for myself, letting out a little chuckle.

“
She spelled it wrong, X. She means moron.”

“O
h, she’s one to talk,” Xavier muses, shaking his head.

“Everyone can’t be a fan
,” I tell him.

“
Bill Connolly wants to know why you haven’t taken a stand on abortion,” Vanessa reads from a Facebook post. “Should I respond with something like ‘because he can't get pregnant’?”

“Ha, ha.
Funny,” I say, amused. Kylie was right during our short conversation in her car. If I don’t address these types of issues sooner or later, some people are going to begin to ask why.

“
Would it be accurate to say your feelings on global warming means more days at the beach?” Emilee asks.

“
Who wound you guys up tonight?” I deflect.

“If we
ain’t going to discuss issues, there’s not much more to say,” Vince points out from the other side of the room.

‘Still a little bitter about that are we
, Vince?” I fire back. “I know this feels like we’re dodging questions because, well, we are, but there is a method to my madness. Trust me.”

They do trust me, but I also get the feeling
the annoying little voices in the back of their heads won’t be silenced for long. I consider myself a man of principle, but I have no interest in taking a stand in this election. I just am not sure how long it will be before our not talking about the issues becomes
the
issue. More of a mystery is how they will react to me if it does.

“This one is from Mark
Rabkin,” Peyton says, looking down at a new tweet. “If you hate politicians, why would you want to be one?”

“
Hating politicians makes me the perfect representative for the people in the district who generally hate politicians.”

Amanda
smacks her laptop a couple of times in frustration before realizing everyone stopped what they are doing and are looking at her. “Sorry,” she says, blushing.

“Mister B,
hash tag iCandidate is officially trending on Twitter!” Brian exclaims, raising both his arms in the air signaling a touchdown. The students in the room let out a loud whoop and exchange high fives with each other. “I have no idea how we are going to keep up with all this!”

“
Better do some more recruiting guys. You all have homework to do, including mine. You can't spend all night at this.” Can’t is a word of defeat, and they would turn this into an all-nighter if Laura didn’t need to close up.

Kylie has joined me with Chelsea at her side. “Not bad for an iCandidate,” Kylie says grinning. “I can’t wait to see how you bring it to the next level.”
I am not certain if she means cramming eighty people in here instead of forty or something else entirely.

“Uh, Mister B?
This woman posted on Facebook saying you're hunky and wants you to come home to her,” Emilee reads. I exchange a quick glance with Kylie.

“Don’t look at me, I didn’t write it
,” Kylie offers, her eyes conveying that she wishes she did. Chelsea is looking at the two of us, perhaps wondering whether something may be going on. If she does, I’m sure she will bring it up before too long. For now, I just deal with the issue at hand.

“
Thank her for the compliment,” I say to Emilee. “Then delete any traces of post before Miss Slater logs on and sees it.”

Emilee laughs. “Uh,
Miss Slater wrote it. She says at the end that you're very late for dinner.”

BLAKE

“
He is redefining how to run a modern day campaign,” the pundit emphatically states from her chair under the glaring lights of their television studio. Many of these roundtable discussions are full of know-it-all gas bags who just like to listen to themselves talk.

This is one of the more re
spectable shows on cable news, and being left-leaning, the panel is more sympathetic to the liberal politicians in the country. The fact that we are watching a recording of last night’s broadcast discussing our opponent’s campaign is not a good sign. Michael Bennit has jumped from being a local novelty to a national one.

“How is he redefining anything? This
isn't new. Candidates have been using the Internet for years, and social media was heavily used in the last campaign season,” one of the male pundits counters.

Winston Beaumont
watching this in the office at 7:30 a.m. is the type of bad omen the Mayans carved into rocks. The last time he was here this early was when Kylie first made a story out of this unknown. Since then, we watched as the gimmick campaign Roger expected to flame out after a few days grew into a three-alarm blaze. It turns out Madison was correct a couple of weeks ago. We screwed up by not starting The Machine. Now, Winston Beaumont fiddles while Rome burns.

“
Not to this extent. It’s one thing to use social media and the Internet as tools to reach voters, but I’ve never heard of a candidate using them for the whole campaign,” a third pundit offers in response. “Or, should I say, used by a group of teenagers to run a campaign.”

“
Is this good for American politics?” the moderator of the show asks.

“
Of course not!” exclaims the first pundit. “It's one more example of the human element being removed from politics. What happened to the good old days of shaking a candidate's hand and looking him right in the eyes?”

“
They're long gone. The meet and greet died with television, and now we’re seeing a change in how mainstream media gets used. This is the society in which we live, for better or worse. It’s the age of social media and mobile communications.”

“
The Bennit campaign is leveraging social media to their advantage by creating a story around it. The end result is they are reaching voters in Connecticut not ordinarily involved in the political process and getting them excited about it,” I hear the pundit conclude before Roger punches the mute button on the remote.

Congressman Beaumont
stared at the television with a blank expression now becoming contorted in anger, and there is no doubt that Roger and I will be the recipients of the wrath. The congressman returns to his window, fuming but not lashing out with the intensity I expected.

“So much for the story dying after a few days
,” the congressman mumbles. “Still think this is going to go away?” he asks, turning to Roger.

“
The media keeps getting fed stories to report,” Roger says, embarrassed his political crystal ball is on the fritz. “I still don’t think the attention is sustainable and will die out on its own.”

“And if it doesn’t
we’ll be faced with a bigger problem a month from now.”

“That’s a possibility,” Roger concedes. “We are looking into ways to break the momentum.

“Okay, what’s your plan?” The congressman is showing no interest in sharing media time with a guy who is beneath him, and I don’t blame him. I want Bennit stopped too.

“Blake?” Roger
is handing this off to me. I understand the ramifications of the next couple of minutes. If the congressman doesn’t like this plan of action, I’ll need to pawn it off as someone else’s and conjure up another one quick. It’s a tough game to play, and not for the weak of heart. Fortunately, I have made the necessary arrangements should it come to that.

“I spoke with our
oppo guys. Michael Bennit is a boy scout. Unmarried, no children, distinguished military career, pays his taxes—”

“You’re telling me they found nothing?” Congressman Beaumont asks
, unconvinced. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Nothing of any use to us,
unfortunately,” I respond. “Unless we want to do a character assault on him over a speeding ticket a couple of years ago.”

“Roger, if Blake doesn’t have anything of use, why is he here?” the
congressman asks, pointing at me menacingly. “You think we should start The Machine or something too?”

Time to throw some staff under the bus.
“No sir. That was Madison and Deena’s idea, and I don’t think it’s necessary.” I actually have no clue if Deena was involved or not, but the congressman doesn’t know that. Even if Roger does, he’s the chief of staff and won’t say anything unless necessary.

“Damn right it’s not, which is why she isn’t in here. So why are you?”

“Hear him out, Winston. I think he has a better plan.”

“Well?”

This is the moment of truth, and I would be lying if I said I didn’t live for this. The pressure of the situation is exhilarating, and I’m savoring every minute of it. I ran the idea by Roger first to ensure I was coloring within the lines. He was noncommittal, meaning he will agree with whatever Congressman Beaumont decides. Thus I have a Plan B, but I don’t think I will need it. This is the best option, so I am going to present it with all the confidence I can muster.

“
You beat him the same way you would beat Usain Bolt in the 50-meter dash.”

“I don’t have time for your rhetorical games, Blake,” the
congressman says dismissively with the famous wave of his hand. “So you’d better get to the point quick. How would I beat him?”

“
You don’t let him run against you,” I say, a grin crawling across my lips, clearly implying a more literal meaning to the metaphor.

“And how do you propose we do that?”

“Public pressure,” Roger says, picking up the argument.

“What am I missing? Apparently
, John Q. Public loves this guy.”

“Yes, sir, some of them do,” I offer, adding a dramatic pause for effect. “But what do you think the parents are saying? Don’t you owe it to the good people of
Millfield to make sure the school board sanctions the use of these young impressionable minds in a political contest? I mean, teachers are important to the education of our country’s youth. How can he possibly be devoted to instruction if he is dedicating so much energy running against you?”

The congressman ponders my argument for a second, his eyes narrowing
to mere slits. For a moment I begin to think he is going to reject the brilliant idea. The look he’s giving me is not impatience or annoyance, however. It’s more of … admiration?

“Roger? Who do we know on the
Millfield School Board?” the congressman asks, a devious grin replacing the morning scowl.

“Oh, I think we can muster a couple of loyal foot soldiers to bring up the discussion and
hold a vote,” Roger says with a smile. Of course we can. Influencing a small town school board is easier than stealing change from a blind cripple on the street.

“Blake, there may be a future for you on this staff after all,” the
congressman promises.

Yes, yes there is.

“Go get him.”

MICHAEL

School is out
for the long Labor Day weekend, and the faculty is leaving in droves as the clock strikes three. I typically use the south set of doors to the building for two reasons. The first is the geographical relevance to where I park my car. It’s the closest exit. The second, more meaningful reason, is I avoid the main office and eternal hiding place of the jackass now standing in my path.

“
Did you lose your red Swingline stapler again, Milton?” I muse as I come to a stop in front of him. He either ignores the
Office Space
reference or never watched the movie. Some people just don’t appreciate fine cinema.

I briefly
think of walking past him, but figure I’m on thin ice as it is. I should stop antagonizing my tormentor; after all, I have a target on my back, or so Chalice keeps reminding me.

“
Tell me something, Michael,” he says, waving a newspaper at me, “was having your students on the cover of
The New York Post
part of your plan?”

I snatch the paper out of his hand and
check out the front page. In a big color picture, like only
The Post
can do, is a group shot of them manning laptops at the Perkfect Buzz. In two short weeks, our unknown campaign now has the attention of a big New York City newspaper. I can’t help but wonder how long before we start getting national exposure.

I look back up from his copy of
The
Post
to catch the principal’s look of disapproval. Robinson Howell has always been an attention-seeker. I am beginning to wonder if the interest the students and I are receiving for the campaign is starting to drive him a little nuts. I hope so.

“This is a pretty good picture of
them,” I tell him in a smug tone.

“
I’m glad you’re amused. I don’t find this funny. You are damaging their self-esteem and disrupting their lives,” Howell spats, grabbing the newspaper back from me.

“
I'm sure being on the cover of a major newspaper in one of the country’s largest cities isn't costing them cool points.”

“This isn’t about them!” Howell near
ly shouts at me. Okay, now I’m actually confused.

“Didn’t you just say I was damaging their self-esteem?”

“Yes, but—”

“So
this is about them?” I ask, nearly causing Howell to explode.

“No.”

“Robinson, you really need to make up your mind. Just pick a side of the story and go with it so we can finish this little chat.” He smarts at me calling him by his first name again. What was I saying about not agitating my tormentor?

“You think you’re
oh so smart, don’t you? Well, we’ll see who gets the last laugh. The school board is meeting Tuesday night to discuss the impact your ridiculous campaign is having on the students in the school.” He holds up the paper again. “Not a hard case for them to figure out. I already put in my two cents.”

“
Two cents, eh? Did they make change?” Again, I’m pushing my luck.

“Parents in the district are upset, Michael.
Their opinions will be heard and this stunt of yours will end,” Principal Howell states before walking away.

I
heard rumors about some parents in town grumbling, which is not unexpected given the circumstances. Now it begins to occur to me there is a real possibility that Winston Beaumont is the stirring pot. If he holds as much sway over the elected officials in the district as Kylie says, this could be a big problem.

I pull out my cell
as I reach the set of double doors that leads to the parking lot. It takes a moment to convince myself, but I decide to break a cardinal rule I’ve held sacred since my time in the military. I am about to trust a journalist. I dial the number from my received call log and get the voicemail as I walk out of the building.

“
Kylie, it’s Michael,” I say, following her voicemail greeting. Not sure where you are at the moment, but if you are going to be in the area, let me know. We may have a little problem up here.”

* * *

I find coming to Briar Point therapeutic in a way. I always liked being outside since childhood, and even my years training and fighting in jungles and deserts across the globe didn’t sour that. While I wait for the other party to attend this preposterous meeting we set up, I let my thoughts wander back to Robinson and his taunts about the school board. As much as I resent the man, he may have unintentionally done me a favor.

I allowed myself to fall victim to a catastrophic
intelligence failure. If not for my antagonist, the board discussing my candidacy would have remained undiscovered until I walked into their decision face first. Since governing the schools is their responsibility, the elected members could easily force me to make a choice between keeping my job and running for office. It’s not a choice I even want to be presented, much less be obliged to decide under duress. And by duress, I mean knowing how Jessica would come down on the issue. I just hope Kylie gets back to me and is willing to help.

I am thinking about
what Kylie can pull from her playbook when a blue Chevy Impala pulls into the parking lot and finds a spot. The door swings open and out climbs a massive man in a wrinkled suit. Obesity is a growing problem in this country, but I generally give overweight people the benefit of the doubt. Genetics plays a huge roll in body type, so I try not to pass immediate judgment.

I will
in this case. The head of the Republican Party for Litchfield County looks like the living embodiment of the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. Plus, after some of the things he has already been quoted saying in the press, I just plain don’t like him.

“Miles
Everman, I presume? Can I get you anything? Oxygen? Blood pressure pills? Bengay?”

“I didn't set this meeting up to discuss my exercise regimen,
Mister Bennit,” he says, practically hyperventilating. The eighty feet from the car to the bench is probably the most rigorous activity he’s seen in years. Okay, to be fair, it is a slight uphill grade. Well, ten feet of it is.

“I didn't realize you had one that doesn't include lifting Twinkies.
Take a seat before you pass out, and call me Michael.”

He plops down on the bench, his girth spreading.
He shifts several times trying to get comfortable, and I swear I hear the bench groaning. Or maybe I am just imagining it is. Nope, it’s groaning.

“You wanted to meet, Miles
. What can I do for you?”

“I’ll keep this
short. We need you to drop out of the race,” he deadpans.

“
Well, you were right about it being quick. No. Have a nice day,” I say, starting to get up while realizing that I’m not lucky enough to end this meeting so quickly.

“
You claim to want Beaumont to lose his seat, but are costing the only real alternative a chance at winning in November. Can’t you see that?”

“You know what I see, Miles? I see a
Republican candidate with absolutely no chance of beating Winston Beaumont. Whether or not I’m in the race is irrelevant.”

“I disagree.
I've known Richard Johnson for years. He's the best man for the job,” Miles says, wiping his brow with a handkerchief. I wonder if he realizes we live in New England. You would think we were on the equator, looking at the way he’s sweating.

“Johnson is an ambulance-chasing
, disgrace of a lawyer with as much chance of landing a seat in Congress as my tone-deaf ass has winning a Grammy. Most of the Republicans I know won’t even vote for him.”

“
Do you want to see Beaumont elected to a ninth term? Do you want him to advance his liberal agenda—”

“
If political parties would spend more time listening to the people and less time advancing agendas, Congress might actually get their approval rating into double digits.”

Being a history teacher
and long-time admirer of George Washington, I’m a little jaded when it comes to political parties. Diffusing power was a big deal in post-revolutionary America, following their experiences with King George III and Parliament. He was keenly aware other governments viewed the party system as destructive because their primary concern is accumulating more power and doing whatever it takes to retain it. Washington was also afraid political parties that rise in the United States would seek revenge on opponents and destroy the nation’s fragile unity. Looking at modern politics, his thoughts appear prophetic.

“That’s how the system works, and if you think you can change that, you’re naïve
.”

“I don’t know if I can change it,” I answer honestly. “But
I think I'd like to try. That's why I am doing this.”

“
I heard you were doing this because you lost a bet. Look, you have had a great run Michael, but now is the time for you to drop this charade and endorse Dick Johnson.”

Not sure where he got that nugget of information from, but
I’ve heard enough. The arrogance of this man is appalling. No wonder Republicans never win in this district. I stand up and look down at him in disgust.

“Miles, this
‘charade’ is ahead of your candidate in the latest Marist poll by double digits. If that isn't enough reason to tell you ‘no,’ try this. My students would never let me forget that I dropped out and endorsed a man whose first and last names are synonymous with penis.”

I stay just long enough to watch the blood drain out of his face. Is he shocked because
of what I said or because he realizes I’m right? Either way, it’s irrelevant and I start off toward my car.

“This conversation isn’t over Michael,” I hear him call out as he struggles off the bench.

“It is, unless by some medical miracle you beat me to my car,” I shout in response without looking back.