The iCongressman (19 page)

SPEAKER ALBRIGHT

“The members of the Republican National Committee are
seething right now! It’s bad enough having to fight off the Democrats, but
having to face serious threats from independent candidates is inexcusable,” the
scratchy voice screams at me through the phone.

“The
Dems
aren’t having any better
of a time with it,” I utter in my defense. I have my own reelection problems
and don’t really give a damn how upset the RNC is. I take a sip of my morning
coffee as the tongue-lashing continues.

“Only I don’t give a damn about them! I care about our
prospects of winning the presidency and keeping the House. We don’t have the
resources to win the White House and fight off all these social media
independents. We were counting on you to remove that threat for us, and you
failed!”

The
Republican
National Committee
provides national leadership for the Republican Party
in the United States and is responsible for developing and promoting our
political platform. They ran the national convention to select the candidate
for president back in August, and are responsible for coordinating fundraising
and election strategies. Each state and many counties have smaller committees
governed by a national committee, of whose chairman I am currently getting
chastised by.

“Settle down, Phillip. The races are tight, but we can still
pull most of them out. Just dedicate more resources to them.” Actually, they
don’t look good at all. I may pull out a win if this huge blitz on television
works, but as it stands right now, many of my colleagues won’t be returning to
the next Congress.

“We have a presidential race to win, Johnston. What
resources do you think we have available?”

“What do you think I can do about that?”

“Accept responsibility that you screwed up and pray we don’t
lose the House in the process.” With that, I hear the phone disconnect, ending
the terse conversation.

I am fighting for my own political life down here, so I
don’t know what he expects me to do. I have spent millions on advertising, and
this most recent ad buy will only increase that exponentially. I am spending
every waking moment out campaigning—something I have never had to do in my
conservative district. Today, I have a ridiculous schedule, with five campaign
stops and an evening fundraiser to attend. I take the television off mute as
the pundits on the CNN morning show continue to discuss the congressional races
across the country.

“This is completely unprecedented,” the short-haired female
panelist says to her cohorts. “This many independents being competitive in
congressional races have never been seen before in American history.”

“And they are social media candidates,” the show’s host
interjects. “Bennit got tremendous coverage because he was a novelty. That
uniqueness has worn off, so why is this current crop getting so much air time?”

“I think it’s a reflection on the mood of the country,”
another well-respected pundit concludes. “People watched the viral video of
what happened in the House when they tried to force Bennit out. People realized
they are tired of settling for whichever candidates the political parties
choose and want other options. Michael Bennit has inspired this icandidate
movement that provides precisely that.”

“Johnston Albright is widely considered to be the architect
of the effort to expel Michael Bennit. Does the blame for all this fall on
him?”

“I think that’s the safe assumption to come to. If he had
left Bennit alone to serve out his term, I don’t think he could have sparked
the surge in social media popularity we are seeing nationwide.”

“Bunch of crap!”
I exclaim,
slapping my mug off the ornate end table next to the couch and sending it
skittering across the room. I am not taking the fall for this. Someone has been
talking to the media behind the scenes and trying to pin this fiasco with
Bennit on me. Had they listened in the first place, there would be no
icandidates and, a couple weeks from now, no Michael Bennit.

Instead, I was forced to push the issue against my better
judgment, and he used that to his advantage. Now all the politicos can talk
about are Bennit and these virtual candidates. The very premise of that is
almost unheard of in a presidential election year. The race for the White House
still leads the news, but the messages from both candidates for president are
getting lost in the noise surrounding what the media is calling “a historic
independent movement in Congress.”

I hear the doorbell ring but am content to let my wife
answer it. After so many years of political service, she has become a brilliant
gatekeeper here at home. Nobody gets through her if they are visiting
unannounced.

“Johnston, there is a James Reed here to see you,” my wife
says from the entrance to the living room after a few moments. Okay, almost no
one. You have got to be kidding me.

“Thanks,
hon
,” I say, setting the
remote down and getting up off the couch. I give her a kiss on the cheek as I
pass her. “We’ll be in the study.”

I greet the large Kentucky lobbyist and wave him down the
hall into my small library. The walls of the room are covered in floor to
ceiling bookcases filled with ancient-looking works, of which very few
I
have bothered reading. I offer him a seat on one of the
red leather couches and take a seat in one of the facing high back chairs.

“Ya’ll have a beautiful room here,” the man says in
preamble, admiring the fine furnishings and inhaling the sweet stench of cigar
smoke that still leaves a musky scent in the room.

“Thanks, but I’m sure you’re not here to admire the décor.
What’s on your mind, Mister Reed?”

“Did you watch the Bennit debate last night?” I nod. That
man has a gift for making issues relevant to his constituents, and by
extension, upping his likability in the process. The debate was a resounding
victory for him, even if he didn’t humiliate his opponents like last time.

“Then you also noticed the bump in the polls all his minions
received as a result.”

“Yes, I did. But they are short-term gains that I don’t
think will hold until Election Day.”

James smiles thinly. “I disagree,” he says, pulling out a
manila file folder from his leather valise and handing it to me. I eye him
wearily before reading the contents of the first page.

“What the hell is this?”

“A contingency plan.
Let’s call it
Plan G.” That comment makes me wonder what happened to the other plans after
“C,” but I let it go. “I am offering a way out of the situation you created.”

“I created?” I ask with an indignant tone. “Practicing a
little revisionist history, aren’t we?”

“I don’t look at it that way, and neither does anybody else,
including the RNC, DNC, and most other political action committees and lobby
groups. Now, I know what you’re about to say next, Mister Speaker. Ya’ll think
just because my man got caught setting up Bennit that it will blow back on me.
Trust me when I say, it won’t.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Because, I just do.”

I read a little more of the contents in the file, but it’s
hard to focus. Even with the disaster the committee hearing laid on the
doorstep of Washington’s most powerful political lobby in a very public way, James
Reed has the clout and financial resources to weasel out of any responsibility
for it.

“This is based on a lot of presumptions, the first of which
is the election of more than a handful of these icandidates.”

“Yes, that is why it is called a contingency plan. But
should we be faced with more than two icongressmen next year, we have to have
an agreed upon tactic to reduce their impact. This is it.” I wince at the term.
The media have fallen in love with it, just like they did with “icandidate.” I
swear I want to pass a law that prohibits the use of
i
-anything.
Sorry, Apple.

“Agreed upon? I haven’t agreed to anything,” I say, snapping
the folder closed and tossing it on the cherry finished table between us. “I
won’t bring this to the Floor.”

“Actually, Johnston, you will,” James adds, staring at his
fingernails as if assessing their length, “or you won’t be Speaker much
longer.”

“I don’t respond well to threats, Mister Reed. Do you really
think you can waltz into my house and threaten a democratically elected
representative to do your bidding?”

“We both know that democratic principles died a long time
ago in this country. But, should you persist to cling to that illusion, let me
remind you that the selection of the person who holds your position is the most
undemocratic thing in American politics. I did not put that process in place,
but I have no compunction over using my influence to ensure it works to the
benefit of my firm and those like us.”

Unfortunately, he’s not wrong. If Americans ever really knew
how the sausage was made in Washington, they would riot in the streets. Voters
no longer call the shots. People like Reed do.

“You’re afraid you are losing your hold over the members.
Perhaps, in light of this threat, that is not a bad thing.”

“Everyone has a right to petition their government in a
democracy,” James lectures, “and it’s our responsibility to listen to their
concerns and bring them to the people who can affect change. We explain the
real world impact of the ideas ya’ll dream up, and it isn’t corrupt to do so.”

This guy can lay it on thick. It doesn’t take ten minutes in
office to learn an enormous part of lobbying activity is busy work to justify
lobbyists’ big fees. It’s a multibillion-dollar industry, and one you mess with
at your political peril. Unless you don’t need them, like Reyes, Bennit, and
the host of the candidates they are running to replace us. No wonder Reed is so
scared. Not only could he lose millions of dollars, but something of far
greater importance inside the Beltway―influence.

“That’s a bold assertion to make considering you just told
me we don’t live in a democracy.”

“Don’t play word games with me. What we choose to let
America know and what the truth really is are two separate things,” James fires
back. “You know that better than most people, Mister Speaker.”

The gentle knock at the door interrupts the conversation at
the perfect moment. The door remains closed, my wonderful spouse knowing from
experience that face-to-face meetings are not to be barged in on. “Come in,” I
announce just loud enough to be heard on the other side of the heavy oak door.

“I’m so sorry to interrupt,” she tells James before
acknowledging me. “Your chief of staff is here, honey. He asked me to tell you
your first campaign stop is in an hour and you have to get going.”

“Thank you, dear. Please tell him I’ll just be a moment
longer,” I respond. James Reed rises as my wife closes the door the study.

“Election Day is going to be important for your political
future, Johnston. You think two icongressmen are bad? I watch the polls, too.
If you manage to keep your seat, you will have to deal with a new crop of
independents beholden to Bennit and Reyes. The only thing left to determine is
exactly how many. Either way, both political parties will be putting pressure
on you to come up with a solution to the problem.”

“And you just handed me it,” I conclude, already knowing
where the powerful lobbyist is going with this. He lets a smile escape his
lips. I imagine it is exactly the satisfying grin a cat would have when the
mouse realizes he’s cornered.

“Failure to act decisively will be a sign of weakness. The
Republicans may turn to new leadership, assuming the Democrats don’t take the
House back.” Just from the way he said that I can tell he has already talked to
members of the Democratic National Committee and other power players in that
party.

They will do his bidding if it means they can own Congress
again. They are in no danger of losing control of the Senate, and if their
candidate wins the White House, they could have complete control over the
legislative agenda for the next two years. The GOP will do everything to avoid
that from happening.

“I believe you have a rally to attend so you can save your
skin,” James says, turning towards the door. “Don’t let me hold you up. I can
show myself out. Good luck, Mister Speaker, I hope we have a reason to talk
after Election Day.”

CHELSEA

I’m never going to get any work done
today. One of the downsides of working in a fully functioning coffee shop is
you don’t get a moment of peace. I’m sure that’s why the congressman originally
wanted to find a space of our own to run the campaign out of.

We had no money when we ran the first race, so the offer to
use the Perkfect Buzz as our headquarters was quickly accepted. Laura, the
timeless owner of this Millfield institution, was offended when she heard we
were thinking about alternatives for this campaign. Of course, the real reason
for my pushing to be here is not so straightforward.

I realized my dad was right when I brought it up to him that
we were shopping for space at the beginning of the summer. Mister Bennit is not
an ordinary politician, and the more he acted like one, the less popular he was
becoming. He was losing his identity, and I can put up with the small
interruptions if working out of Laura’s haunt helps him realize his true
nature.

Well, that’s half of the story. Even while away at college,
everyone is still involved, but everything is done over Skype now. The fact is
I miss working in these cozy confines with Kylie, Brian, Peyton, and the rest
of the staff like we did in the last campaign. Kylie is also working down in
D.C., so it leaves just me, the congressman, Vince, and Vanessa running the
show here in addition to the legion of volunteers eager to be a part of Vince’s
“
revolución
.”

With five minutes to go before a staff meeting with the
volunteers, I go to the counter for some caffeine. Laura refuses to let any of
us pay, and I wonder if the tab we’ve racked up in free coffee could be
construed as an illegal campaign contribution. That makes me smile.

“Chelsea? Hi, I’m Rick
Schemm
from
the
New York Times
. I’m doing
background on the Bennit campaign. Do you have a moment for some questions?”

The
New York Times
.
Kylie’s old employer.
Two
years ago, I would have freaked out doing an interview. Despite getting
ambushed on my front lawn during our first campaign and facing a horde of
journalists during the post-election press conference Mister Bennit set up, I
never got comfortable with the idea. Even during my first few months as chief
of staff, I let Vince handle those requests. Given everything that has happened
since, I’m amazed how much has changed.

“Sure, but I have a meeting in a few minutes so it has to be
quick.”

“It’s two days after the debate,” Rick says, turning on a
Dictaphone, “and recent polls have you winning in a landslide with over sixty
percent of registered voters casting their votes for Michael Bennit. Any
comment on the success you’re having running a social media campaign again?”

“Sixty percent is a good number, but it still means there
are forty percent out there whose vote we need to earn. You guys may be calling
it a landslide, but we look at it as having more work to do.” And that’s the
truth.

“How much time is Congressman Bennit devoting to working
with the other icandidates around the country?”

“We have mostly volunteers helping with that effort, when
they are needed. The congressman represents the Connecticut Sixth District, and
reaching out to the people here has been his focus.” Also true, but I wonder
how many people actually would believe that.

“Last question.
You were a key
player in all the drama surrounding this campaign last year. Do you miss it?”
Some of it more than you might think, but I can’t say that.

“There is plenty of drama watching all these independents
run for seats in the House. It’s nice that Americans are focusing on a call for
change in Washington instead of allegation as to whether I slept with my
teacher.”

“Thanks, Chelsea.”

“No problem, Rick. Enjoy your coffee,” I say with a smile.
Yup, we have definitely come a long way the last couple of years.

* * *

The staff meeting with the volunteers in the district
went fine, but I miss having everyone here. As much hard work and long hours
the first two campaigns demanded, it was bearable because we all became good
friends and had a good time with it. Now it feels more like work. The only way
we make up for the lack of physical presence is through a daily videoconference
Brian set up. It’s a poor substitute, but at least we can still meet,
coordinate our activities, and share a few laughs.

“Someone on Richter’s staff got diarrhea of the mouth on
Twitter yesterday, so I have been helping with damage control,” Amanda
explains.

Amanda and Peyton are the firefighters for the icandidate
effort. When a crisis pops up, campaigns turn to them for guidance because they
know we had to deal with our fair share of surprises back in the day. Since the
last two campaigns were focused on getting our teacher elected to Congress,
another of our big changes is the roles we play. Instead of working locally in
our district, we are trying to get a hundred people chosen by Viano, whom we’ve
never even met in person, elected across the country.

“Do I dare ask?”

“He made a couple of off-color racial comments and called a
female detractor an ‘uneducated tramp only good for soliciting on a street
corner.’”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah, he’s in pretty hot water right now,” she concludes.

“Being a racist and a sexist doesn’t boost one’s
likability.” It also makes me wonder where Viano got some of these people.
“Keep me informed.
Peyton?”

“I have had to deal with a couple of dumb Facebook posts and
tweets, but nothing that epic, thank God,” she reports to the group.

“Okay, thanks, Peyton.
Bri
?”

“Hash tag icandidate trends on Twitter almost nightly. If
you count Reyes’s and our campaigns, likes on Facebook pages are steadily
increasing. Blogs across the country are writing about our little movement,
some, ironically, calling it a ‘
revolución
.’ How do
you suppose that happened, Vince?”

Vince and Vanessa are sitting next to me, but they logged on
to our Skype session with their own computers. I look over to see the wry
expression on his face.

“Great minds think alike?” he posits, clearly letting us
know through his look where the bloggers got that gem from. Vanessa takes it
upon herself to smack him on the head. Yep, just like old times.

“Anyway, we can’t really complain about the social media
traction we’re getting,” Brian finishes.

“Nor what it means for mainstream coverage,” Emilee chimes
in. “My afternoon class got cancelled, so I spent the time looking at TV and
print reporting on a couple of dozen campaigns. It’s not exactly
Bennitmania
from two years ago, but they are getting a
respectable amount of free press.”

“Comparing anything to our first campaign probably isn’t
fair,” Vanessa concludes. “We were rock stars.” Yeah we were. No police escorts
are needed this time around.

“Speaking of stars,” Peyton interjects, “nice game the other
night, X. Eighteen points against Duke is pretty impressive.”

“Thanks. I wish I could contribute more …”

“We understand, believe me,” Vanessa says. “The fact that
you have done this much and still been able to balance classes and hoops is
incredible.”

Five days before the election and all we really have to do
is just engage in small talk. Xavier is on the periphery of this effort, but we
are all proud of how well he is doing as a freshman on the college basketball
scene. While the others grill him on what it’s like to be a big-time student
athlete, all I can think about is how to get through Election Day.

The challenge is not to get Mister Bennit reelected, but to
keep working on getting him some help in Congress. The icandidates are polling
extremely well according to Marist, Quinnipiac, Gallup, and the dozen other
groups taking the country’s political temperature on a nightly basis. It is
going to be a race to the finish in most of those contests. Their staffs are
doing the majority of the work now, and all we can do is be there for them in
case something pops up they can’t handle.

It’s not exactly the drama-filled ending our first election
had, but it beats being smeared all over the nightly news. I don’t miss the
angst of those couple of days, but I do miss the adrenaline rush. That’s not to
say we shouldn’t expect to see a few surprises in other races, but for ours,
the outcome is almost assured.

I sign off the video conference and notice Congressman Reyes
walk into the Buzz with a handsome Asian man at his side. What the hell is
going on? I leave my post in the corner and greet the two men at the door.

“Congressman Reyes, it’s great seeing you again. What brings
you all the way to Connecticut?”

He is looking around the room, admiring the décor and the
flurry of activity around us. About a third of the volunteers stayed behind
after our staff meeting and
are
only now retrieving
their coats and belongings for the trip home.

“Hello, Miss Stanton,” he says, returning my firm handshake.
“I’d love to say I travelled all the way up here because I need a triple
espresso, but truth is, we need to have a chat with your boss, and it requires
an in person meeting. Do you think he can spare a moment?”