The iCongressman, page 10
part #2 of The Michael Bennit Series Series
The last votes for the week are usually scheduled no later than three o’clock on Fridays, so I like to take time with my inner circle to sit down and discuss the events of the past few days. Most of these meetings over the past year have circled around our demoralizing failures. Today is a different story.
“As much as I’d like to say the representatives in the House listened to the polls and hammered out the agreement most Americans wanted, it wouldn’t be true,” the bald man with the tufts of gray hair on the sides in the studio says. “The passage of the Bennit Amendment to the Tax Relief Act played a huge part in getting them to sit down.”
“Is it me, or does he look like an overstuffed Oompa Loompa?” Amanda asks.
“Funny, I was thinking more along the lines of Krusty the Clown.” Oh yeah, we spend more time ragging on the pundits when we watch these shows than anything else.
“We haven’t heard much out of Michael Bennit since he came to Washington, at least legislatively,” the rather manly looking woman on the panel chuckles in an obvious reference to my censures. “But he teamed up with the other icandidate, Representative Reyes from Texas, to successfully tack on this amendment.”
“A few more chin hairs and she could be a stand-in on Duck Dynasty,” Chelsea observes.
“Or as a member of ZZ Top.” Vince, Vanessa, and Chelsea all look at me with the faces of bewilderment I get when I stray into eighties pop culture. “Forget it, way before your time.”
“We know the Republicans are livid over this amendment, but they wanted their tax bill more,” the bearded pundit adds. “He embarrassed the leadership, but actually succeeded in forcing the parties to cooperate and accomplish something for a change.”
“This is what I think most of America expected Michael Bennit to do when he got to Congress. Do you think we’ll see more of that?” the host asks.
“We’d better,” Vince quips. He’s wanted me to mix it up since the day we arrived in Washington. If I told him I decided to walk into the House chamber with a flamethrower, he would volunteer to carry extra fuel.
“He is down significantly in the polls, but he’s still popular nationally and carries a lot of weight in the social media sphere, even though he is not as active in it as much as he once was. I wouldn’t count him out just yet, especially if he keeps doing things like this.”
“Congressman? I’m sorry to interrupt, but Thomas Parker is here to see you,” one of my junior staff members says from the door to the office.
Vince, Chelsea, and Vanessa all look at each other in disbelief as I shut the television off. It’s not often we get distinguished visitors. In fact, it never happens.
“Send him in. Vince, Vanessa, can you guys excuse us for a minute?”
“Sure thing, boss,” Vince says, turning to leave. “But we’re going to want details.” No doubt they will. That debriefing will come complete with a metal chair and single light hanging from a wire in a windowless room.
“Good afternoon, Congressman. I’m sorry to drop by unannounced.”
“It’s not a problem. Can I offer you anything?”
“No, thank you,” Parker responds politely while looking around. “I’ve never been in this office before.”
“Most every other member of the House hasn’t either,” I reply in kind. “The reasons for that don’t escape you, sir, so what do I owe the honor of this visit?”
“You like to cut right to the chase, don’t you, Michael?”
“There’s too much small talk in this town already.”
“Yes, there is,” Parker says with a laugh, “so I’ll get to it. I doubt you know, but I have family that lives up in your district. In fact, my niece serves in the Connecticut National Guard with the 1-169th Aviation Regiment.”
“No kidding? I didn’t know that.”
“Yes, sir, she joined up right out of high school to help pay for college. She just got back from her first deployment. It’s hard to think of my brother’s little girl as a combat veteran,” he says, taking a private trip down memory lane.
I don’t know much about Thomas Parker, but I do know service to God through the clergy, and to our country through military service, runs deep in his family. He comes from a long line of Baptist preachers, and many of them served as chaplains in various branches of the armed forces. I’ve heard rumors his family has participated in every conflict this country has fought in since the Civil War.
“What does she do?”
“She’s a fifteen tango and just got a slot as a crew chief,” he says with pride in his voice.
Fifteen Tango is the designation the Army uses to define a soldier’s Military Occupational Specialty as a Helicopter Repairer. It’s a fancy way to say her job is to fix helicopters. I’m impressed though, because I know it’s a competitive specialty and difficult to progress into a Blackhawk crew chief slot. They have tough jobs, especially when they get deployed to combat zones like Afghanistan. I met more than my fair share of them in my tours overseas.
“So what’s the problem?”
“The pilot and the rest of the crew. She’s tried everything to stop their sexually explicit behavior. The direct approach, indirect, third party … Finally she had to file a formal report against them for contributing to a hostile work environment. Now, she hasn’t been physically assaulted in any way, or anything, but―”
“There is a zero tolerance policy for all forms of sexual harassment, especially since such behavior has been well documented to lead to sexual assault,” I say, finishing his statement.
“Exactly,” Congressman Parker says, happy that I understand the seriousness of the matter.
“And let me guess, the command’s done nothing.”
“Next to nothing. That’s why I’d like you to conduct an investigation.”
“You’re asking me to intervene?”
“No, just force the leadership to follow their procedures. Are you familiar with Army’s SHARP program?”
“Sharp?”
“It stands for something like the Sexual Harassment and Assault Response and Prevention program. Does it ring a bell?”
“Vaguely. It’s been a while. I think it was called something else back when I was in.”
“Yeah, apparently they change the name every couple of years, but the goal is the same. Anyway, one of the tenants of the program dictates while an investigation is being conducted, the commander is supposed to protect the complainant from acts of reprisal. That includes reassigning the soldier in question, if necessary. They haven’t done any of that, and she turned to me when things got ugly during the Memorial Day parade the unit participated in.”
“Congressman, you are just as capable of doing this on your own. Why are you turning to me?” It’s a legitimate question, but he seems offended at it.
“I assume you are balking because you think this is some sort of political trap,” he surmises, studying my face for a reaction.
“Considering my last year here, to be honest with you, the thought crossed my mind.”
I glance over to Chelsea who is silently leaning against the wall. To her credit, she is one of the rare people in this world who knows when to talk and when to sit back and listen. The fact that she does not need to interject her own comments and feelings into this conversation is one of the things I love about her. Anything she has to say will be brought up in private, but the look on her face speaks volumes. She doesn’t trust Representative Parker one bit.
“Okay, I suppose I can’t blame you for that. Look, there are some really good soldiers in that unit. A few bad apples are spoiling it for the rest. But she’s my niece, Michael. I don’t want my investigation to appear like influence, meddling, or a conflict of interest. She lives in your district, and since you’re from a military background―”
“I’ll take care of it, Thomas.” He doesn’t need to say anymore.
“You will?”
“I will look into it and get back to you as soon as I can. In the meantime, tell your niece to keep her head up and her butt down.”
“Okay, I’ll do that,” the man from Alabama says with a smile. “Here is what little information I have on the situation. It should get you started.”
I accept the folder from the man and shake his hand. He gives a nod to Chelsea. “Ma’am,” he says before walking out the door of my inner office. By the look on Chelsea’s face, she’s never been called “ma’am” before. Not surprising, considering she’s barely twenty years old. When she walks over to the desk, I hand her the file.
“What do you want me to do with this?” Chelsea asks, her hand holding the paper ominously over the trash can. She doesn’t like Parker for legitimate reasons. Anything that smells like a favor to him ought to be summarily rejected in her mind.
“Who is our most tenacious case manager?” I ask. Favor or not, I’m not willing to dismiss this outright. If a soldier is indeed in trouble in my state, I’m going to help where I can.
“You can’t be serious? You believe this load of crap? Parker is setting you up for something politically embarrassing!”
“Yeah, he could be. The only way to know is to investigate it, which leads to my original question.”
“Meghan,” she sighs, realizing there is no talking me out of this.
“Have her bump this to the top of her to-do list, please. Tell her to let me know if she gets any push back from the command. I have talked to The Adjutant General on a few occasions, so instruct her not to be bashful with the name dropping.”
“Okay,” Chelsea says halfheartedly, the unmistakable sound of frustration in the tone of her voice. She turns to leave, but maybe now is the right time for the talk I owe her.
“Chels, you have every right to be pissed. I know you can’t stand Parker, or damned near any other elected representative here. And you know I respect your opinion and counsel above pretty much everyone’s.”
“So why do this? Why do a favor for a man who is one of the leaders of your lynch mob?”
“Simple. His niece is a soldier living in our district. If she is getting a raw deal, we are going to correct that. Not for him, for her.”
Chelsea nods, but once again I’m at odds with my chief of staff. I’m about to tell her something she needs to hear when the familiar voice of the woman who is the light at the end of my tunnel enters.
“Was that Thomas Parker I saw walking out of your office?” Kylie asks, beckoning back over her shoulder. I guess the talk will have to wait once again.
“The man, the myth, and the legend. One of the most influential Republicans in the House and the illustrious Chairman of the Congressional Black Caucus.”
“And he came to visit you?” she asks with a disparaging tone I’m sure wasn’t intended.
“Yeah, he missed Keeping Up With the Kardashians this week and wanted a recap,” I add sarcastically.
Kylie’s a journalist, and a damn good one. So I’m not surprised that she notices tension between me and my chief of staff. There are no secrets between us, and she knows I’m beginning to worry if this job has gotten more to Chelsea than it has me.
“He wanted a favor,” Chelsea corrects, clearly not in the mood to enjoy my witty sense of humor. That or it just wasn’t funny.
“Okay then. Let’s move on to the bigger issue of the day.”
“Uh-oh.”
“Yeah, uh-oh is right. I had a contact call me to see if I knew anything about an investigation under way. Apparently, a special subcommittee was convened in secret, and based on the results, is about to bring charges to the Ethics Committee.”
“You can’t be serious,” Chelsea says, already connecting the dots on who is the focus of the inquiry. I swear that girl is one more bad day away from going on a serious bender. Considering how horrible I have been at this job, I can’t really blame her. She has been the modern version of the Greek goddess Selene trying to keep the wheels on this wagon. She’s done an amazing job, but it’s taking a toll on her.
“It’s already been leaked to the media, so expect your phone to start ringing off the hook.”
“Vince is going to love this,” Chelsea reacts sarcastically, walking out the door and into the outer office.
“It gets worse. Apparently the evidence against you is pretty compelling. Are you sure you didn’t leave anything out when you told me about your meeting with that lobbyist back in Connecticut?”
I briefed her on the meeting in great detail, both before and after. She smelled a rat from the very beginning, and said as much. Mercifully she stopped well short of the “I told you so” I would have gotten from Jessica when I told her what transpired. Although she was a touch disappointed I didn’t break his nose. God, I love this woman.
“Another fabricated scandal,” I say with an exhale. “It’s starting to feel like old times again.”
-TWENTY-
CHELSEA
The walk from the Capitol to our space in the Cannon House Office Building is a short one. Out of the four House office buildings, Cannon is the oldest, and by far, the coolest. We were lucky to score a nine-hundred-fifty-eight-square-foot room there with a Capitol view after the representative who originally had it opted to take Beaumont’s old office in the more prestigious Rayburn Building. To our surprise, none of the new representatives housed up in the fifth floor “cages” sucked it up.
I see a group of media breaking up at the House Triangle as I approach it. Located on the House side of the Capitol's East Front, the small patch of land sports a permanent podium that uses the Capitol as a backdrop for press conferences seen on the news all the time. After a quick search of the small crowd, I return my attention to walking just in time to avoid crashing right into one of the Three Amigos.
“Hello, Miss Stanton,” Christopher says. The other two also bid their hello. Crap, what are their names again?
“Hey, guys.”
“We’re actually glad we ran into you. You have time for a quick talk?”
“Sure,” I say, not really meaning it.
Chris leads the way with me at his side, his colleagues in tow behind us. I guess he drew the short straw. The Three Amigos, as I like to call them, are the chiefs of staff for three prominent New York Democrats. All short and in their late thirties, they’re always together when I see them around Capitol Hill.
We walk along the sidewalk that parallels Southwest Drive between the Capitol and the Rayburn building. Tourists meander past us, so we walk until we’re clear of any prying ears. This better be good. If it’s not, they will learn firsthand what happens when you piss off a redhead.
“This has been a pleasant walk, fellas, but is one of you going to ever get to the point?”
“We were asked to deliver a message to you and your boss.” Yeah, this ought to be good. “Bennit has more support here than you know.”
“All evidence to the contrary,” I sneer.
“It’s true,” one of the other Amigos says.
“Our bosses are among them. They don’t agree with him on every issue, but wish they could work with him more,” Chris laments.
“So why don’t they?” I snap. This level of annoyance in my voice can be unappealing, and is probably a big reason I don’t get asked out on many dates.
“The press is reporting your boss is about to be slapped with ethics violations,” the third Amigo says. “That’s toxic in this town.”
“No kidding, but that doesn’t explain why you didn’t reach out sooner.”
“The minority leader would flay us if we go anywhere near him,” Chris explains. “And the most liberal caucus members have made it very clear that any member caught working with him will face repercussions.”
Damn caucuses. In Congress, they are formed by representatives as a forum to discuss issues and make plans to advance legislative agendas important to the membership of the group. There are dozens of them in the House, and the Democratic House caucus is one of the most powerful since each representative from that party is a member. Like its Republican counterpart, that caucus elects the party leadership.
Their bosses also belong to another group called the New Democrat Coalition, Congress’s largest group of moderates who often finds itself at odds with the rest of the party. Yes, instead of partying on weekends, eating pizza, and studying for the occasional college exam, this has become my life.
“I don’t know if there is anything to these charges against Bennit or not,” Chris says. “What I do know is the most extreme members of both parties want him gone.”
“Well, the way it sounds, no one in this town has the backbone to stand up to them, so they’ll probably get their wish,” I say, turning to walk away. My emotions are catching up with me, and thinking about how hopeless our situation is only makes it worse. I can’t let these guys see that. I’m about ten steps away before they stop me.
“We know about the other icandidates.” I stop dead in my tracks. The discussions I had with Mister B about whatever plan he and the ex-senator are conjuring up have been vague at best. I don’t think he has even seen the names, let alone shared them with me. How the hell do these guys know?
“What icandidates?” I ask reflexively. They look at each other before walking over to me.
“Bennit is teaming up with a former senator from Virginia to support the campaigns of a hundred independent social media candidates to run against the most powerful politicians in the House,” Chris says.
“How could … I mean …” C’mon Chelsea, get it together, I tell myself. “How do you know that?”
“It’s not important,” Amigo Two says. I really wish I could remember his name. It would make it so much easier to verbally assault him.
“Damn straight it’s important. I want to know!” I demand, my redhead temper starting to get the best of me.
“Lots of things get discussed between staff members at a bar over Marlboro Lights and Coors Light, Miss Stanton,” Chris says, deriding both my age and implying I’m so far out of the inner circle I wouldn’t know that. As much as I want to strangle him, I need to let it go and dig for more information.
