The iCongressman, page 18
part #2 of The Michael Bennit Series Series
“I was in college once, Blake. It never mattered to me. So, where do we stand?”
“The country watched Bennit seal his win last night. Not the resounding win he had a couple of years ago against Beaumont and …” Gary trails off and snaps his fingers, mentally searching for the name of the man who became a political punch line and YouTube favorite for his Constitutional gaffe.
“Johnson,” Blake interjects, filling in the blank of the otherwise forgettable Republican candidate in that race.
“Right, that’s it. Anyway, Bennit will win pretty convincingly, sans any last minute debacles. The GOP candidate will be second and the Democrat a distant third.”
“That man is like a phoenix. He was a pile of ashes a couple of months ago. What about the rest of the icandidates?”
“Feeding on his success,” Blake says. “Eighty percent are within striking distance or already within the margin of error of the polls. Of the remaining twenty, we are going to win five races with no problem and lose the other fifteen.”
“Impressive showing for a bunch of no names. The country is embracing this movement far more than I thought they would.”
“Never underestimate a grassroots effort on social media,” Gary resolves.
“What about Albright? Is the Speaker going to keep his seat in South Carolina?”
“It’s too close to call,” Vince explains. “Amazing, considering how conservative that district is. He had a commanding lead just a few weeks ago, but his poll numbers have tanked since. Tough place to be in, and I remember the feeling well. His campaign is starting to panic.”
“‘You can’t come to any harm when you’re falling. It’s the landing part you have to worry about,’” Gary pronounces.
“Iron Man?” Blake asks.
“No. Danger Mouse.”
“Nice one.”
“Are you two quite done?” I snap as Blake and Gary look at each other sheepishly. Really, enough of the superhero quotes. When he comes to work for me at the end of all this, I swear I need to banish them from his vernacular. “Don’t encourage him, Blake.”
“Sorry, ma’am.”
“Don’t apologize, just get on with it.”
“It looks like Harvey Stepanik will win his contest,” he says, refocusing on the task at hand. “The Dems may lose their whip, though, and I would bet the minority leader goes down too.”
“They stayed on the sidelines for much of the Bennit expulsion disaster, so I’m surprised it’s not the reverse. And Thomas Parker?
“He’s safe. Changing his vote played well in that district and the icandidate there wasn’t as keen to run against him after that.”
A gust of wind sends a swarm of leaves blowing past us. Instead of shouting over the wind and rustling leaves, I wait for the squall to subside.
“So we could potentially win eighty-five of the hundred races?” I ask, just restating the obvious because I don’t really believe what I’m hearing.
“Eighty-seven of one hundred two, actually. We weren’t counting Bennit and Reyes. So long as no bombs get dropped, it could be a historic election night.”
“Do we expect any October surprises?”
“Our opposition research guys don’t seem to think so,” Blake replies. “They vetted each of the icandidates thoroughly before turning their attention to researching the competition.”
Of course, it helps when there is nobody left to do research against you. Part of the plan was to utilize every reputable oppo outfit in the country to work for us. It was an expensive proposition, but extravagances like this are a perk of being filthy rich and having some deep pockets supporting my efforts. The political parties were able to eventually line up some resources, but we got the pick of the litter.
“Many of them are riding Bennit’s coattails,” Gary observes. “He has gone viral in social media again and his approval rating nationwide is through the roof. The mainstream media isn’t covering him with the tenacity they did last time, but that isn’t stopping America from talking about him.”
I have underestimated his appeal from the beginning. He is the average guy’s politician this country has begged for. While most insiders gasped in horror when he flipped that table at his hearing, the rest of America shouted, “Hell yeah.” He makes politics more real for the country, and because of that, they can relate to him. One more example of the magic that is Michael Bennit.
“We are on the threshold of a turning point in American politics,” I state, knowing one of my small little group doesn’t know the half of it. I can’t resist sharing a knowing smile with my former chief of staff.
“Let’s hope so,” Blake says, oblivious to the double meaning of my words.
“Blake, you have done an amazing job with this effort, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you came through in the clutch. It runs in our family. Your father would be very proud of you.”
“Thanks, Aunt Marilyn. I’ll see you back in D.C.”
With that, Blake heads back to his car leaving me alone with Gary.
“Do you think you can trust him? He’s getting a little cozy with the Bennit camp.”
“I think he’ll do the right thing when the time comes,” I conclude, knowing there is a danger that his loyalties are divided.
“So when will you tell him the plan?”
The most dangerous part of this plan is the variables involved. Michael Bennit was not supposed to survive his expulsion, and having done so, has made life far more problematic. Now the decision on how I play this lies with his reaction to my proposal. Either way, I will become a major player in national politics again. Whether it is as an ally or enemy remains to be determined.
“Let’s see how the election goes. It all hinges on how Michael responds to my offer. If he agrees, we will need him with us immediately. If not, well, I’ll need him to do his part in a different way. Either way, I don’t think Blake is ready to hear what I have to say yet.”
-THIRTY-NINE-
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.”
-FORTY-
