The iCongressman, page 29
part #2 of The Michael Bennit Series Series
“Ah, this sucks,” Blake says, stretching in the chair across the desk from mine.
“Stop your whining. You worked on Beaumont’s staff. You’re used to this.”
“Actually, we never worked this hard, except once and a while during a campaign.”
“I guess that’s why you’re here and Beaumont isn’t.” I look up to gauge his reaction. “Sorry, I didn’t mean for it to come across like that.”
Blake smiles, and I’m happy he didn’t take my comment the wrong way. He is still sensitive about the time he spent with his former mentor who now has several felony convictions. I learned that the hard way.
“Forget it. I know what you meant.”
“Good, because I’m not sure I can handle any more stress piled on right before Christmas.”
“Is the fake anthrax attack still bothering you?”
“No. Well, yeah, but that’s not what I meant.”
“You haven’t finished your shopping yet, have you?”
“No, and now I have one more to shop for,” I say, giving Blake a playful smile he eagerly returns.
“Well, at least all the threats you guys were receiving seem to have stopped. That reduces the stress a little.”
“I only wish that were true,” I say, instantly regretting it.
“What do you mean? I spoke to the congressman earlier and he says you haven’t gotten more than one or two since the anthrax scare.”
This has been wearing on my conscience since I started doing it three days ago, so without explanation I open up the bottom desk drawer and reach way in the back behind the hanging file folders. Finally grasping what I was looking for, I pull out the bundle of letters and set them on the desk.
“Are those what I think they are?” he asks, staring at the bundle. Yes, rocket scientist, they are.
“So much for the threats stopping, right?”
“Holy shit, Chels, Congressman Bennit doesn’t know about this?”
“No, and if you breathe a word of it to him, you will wish you had anthrax when I get done with you.” I’m a redhead and that is not an idle threat.
“Why would you do this?”
“Because it’s my job to protect him. His focus needs to be on winning this vote four days from now, and he can’t do that if he’s spending every waking moment worrying about us.”
“But there could be something in there―”
“There is nothing in any of these we haven’t already seen,” I interrupt. The Capitol Police have their hands full investigating the anthrax scare the media is still obsessing about, so they don’t have any interest in more creepy letters.
“But―”
“This upcoming vote means everything to us. If it succeeds, all the work we’ve done to this point is for nothing. We need this rules bill to be defeated to do our job, even if the media and the rest of the country don’t care.”
I don’t tell him it will be the last vote I am ever involved in. He doesn’t need to be privy to that information. I guess that’s why I am working so hard. I want to leave on a positive note. It would be one of the few I’ve had here.
“Have you talked to Kylie about this?”
“Are you kidding? She is an emotional wreck right now. She thinks she’s in danger of losing him to something terrible.”
Blake spins the stack of letters on the desk and reads the envelope on top. I can tell he’s quietly mulling things over, and I begin to wonder if he disagrees with my decision.
“He’s going to be pissed off if he learns about this.”
“Probably.”
“You don’t care?”
“Everyone is either upset, pissed off, unhappy, worried, or stressed out these days. Amanda is angry at our tactics, Brian is annoyed we gave up using social media to influence the vote … I can’t make anyone happy, so I’ve given up. All I am trying to do is get us through this session of Congress—everything else will work itself out after that.”
Blake stares at me with an expression I can’t quite place. Our relationship is brand new, and although we have known each other for a while, we don’t really know each other. For all the time I have spent trying to read him for deception, I never paid attention to any of his other emotions.
“What? Are you pissed off at me, too?
“Hell no. Quite the opposite, actually. I’m proud of you.”
“Uh, okay, that’s not what I expected. Why?”
“Because, Chelsea, you are doing what you think you need to do to protect your boss, consequences be damned. Now you’re acting like a chief of staff.”
-SIXTY-FOUR-
MICHAEL
No less than a half dozen freshman representatives sleep in their offices. Some don’t want the hassle of maintaining a residence in the district, and others do it to as a public relations stunt for the benefit of the voters back home. I did it myself for a while until Kylie found work in D.C. When she found an apartment, she asked me to move in with her. It is technically her place, but it’s really ours.
Many politicians choose to live outside the District of Columbia in Virginia, but Kylie is too much of a hipster for that. Having lived in the East Village of Manhattan for so long, I wasn’t surprised when she chose a new, chic building north of Massachusetts Avenue. Earning the moniker “NoMa,” it’s an up and coming neighborhood conveniently located just four blocks north of Capitol Hill and Union Station. I can walk to work if I choose.
The apartment itself is reasonably priced and more than spacious enough for the two of us. The furniture was all transplanted from her NYC walk-up, and we collaborated on the décor, which is to say she picked it all. I still maintain my place back in Millfield because I legally have to, and because she’d never let me keep most of my furniture.
With a mere four days left before the vote which will determine the political direction of the government and how the House of Representatives functions, I am doing what any good representative would do under these circumstances—Christmas shopping. Hey, there’s only eight days left until Santa comes and I’ve done nothing. Thank God for whoever invented the online shopping cart.
My notebook computer in my lap, Sam Adams in my hand, and credit card melting due to overuse, I occasionally glance up at CNN on the flat screen hung on the wall. The coverage of what is going on in this lame duck session has been unimpressive, and what they have reported is generally wrong. News coverage strongly influences political behavior, but the media are a capricious bunch. Nostradamus couldn’t predict which stories they cover and which get ignored.
Obviously, the anthrax scare from a few days ago is still dominating the headlines as investigators scramble for answers. It may have only been innocuous baking soda, but it’s more than enough to distract the media. As a result, the events surrounding this rules bill introduced in the lame duck session have been glossed over.
Political pundits still dwell on the fact there is no majority party, but none are concerned about the latest tactic to address that situation. Any outrage we managed to spark and stoke on social media has fallen off in the wake of the faux-attack. As I feared, nothing we have done on that front will translate into action. I thought it was a long-shot before, but now relying on social media to affect change is an impossibility.
Since we first found out about this bill a month and a half ago, we worked tirelessly to defeat it using every tool available to us. Media, social media, pressure from constituents, and even through trying to broker deals. None of it worked, except to inspire people to constantly let us know they wanted us dead. Thank God those threats seemed to have abated. Now, all that’s left is the Hail Mary play I sent Blake out on.
The Washington Post has stopped Kylie from working on the two biggest political stories of the year: the debacle that was my Ethics hearing and subsequent expulsion vote, and the anthrax scare which still has Capitol Hill tied up in knots.
Without her tenacious attitude to lead the way, the press lost interest in pursuing the perpetrator of my witch hunt last summer. I guess trying to frame an elected representative for bribery doesn’t rank as a scandal in this day in age.
The trail went cold fast, and despite the obvious involvement of Ibram & Reed, most investigative arms of news organizations moved on to alleged voter fraud following the November election. Unfortunately, the FBI and other watchdog groups are not having much success either, although they don’t have papers to sell or viewers to entice, so they are still officially working on it.
Now the dog has a new bone to chew on, so the old one is left out in the yard. The anthrax scare is the shiny new media toy, and all their resources are devoted to endless coverage of it. Of course, they haven’t added a single shred of analytical value or new information to the discussion or investigation.
To compensate for her perceived lack of value, Kylie is putting in some overtime by writing about the rules bill on the side. Part of me believes she’s doing it to distract herself from the threats and the white powder scare. I can’t say I blame her for wanting the distraction.
Unfortunately, there is little interest being generated in the stories she is sending out. The woman who could have gotten my grocery list printed during our first campaign is now suffering from a dry spell that makes the Gobi Desert look like a tropical rain forest. To say it is frustrating for her is an exercise in understatement.
Speaking of the devil, Kylie comes in and slams her purse on the small kitchen island, then tosses her coat on the ground. She may not be a clean freak, but this is aberrant behavior even for her.
“Tough day, honey?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
She sits next to me on the couch with her legs tucked under her and buries her head into my chest. I drape my arm around her and kiss her forehead, pausing long enough to enjoy the pleasant scent of the fruity conditioner she uses on her hair. It’s the smallest things in life like this I enjoy most.
“Do you ever wonder if this was all worth it?”
“What do you mean?” She lifts her head off my chest and cranes her neck to look up at me. I think the question caught her a little off guard.
“I mean, do you miss the days after I lost the first election where we just crashed at your apartment and only left to shop for groceries and rock out to Dead Rocking Horse at the Bowry Ballroom?”
Kylie has never been a mainstream music fan. She’s adamant in her belief that a select few choose the winners and losers in the music industry. It’s how we end up having to endure the obscene lack of talent and publicity antics of people like Justin Beiber and Brittany Spears. Living in New York, she became an ardent follower of bands few others know about. Dead Rocking Horse is one of them, and if people ever had the chance to hear them, they would own the Billboard Top One Hundred.
“We were unemployed then, Michael.”
“I didn’t say there weren’t a couple of small downsides.”
“Small downsides?”
“Yeah. ‘Money is something you need in case you don’t die tomorrow.’”
“Is that your favorite Wall Street quote?”
“‘Greed is good’ has already been adopted by everyone else in this town,” I answer, paraphrasing the actual line. Even being a history guy, Oliver Stone’s 1987 hit starring Michael Douglas as the venerable, yet despicable Gordon Gekko, is one of my favorite movies.
“You’re going to lose the vote on this bill,” Kylie responds, suddenly up shifting from light to serious.
“I know.”
“You don’t sound upset about it. If that’s the case, maybe you should just vote for it.” Uh-oh.
“Why would I do that?”
“Maybe the threats against you might end. People will stop sending you white powder everyone thinks could be laced with anthrax, or ricin, or any other biological agent that could kill you through the mail.”
“Please tell me you aren’t serious.”
“I’m dead serious!”
“Kylie, I am not going to be blackmailed into voting for something I don’t believe in!” I exclaim, getting a little heated at the notion of it all.
“You are going to lose anyway.”
“It doesn’t matter. I will not compromise my principles because someone threa―”
“Even if the threat becomes real? What happens when someone really does try to hurt you, or Chelsea, or any of us?”
“Honey, I can’t afford to think that way. I have a job to do, and I will never be scared me into voting for something I don’t believe in. You know that. I love you, and I love my staff, but if I change my vote out of fear for my safety or anyone else’s, I don’t deserve to be here.”
She doesn’t want to hear those words, but she knows I am right. Kylie is driven, independent, but also very protective. She’s scared, and isn’t realizing the fear of the unknown is clouding her judgment.
“I’m sorry,” she says, tabling the argument more than conceding the point. “What’s the plan to defeat this bill now that nobody is paying attention?”
“I’m hoping for a miracle, like maybe the mainstream media waking up and doing their jobs.” She scoffs at the notion. “What?” I ask sarcastically. “You don’t think the media will accurately portray what’s going on here?”
“I work for the established media and I wouldn't trust them to give the weather report in the Sahara. The noise about the tie in the House and the white powder gives them higher ratings than a rules bill Americans don’t understand. If you are expecting the media to suddenly shift away from that, you are going to be disappointed.”
Kylie has not been aloof in her dissatisfaction with her current employer. It isn’t working for them she has a problem with, it is the constraints they have put on her. She loves journalism, but just as she learned with the New York Times before they fired her, she’s usually at odds with their agendas.
“I think it’s time we seriously discuss something. I want to take our relationship to a new level.” Wait, what?
“Uh …”
“No, not that. I can wait for that.” She sits up and looks me dead in the eye. “I want to come work for you.”
“As tempting as that sounds, it’s a horrible idea,” I say, trying not to sound relieved. It’s not that marrying Kylie is not high on my agenda, because it is. I’m just not quite ready for that level of commitment considering what happened to me with Jessica.
“With Chelsea leaving, you need a new chief of staff: that’s Vince. When he moves up, you’ll need to replace him. Vanessa doesn’t like working with the media, so she’s out. I want to be your PR person.”
I don’t say anything. It’s not that I don’t want her to work for me, because on some level, the idea does appeal to me. On the other hand, happy personal and business relationships rarely coexist between people. Kylie is fearful and wants to be with me every minute she can. This request is an extension of that. She prepped the battlefield well in this conversation, and I need to avoid any landmines.
“Vince isn’t going to be the chief of staff, is he?” she says, squinting at me as she does when drawing conclusions. I wait too long to reply, and now I’m about to have another problem. “Oh my God, you promised it to Blake, didn’t you?”
“Not exactly.”
“Not exactly as you didn’t, or not exactly as in you didn’t want to tell me?”
“I don’t know, both?”
“Hm,” she says with a disagreeing look. “Why would you ever even consider him working on the staff?”
“Maybe I see something in him everyone else doesn’t.”
“I think you fell and hit your head or something. He’s a lying scoundrel who would betray you in a New York second to advance his own agenda. You treat your staff like family. Do you really want him to be a part of it?”
“I’m not sure that’s true anymore. Besides, Chelsea is dating him now. That does make him a part of it,” I say in my defense.
“I’m not sold on that being a good idea either, but that’s her choice.” My God, we sound like parents discussing our daughter bringing home an edgy guy, covered in tattoos, and driving a van.
“You know, it dawns on me that he was dating your sister,” I recall, alluding to the brief relationship Kylie’s sister Madison had with Blake when they were both serving on Beaumont’s staff.
“Ew. Don’t remind me.”
“If things had gone a little differently, he could have been your brother-in-law.”
“Okay, seriously, you’re making me gag here.”
“Imagine that wedding …”
“Stop it!” she chastises and hits me with a throw pillow. “Thanks so much. I’m going to have night terrors tonight with that image in my head now.”
We share a laugh, and it is a welcome respite from the growing tension over this vote, Chelsea almost leaving, Blake’s role, and a host of other things. Now we can add Kylie’s newly revealed desire to leave journalism and come to work for me.
The thought of her becoming her sister came to mind, but I bit my tongue. Kylie was always critical of Madison for becoming a press secretary who thought nothing of lying to everybody for Winston Beaumont. Madison retorted by classifying her as a second-rate journalist clinging to an unreachable idealism. It’s a touchy subject to bring up with her, so there’s no reason to broach that subject right now or I may get hit with something harder than a throw pillow. Like a lamp, or a coffee table.
“Is Amanda coming around at all?” she asks, suddenly getting more serious again.
“No. If anything, she’s even more adamant against what we’re doing.”
“I know she’s an idealist, but it’s not like you’re signing a pact with Satan. You’d think she would see that.”
“Honestly, I see her point. I don’t know if what we’re doing is the right thing.”
