The iCongressman, page 6
part #2 of The Michael Bennit Series Series
I was afraid this would come up. Chalice was always partial to my ex-fiancée, and I’m sure would love nothing more than to see us get back together. She likes Kylie, but until there is a ring on her finger, she will always be rooting for Jessica.
“Chalice,” I warn with a look that prompts her to hold up her hands in mock surrender and change the subject.
“So, what brings you home?”
“I flew in this afternoon for our constituent work week in the district.”
“Look at you, Mister Jet-Setter.”
”Yeah, not so much, but working with the people in the district is about the only part of this job I still enjoy.”
“Of course it is. You’re a natural problem solver. You didn’t answer my question though. I asked why you’re here.”
Chalice has always had a low tolerance for small talk with her teachers. She was an amazing boss and understanding advisor, but she could also be a cut-to-the-chase taskmaster. It would have made her an extremely effective principal. Instead we ended up with Howell.
“To see you. I need some advice.”
“Let me guess. Congress isn’t what you’d thought it’d be?”
“That’s putting it mildly. Don’t plead ignorance, Chalice. I know you watch the news.”
“I do, but I never put much faith in the accuracy of their reports, especially when they’re about you. ‘The most effective way to destroy people is to deny and obliterate their own understanding of their history.’”
“1984. George Orwell. Very nice, but I have another for you. ‘He who controls the past controls the future. He who controls the present controls the past.’ That’s how these people I have to deal with get elected year after year.”
She offers a seat across the desk from her, although I have to move a pile of folders to sit in it. She sits in her own chair, reaching over to turn off her computer monitor to avoid the distraction of e-mail notifications that seem to be pouring in.
“You know, Newsweek did a poll in 2011 and found less than forty percent of Americans knew the term of office for a senator was six years. I used that study as a teaching tool and posed the same question to my students. Can you guess how many knew the right answer?”
“I can only imagine.”
“Fifteen percent. Just fifteen percent, Michael. The people can’t be bothered to know how long their representative’s term lasts, so it’s no surprise how easy they can be manipulated. Of course, that was before the rise to power of the iCandidate …”
“Rise to power,” I say derisively. “That’s a joke. Blake Peoni is telling me to get my head out of my ass, Ky―”
“Wait! Blake Peoni?”
“Yeah, it’s a long story. Anyway, Kylie wants me to mix it up with the most senior politicians in the country, and my mutinous staff is encouraging me to start a revolution.” Chalice raises an eyebrow. “As in changing the way the House works, not overthrowing the whole government.”
“Ah. Well, they’re all correct.”
“Yeah, I knew you’d say that. But, to be honest with you, I don’t think I have any more fight left in me.”
“I see,” she says with the same disagreeing pout I once got on a regular basis. “Come with me.”
“Where are we going?”
“You need a little reminder of who you are, and I know just the place you can get it.”
I follow her out of the office and through the adjoining work room to the hallway. There are still a few students wandering the hall, and a couple even give me the patented head nod teenagers like to use as a form of greeting.
“Michael, you were a dedicated soldier,” she says as we head down the hall. “You earned the Distinguished Service Cross in Afghanistan, and I know you don’t think you deserved it, but you also told me once the mission saved a lot of lives.”
“What’s your point, Chalice?”
“I’m getting to it, so don’t be fresh.” She always did know how to keep me in line. “You could have chosen not to run in the special election. You lost to Beaumont, and you fulfilled your obligations to your students for the bet, but you ran again anyway. The voters responded by overwhelmingly sending you to Washington. They asked you to serve once again, and you couldn’t say no, because just like your time in Special Forces, your devotion to this nation is part of who you are.”
We stop at my old classroom and she walks in, flipping on the lights as she enters. I’m amazed at what I see. Every print, poster, and piece of memorabilia I had on the walls is in the exact place I left it. My room was always the most extravagantly decorated in the building, and not one thing has changed. Even more to my surprise is the layout of the room. The desks are still set up in a horseshoe.
The seating arrangement in a semi-circle gave me a “stage” to work on, and both my students and I came to call it that. It’s not a style most teachers prefer, so I don’t understand why it was preserved. As I move to the center of it, and look at the seats where my students would have been sitting, I feel like I’m home again. I can almost imagine Xavier, Vince, Amanda, Vanessa, Brian, Emilee, Peyton, and the rest of the honors American History class all staring back at me.
“What do you think?”
“It’s just like I left it. Is my replacement trying to be me or something?”
“No, he realizes he’s never going to be you. Nobody can. But he is trying to emulate you, and do you know why?”
I hear the question, but I am lost in my own thoughts as I look around the room. The posters of Washington, Lincoln, and Martin Luther King, Jr. still look down on the classroom from their spots on the wall.
“Let me answer that for you. He emulates you because it works. You think you’re in this fight with the political elite alone, but you’re not. There are a lot of people in this country who feel the same way you do, and they will fight with you to do what must be done. All you need to do is decide to step up and lead them.”
“I think the time for that has come and gone,” I say with a tinge of regret. Maybe I should have visited six months ago. I’m not sure Blake’s pleadings, my staff’s intervention, or even Chalice’s reminder can make a difference now.
“Let’s go back to your Orwell quote. ‘He who controls the past controls the future. He who controls the present controls the past.’ The last time you taught in this room, that’s exactly what you did. I know you can do it again.” She looks at her watch and edges toward the door. “It’s quitting time for me, so I have to get going. It was great seeing you again, Michael. Good luck.”
“Thanks, Chalice. For everything.”
The last time I stood in this room, I addressed my students after we lost to Beaumont. Then, as now, I could almost feel the eyes of Washington and Lincoln stare down at me. Back then, I hoped they were proud of what I was trying to do.
I pull my iPhone out of my pocket and select the number from favorites. As I wait for her to pick up, I can only hope Washington and Lincoln will again approve of what I’m about to do.
“Hey, Chels, it’s me. Yeah, things are fine, but I need you to do me a favor,” I say, waiting for her to ask what it is I need. “Have Blake set up that meeting. If we’re going to go all Demolition Man and start a war, I’d better find out what heavy artillery I can bring to the fight.”
-TEN-
SENATOR VIANO
The Capital Grille offers a stunning view down Pennsylvania Avenue and a panoramic view of the Capitol that makes me yearn for the position I held a year and a half ago. Although my time in the Senate was spent dining at more frequented establishments like the Charlie Palmer Steak, this place still brings me back to the good old days. The food, service, and ambiance are pretty good, too.
That’s not saying this restaurant isn’t enjoyed by power brokers in Washington. Even with Congress in recess for the weekend, a couple of political players are seated only a matter of feet away from me. Weekends are not high tide for deal making, but hopefully I’m about to make one for myself.
He’s late, so I order the pan-seared Chilean sea bass with citrus and pea tendrils and sip on a glass of chardonnay as I wait. When he finally enters the restaurant fifteen minutes late, I can’t help but notice he looks like he got hit by a bus.
“Nice cheek, Blake. Did you get mugged or something?” I say, offering the seat on the other side of the table.
“No, a mugging would have been easier. I had the unfortunate experience of pissing off a Green Beret,” he explains, taking his seat. Oh, I like this guy already. I just hope that Blake’s lacerated cheek, fat lip, and broken ego are not a bad omen for me and what I want.
“So I’m to assume that your damaged face means my request will go unfulfilled?”
“Never assume, Senator. Chelsea called yesterday afternoon, just as I said she would. My little speech got through to Congressman Bennit. He wants to meet you.” Excellent!
“Thank you, Blake. I knew you would come through in setting that up,” I say, tempering my enthusiasm and taking care to repress my true thoughts. A meeting with Bennit set up by Blake was a long shot, and I didn’t have much confidence that he could get it done.
“You’re welcome. Consider it thanks for getting me my job. We’re even now.”
“Even? Oh no, I don’t think that’s a fair trade. But you know what? I’m in a good mood, so yes, we can call it square.” Getting Blake his bottom-feeder job was really a piece of cake, but he doesn’t need to know that. “Can you stay for lunch?” Please say no …
“Thank you, but no. Even as a menial laborer, and with Congress out of town, the Washington lobby never rests. Tell me something, Senator. Why are you taking an interest in Bennit? I mean, not that I think he wouldn’t appreciate your help. But why now?”
I don’t have a high opinion of Blake. He thinks far more of his capabilities than what he actually possesses, and may have been a trusted advisor to Winston Beaumont, but that man was an idiot anyway. Only a fool wouldn’t make certain a paper trail detailing illegal activities was destroyed, or better yet, never created in the first place. Now he is on the way to the clink along with members of his senior staff. Blake may have escaped a date with prison rapists by selling him out to the Feds, but being permanently banished to the lowest rung of the political ladder may feel like the same thing.
“The world is an unjust place. I learned that in my reelection campaign, and I think you learned it as well. I’m just looking to ensure another fine representative in government is not cast out because he’s politically inconvenient. It’s how we can get our payback, Blake.”
That sounded believable. Despite my low regard for him, I can’t afford to trust Blake. I don’t think his agenda will mesh with mine in the long run, so he has to be kept at a distance and out of the loop. I only need him now to gain Bennit’s trust so I can do the same.
“Tomorrow, one p.m., the National Archives,” Blake says, accepting my ridiculous answer and rising from his seat. “And don’t be late. He was a teacher. I know he hates that.”
“Duly noted,” I say, using the same broad smile I flashed at every stop on the Virginia campaign trail eight years ago. “Have a nice day, Blake. I’ll be sure to let you know how it goes.”
Blake nods and heads for the exit just as my server arrives with lunch. I have a meeting that I am actually looking forward to for the first time since I lost the election. This could change everything. Yep, the political winds define who wins and who loses, and a front is about to blow into Washington.
PART II
WE THE PEOPLE
-ELEVEN-
MICHAEL
The National Archives Building bears a resemblance to the Parthenon and is situated on Pennsylvania Avenue north of the National Mall. The Archives exhibits important American historical documents such as the Louisiana Purchase Treaty and the Emancipation Proclamation, but the Rotunda for the Charters of Freedom is the part of the building the public comes to see.
It is there where the original copies of the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution, and the Bill of Rights are stored. Two large-scale murals by Barry Faulkner in the Rotunda depict fictional scenes of the presentation of our nation’s two most important documents. Both works have more of a feeling of ancient Rome than anything depicting eighteenth-century America.
I have been wandering around the room for the last twenty minutes, finally stopping to admire the Constitution before moving over to the first official document that united us as a people. There are no long lines to wait in like a Six Flags amusement park. Visitors to the National Archives are allowed to walk from document to document as they wish.
“You may be the only elected official in this town that actually comes here,” I hear the voice say from behind me. I’m impressed that she’s nearly fifteen minutes early for our meeting.
“From what I have seen over the past year, I’m not surprised,” I say without turning around.
“Do you have a favorite part?” she asks, joining me in admiring the document encased before us. I don’t bother to strain to read the fading text of one our oldest and most cherished artifacts. Instead, I just look directly at her and smile.
“‘That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness.’”
“Fitting, considering your present circumstances,” she observes, outstretching her hand. “Senator Marilyn Viano.”
“Congressman Michael Bennit,” I reply in an equally formal voice, “but I prefer just being called Michael. I want to apologize for dragging you here on Mother’s Day.”
“Don’t worry about it,” she says with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I have no kids, thankfully. I’m happy to settle for being an aunt. My siblings were the baby factories, giving my parents the desired grandchildren, so they stayed off my back about it.”
“Baby factories?”
“Three siblings with eleven kids split between them. All girls, except for my younger brother who had a son that can’t manage to get out of his own way in life.”
I smile at the senator. She’s likeable in a proper, almost British sort of way. Tall and fit for her mid-fifties, she looks like a gray-haired cross between Ellen Degeneris and Dame Judi Dench. Her sophisticated charm is disarming, but something in her cold, calculating eyes tells me this woman can be a very dangerous political creature.
“I’m sure you know all about the situation I have found myself in.”
“Most of the country does, Michael,” she offers with a dazzling smile cameras must have loved. “Blake filled me in on what pieces I didn’t get from the news. The only thing I am uncertain about is what exactly you are trying to do here.”
I take a deep breath to collect my thoughts. The reality is I’m not sure what I’m trying to do here anymore. Just as Chalice surmised, Congress isn’t what I thought it would be.
“From the moment the First United States Congress met in April of 1789, skeptical citizens expected the worst from the people elected to it. Over the next two hundred twenty-five or so years, we’ve done nothing but confirm their opinions. I thought when I got elected I could show them there was someone out there who could fulfill the Framers’ original expectations.”
“Michael, there’s your first problem. That’s a very naïve approach to politics.” I’m glad she isn’t planning on going easy on me.
“Yeah, probably. But it’s my approach, and not one I plan on abandoning. Unfortunately, I am almost the only person in the House who thinks that way.”
“Almost?” the senator queries with a raised eyebrow.
“Believe it or not, there may be another.” Exactly one, assuming my first impression of Francisco Reyes turns into a lasting one. “And it’s hard to have real discussions and debate about issues without serious people to hold them.”
“The partisanship in the House and Senate is the longest running show in Washington. Trying to pass any bill is like watching two heavyweight boxers dance around each other in a ring because both are afraid to get hit with a punch hard enough to put them on the mat. It’s frustrating, and the public’s become too jaded and cynical to listen to the crap coming out of this town anymore.”
“Exactly, and if we don’t start restoring America’s faith in the political system, the divide will only grow worse until it forms a rift that cannot be healed. Ask Abe Lincoln how much fun governing is when that happens,” I add to drive my point home.
“You plan on doing that by yourself?”
“I can’t. That’s why I need your help.” Somehow I sense she already knows that’s why I’m here, but I go on to explain my thoughts anyway. She listens intently as we meander around the Rotunda, and then on to the “Record of Rights” exhibit where a copy of the Magna Carta is on display.
“Before you go down this path, you should know what you’re up against. Over the last fifteen years, a majority of House districts have become decisively Democratic or Republican. Three hundred of the seats in the House are gerrymandered to the point where they are reliably safe for the incumbent. Changing that won’t be easy, and in fact, will probably be a complete failure.”
Congressional districts are redrawn every ten years following the national census. Gerrymandering is a term first coined by the Boston Gazette in the early eighteen hundreds to describe a practice where these boundaries are manipulated to establish a political advantage for a particular party. It’s just another method politicians have used to reduce the power of the American voter.
“Maybe, but it’s those members who don’t worry about being reelected and can apply their ideological instincts without fear of retribution back home. Members who feel no political need to court voters from the ideological center aren’t compelled to collaborate and compromise. We need to find a way to force them to play ball.”
