The iCongressman, page 8
part #2 of The Michael Bennit Series Series
“I keep telling him that!” Vanessa exclaims. And she does, almost every day.
“Mister B―”
“You guys are out of school, so you can call me Michael.” They laugh and I realize that is never going to happen. Old habits may die hard, but some never will.
Damn, it is so good having this group together again. There’s a certain power to us that makes me feel invincible when I’m surrounded by them. I know that isn’t the case, but that is the feeling I get.
“Okay, so how’s life been in Congress?” Amanda asks.
“The short story is we were not invited to join a caucus, not on a single committee, haven’t gotten a single bill we introduced out for a vote, and we’re not included in any discussions about anything.”
“Thank you for that rosy depiction of the last year, Chels,” I say with a tinge of sarcasm. Chelsea hasn’t been happy for a long time now, and even seeing her old friends isn’t bringing her out of her funk.
“Oh, and I forgot to mention he’s working with Blake Peoni.” Chelsea almost spits when she says his name. Everyone looks at me, stunned.
“Really?” Peyton asks.
“Did you fall and hit your head?” Xavier scolds.
“Are you The Manchurian Candidate instead of the iCandidate?” Brian quips.
“You don’t know the half of it,” Vince explains to X. “It’s been a fun year for a person in my job. He’s already set the disciplinary record in Congress, and even punched Blake Peoni’s lights out.”
“Twice,” Vanessa adds with two fingers extended.
“What?” the group utters all at once, looking at Chelsea and Vanessa to gauge whether they need to flip on their internal lie detectors for Vince.
“It’s a long story,” Chelsea bemoans.
“You know, Mister B, I can say this since we’re not your students anymore, and I pretty much speak for all of us. You’re one crazy bastard,” X observes. Yep, I still call him “X.”
“And yet you’re all still here,” I say with a smile.
“For now,” Brian smirks. “So how will this work?”
“The campaign will hire you as paid interns over the summer. We should still have some money in the campaign account.”
“What about after the summer? Once I start this, you know I won’t be able to just stop until it’s over,” Amanda says. I know better than to doubt her.
“You guys will be going back to your respective schools in September, so I don’t know what you’ll be able to do.”
“Mister B, you’re always going to be the iCandidate. With a high-speed Internet connection, I could run your reelection from the moon. There will be plenty of stuff to do. Besides, with all the time management skills we learned during those two campaigns, college classes were child’s play. We can balance the work.”
I have no doubt they can. I made them get signed permission forms from their parents before our first run because I was concerned about their grades slipping. It turned out to be completely unnecessary—most of their grades actually improved. Go figure.
“Okay, so what’s the plan? We know you have one.” Apparently Brian is eager to get to work. That’s good, because I am really going to need his help to pull this off, just like last time.
I explain the plan we have as it has developed so far. There are a lot of variables, and a lot of things we aren’t yet sure how to execute. For the next ten minutes, I tell them about my meeting with Blake, and then with Senator Viano, and what that could mean for us this summer. I even loop them in on Cisco, who is the only friend I have in the House.
“Maybe it’s my déjà vu kicking in, but this all sounds eerily familiar,” Amanda opines, looking around her.
“Amanda’s right, it is familiar. Only you guys don’t know the whole story yet,” Vince says in warning.
“What does he mean?” Peyton asks me.
“Well, if you guys are serious about jumping on this train one more time, you should probably know what you are getting yourselves into. Both the Republicans and Democrats are running excellent candidates against us, and considering my … colorful record … in the House, we are getting crushed in the polls.”
“Colorful record is one way to put it,” Chelsea adds sarcastically.
“Anyway, we always considered Beaumont to be the consummate politician and a great strategist. Turns out, he was neither, at least compared to what we are up against now. We managed to blindside him because he was ignorant, an egotist, and didn’t consider us a threat until it was too late. Now, we’re already in everyone’s crosshairs and both parties want to parade down Main Street with my head on a pike.”
“Seriously? You’ve been a congressman for over a year and you still haven’t managed to work on your motivation skills?” Xavier observes.
“Any other bad news?” Brian asks.
“Yeah, we are probably going to lose this election no matter what we do. There is no Kylie Roberts to come swooping in and put us on the map. This is going to be much harder than the last time.”
“What about this former senator you mentioned?”
“I’m still not sure what she will be able to do for me, so consider her a wild card,” I state honestly. Senator Viano may be a huge help, complete bust, or anything in between.
“So, is that it?” Brian asks again.
“Noooo,” Vince responds. “Tuesday, Congressman.”
“Oh, yeah. I sort of stirred up a hornets’ nest last Tuesday on the Floor, and now the Speaker of the House and Republican majority leader want to cane me like a Singapore pimp. So don’t be under the illusion I’m going to have a Mr. Smith Goes to Washington moment that will make this better.”
“A Mister who?” Peyton asks, confused.
“Mister Smith Goes to Washington. Frank Capra’s great American political drama …” I look around and notice the bewildered faces. Sometimes I forget they are not even twenty, and even giving them quotes from eighties’ movies is a hit or miss proposition. “Okay, yeah, never mind.”
“So what’s the first step, boss?” Amanda asks, sparing me any more explanation.
“The campaign needs a base camp. Coordinate with Chelsea on how to find one. We aren’t running this out of the Buzz this time. Then we’ll take it from there.”
“Viva la revolución!” Vince shouts again. I hope he’s not planning on making that our unofficial campaign slogan.
-FIFTEEN-
CHELSEA
It is really awesome being with this gang again. We only knew each other as classmates when we had Mister Bennit for American History our junior year, but that changed as seniors in his Contemporary Issues class. The shared experiences of working on a congressional campaign and a special election allowed us to grow very close. So much so that I barely talk to my old friends Cassandra and Stephanie anymore, and I have known them since childhood. We’re just different people now, with far different interests and responsibilities. I hope the same thing doesn’t happen to this clan.
“If you have this under control, Chels, Vanessa and I are going to head back to the district office.”
“Sounds good, Vince,” I say with a wave, and then watch my colleagues walk to their car, jump in, and leave.
“It’s great seeing you guys again,” Amanda says. “How often do you get to come home?”
“More than you might think. The House is in recess more than it is in session.”
“That explains why nothing ever gets done,” Brian adds, rolling his eyes.
“It’s not all bad. The Speaker of the House likes to ensure representatives have plenty of time in their districts. He scheduled ‘constituent work weeks’ so members can conduct business out of offices in their home states.”
“Yeah, do they really do that?” Xavier asks with a suspicious look.
“Probably not. The congressman does though. What about you guys?” I ask, trying to get off the subject. “You make it back to Millfield much?”
“We’re in college, Chels,” Peyton replies. “We avoid coming home at all costs unless our parents force us to.” The others laugh and nod in agreement.
“There is way too much going on at NYU to ever want to come home,” Emilee, once the shyest and most introverted among our group says. “I am sort of tired of living in a dorm though. It’s a twenty-five-minute walk to class.” Yeah, tell me again why I didn’t go to Yale, Harvard, or Marist? Twenty-five minutes. If she thinks that’s long, she should try my commute sometime.
“Where do you stay down in D.C.?” Brian asks.
“Vince, Vanessa, six other young government types, and I all rent a house in the city.”
“That sounds really cool,” Peyton says, almost in admiration that I’m doing something else other than college and managing to survive.
“Yeah, it’s okay I guess.”
“All right, do the rest of you hear it too?” Amanda says to the others and getting agreements.
“Hear what?” I ask, perplexed. I probably shouldn’t be, though. This group of friends knows me better than almost anyone.
“You sound defeated and the campaign hasn’t even started yet,” Brian observes. Maybe because I think losing is a foregone conclusion.
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re acting the same way you did right after the campaign announcement was a bust,” Emilee adds.
“And after we lost the election. So, are you gonna tell us what’s up or force us to drag it out of you?” Amanda directly challenges.
All the emotions I have spent the last year suppressing well up inside me. I have tried so hard to be strong, but the walls I built up are crumbling. I can’t tell the congressman how I feel because he relies on me. Vince and Vanessa really don’t understand the pressure of my job, even though they work in the same office. My father can’t know I made a mistake by taking this on. With those thoughts, I lose it.
“I can’t do this job,” I sob, letting my frustration and insecurities spill out. “It’s too big for me. We have had a horrible year and it’s all my fault!”
Emile gives me a hug, but it does little to stem the tears pouring from my eyes. After a minute or so, my bawling lets up enough for Brian to try to console me.
“I’m sure that’s not the case, Chels.”
“You don’t understand, Brian! You can’t. You haven’t been with us and seen me fail time and again.”
Brian started it. He tried to hide his smile, first by squeezing his lips together, then by turning away. One by one, Amanda, Peyton, and Xavier followed suit until they couldn’t hold it anymore and started laughing. Emilee releases her hug and starts doing the same.
How dare they laugh at me over something like this? I feel betrayed by my friends. My insecurity gives way to remorse, and now I feel something else—anger.
“What the hell’s so damn funny?” I scream, only prompting them to chuckle even harder. This is beginning to feel like a bad dream I am hoping to wake up from.
“We’re laughing because of you,” Brian says, pointing out the obvious. “This has been your M.O. since we’ve known you. You’re not failing, Chels, you’re just not living up to the incredibly high expectations you set for yourself.”
“That’s not true! This is different.”
“No it’s not,” Emilee consoles. “Hon, you didn’t think you could handle running the first campaign, either. So what happened? You came within a hundred votes of winning against a tough incumbent while not taking a stand on a single issue.”
“And then you followed it with the most successful congressional campaign in the history of the country,” Amanda continues, still trying to stifle her grin.
“News flash, Chels, in case you didn’t notice, you’re the also youngest chief of staff in the history of Congress. There are literally hundreds of people around the country trying to replicate what you did. Really, what more do you think you need to prove?”
“None of that means I’m getting the job done in Washington, Brian.”
“Has Mister B said anything to you about it?” Xavier asks. I shake my head no, my flash of anger now subsiding. “I didn’t think so. I’ll bet he thinks you’re doing a great job under the circumstances.”
“I doubt it. He’s been too busy trying to get kicked out of Congress to notice,” I smile weakly. It’s a start. I haven’t had a reason to for a long while.
“Looks like neither of you have hit your stride yet,” Brian says with hints of optimism that makes me feel a little better than I did a few minutes ago. I look at Xavier who seems to be relishing this opportunity to work with us again.
“And we’re now here to help change that.”
* * *
Dorothy had it right in The Wizard of Oz—there is no place like home. Most high school kids can’t wait to leave home and either head out into the world, or at a minimum, cut the parental strings at college. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t one of them. But after a year inside the Beltway, the colloquial name for Washington, D.C., I miss the comfort and familiarity of home more than ever.
I pull into the driveway and kill the headlights on my aging car. My senior year, I was ashamed to have to park it next to a Range Rover and BMW every day during high school and thought that would change once I left. I was wrong. If anything, it’s worse on the occasions I drive to work given the flashy cars most politicians and the senior staff drive.
Dad greets me at the door and gives me a huge hug before I can even make it into the kitchen. “Hi, Snuggle Bear. I’ve missed you so much.”
“It’s only been a couple of weeks, Dad,” I say, probably sounding way more insincere than I meant to be. “I missed you too,” I utter before he gets the wrong idea.
I come in and drop my stuff on the chair that once housed piles of college literature. Most colleges don’t bother sending out volumes of brochures to prospective students anymore. Everything is done electronically over e-mail and the Internet. My case was a little different once our first campaign got rolling, and schools were going above and beyond to get me and the campaign crew to listen to their admissions pitch.
“How’s work? You look a little rough around the edges.”
“It’s okay,” I mumble, hoping that wasn’t meant like my emotional redhead self tends to take things.
“Only okay? You know, when you started this job, even when things were bad, they were never just ‘okay.’ Please tell me you aren’t becoming jaded at twenty years old.”
“No, I’m not jaded,” I say, lying a little. “The job can wear you out at times, that’s all. I’ll be better after the weekend.” Okay, I lied a lot.
Dad knows I’m down, but he also knows I won’t talk about it until I’m ready. You can count on Bruce Stanton for two things in this world—showing up to his shift at the factory every day for work and being in my corner. He’s taken on the press in our front yard and even got into a fight with Mister Bennit in our living room. He only replaced that broken end table a few months ago.
“Would ya tell me if you were?” he says with a wink. He knows me too well.
“How’s work treating you?” I ask, changing the subject away from anything to do with my chosen career.
“Work’s fine, same ol’ same ol’. Not that I’m not thrilled to see ya, but what brings all you guys up here?” Dad asks, bringing the conversation back full circle. You’d think working for a politician in a town full of lawyers would make me an expert in deflection, but apparently I can’t pull that particular Jedi mind trick on my own father.
“We’re looking for some space to run the campaign out of this year,” I reply, too tired and emotionally drained to add my belief that the idea is a stupid one.
“You’re not gonna use the Buzz again? It worked for you last time.”
No kidding. That was the exact point I made, but was overruled. Again. Mister Bennit has spent the last year trying to shed some of the aspects of the maverick image that got him elected in the first place, and the quaintness of running the campaign out of a coffee shop was sacrificed to help reach that goal. As has been the case many other times this year, my opinion was ignored. One more instance of the congressman and I not heading in the same direction.
“The congressman doesn’t think …” I trail off and Dad flashes a parental look of concern. He probably already knows, but I don’t want to let on how bad I’m struggling right now. I am having a hard enough time keeping it together without Dad getting all gooey, or worse, combative. He is a hard-nosed former Marine, and they have a tendency to do that.
“Are ya okay, Snuggle Bear?”
“I’m fine, Dad. Just really tired. It’s been a long day.” He nods in understanding, but I know that it will do little to end this conversation.
“Can I ask one more question without you getting pissed at me?” I’d rather he didn’t.
“Sure,” I say in the most upbeat tone I can muster.
“He’s becoming one of them, isn’t he?”
-SIXTEEN-
MICHAEL
“Good luck in your meeting. Everything is all set from our end,” Chelsea says as I put on my suit jacket.
“He knows where to get seated?”
“All taken care of. He’ll be in place five minutes after your appointment arrives to avoid suspicion. He’s even bringing a date, if you can believe that. I think it’s the girlfriend he says he has.”
“Perfect. Thanks, and don’t work too late,” I warn, heading out of my district office to what I’m sure will be a very interesting dinner. Chelsea thinks this is a terrible idea, and she’s probably right. No big deal if I’m wrong, but if I’m not, I’m toast should things go awry.
Our headquarters is located on Main Street in Danbury, a diverse city of over eighty thousand people in the far western part of the area I represent. Millfield is about a forty-minute drive away, assuming the traffic is cooperating. Under normal circumstances, that’s where I would be heading after a long day of meeting with people and listening to their problems and opinions on issues. Tonight’s meeting, however, is definitely not normal.
