by Sara Celi
“These are my best staffers,” I whispered in Kathryn’s ear as we crossed the threshold into the room. I cleared my throat and called out to the group as they turned to the face us. “Good morning, everyone. Thank you for joining us.” I turned to Kathryn and she stepped forward. “May I introduce someone who is going to help us with our effort? This is Kathryn Van der Loon.”
She said hello, then took a seat at the far end of the table. I looked around the room and tried to read the expressions of the people I trusted most in my campaign. I didn’t have to work very hard to guess some of their thoughts. Jack’s mouth hung open, and Kelly had her arms crossed.
“Come on, Jack,” I said to my communications director. “Out with it.”
Jack shut his gaping mouth and shook his head a few times. “Kathryn Van der Loon?” He nodded toward her, then looked back at me. “What the hell is she doing here?”
“Nice to meet you, too,” Kathryn said, her voice steady as she poured herself a fresh glass of water.
“No, I mean it.” Jack turned back to her. “What are you doing here?”
“Helping.”
Jack sighed. “I don’t think I want to know how you define the term ‘helping.’”
“Settle down. You don’t have to be so rude, Jack. I expect better from you.” I sat in the chair at the head of the conference table. In front of me lay a large binder full of political strategy and opposition research. I opened the front cover, but kept my attention on Jack. “Apologize to her.”
“He doesn’t have to,” Kathryn said.
“Of course he does.” I nodded in Jack’s direction. “Apologize.”
Jack shot Kathryn an annoyed look. “I’m sorry I was rude. Your presence just…surprised me.”
“Thank you.” I drank from the coffee cup that also sat on the table in front of me. “Now that we’ve got that out of the way, Kathryn, I’d like you to meet my hardworking and dedicated staff. Jack Harper is my communications director. Kelly Chatsworth is in charge of mobilizing our volunteer efforts. Janet Oliver handles scheduling. Matthew Palmetto is an advisor, and Carter Marsh is my younger brother. He’s handling fundraising.” As I said their names, I signaled each of them out so that Kathryn would have a clear idea of each person.
“Pleased to meet all of you,” she said, once I finished the introductions.
“Jack, I see that you’ve got our agenda for the next few days, so I’ll let you get us started on that.”
“Thank you, Landon. If everyone could take a moment to review the plans for the next week...”
Jack launched into his outline of our next few days, but I only listened to him halfway. Instead, I found my attention floating back to Kathryn, and the strangeness of the last few hours. For me, this reunion started with a voicemail from someone named Nancy at Van der Loon Global, followed by a few cryptic emails to my personal account. Then, I’d gone to Boca half expecting to eat a steak dinner solo. Now, she sat across the table from me, hell bent on plunging herself in my campaign.
I could get used to this. I sipped my coffee and peered at her over the rim of the mug. Her long hair tumbled down her shoulders in bold waves, and her smoky eyeshadow emphasized her fine bone structure. I already thought she had one of the best bodies I’d ever seen, but the longer I regarded her, the more I admired the way she carried that body. Even sitting in a chair, Kathryn had enough confidence to fill up a room.
Jack paused in his assessment of the race so far, and the silence made me snap my attention back to the task at hand. I blinked at my staff and flipped to the next page in the briefing, a report on the latest polls in the race.
“We’re doing well and gaining ground in the counties we want to target,” I said. “This week’s poll from the Dispatch certainly went in our favor.”
“It did.” Kathryn straightened in her chair. “In fact, I’m not ashamed to admit that’s what made me take a look at this race. It’s competitive—one of the most competitive in the country.”
“We’re doing well with the phone banks and fundraising.” Kelly shoved her wireless glasses up her pointy nose. “Just this last week, we broke the thirty thousand call mark, and I think that really made a difference when it came to that polling.”
“And I see here on the agenda that we’re planning on visiting the Ohio Republicans call center this afternoon in Columbus to meet with those supporters.” My gaze caught Kathryn’s. “Would you like to come?”
“Of course.”
Kelly’s nervous laugh filled the room. “You still haven’t told us why she’s here. I mean…she’s…”
“I used to date Patrick Blanco,” Kathryn filled in for Kelly. “And everyone in here knows it. It’s not a state secret.”
Every person sitting around the conference table nodded.
“Listen”—Kathryn closed the binder in front of her—“I get that you all might not see any good reason for me to suddenly be involved in this campaign, and I understand the confusion. Landon and I have known each other since we were teenagers, though, and I’d like to see him win. He’d make an excellent senator for this state. Washington, DC needs someone like him. And getting to know Patrick as well as I did showed me some major flaws in his personality and his way of thinking.” She shifted in her chair, paused for a breath, and then made eye contact with each staffer. “All I can say is, if you want to win, you’ll let me help. You’ll let me be a part of this. I have…leverage.”
“She does,” I said. “And that’s why she’s here.”
“That was enlightening,” I said as Landon and I walked back to the Hilton. “But I can’t say I didn’t expect their skepticism.”
“Jack and Kelly have both been with me since I started on the Cincinnati city council. They’re very protective of me.” Landon smiled. “Probably the best word for it.”
“You’re lucky you have staff like that. People who really believe in you.”
We didn’t say much else until we reached the hotel lobby. When we did, I turned to him and studied his face. “Did you really want me to come with you to visit the phone bank this afternoon?”
“Of course I do. I saw you turn it on last night with that woman at the restaurant, and with my staff just now. Saw you work it in a way no one else can. You’ve got something, and this campaign needs it.” He paused. “I need it.”
“Well, I don’t want to disappoint someone who needs me.” I bit back a smile. “That would be cruel.”
A moment passed between us, and I felt something change, an electric charge that wasn’t there before.
Landon rocked on his feet and stepped away. “Be ready at noon,” he said. “We have an almost two-hour drive ahead of us.”
The phone bank headquarters for the Ohio Republican Party sat in a taupe-colored strip mall on the north side of Columbus, and could have been located in any Midwestern city. Kelly parked Landon’s campaign van in the lot just after 2:00 PM and twisted around in the front seat. “Welcome to the glamorous world of statewide politics,” she said to me. “It always sounds more fantastic than it is, trust me.”
“Well, like anything else, it’s all about turnout.” I pointed at the storefront, which I guessed had been either a Payless Shoe Store or a GNC. “And if they’re able to get people to the polls, then that’s what it takes.”
“We are sensing a good amount of excitement about Landon’s campaign.” Kelly turned off the van engine. “He’s tapped into some raw nerves.”
“That’s because it’s all about jobs. Jobs and the economy.” Landon opened his car door. “We keep the message on that, and we’ll win. Patrick Blanco is the DC establishment, and the old guard has left this state behind. Job leaving left and right. No one in our state government cares to fix it. But I do.”
Kelly, Landon, Jack, and I filed into the call center a few seconds later, and I made sure I let the three of them go ahead of me. I wanted to get a better view of how Landon interacted with the volunteers, and I didn’t want him getting too many q
uestions about me or why I’d suddenly shown up in a flyover state two weeks before a huge election. The glass front door and street-level windows showed off a rectangular room filled with dilapidated cubicles, a small reception area, rows of computers, and campaign signs for Landon Marsh and the other Republican candidates on the slate. A group of volunteers sat in office chairs with black telephones to their ears.
As we walked through the door, an overweight man in khakis and a navy sweater rushed to greet us.
“So glad to have you here this afternoon, Representative Marsh.” The man wiped his right hand on his pants leg and then extended it so that Landon could shake it. “It’s really an extraordinary honor. I’m Matthew Strong, volunteer coordinator for this phone bank.”
“Nice to meet you, Matthew, and the pleasure is all mine.”
Matthew’s round face turned red and I realized that he’d anticipated this moment for most of the day. When he finished shaking Landon’s hand, he stepped backward and motioned to the two long rows of office cubicles. “We have about twenty volunteers here right now, and we’re averaging between twenty and twenty-five a day this month.” As Matthew talked, he turned further toward the main section of the room. He also made several wide gestures as he tried to drive home how important this work was to the state Republican officers.
“We have all kinds of tracking for each voter, and If you want to follow me, I can show you the—” Matthew bumped the large coffee pot with a plump, freckled hand, sending the urn clattering to the floor. He shrieked. “Oh, my god! Oh, Jesus, I—”
The rest of us scrambled to get out of the way of the hot liquid that spewed over the table, onto Landon’s jacket, and then to the ancient carpet. The now-empty pot rolled underneath the table and came to rest beside the leg.
“Oh, god.” Matthew looked from the spilled coffee to our group. “Your jacket is ruined. I am so sorry. I just—” Matthew broke off, at a loss for words or explanation. Behind him, a few phone-bank volunteers stood up from their cubicles. One frowned as he tried to speak with a caller while figuring out what had just happened. That person didn’t look more than twenty-five years old.
“It’s not a big deal. Don’t worry about it.” Landon pulled his jacket off and flapped it to brush off the remaining liquid. “It’s not that hot. And it’s nothing a trip to Widmer’s Dry Cleaning can’t fix.”
“Good god, this is just my—”
“Trust me. It’s fine. Let me help with that.” Landon grabbed a roll of paper towels off the table next to the coffee station and threw a few down on the floor. As he worked to sop up the mess, he glanced at me, and a half-smile floated across his face.
“Just another day on the campaign trail,” he muttered. “Bet you already regret your decision to come here.”
“Not in the least,” I said, and a half-second later, I noticed I was smiling, too.
To be honest, I didn’t know what Kathryn thought of me. I just knew that I cared to find out. I wanted to read her. Wanted to know her. And wanted to connect with her.
We got back to the Hilton around seven. Kathryn got out of the van, insisting that she’d had a good afternoon in Columbus, but all of us knew better. She might have wanted to window dress, but it wouldn’t work. The coffee disaster had just been the beginning. After we visited the phone bank, Kelly suggested we canvas a few neighborhoods, and that didn’t go very well, either. We hadn’t picked the friendliest streets in central Ohio, so we ended our day with a few slammed doors and voters who seemed annoyed to find us knocking on their doors.
Still, Kathryn seemed undaunted. “This is just the cost of winning votes,” she told me after we decided to call it quits on the canvassing. “Not everyone’s going to be friendly to our message.”
Jack laughed without humor. “This whole effort has felt like two steps forward and one step backward. Hard to imagine we’re almost at the end of this.”
“But you’re winning,” she said. “And that’s all that matters.”
“We can’t afford to get too complacent.”
On the way back to Cincinnati, Kathryn tried to sound encouraging. She told Kelly and Jack about the television ads her father’s super PAC planned to make, and she shared a few political blog posts she found that didn’t show Patrick Blanco in a favorable light. “It takes at least three interactions to make a sale,” she said during the long and mostly silent ride back to the city. “Just have to keep remembering that.”
Perhaps that’s why, once I got to my Mt. Adams townhouse, I couldn’t stop thinking about her. Kathryn dominated my mind as I picked my way through the mail, paid bills, cooked dinner, and went for an evening run through Eden Park. After I took a shower, I couldn’t stand it anymore. Simply couldn’t take it. So, I found my phone in the kitchen and sent her a text.
You busy?
She answered about three minutes later.
Just about to wander downstairs to the Palm Court in search of a strong Manhattan.
I grinned. Exactly what I’d hoped. She hadn’t turned in for the night. I punched out a quick reply.
That bar makes a great one. But you shouldn’t have that drink alone.
Her reply came faster, almost twice as fast as her first text.
Since you’re the only person I know in town, I hope that means you’ll come join me.
Be right over, I wrote back.
Kathryn had a seat at the end of the oblong bar in the center of Palm Court’s main dining room. She had a glass of red wine in front of her, and her attention fixed on the piano player seated atop the main dais at the far end of the room. She didn’t notice me until I stood a few inches behind her.
“Red wine? I thought we were drinking Manhattans,” I said.
She whirled around, and the flip of her hair gave me a whiff of her perfume. Expensive. Classic. Not too fruity, and just the right mix of floral. “You startled me.”
“I’m good at that.” I sat down on the stool beside her and signaled the bartender. “What’s in your glass?”
“Oh, it’s nothing. Pinot noir; the bartender chose it. I was just biding time.” She traced her index finger around the rim of the glass. “Waiting for someone. Someone important to share that Manhattan with.”
“Well, don’t let me stop you. Wouldn’t want to keep you from someone like that.”
“I’ll let you know when he shows up.” Kathryn laughed. “In the meantime, you’re welcome to keep me company.”
She had charm and class. I’d always known that. She hadn’t lost any of that since graduation from Choate. If anything, she’d refined it. This was a woman who knew how to get what she wanted, and how to talk even the most skeptical into anything.
“In that case, two Manhattans,” I said when the bartender arrived at our end of the bar. “Premium liquor, please.”
When he walked away, she raised her wine glass. “Big spender.” Kathryn swallowed what remained of the pinot noir in one large gulp.
“I always spend for my best supporters. And Van der Loon Global fits that bill these days.”
“Right.” She looked away. “Business, again. Of course.”
“Business and pleasure.” I eyed her. “We can mix the two. Nothing wrong with that.”
“Don’t ever become a Van der Loon, then. We’re not allowed to mix those things.” The small smile that had pulled at her eyes since I showed up at the bar vanished from her face. “At least, not the way that other people do.”
“That’s a shame.”
“You’re telling me.” She looked away for a beat, then let her gaze return to my face. “I should probably tell you something. Something a lot of people don’t know.”
“I’m all ears.”
“It’s…complicated.”
“What?” I leaned closer to her, hoping to put her at ease. “We’ve known each other since freshman Latin class, remember? You can tell me. I promise.”
“God, freshman Latin. I haven’t thought about that class in forever.” Kathryn shoo
k her head. “Mrs. Bridges. Awful. She gave me the only C I ever got at Choate.”
“Well, I only passed that class because Sonya Cross let me copy her homework.”
“Sonya Cross?” Kathryn laughed. “Haven’t heard that name in years, either.” She cocked her head. “What’s she doing now?”
“Last I saw on Facebook, she’s married to a finance guy from Wall Street and is a Hamptonite now.”
“Like most of them.” Kathryn shook her head. “But not me.”
“No, not you. I can’t see you that way at all.”
The bartender arrived with our drinks and set them on the dark-wood bar. He asked if we wanted anything else, then left us alone again.
“Cheers,” I said, and lifted my cocktail.
“Cheers.”
We clinked our glasses together, and I waited for her to take the first sip. She sucked down a long drink, then licked her bottom lip. “Amazing, Landon. You weren’t wrong.”
“I almost never am,” I said. “Not about things that matter.”
We drank three Manhattans each as we sat at the bar. Three. We also ate sliders and ordered a hummus plate, but that didn’t dull the buzz at all. In fact, by the time Landon paid the bill and escorted me to the elevator—with me stumbling along beside him—my knees felt weak and my head spun.
“This is not the way I’m supposed to help your campaign,” I said as I punched the up button. “This is not part of the plan.”
“Gotta let loose sometime.” Landon propped his shoulder against the cold marble that rimmed the elevator door in the lobby. “And you’re not the one who came home from Columbus with a ruined sports coat.”
“That was pretty funny.” I giggled. “Just the look on your face—I wish I’d had my camera out when it happened.”
