“Fair point.”
“Winning this election is the only way to show Curtis that he can’t tell me how to live.”
“So, in order to fight for the right to freedom of expression, you’re going to…stifle your right to free expression?”
“I figured you would appreciate the irony.”
“Well, I appreciate how frustrating the world can be,” she said. “And I get it. How can I help?”
“There is one thing I couldn’t ask Daniel.” I’d been too embarrassed, especially after telling him about my degree in political science. Which I did have, but I didn’t go to school in New York, so it wasn’t quite as useful as if I were running for office in California.
“Yeah?”
“Can you give me a crash course on how the state legislature works? My background is mostly federal. Why are we even having an election in the middle of winter?”
She laughed and sat up straight. “That I can. But first, we should take two minutes and grab some wine.”
As soon as we returned to our posts, she gave me an overview. The New York State Legislature was made up of two houses, like Congress (and all the other states, apparently). We had the State Senate and the Assembly. One hundred and fifty people made up the Assembly; the number of Senators could apparently vary (for reasons I asked Lana to save for another time), but there were sixty-three at the moment.
“Or sixty-two, anyway. Since Tiberius resigned.”
“Right.”
Normally, all the seats in both houses went up for re-election every two years, just like the U.S. House of Representatives. But Lana explained, when someone vacated a seat mid-term, the law called for a special election to be held to fill it. The specially elected member would serve until the end of the original term.
“Hold up,” I said. “So you’re saying, if I win, Curtis could just run again in November and we’d go through this all again?”
She shrugged. “Theoretically, I suppose. Most people who lose an election don’t run against the same person twice, but it could happen. If he thinks you’re in over your head and won’t try to get re-elected, he might try to get the seat back into Baker hands.”
“Then what’s the point? I’m running for an office I might lose at the end of the year, anyway.”
“Hypothetically? Yes. But the thing with state senate is—you always have to run again in two years. It’s never a guaranteed job for long.”
“Why not just leave the spot empty?”
“Because there are some important votes coming up that the party wants to win. The balance of power is very close, and every vote makes a difference. The Senate isn’t going to wait to conduct business until all the seats are filled. Things happen when they happen. And we’ve got bills on parental leave and minimum wage and health insurance and other really important issues.”
“Is that why the party is willing to take a chance on me?”
“I’m sure it is,” she said. “You’ve got a real opportunity to make important changes if you get into the Senate right now. Not to mention, the seat won’t stay empty. If you don’t run, Curtis gets it, and his vote could be the tie-breaker in the wrong direction.”
I thought about Curtis’s smug smile, about the look on Helen’s face when she showed me the injunction. About the insulting language used in the motion to get the court order against us in the first place.
“You’re right. And if he runs against me again, then I will beat that weasel as many times as it takes. I’m going to let the people of Saratoga know that the Morality Police can’t stifle freedom of expression. If they’re allowed to shut down pole now, what’s next?”
“You’ve got this!”
We raised our glasses at our screens in a toast, and I sent my best friend an air kiss.
“I probably shouldn’t drink much more. I can’t be hung over if I’m meeting Erica tomorrow.”
“Who?”
“The image consultant Daniel wants to hire. If she agrees, we’re meeting first thing tomorrow morning.
“Hold up.” Her eyes widened. “Erica Wentworth?”
“You know her?” I muttered under my breath, “Maybe you should be the one running.”
“I heard that,” she said.
“It’s just—you know the law. You know how all this works. You hate your job. And apparently, you know all the people involved already.”
“I’m a lawyer,” she reminded me gently. “It’s a relatively small circle. Besides, I don’t know Erica well. I just know the name. She’s the real deal. She’s worked with multiple senator’s wives, and she even did a stint in Melania Trump’s press office.”
“So I’ve heard. Erica’s credentials are fab. But I’m also acutely aware that Melania and I don’t exactly have the same ideologies. Why do I even want someone from her staff?”
Lana shook her head. “Oh, no. There are plenty of people in Washington who’ll put party ahead of everything, even common sense or morals. But there are also people like Erica, who are more about the ideas, the principles. Her thing is helping people with their public presentation, and she’s good at it. She wants people to win or lose based on their message, not how they look when they give it.”
Her words reassured me. After all, Lana repeated what Daniel told me. While Daniel might be something of a question mark, Lana was one hundred percent Team Mel. We’d been friends a long time. We’d been through boyfriends and exes (both of us) and lost jobs (mine) and bar exams (hers). She’d guide me through this.
CHAPTER 7
Teddy Bear: Another showstopper. This move looks extremely difficult, because you appear to be suspended only by one armpit, but with the back of your hip pressing against the pole, you’re totally stable. It always seemed impossible to me, but the first time I tried it, I surprised myself.
- Push and Pole Fitness Tutorials, Vol. 3
The next morning, I groaned when my alarm clock went off at the ungodly hour of eight o’clock. One of the nice things about teaching dance was that my work mostly occurred between the hours of four and ten p.m. I’d tried to go to bed early after getting off the phone with Lana, but found myself too jazzed to sleep. After about twenty minutes of tossing and turning, I’d gone online, researching local history (okay, listening to Hamilton), reading up on special election rules, and finally, googling Daniel McCarthy.
I shouldn’t have, but I wanted to know more about him. He’d gone to school with Lana, which I knew, and apparently they both went to school with Erica. There were about a zillion images of him online. The same woman periodically appeared beside him. She was pretty. Tall, thin, with artfully arranged dark hair that must’ve taken hours, lashes that went on for days, big brown eyes. Creamy skin.
The pictures didn’t tell me who she was, but she must have a lot of money to look that good. Still, the mystery woman and Daniel were always within about six inches of each other, often smiling, frequently laughing. It didn’t take much to deduce that the two of them were a couple. She looked exactly like the type of woman a man in his position should be with. Ah, well.
So much for my dreams of those freckles. Dating my campaign manager was a terrible idea, anyway.
Still grumbling at the early awakening, I shoved the images from my mind and threw back the covers, shivering in the morning air. Today was going to be busy and stressful. Letting myself go all dreamy-eyed over my campaign manager—or worse, jealous of a total stranger—wasn’t going to improve anything. The legislature probably also started its day before noon. If I wanted to do the job I was running for, I’d better get used to dragging myself out of bed early. Might as well start now.
Daniel told me little about Erica other than her bio, so when I opened the door an hour later to find a perfectly coiffed woman about my age, surprise took my breath away. We had the same dark brown hair, the same brown eyes, same peaches ‘n cream complexion. She wore a black pin-striped skirt suit with a dove gray blouse and that cost ab
out as much as my mortgage.
Other than our clothes, the primary difference was in our demeanor. She stood like someone shoved a ruler up her butt. Every hair on her head was scraped back into a bun so tight, I wondered how she could blink.
“You must be Melody Martin,” she said. “I’m Erica Wentworth.”
“Hi, Erica. It’s nice to meet you.” I extended my hand. “And it’s Mel.”
She tilted her head a fraction before lifting two fingertips toward me and dropping them the second our skin brushed. Erica was apparently not the type of woman who appreciated a firm handshake. A shame, really. My grip might be the primary thing I had to offer the good people of New York.
With a start, I realized that she didn’t just resemble me: Erica was the woman I’d spent a good portion of last night examining, finding her in picture after picture beside Daniel. She looked a little different without the full-on glam makeup, but it was definitely her.
Humph. He could’ve mentioned that he was bringing in his girlfriend to make me over. That would’ve been way less awkward than me figuring it out on my own. And it would’ve saved me five minutes on the phone gushing to Lana about how hot he was.
“Are you going to invite me in, or just stare?” she asked.
“Oh, sorry. Of course. Please come in.” I stepped backward, holding the door open.
Taking in her perfectly-tailored suit made me feel extremely underdressed in my yoga pants and oversized sweatshirt, hair in loose waves around my shoulders, face make-up free. But in my defense, we were supposed to be taking a look in my closet before heading to the mall. How nice did I have to look?
I gestured to my outfit. “I’m sorry. I thought casual would be okay.”
“I get that, and normally it would be fine,” she said. “But the moment you declare, you’re a public figure. Gym clothes are for wearing at the gym only.”
“Right. Sorry, I didn’t think of that. I’ll go change.”
“No problem. I’ll take a peek around.” She moved toward the living room, eyes on my pole. I left her there, racing into my bedroom so I could throw on jeans and a t-shirt. My outfit wasn’t nearly as nice as Erica’s tailored navy suit, but at least it couldn’t be described as “gym clothes.” I didn’t own any “work clothes,” and I wasn’t going to wear a cocktail dress to the mall.
When I returned, Erica stood in the far corner, one hand spinning the forty-millimeter chrome pole I installed the day after moving in. “What’s this?”
She had to know who I was, what I did for a living. Otherwise, why was she here? But I bit back a sarcastic reply. “That’s my fitness pole, for when I work out at home. I also give private lessons here sometimes.”
“You’re a stripper?”
“No, I’m a certified pole fitness instructor. I happen to know many lovely people who are strippers, but I’m not one of them.” “Many” was a bit of an exaggeration, but her tone irked me. My friend Janey used to be a stripper, and people loved her. She was the one who got me into pole.
“Certainly,” Erica said. “I guess that’s why I’m here. You live in a conservative area, and some people might not appreciate the distinction. Especially with Curtis riling them up.”
“I can certainly see where ignorant people might ignore the distinction.”
“Touché. Unfortunately, we need even ignorant people to vote for you.”
Right. She made a good point, although her delivery could use some work. “Isn’t this what you’re here to help me with? To present a positive public image, to put a good spin on things? To show people who look down on me—or strippers—that there’s nothing wrong with teaching pole fitness?”
She shook her head. “No. I’m here to teach you how to behave like a State Senator. Step one, you must dress appropriately at all times, even when exercising. You may not work out naked, especially where other people might see you. You will dress appropriately in public: no yoga pants or tank tops outside of a gym. You’ll wear professional attire when you leave the house.”
“I don’t work out naked. I wear a bra top and booty shorts.”
“Okay. Why can’t you work out in pants and a shirt that covers your stomach?”
“Because pole works better when you have more skin on the pole.”
She started to say something that stopped and tilted her head. “Tell me more.”
“It’s about friction. For some reason, clothes slide off the pole more easily, unless you have a silicone sleeve, which is really a separate issue. With a sleeve—.”
Erica held up one hand. “I don’t need a dissertation. Just the summary.”
“Right. Skin is what sticks to the pole, not fabric. You need to stick so you don’t fall. That’s important when learning the moves. I’ve been doing it long enough that it’s not a huge deal, but the lack of clothes still helps with movement. Plus, you get hot.”
“Thank you. I’ll see what I can do with that. Meanwhile, cover up as much as possible when you leave the house. Business casual clothes at all times.”
I opened my mouth to protest that I didn’t own any business casual attire, but she kept talking. I’d get some at the mall. My credit card would protest, but my birthday was coming. Mom and Dad usually sent me a nice check, since I couldn’t see them much anymore.
“Step two. This—” Erica gestured at my pole—”needs to come down. Senators do not have stripper poles in their living rooms.”
“It’s a fitness pole.” I corrected her automatically.
“I don’t care what you call it, Ms. Martin. People see it, they think stripper. You need to take it down. If this is going to work, you have to listen to my advice, or there’s no point in my being here.” Her eyes swept up and down my body. “And trust me, Ms. Martin, if you want to get elected, you’re going to need me.”
For just a moment, I hated her. I hated stupid Erica Wentworth and her stupid tailored suits and her stupid perfect hair and her perfect nails with every fiber of my being. Erica’s look wasn’t practical for me. If I grew my nails out as long as hers, I’d stab myself in the boob doing inversions. (It happened.)
But I kept my mouth shut. I’d made a commitment, and darn it, I was going to see this through. Even if a little voice in the back of my mind suggested that the type of people who wouldn’t like me the way I already was weren’t going to vote for me no matter what. After all, Daniel and I didn’t intend to hide my background. There was no point: Curtis knew.
Daniel had explained that we’d do much better being open and honest about my past and my desire to help all people who lived in the district then waiting for Curtis to drop a bombshell at the worst possible moment. Based on what I’d seen at the protest, he would delight in “revealing” me to the world as a sinner, and I didn’t need that kind of negative energy.
I also didn’t need the negative energy of spending all day arguing with the woman hired to help me get elected. So I bit my tongue and agreed to take the pole down, fingers crossed behind my back.
Besides, the pole was portable. It could go back up whenever I wanted. Like every day when I worked out.
From there, we went into my bedroom. Erica poured through my closet, pulling out one item of clothing after another. I waited while she went through my glittery make-up collection, while she counted my pairs of pole-dancing high heels (thirty-seven).
“Do you own anything appropriate?” she finally asked with a sigh.
“Depends on how you define appropriate,” I shot back. “I’ve got tons of clothes that are completely appropriate for teaching fitness classes, especially pole. That’s what I do for a living. You ever tried to work out in a business suit?”
“You know that’s not what I meant.” She glanced at her watch. “Good thing I insisted on meeting early. Get in the car. We’re going to the mall.”
CHAPTER 8
Dragon: Some moves look extremely difficult but are easy. This is one that almost looks effortless when
done correctly. However, it takes a lot of strength to hold on. And don’t eat right before you try it.
- Push and Pole Fitness Tutorials, Vol. 3
We drove in silence, Erica focusing on the road while I fumed over her comments. Yes, I mostly had workout gear—because that’s what I did for a living! If I’d known a few weeks ago that I was going to need a bunch of fancy clothes, I could’ve gone shopping.
I wanted to give Erica the benefit of the doubt, but she needed to cut me some slack if this was going to work. Too bad I’d never manage to get her onto the pole. Loosening up enough to have some fun would do her a world of good.
After she parked, instead of heading for one of the department stores, Erica surprised me by entering a locally-owned coffee shop on the outside of the mall. She strode directly to the counter without pausing. “We’ll have two cappuccinos for here, please.”
Standing a head taller than other people had its benefits. “Actually,” I said, “I’ll have a large caramel latte with extra whipped cream.”
Erica glared back at me. “We’re not here for dessert.”
I cut her off. “Don’t even. I met you, you criticized my home. We’re here to shop. I’m willing to wear whatever you tell me, change my hair and my makeup, my entire look. Whatever you want. I’ll do whatever you say regarding my image, but you will not mess with my coffee. I want a caramel latte with extra whipped cream.”
Behind the counter, the barista chuckled before looking down at the register. Erica’s eyes widened, then she looked away. If I didn’t know better, I’d have sworn she hid a smile. Or even a bit of respect.
Ignoring her, I handed my debit card to the barista. Erica moved over toward the station where people awaited their drinks. I stood about ten feet away, facing out the window.
She didn’t speak again until we reached our table. “Making a scene in public does not befit a senator. You have to behave appropriately at all times. At this rate, I don’t see how you’re going to be ready for the election.”
Poll Dancer Page 5
