Poll Dancer

by Laura Heffernan

  Right. Improving my image probably didn’t include screaming at my image consultant in public. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, counting to five the way I did before practicing a new or difficult move. Then I opened my eyes and forced a smile to my lips.

  “Thank you.”

  “Much better.” Daniel’s gaze moved up and down, taking in my new look. When he got to my hair, his eyes widened almost imperceptibly. He had a good poker face, but not that good.

  “That bad?” My hand went instantly to pat my head. I mean, sure, I hated the look, but Mom’s hair looked great on her, and people said we resembled each other.

  He shook his head. “No, I’m sorry. You look lovely. Just…different.”

  “Good different, at least? Or different like ready to enter retirement?”

  Leaning forward, he kissed my cheek, near enough my lips to send a little thrill through me. A thrill I instantly quelled. This was business only. “You’re a knockout in anything, Mel.”

  “Thanks.” I beamed at him, ignoring the butterflies in my stomach. Daniel wasn’t available to me, for at least three reasons. “Oh, but call me Melody.”

  “Sure. Sorry, I thought you preferred Mel, since that’s what Lana calls you.”

  I made a face. “I do, but Erica said I should use my full name to distance the Senate candidate from the dance teacher.”

  “In my experience, people don’t really change, no matter what they call themselves,” Daniel said. “But Erica knows best.”

  Darn it, he was such a great guy. Too bad I couldn’t meet someone like him who was single.

  “You’re a monster by the way,” he said. “Every muscle in my body is sore. It hurts to blink. I didn’t even know that was possible.”

  I grinned up at him. The banter helped put me at ease. “You’re welcome.”

  “When I can feel my arms again, I plan to return the favor. We’re hitting my gym, and I’m going to make you sweat.”

  “You’re on!” The thought of getting sweaty with him made my face grow warm. Purely platonic, Mel. I surveyed the room while sipping my champagne. Still no sign of Lana.

  “This place looks great,” I said. “I’m surprised we had room in the budget to set up something so fancy. When you first mentioned having a fundraiser, I thought we’d be hanging out at the local 99 Restaurant.”

  He shrugged. “My sister’s the manager here. She donates the space periodically for events in exchange for the tax write-off.”

  “Okay. That makes me feel better. At least if I bomb, you didn’t waste a ton of money.”

  “You won’t bomb.” His confidence put me at ease. After all, Daniel was investing a lot of time and some party money to support me. He wouldn’t do it if he didn’t believe in me. “You’re going to be great tonight. Now laugh like I said something funny.”

  “A little funny, or hilarious?”

  He chuckled. “Funny, but not knee-slapping funny. This isn’t the place to let out peals of laughter.”

  I summoned a mental image of the first time I attempted to spin around the pole by my knees. One leg had slipped off and I went flying across the room, nearly knocking Lana over in the process. Recalling the look on her face, I giggled.

  “Much better. Let’s go visit the hors d’oeuvres table.”

  Smart man. I never turned down food, and I hadn’t had time to eat since lunch.

  My excitement dissipated a bit when we reached the table to survey the offerings. A lot of finger foods, much of it greasy. Some tiny sandwiches, which might be okay if they weren’t smothered in mayo. A veggie platter, which looked delicious, but couldn’t be considered a full meal. With my metabolism and muscle mass, I needed to eat about twenty-five hundred calories even on non-workout days, which translated to about seventeen of those teeny sandwiches for dinner. People knocked pole, but the daily workouts kept me in better shape than most of them ever dreamed.

  Before the next event, I’d have to talk to Daniel about asking the caterers to provide something more substantial. Or eat first. I couldn’t stuff my face at the buffet table all night when I was supposed to be dazzling people.

  Not wanting to show my disappointment, I plastered a smile on my face. “This is amazing! How did you throw everything together on such short notice?”

  “I didn’t,” he said. “The party scheduled this event the day we found out about Tiberius’s resignation.”

  “What if you hadn’t found a candidate?”

  He shrugged. “We either would have canceled or turned it into a fundraiser for something else. One of the benefits of doing business with family. Luckily, we didn’t have to.”

  “Do you think any of these people will support me?”

  “It’s my job to talk them into it,” he said. “Stop fidgeting.”

  “Sorry.” Hoping to see a familiar face, I scanned the crowd again. I didn’t see Lana, but my gaze returned to Erica and the guy she was still talking to. The crowd had shifted, and for the first time, I got a view of his face. “Hold on. What’s she doing speaking with the enemy? Why is he even here?”

  “Erica and I have known Curtis for years,” he said. “And I imagine he came to check out the competition.”

  I didn’t ask the big question on my mind, which was Is it a good idea to hinge my success on someone who is so comfortable with my opponent? Instead, I asked, “Are the three of you friends?”

  “We’re acquaintances who love a good verbal sparring,” he said. “Relax. Erica has been in this business a long time. She has a lot of contacts, and she knows how to work a room. She’s also apolitical. She’s on money’s side, and the party wants this seat badly enough to spend the money.”

  The idea that she might ditch me if we ran out of money didn’t exactly reassure, but there was no point in arguing about it. I took another bite of my shrimp cocktail and said nothing. Across the room, Curtis saw us looking and said something to Erica. A moment later, he approached.

  “Daniel! How the heck are you? It’s been a long time.”

  “Hello, Curtis.” His voice was flat, utterly devoid of emotion.

  “Is that any way to greet an old friend? You don’t look happy to see me.”

  “I’m delighted that you spent seventy-five dollars to join us,” Daniel said evenly. “You remember Ms. Martin?”

  “Yes, of course.” Curtis’s eyes swept over me in a way that would’ve been creepy coming from any other guy, but instead made me feel like a kindergartner who wore the wrong costume to the school play. “I almost didn’t recognize you with your clothes on.”

  “Fitness instructors frequently walk around fully clothed, you know.” I muttered. “Also, I was wearing a massive coat when we met, you tool.”

  He wasn’t listening. He’d already turned back to Daniel. Not wanting to feel like a third wheel, I made an excuse and went to look for my date. Maybe on the way, I could find Erica and comment on how much I loved her dress. Bitch.

  Before I got to Erica, Lana stepped into my path. A genuine smile replaced the forced, now painful look I’d painted on when talking to Curtis.

  “Thank goodness you’re here. You look right at home.”

  She glanced at her tailored navy gown, which definitely did not come off the sales rack at Macy’s like mine. Lana was a brilliant seamstress, and also, she said it was easier to make her own clothes because she was so short. Nothing fit off the rack, anyway. Too bad she didn’t have time to make me anything. She’d pulled her shoulder-length black hair back into the sleek chignon that I’d dreamed of wearing this evening. Subtle eyeliner and mascara highlighted her oval brown eyes, but a slash of red lipstick gave her a pop of color. Overall, the effect was absolutely stunning.

  “I make an excellent Senator’s wingwoman,” she said. “I’m here to support you in any way I can.”

  A server wandered by, the scent of bacon-wrapped shrimp making my stomach growl loudly. I snagged a couple before realizing
I had no napkin, no plate, and nowhere to put my used skewers when I finished. Fancy cocktail dresses inexplicably contained no pockets, and my not-remotely-posh purse had been left at home in favor of this impossibly tiny clutch that fit only my keys, my phone, and a lipstick. Lana saved me, offering her empty plate and unused napkin before Daniel approached with a well-dressed older couple.

  As we discussed my platform, I examined them carefully. Everyone here looked the same in their expensive suits, enormous diamond earrings (on the women, at least), and perfectly styled hair. How did they look so put together? Tendrils were already escaping my up-do, and I’d barely been here fifteen minutes. If I actually won this thing, I’d have to either hire a full-time stylist to follow me around or shave my head.

  Speaking of the devil, she appeared at Lana’s shoulder and apologized for interrupting. With her stood a tall, stocky bald man with a gold earring and a black goatee. He looked like he could bench press a basketball team. The kind of guy who got typecast as a security guard—but probably wasn’t flexible enough to touch his toes.

  “Melody, I’d like you to meet Jerry Braithwaite,” Erica said. “Jerry is a local reporter who has agreed to interview you about the campaign later this week.”

  “Oh, cool! I can’t wait to get some good press.” I offered him my hand. “I look forward to working with you.”

  The older couple turned away, promising a generous donation and wishing us luck. Daniel pulled Erica close with one arm, and she kissed his cheek. “Thanks for coming tonight,” Daniel said. “I know it was last minute.”

  “That dress is gorgeous,” Lana added. I wanted to kick her, but she hadn’t heard the story yet.

  My teeth ground together, but no one noticed. I managed to rearrange my face quickly into a smile. My campaign manager was allowed to have a girlfriend, even if she was pure evil. Even if he were available, this was the worst possible time for me to enter into a relationship with my campaign manager. We needed to keep things professional.

  “Oh, this old thing?” Erica smoothed the shimmering fabric over her hips. I couldn’t deny it looked stunning on her, the green cloth vibrant against her skin. But, dammit, that was my dress. I should’ve just bought it. The sleeveless top and body-hugging cut suited me much more than the frumpy gray sheath she’d talked me into wearing.

  “Had it since prom night, right?”

  She smirked as her eyes swept me from head-to-toe. “That dress is perfect for you. I love your flats.”

  My blood boiled when I saw the peep-toed heels poking out the bottom of her gown. I opened my mouth to put her in her place, but Lana spoke first.

  “The flats are nice, but Mel’s got the most amazing high-heel collection. Towering over everyone else takes a lot of confidence. Her self-possession is one of the reasons we’ve been BFFs forever.” She squeezed my hand and winked. “I’m glad this campaign is going to let everyone see how amazing she is.”

  Something inside me eased. Everything at the party was foreign, there wasn’t any real food, my shoes were stupidly flat, Daniel wasn’t available, Erica sucked all the joy out of my life, but Lana supported me, no matter what.

  “Thank you,” I mouthed at her behind Erica’s back.

  Daniel excused himself, and a moment later, a clinking sound filled the room. He stood near a microphone I hadn’t noticed being set up, tapping his fork against a champagne glass to command everyone’s attention. A moment later, the crowd stood silently, waiting for him to speak.

  “Thank you, everyone, for coming tonight,” he said. “Thank you to the DNC for setting this up, and huge thanks to our guest of honor, Melody Martin!”

  My face grew warm. While of course I knew Daniel planned a big introduction at this event, I hadn’t expected to be singled out in front of the crowd while holding a dirty napkin and chugging a glass of champagne. My immediate instinct was to stuff the napkin into my bra, but Lana saved me yet again by taking it.

  With Erica’s eyes boring holes into me, I forced the corners of my lips upward and moved to stand on the platform beside my campaign manager. He talked about my ties to the community, my love of the Capital District, my passionate spirit, and love of Constitutional freedoms. He also spoke of individualism, bringing in new blood to shake things up rather than sticking with politics as usual.

  Around the room, heads started to nod. People seemed to agree with Daniel, to even be happy to see me standing beside them. By the time he finished, I thought I might get a vote or two. He raised his glass. “To Melody!”

  “To Melody!” the crowd cheered.

  I beamed out at them, feeling excited about my decision for the first time since Daniel questioned my image and professionalism back in his office. Maybe things would be okay. My prepared remarks were short but sweet. Erica may be a pain, but she wrote a decent speech. Okay, fine, a good one. People seemed to be responding to me. A good start.

  After I thanked everyone for attending and reminded them to enjoy the appetizers, I rejoined Lana.

  “You did great,” she said. “We’ve got people intrigued, excited to learn more about you. That’s exactly what you want at one of these events.”

  “Glad to finally be doing something right,” I muttered.

  “Shush. You’re doing awesome. It’s tough to be so far out of your comfort zone.”

  From here, I couldn’t even see my comfort zone. “Thanks. You really do make a terrific Senator’s wingwoman.”

  “And don’t you forget it when it’s time to pass out staff jobs,” she said.

  Her response startled me. “You’re looking for a new job?”

  “I don’t know, maybe. Sometimes I think it would be nice to try something new, make more of a difference. But my job is decent for now. I’ll be fine.” She sipped her champagne as she surveyed the crowd. “That was a great speech.”

  “Thanks. Erica wrote it,” I said. “She’s got a way with words.”

  “She can take time to warm up to new people, but she’s good at her job,” Lana said. “I know you’ve had some issues, but I think something’s up with her.”

  My ears perked up. Relationship problems? But not really, because that was more drama I didn’t need. “What do you mean?”

  She nodded in Erica’s direction. “First, those are last season’s shoes. They may be expensive, but she’s had them at least a year. The Erica I knew wouldn’t be caught dead in shoes older than about three months. Also, the price tag for that dress is tucked inside.”

  “You can tell that?”

  “It ruins the line under her arm,” Lana said.

  Since she was a seamstress and I cared little about nice clothes, I believed her. “Weird, but no big deal.”

  “Not a big deal, no. But it makes me wonder if she plans to return it tomorrow. An old trick to save money.” With a shrug, Lana finished her champagne and set the glass on a nearby tray. “Anyway, congratulations on a successful event. How do you like swimming in the deep end?”

  There was no real food at my party, and I was going to pass out if I didn’t get some calories soon. I cursed myself for not stopping at a drive-through on the way here, but I couldn’t risk showing up with grease stains on my suit. Also, I’d expected there to be food. Everyone who was supposed to be on my side was friendly with my opposition. My campaign manager was dating my image consultant, who just happened to hate me. She looked amazing in the dress she stole from me. My BFF made a much better senator than I ever would, so much that I wondered why she wasn’t running herself.

  To answer Lana’s question, I wasn’t sure I liked swimming in the deep end one bit. Was standing up for freedom of expression worth all of this?

  CHAPTER 12

  Boomerang: When done right, this move feels like you’re flying. You’ll know when you’ve got it.

  - Push and Pole Fitness Tutorials, Vol. 1

  Once Daniel introduced me around, the fundraiser turned out to be a lot of fun. Lana got a
call from work and had to leave, but by then I’d hit my stride. No one mentioned the viral video, which had been one of my biggest fears for the evening. A lot of people expressed excitement at the opportunity to vote for someone who wanted to talk about environmental issues and social issues, rather than cutting taxes or stopping immigration.

  “All the money in the world doesn’t do you any good if we run out of natural resources,” I said to one woman. “You can’t eat a number in a bank account.”

  She leaned toward me conspiratorially, eyes dancing. “Don’t tell anyone, dear, but I find myself hoping that when we eventually have to abandon Earth for another planet, they’ll go back to a barter economy. Imagine all those billionaires who destroyed the planet trying to survive where their money can’t buy anything.”

  The comment made me view my companion in a new light. At first glance, she resembled those billionaires she referenced, with her expensive dress and dripping with gems. But I knew from Daniel that Mrs. Van Houten was a big party donor. She’d inherited loads of money from her parents, but she also donated a lot of it, mostly to environmental charities. Apparently, she also had a bit of a mercenary streak. I didn’t quite know what to make of her.

  “That would certainly be something,” I said, sipping my champagne. “But I do hope to pass laws that will push our eventual defection back a few generations. And I’d love to tax those billionaires enough to bring them down eight or ten tax brackets.”

  She laughed. “An excellent, very democratic answer. Tell Daniel to expect a donation from my accountant tomorrow.”

  Connecting with the first big name I spoke with certainly helped me feel more confident in my ability to woo voters. We weren’t looking for huge corporate fat cats to write checks—indeed, I didn’t think most of the big New York companies would appreciate my views on things like corporations paying taxes, cutting CEO salaries, and giving employees a good working environment. But if I could get individuals to support me, we could help narrow the gap between those who blindly voted for Curtis’s dad all these years and those who would appreciate having a choice.