Poll Dancer

by Laura Heffernan

  Beside me, I nudged Daniel. “Remind me that we need to start making sure people know that Baker Senior is gone and the person currently running is Baker Junior.”

  He laughed. “We’re on it. He’s definitely hoping to cash in on the family name. Tiberius’s ditching the populous and running away to live in a glorified van down by the river may have tarnished the Baker image a little, but the family’s been around forever. Curtis’s mom is related to the Schuyler sisters somehow. But people want a fresh face. They want a new voice, and they like having options.”

  “Ah, there’s a campaign slogan. Consider me, Option B.”

  He chuckled. “You’re a breath of fresh air, Melody. You brighten any room. Don’t be afraid to let yourself shine.”

  The words buoyed me through the rest of the evening. Any time I started to feel nervous, I thought back to what Daniel said—and the way he said it. I nibbed tiny sandwiches, laughed, made small talk, and moved around the room like I owned it. By the time we thanked everyone for coming, I was walking on air.

  Then I saw it. Once again, in the far corner of the room, Erica talking to Curtis. Old friends or not, he was still the competition. Had they been chatting this whole time?

  It was the end of the night, and my polished image was starting to droop. Mascara smeared under my eyes, and my cheeks were flushed from the heat in the room. Wearing this jacket with the dress may have been appropriate, but I was going to pass out if I didn’t get outside soon. My helmet hair remained untouched, but that hardly made me feel any better. In contrast, Erica looked as perfect as the moment she’d arrived. She could’ve stepped right off the red carpet before dropping by our little soiree. That gorgeous dress—my dress—hugged her curves, somehow making her look taller and more confident.

  In my mind’s eye, I stormed across the room, ripping her dress off before screaming, “You’re supposed to be on my side!”

  A terrific plan for maintaining my viral reputation, but not a good way to get votes in a semi-conservative New York district. Also a good way to get fired by my campaign manager on Day 1 of the official campaign. And possibly get hit with an assault charge. Not quite what I needed.

  Summoning all of my restraint, I forced myself to go over there and say good-bye to them. It was the right thing to do. Plus, if they were talking about me, maybe I’d hear something.

  “Thank you both for coming,” I said. “It was lovely to see you.”

  “Yes, of course,” Curtis said. “Excuse me, I need to make a call.”

  “You did well tonight,” Erica said when he was gone. “People seemed to respond to you.”

  “Thanks.” Her praise made me feel generous, even though I was still pissed about the dress. “Your speech was killer.”

  “That’s why they pay me the big bucks. I’m sure you didn’t think it was my personality.”

  I snorted. At least she understood how she could come across. That went a long way toward raising my opinion of her. Well, that and seeing the results of her hard work. This event had been a smashing success. Like it or not, she deserved a lot of credit.

  When Daniel arrived with my coat, I almost swooned with relief at realizing that I’d made it through the evening without embarrassing any of us. I thanked him profusely for his help and turned to leave.

  “Come on,” he said. “I’ll walk you out.”

  If my manager noticed the drastic change in my mood from earlier in the evening, he didn’t comment. Snow had started to fall, so we focused on navigating the sidewalk. As the flakes drifted around us, my mind drifted to all these people who’d come out to see me. I wondered what they would think of me, of my job, if they knew. How I would get them to vote for me. But no matter how I tried to distract myself, I remained very aware that Daniel was walking beside me, his arm close enough to brush against mine as he guided me through the slushy parking lot.

  Walking me to the car seemed beyond campaign manager duties. Maybe the two of us were becoming friends.

  Finally, the question that had been burning in my throat leaped out of me, interrupting something Daniel was saying about preparation. But in my current state, I couldn’t even pay attention to him. “Why aren’t the two of you leaving together?”

  “What? Who?”

  “Erica!”

  A bark of laughter escaped him. “Why would I go home with Erica?”

  His expression brought a wave of heat to my face. I hadn’t expected to need to explain this one. “Um, I googled you, and I thought…you two…Aren’t you a couple?”

  “Oh! Well, that explains a lot,” he said, almost to himself. “No. I’ve known Erica since college. During my freshman year, she dated my roommate. If I recall correctly, Frank dumped her after a few months because she was saving herself for marriage.”

  “Classy guy.”

  “Last I heard, he’d made a series of YouTube videos where he burps various national anthems.”

  “Please tell me you’re joking.”

  “I wish. He’s got over a million subscribers.”

  “Wow. That’s…depressing, actually.” I contemplated that for a moment, before Daniel’s earlier words sank in. “What does that explain?”

  He stopped in his tracks, looking puzzled. “What does what explain?”

  “When I said I thought you and Erica were a couple. What does that explain?”

  “Nothing.” He cleared his throat, looking over my head. “Forget I said anything.”

  We were almost to my car, but I didn’t want this conversation to end. I stopped and turned to face him. He stood closer than I realized. “No. Daniel, what does that explain? What are you talking about?”

  He sighed and glanced around before meeting my gaze. “When we first met, in the parking lot—there was a definite spark. I liked you. Of course I did. You’re pretty. You’re self-possessed and able to laugh at yourself.”

  Each word he said made me feel lighter. “I liked you, too.”

  “And until you showed up in my office as my candidate, I hoped you were going to call. I wanted to see you again.”

  “Oh.” My smile fell. As amazing as it was to hear that he’d liked me, too, our timing sucked. “I wanted to call you, but this seemed like such a bad time to start a relationship. Then in your office, well, it seemed like an even worse idea.”

  “Especially because I told you not to date.”

  “Well, yeah.” I sighed. “Anyway, then I saw the pictures, and I assumed you were with Erica, so it didn’t matter that you’re smart and good-looking and easy to talk to—”

  He put one finger to my lips. “Erica and I are old friends. You should’ve checked the dates on those pictures. She used to accompany me to events sometimes, but that was years ago.”

  I blinked at him several times. “So you’re exes?”

  “No. We worked together on a campaign for Marlowe Wright, back before she moved to D.C. We attended some events together as friends. She was married then. Moved back to Albany after her divorce.”

  “I feel like I shouldn’t admit how relieved I am to hear that.”

  He swept an errant eyelash off my cheek, hand lingering on my cheek for a heartbeat too long. I couldn’t breathe. “I know exactly how you feel.”

  My heart pounded.

  Leaning forward, Daniel brought his lips close to my ear. I shivered in a way that had nothing to do with the cold. “If we weren’t in public, I’d be kissing you right now.”

  “Erica would kill us,” I said. “But it would be worth it.”

  Smiling, he stepped back. He held out one hand, and when I took it, he lifted my fingers to his lips. Eyes never leaving mine, he moved slowly, an inch at a time. The anticipation thickened the air around us, and still I couldn’t move. Couldn’t say a word that might break the spell. When he finally kissed the back of my hand, a breathy sound escaped me. Half-moan, half-sigh. I’d never felt such an intense passion for someone I wasn’t already dating.


  Then he straightened and released me. “I’ll see you at the office tomorrow?”

  My mouth was so dry, I couldn’t speak. Instead, I simply nodded.

  After getting into the car, I sat there, watching him walk away. I caressed the spot where he’d kissed my hand before holding it against my lips.

  And none of it could mean anything. The timing was terrible. Daniel was my campaign manager. My opponent was desperate to prove I was a woman of loose morals, and my image consultant would throw a fit. Even if I got elected, it wouldn’t be appropriate. People would talk.

  Who knew the most difficult part about running for office would be not losing my heart?

  CHAPTER 13

  Yogini: Practice this one from the floor until you’re sure your armpit can hold your weight. You may also want to put down a crash mat, because you don’t want to land hard on your knees. This is the bow pose in yoga, except you’re hanging in mid-air.

  - Push and Pole Fitness Tutorials, Vol. 3

  Since I no longer had a job to go to, the next morning I showed up bright and early at campaign headquarters to find out how I could help. There must be something to do that was more productive than smiling prettily at the cameras, giving soundbites to the media, and shopping for ugly, uncomfortable clothes.

  Or lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, and thinking about that moment with Daniel after the fundraiser. It had been a mistake to admit having feelings for him. We needed to keep a professional distance if this thing was ever going to work. I knew it, and he knew it.

  According to my phone, the address Daniel had texted me was an ammo supply store that went out of business a few months earlier. A sign remained in the window, offering buy one get one free on certain…brands of bullets? To be honest, I had no idea what the ad was for.

  I found him inside the room, sweeping debris off the floor. He wore a suit similar to the one from the night we met. I’d never thought of myself as someone who went for men in suits, but that light blue shirt and gray-striped tie made my stomach do flip flops.

  “Interesting choice of office,” I said, handing him a latte. Then I turned and removed the sign from the window. “I see we’re out of business already.”

  “Oops. Thanks. ‘Choice’ isn’t the word I would use,” he said. “It’s local, it was available on short notice, and I know the guy who owns the building, so we got a deal.”

  I raised an eyebrow at him. “You friends with a lot of gun people?”

  “No. His ex-wife managed the rentals before they split. Heavy emphasis on the ex.” He sipped from his cup, then turned into the room. “Let me take you on a tour.”

  The prior tenant never removed their glass display counters, so Daniel had shoved them against the far wall before I arrived. For now, they were covered with stacks of paper. In the middle of the room, two desks with giant monitors and phones sat facing the door, waiting to greet anyone who should happen to stumble onto the premises. Hopefully unarmed.

  When we finished, Daniel turned to me and cleared his throat. “About last night…”

  I shook my head, not wanting to hear him dash my hopes all over again. “I know what you’re going to say. It’s not a good idea. Let’s just put it behind us and move on, okay? Focus on the election.”

  “Yeah.” He nodded, then took a long drink from his coffee. “Great. I’m, uh, glad you agree.”

  “Awesome!” The word sounded as forced as it felt. “Should we get to work?”

  Since I was at the moment the only volunteer, there was no time to waste. First, we took the time to set up a couple more desks for when we got additional workers. Cheap, but usable. They say if you really want to know someone, you should build furniture with them. Instead of wasting time arguing, Daniel simply pointed me at the desk on the right while he started on the one on the left. He probably didn’t intend for it to be a race, but, well…I won.

  Sure, mine wobbled a little when I set it in place, but the ground looked pretty uneven here. Daniel’s creation stood firmly against the tile floor, but he had three screws left over. Mentally, I made a note of which desk he’d made so I would never, ever sit at it. And maybe check it over after he went to lunch. Those screws could be important.

  “Hold on a sec.” He bent down and crawled under my desk.

  I tried not to admire the view. Never had a pair of charcoal-gray trousers looked so appealing. “Everything okay?”

  “Absolutely.” He backed out and grasped the edges of the desk. He wriggled it back and forth. It remained firm. “There you go.”

  “Did you just use the extra screws from your desk to level mine?”

  The tips of his ears turned red. “Actually, I used a couple of loose bullets I found in one of the display cases.”

  I laughed. “I hope this doesn’t mean I have to support the gun lobby now that they are literally supporting me.”

  Finally, we were ready to get to work on the actual campaigning. I’d never done anything like this before, but how hard could it be? Step one: phone calls.

  “It’s pretty easy,” Daniel said. “Give your name, tell them you’re calling from the Melody Martin campaign. If you’re not comfortable letting them know you’re the candidate, give a fake first name. Ask if they’ve heard about the special election. Here are your scripts for virtually anything they might say. Any questions?”

  I eyed the stack of paper he held out dubiously. “Is there an electronic version?”

  “Yes.” He pointed at the computer on the nearest desk. “Everything your heart could desire. With hyperlinks. Go ahead and read through it. Let me know if you have questions or need anything. Start making calls as soon as you’re ready.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I said. “I talk to people for a living, remember? It’s all about how you say it, not what you say.”

  “You sound like JFK. With that kind of confidence, you’ll do great. Good luck.”

  Unfortunately, my confidence petered out quickly. The first three people I managed to get on the phone hung up on me. The fourth asked me if I’d found Jesus, and I couldn’t find the appropriate response in any of my scripts.

  “Jesus? Did you try looking behind the couch?” That probably wasn’t the answer she expected. When I realized what I’d said, I hung up, face burning.

  From the desk behind me, Daniel unsuccessfully tried to hide a smile. “Did you just say what I think you said?”

  “Yeah. She asked; I panicked.”

  Dread filled me at the thought of getting fired from my own campaign on the first day, but a peal of laughter filled the room. “Remind me to make a few more scripts for you.”

  Before I could respond, he stood, grabbing a stack of fliers from the desk. “I’m headed to the local college to find some interns. You shouldn’t have to spend your time making these calls when there are more important things you could be doing.”

  I also shouldn’t be making calls when I had no experience, no idea what I was doing, and no filter. But I wanted to feel useful. “I don’t mind making the calls.”

  “I appreciate that, but we need support. Once we have interns, you and I can focus on the real campaigning: hammering out your platform, drafting press releases, preparing you for interviews, wooing the party bigwigs. I’ll be back in an hour with lunch. Text me your order?”

  “No problem,” I said. “Meanwhile, I’ll try to stick to the scripts.”

  Eleven calls later, I found a voter who seemed interested in talking about the special election. She asked one question after another about my positions on child support, abortion, immigration, taxes, everything. As I spoke, she responded enthusiastically. I read one talking point after another from my sheet.

  “That all sounds lovely, dear,” the woman said. “I’ll be sure to register before November.”

  She wasn’t even registered? Why was she on my list? The election was in nine weeks. “This is a special election ma’am, meaning that it’s being held separ
ate from the general presidential election.”

  “Oh, yes, I know. Every election is special.”

  “What I’m trying to say is to cast your vote for Ms. Martin, it’s necessary to register to vote as soon as possible. The election is coming up in two months.”

  The woman laughed. “You can’t fool me. I know Election Day is the first Tuesday in November!”

  The phone went dead. Yikes.

  With a groan, I glanced at the clock. It was only nine-thirty, and it felt like I’d been here about ten hours. At this rate, I’d never make it through the day. I helped time pass by making a list of ways to break up the calls with exercise.

  • No answer? 10 squats.

  • Hang-up? 10 push-ups.

  • Profanity from a potential voter? 10 crunches.

  • Someone who admits being unregistered? 5 burpees.

  • A registered voter who is actually interested and promises to vote? SIGN UP FOR AN IRONMAN, BECAUSE THAT’S NOT GOING TO HAPPEN.

  With a sigh, I pushed the list away and kept dialing. An hour later, much of my nervous frustration had been burned away by squats and push-ups, but I’d yet to connect with a single voter.

  What a mess this all turned into. All I had wanted was to find a nice, open space where I could install some poles and work with my students. Helen gave me that. But now, after one run-in with the wrong person, I was unemployed, running for local office to ensure that no one could ever shut me down again.

  With a sigh, I laid my head on the desk. Lana had said that Curtis was never likely to manage to prohibit pole statewide, even if he won. She also said he could convince the legislature to pass a law that would allow each city or county to decide on their own whether to allow certain “obscene conduct.” That was one of those funny legal phrases that wasn’t well-defined, apparently, which meant every locality could decide on their own what to allow, and we were in a conservative area.