Poll Dancer

by Laura Heffernan

  “From the day I entered this campaign, people have come after me: I’ve been called a sex worker, a stripper, a slut. This isn’t just insulting, it’s lazy reporting. I can’t believe that you all have nothing better to do than slut-shame me for my perceived choices. How can we live in a society that condemns women for working as strippers, as sex workers, without also condemning the men that provide a constant demand for these services? What we should be talking about is passing laws that protect all women from being abused or exploited against their will. People shouldn’t demonize me for doing what I love. From day one, I haven’t heard anyone raise a single question about Curtis Baker’s morality. Now, I’m not here to do that, either, because it’s irrelevant. What’s relevant is the way the media focuses on his ideas and my morality. This is an unacceptable double standard. And if the people of Saratoga are okay with it, I’m very sorry to say, I don’t want to represent you.”

  My voice started to shake, so I stopped and forced myself to count to five. This was the right thing to do. As much as it felt good to take a stand, I’d been miserable since the minute this campaign started. Working in the state legislature wouldn’t improve things, not if I couldn’t be me while I did it.

  “It is my understanding that, within the past hour, Mr. Baker has withdrawn from the election. He told you that I would also be speaking, and asked you to listen to what I have to say with an open mind. I’d like to thank Mr. Baker, and let him know that I bear no ill will toward him for what happened. He isn’t responsible for the way the campaign got ugly. I recently discovered that my own image consultant, Erica Wentworth, was working with a reporter to sabotage me.”

  Someone in the crowd gasped. Heads turned, probably looking to see who hadn’t been invited to the conference. A few hands shot up, but I ignored them.

  “No, I’m not going to tell you who it was. It doesn’t matter. However, it turns out—I’m just not cut out for politics. This isn’t what I want to do, and I don’t like the person it’s turning me into. And that is why I asked you here. To announce that I’ve also decided to terminate my campaign for the New York Senate. If I have to be someone I’m not to get your votes, the cost is too high.”

  Someone gasped. In the front row, a woman nodded along as I spoke. Someone started clapping. Soon another person followed suit. Before I knew it, the crowd rose to their feet, giving me a standing ovation. Someone that sounded suspiciously like Daniel whistled.

  On the other side of my makeshift podium, cameras clicked and flashed away. I beamed, soaking it all in.

  “Now, there’s someone else I’d like to tell you about. Someone who has held my hand throughout this campaign. A person who the people of this district would be lucky to have represent them. Who has taught me the law and the unspoken practices of the area. Someone brilliant, talented, and full of fresh ideas. She’s exactly what this district needs to help get our voice heard at the statehouse. That person is local attorney and campaign advisor Lana Chen.” I gestured to my best friend in the back of the room as I spelled her name.

  She waved to the room, face beet red, but said nothing. She didn’t think for a minute that anyone was going to vote for her, except me and Daniel. But she’d be brilliant in the job, as long as she believed in herself.

  “Please consider writing Lana Chen onto the ballot when you go to vote tomorrow.”

  The room fell silent. Everyone either scribbled furiously in notebooks, tapped away at their phones, or stared at me blankly. Pretty much the reaction I’d expected. After all, who was I to ask them to vote for some random person?

  I threw my head back. Mel Martin, that’s who. Kick-ass dancer, excellent teacher, and newly prepared to share my opinion with everyone who needed to hear it. “Anyway, now that I’ve got your attention—Who’d like a pole demonstration?”

  Every hand in the room shot into the air, including Daniel’s and Lana’s.

  Fifteen minutes later, one reporter after another thanked me as they filed out of the small room. They’d been completely awed by my moves, and several even promised to sign up for classes once I got my new studio up and running. Finally, things were starting to look up.

  Eventually only Lana and Daniel hung back. My BFF caught the glance I gave her disappeared into the bathroom.

  “Working with you has certainly been an experience.” Daniel picked up his coat from where he’d slung it on the kitchen island and spent a long time smoothing it over his arm. He put it on, before taking it off and folding it over his arm a second time. Then he cleared his throat. “You know, I never thought one of my candidates would teach me how to twirl on a metal bar.”

  “I’m always here if you want a refresher.” My head tilted toward the pole. There were so many other things I wanted to say, but it was too late. There was no point. The election was over, I was going back to my old self. As much as I wished otherwise, Mel and Daniel didn’t fit. Maybe Melody and Daniel never fit, either.

  He winced. “My muscles are still sore from the last time. Anyway, thank you for trying.”

  “Are you going to work with Lana if she actually gets elected?” I wasn’t sure what answer I wanted. Yes, Lana would probably benefit from his knowledge and experience. But knowing she got to see him every day when I couldn’t might kill me.

  He considered the question for a long moment. “If she’ll have me. After all, she might think I helped throw her to the wolves.”

  “To be fair, you did,” she said, returning from the bathroom. I’d almost forgotten that she was still here, but she needed to remove her pole before she left. Hopefully quickly. “But I sincerely doubt it’ll matter.”

  “Don’t count yourself out,” I said. “There were plenty of people in this room who want that seat filled.”

  “They’ll probably all write their own names in,” she said, carefully arranging the metal pieces in her purple striped bag before zipping it closed. “Anyway, this was a blast. Text me later?”

  “I’ll give you a call if anyone other than Mel and I vote for you.” Daniel made no movement to follow her to the door. We stood side-by-side, arms almost touching. I prayed no one would do or say anything that might make him decide to go rather than stay back with me. If this was going to be the last time I saw him, I needed more.

  “In that case, I won’t hold my breath.” She blew air kisses at both of us, slung the pole bag over her shoulder, and headed out.

  “You know, in a special election, two write-in votes might be enough,” I reminded Daniel as soon as the door shut behind her. “You were the one concerned about low voter turnout.”

  “Touché. But I also think it’s better not to stress Lana out until we see what happens. Listen, I’m doing some research on legislation for the next year or so. New laws to further protect free expression, women’s rights, that kind of thing. Equal pay.”

  My ears perked up. “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah. Someone convinced me that we’ve still got a long way to go before our state achieves equality.”

  His words brought a smile to my face. He really did care about other people. “You’re a good man, Daniel O’Brien.”

  For a long moment I gazed at him, still somewhat bemused by the day’s events. At eight o’clock this morning, I’d been wallowing in self-pity, running a losing campaign, with no job prospects for after I lost. Now I had my studio, an unexpected alliance, and a level of personal satisfaction that had been noticeably absent since the night Curtis shut Dance 4 U down. Not bad for a day’s work.

  Only one thing was missing. My hand itched to reach up, smooth back his hair, touch his cheek, but there was no point. We were from different worlds. This needed to be good-bye. Maybe I’d see him around Lana’s office once in a while.

  He cleared his throat. “There’s something else before I go.”

  “Oh, yeah?” I forced myself to keep my tone light.

  “I made a huge mistake, Mel.” His use of my nickname was music to my ears.
He hadn’t said it since the day I met Erica.

  My breath hitched. “You mean, you made a huge mistake when allowing me to drop out and ask everyone to vote for Lana?”

  “No.” He stepped closer, looking down at me with serious eyes. My heart stuttered at his nearness. “I made a huge mistake in not doing everything in my power to be with you. In asking you to change, making you feel like you weren’t good enough the way you were. In walking away from you after the debate instead of begging you to give me another chance.”

  I’d dreamed of these words for so long, I couldn’t quite believe I was hearing them. “Hold on. Are you saying—?”

  “I want to be with you.”

  My heart lifted, but part of me wasn’t sure I trusted him after everything that happened. “How? Why? I mean…what changed?”

  “You were right. Everything you said. I got so focused on winning that I didn’t see how much of you was getting lost in the process. Maybe because you felt free to be yourself around me, I don’t know. But it’s been a pleasure to get to know the real Mel—and I don’t want to let her go.”

  “How do I know you won’t try to change me again? I’m not the perfect politician, and I’m not even the perfect political pundit’s partner.” Try saying that one five times fast.

  His gaze remained steady. “You are the perfect Mel Martin, and that is all I ever want you to be.”

  My remaining doubts fled. A giddy laugh escaped me, a sound of pure joy that rang through the condo. I threw my arms around his neck, savoring the feel of his body against mine.

  “I’ve missed that sound,” Daniel said.

  “I’ve missed you,” I replied.

  “I’m so sorry,” Daniel said. “I never should have tried to change you.”

  “I’m sorry I let you. I should have had more faith in myself.”

  “You’re amazing, just the way you are. And you’re exactly the person I want to be with. You’re messy where I’m organized, passionate where I’m cool and collected, daring where I’m reserved.” He took a deep breath. “You’re the push to my pull.”

  I laughed. “You mean some of that ‘mumbo jumbo’ from our lesson sank in?”

  “I ate up every word.” His lips found mine. I met him eagerly, desperate to drink him in. My hands moved from his neck to his chin, cupping his face so I could savor this moment. I could have stood there all day. “You’re an amazing woman, exactly the way you are. Never forget that again.”

  I kissed him again, lightly. “If I do, you’ll be right here to remind me.”

  “Count on it.”

  SARATOGA DISPATCH ONLINE

  WRITE-IN CANDIDATE WINS HOTLY CONTESTED SENATE RACE

  The results of Tuesday’s special election are in! After working in Tiberius Baker’s office for years, candidate Curtis Baker expected to sail into the open seat when his father retired. However, those dreams faltered when Senator Baker stood up in the middle of a floor debate on teachers’ pay, announced that he had been called “to do greater things,” and walked out. The shocking move led some to speculate over the value of the Baker name. Many residents felt it was time for someone new to step in.

  Enter Melody Martin. She’s young, she’s brash, she reminds people of Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez—a comparison that makes Martin beam. But she also has an image problem, as a full-time pole fitness instructor. Many district residents seemed biased against a female candidate who shows so much skin for a living.

  On Monday, less than 12 hours before the polls opened, each candidate held a press conference. Baker admitted that most of the negative press directed at Martin originated with his mother, apologized profusely, and withdrew from the election. Martin was expected to respond to this announcement. Instead, she railed at anyone who engaged in so-called slut-shaming, then announced that she also was dropping out of the election. (See full story.) She asked voters to write in the name of Lana Chen, a local attorney who has worked on the Martin campaign as an advisor for the past several weeks.

  After both candidates announced their refusal to take the office after all, and with nothing else on the ballot, turnout dropped to unprecedented (but not exactly surprising) numbers. When all was said and done, the leading vote-getter was…Lana Chen, who received fifteen write-in votes. Senator-Elect Chen did not immediately return a call for comment. We’ll be posting updates as more information about her identity comes to light.

  (Click here to receive text alerts.)

  You Might Also Enjoy:

  SYTYCD, Ms. Martin?

  How does the Write-in Vote Work?

  What’s it like to find yourself elected to local office when you weren’t even running?

  Read on for a sneak peek at Push and Pole Book 2

  THE ACCIDENTAL SENATOR

  Coming October 2020

  Chapter One

  Fifteen votes. Fifteen forking votes (Sorry, I’m trying to curb the swearing now that I’m a State Senator). I wasn’t even running. No one’s ever won with the write-in vote, have they? Note to self: Google “write-in wins” later.

  Never thought I’d be a trendsetter. Neither did anyone else, which is why I’d been voted “Least Likely to be a Trendsetter” in high school.

  All this ran through my head on repeat as I hurried up the steps to front door of the public building and went through the metal detectors. Once I reclaimed my purse from the conveyor belt, I looked around, desperately trying to figure out where to go for my first day of work. There’s no massive orientation following a special election the way there would be in January, so I arrived to quiet halls and hushed voices and an email telling me to look for my mentor. Hopefully I’d figure things out.

  Like where the hashtag to find my office. Ever since I arrived at the massive building that housed the state legislative offices, I’d been wandering up and down, listening to my heels clack along the floor, echoing down the halls. Although it was fairly early on the morning, I hadn’t seen another soul, making me either embarrassingly late on my first day or that dork who always showed up too early.

  For the third time, I consulted my phone. Jason Park, that was the person assigned to show me around. Now only if I could find—oof!

  Something slammed into me. My phone hit the floor and skittered across the tile. Looking up, I found myself staring into a gorgeous pair of brown eyes, framed with thick, lush black lashes. The owner of the eyes was taller than me, but not too tall, with short, spiky black hair and perfect lips. He looked muscular but not too buff. Strong and solid.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said. “Are you Lana Chen?”

  “What gave me away?”

  “The name on your pass.” He pointed.

  Oh, right. I’d hung my ID card around my neck for lack of any better place to put it. On my first day, chances were I’d be showing the thing about four dozen times.

  I grinned at him. “It labels me a newbie?”

  “Nah, just makes you easy to spot.” He held out one hand. “I’m Jason.”

  “Ah, yes! You’re the Asian Welcome Wagon?”

  His lips twitched. “Yes, of course. And you’re the stripper?”

  “Touché,” I said. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  Jason turned around and led me down the hall to my office, pointing out various points of interest along the way. “I’m actually the liaison for all new Senate Staff.”

  “Good to know. I left my pasties at home.” They’d been worn when Mel needed me to help out at a presentation, over other clothes, but whatevs.

  He chuckled. “It’s good that you have a sense of humor. That’ll serve you well around here.”

  “I figured I could either make jokes or spend the day lecturing people about misogyny in the world and the dangers of slut-shaming,” I said. “I don’t like to lecture before I’ve finished my coffee.”

  Redness tinged his cheeks, as if I’d touched on a nerve. Good. If I accomplished nothing else before the end of my term
, I would get people to stop making women feel bad for using their bodies to find work. Whether it was because they had no other choice or because they enjoyed it.

  “Here we are!” Jason turned the corner and opened a door on the right side of the hallway. It stuck. He pushed again, and the door opened a couple of inches. “Sorry. We may need to call Maintenance. Something’s wrong.”

  “Let me try.” I waved him back and examined the door. I might be short, but I was strong. Resting my shoulder against the door, I gave it a good shove.

  The door flew open. Something on the other side crashed. I stumbled into the room. It took a few steps before I caught my balance, thanks largely to a mountain of cardboard blocking the path.

  “What the fork?”

  Large boxes packed the room reserved for my administrative assistant from one end to the next, in places stacked three or four high. I couldn’t even see the door to my own office, which theoretically was somewhere on the far wall. Words stamped on the outside of each box identified the contents as belonging to a popular line of skin care products. That couldn’t be right. But then I remembered. The reason I wound up here in the first place was that my predecessor had a “revelation” of some sort. He invested heavily in a multi-level marketing scheme, selling products from an RV, and resigned.

  Jason stepped into the space behind me, glancing around. “Uh…it appears that Senator Baker may have left a few things behind.”

  Awesome. There wasn’t even a way to get to the inner office, where I’d be working. My assistant’s desk was completely buried. This wasn’t going to work. All that junk needed to go, ASAP. I didn’t have a way to contact the former Senator, but I did have the number for his son, Curtis. We’d gotten to know each other over the past couple of months, although it might be a stretch to call us friends.