by Robin Allen
“Right now I feel like crawling back under the covers and watching what happens on TV.”
“You would go crazy. Seriously, no matter what happens today, you’ve done a hell of a job. Cameron wouldn’t have come this far without you. No matter who wins, be proud of yourself.”
“Thank you,” Sage said, his words boosting her more than he knew.
“Tell me what you have on.”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? You slept in the nude?” He closed his eyes, and Sage’s body flashed in his mind—the deep curve of her waist, her fleshy brown areolae and her triangular thatch of hair.
“I just got out of the shower.”
“Oh, so you’re all wet.”
“Wet and slippery,” Sage said in a suggestive voice.
“I could be there in twenty minutes.”
“Uh-huh, I got up early to get some work done,” Sage chided.
“I want you, baby.”
“I know, and after the election, I’m all yours.”
“Can’t wait.”
“Every part of me,” Sage teased before hanging up.
* * * * *
Sage arrived at Hudson’s campaign headquarters to a host of activities: phones ringing, television sets blaring, voices clamoring and printers, copiers and fax machines running. It was as frenetic and hectic as she had expected.
“Good morning, Marika,” Sage greeted her assistant as she walked through the maze of activities. A long, shapeless black dress hid Marika’s thin body.
“Hey, Sage,” Marika said. “I’m glad this day is finally here. I’m a nervous wreck. The anticipation is killing me, and it isn’t even ten o’clock.”
“I know exactly what you mean. My stomach has been fluttering all morning, and my heart…”
“Well, better tell your heart to calm down ’cause it’s about to go into hyperdrive.” She handed her boss a cup of hot cinnamon tea. “Sit down,” Marika said in a weary tone. She pushed her long braids back from her chestnut-brown face. Flecks of dark-brown freckles were scattered unevenly across her prominent cheekbones.
Sage leveled her eyes to Marika’s anxious face. “Just tell me.”
“Some of the vans have flat tires,” Marika said.
“What?” Sage threw back her head with such force that her gold-and-ruby earrings swayed rhythmically.
“Yep, all the vans that were delivered last night to Reverend Powell’s church have mysteriously turned up with flat tires,” Marika said.
“How many?”
“Fifteen.”
“How did that happen?” Sage said angrily. She put her hands on her hips and squared her shoulders. “It doesn’t make sense. But the question isn’t why—it’s who. Who would do this?”
“You got it.”
“This isn’t the first time we’ve been sabotaged. This needs to be investigated. Did Reverend Powell call the police?”
“I believe so.”
Sage inhaled deeply, forcing herself to calm down. “Well, that’s not going to help us today. Are any of the vans drivable?”
“Two tires on every van have to be replaced.”
“I’ve been worried about Baker’s camp, but the enemy might be within.” She sat down at her desk, and opened her briefcase. The folder marked “Acceptance Speech” caught her attention.
Marika raised one shoulder slightly as her lips turned down at the corners. “You really think somebody here did it?”
“I don’t know,” Sage said, shaking her head. “But I can’t focus on that right now. It’s bad enough that the National Guard has been dispatched to the polls. We registered thousands of new voters. I’m worried they’re going to be too afraid to vote.”
“When I voted this morning, it was real smooth. I saw the guards, but they were out of the way.”
“Well, that’s one bit of good news,” Sage said, with a tight smile. “Find out how long it’s going to take to replace or repair the tires. Notify the driving polls that there are going to be delays. Let’s see if we can get people to volunteer their cars. We’ve got plenty of drivers.”
“I’m on it,” Marika said.
* * * * *
Three hours later, Drew showed up at Hudson’s campaign headquarters. “What’s up, girl?” Drew said to Sage when he reached her desk.
“Cameron’s losing,” Sage said, her attention on the television set. She listened intently to the news report about the election.
Leaning against the corner of her desk, Drew said, “I know. Morning turnout is poor in the areas where Cameron should be pulling in large numbers.”
“Tell me something I didn’t know,” Sage said edgily, taking her eyes off the television.
“Baker was going to release some kind of statement early this afternoon. But he changed his mind.”
“That would be foolish,” Sage said. “It’s too early for posturing.”
“Did you know that the polls the news stations sample from aren’t representative of the state?”
Sage raised her eyebrows. “Oh really?”
“We ran the stats last week and compared it to previous years. Basically they sample from areas that are predominantly white.”
“So it skews the numbers and falsely builds momentum for a candidate,” Sage said. “Which can discourage voters from voting if they think their candidate is losing.”
“False perceptions turn into reality,” Drew said, nodding. “Numbers can make a big difference.”
“I knew the numbers were going to look bad this morning, but I didn’t expect it to be this bad,” Sage said and sipped on her tepid tea. “I know it’s the late voters who are going to put us back into the race.” She paused and added with a wry smile, “Hopefully.”
“Black folks are always late.”
“Uh-huh, not to mention that they work and can’t get to the polls until after five o’clock.”
“Speaking of voting, I better get over there myself.” He kissed Sage on the cheek. “Keep the faith.”
* * * * *
Tears of joy shimmied down Sage Kennedy’s face. “We won! We won! We won!” she rejoiced while watching the eleven o’clock news report that Cameron Hudson had been elected the new governor of Georgia. Surrounded by supporters waving “Hudson for Governor” flags, she watched the television monitors tuned to the channel 5 news.
Anchorwoman Michelle Hoffman reported that Georgia had elected a black man governor: “With ninety percent of the polls reporting, Cameron Hudson has fifty-eight percent of the vote. Mr. Hudson becomes the first black governor of Georgia.”
The news station cameras cut to Senator Nolan Baker’s campaign headquarters at the Ritz-Carlton hotel. He bitterly acknowledged losing to his “formidable challenger”. His words were short, bitter and full of innuendo. “I’m sorry, folks, but we lost the election. It seems the majority of the people of Georgia, much to my surprise, believed in the dream rhetoric. Thanks for all your support and hard work. But remember the next election. We’ll be ready to clean up the mess.”
“What a gracious loser,” Ramion said sarcastically. He wrapped his arms around Sage’s waist and planted a soft kiss on her lips. His eyes beamed with pride and admiration at the beautiful woman he held in his arms, a woman he was proud to claim. Smart, successful, driven, she made him feel like the color of the sun—warm, vibrant and happy. “Congratulations, baby. You pulled it off.”
Sage smiled at his compliment. “The funny thing is, Baker probably wouldn’t have lost if he hadn’t made race such an issue.”
“You’re right,” Ramion agreed, raising his voice to be heard over the throng of supporters demanding the just-elected governor’s presence. The crowd shouted, “Governor Hudson! Governor Hudson! Governor Hudson!”
Feeling the crowd’s energy, Sage felt a bolt of pleasure that coursed through her body at warp speed. She didn’t know what to do with the intense feeling, but when she looked up at Ramion’s beaming face, she was suddenly overwhelmed with strong feelings of love for him.
It reminded her of when she first saw Ramion—an unexplainable rush of desire had pierced her heart and penetrated her soul.
“I better go get Cam. This crowd is going crazy.”
Ramion kissed Sage again. “I love you,” he whispered into her ear.
* * * * *
Sage moved through the crowd, stopping along the way to speak with local voters and national supporters. The crowd, converging at the Marriott Marquis hotel in the heart of downtown Atlanta, swelled to uncountable numbers. Additional ballrooms were opened to accommodate the unexpected throng of supporters experiencing history in the making: the election of the first black governor of Georgia.
Sage rode the escalator to the hotel’s main level. She was stopped by a reporter who wanted to interview her for an article about the election. She agreed to a brief interview, ending the conversation with the perfect sound bite: “Mr. Hudson was the best candidate for the job and that’s why he won the election. Georgia will prosper under his wise leadership.”
Ten minutes later, Sage entered Cameron’s hospitality suite, where the roar of the crowd chanting “Governor Hudson” sounded like the rumble of distant thunder. Sarah Hudson embraced Sage, overwhelmed with relief that her husband was elected governor of Georgia. A bright smile warmed Sarah’s face, but Sage could see beyond the painted-on political smile. There was weariness in her dark eyes. The race for governor had been a rough-and-tumble course, and Sarah had felt every bump and bruise.
“Well, Sarah,” Sage said, “you are now the First Lady of Georgia.”
“I guess I am,” Sarah said, who now had seven weeks to prepare for her new role. She wore her grey-streaked hair full on the top, tapered around her ears and close-cropped in the back. The short hairstyle showed off her small face, delicate facial features: almond-shaped eyes, a long, narrow nose and thin lips.
“Congratulations again, Governor Hudson,” Sage said, hugging Cameron. “We did it, we won! I can’t believe it, but we really won.”
“Were there ever any doubts?” Cameron teased, recalling how uncharacteristically frantic Sage had been when the media reported him losing in the afternoon.
“I was afraid of a runoff,” Sage said.
“Oh, no,” Sarah said, her forehead folded into two deep creases above her brows. “I’d have to leave the state. I couldn’t take the vicious campaigning. Or the threats.”
“They’re waiting for you to declare victory,” Sage said with a twinge of urgency in her voice.
“I’ve been waiting for this moment,” Cameron said, his wide face full of joy.
Sarah straightened her husband’s tie and adjusted the pocket square in his jacket. The yellow polka-dotted tie and pocket square gave his blue double-breasted, pinstriped suit just the right touch of flare.
“Do you have the speech?” Sage asked. She had an extra copy in her briefcase.
“It’s up here,” Cameron said, pointing to his forehead.
Sage smiled, knowing that Cameron had memorized the speech she had written, replaying the campaign’s theme, “The Dream Reborn”. She also knew that her words would be embellished. Some pollsters had accurately predicted that Cameron’s oratory gift would lead him to victory, and with each debate, Cameron had chipped away at Senator Baker’s significant lead.
The door suddenly opened, bringing in the noisy sounds of the crowd demanding Cameron’s presence. “It’s time,” he said, taking his wife’s hand and heading toward the door.
“Come on, C.J. and Jessica. We need you to stand by your father,” Sage said to the two Hudson children. C.J.—Cameron Jr.—and Jessica were replicas of their parents. Jessica was fair-skinned and petite like Sarah, while C.J. was big, broad and chocolate colored like his father.
The crowd’s chants of “Governor Hudson! Governor Hudson!” grew louder and louder when Cameron entered the ballroom. Cameron shook hands and kissed cheeks as he made his way to the podium. Standing before the throng of supporters, reporters and cameramen, he motioned with his hands, bringing the chanting to a halt.
“Governor Hudson. I do like the way that sounds. Has a ring to it, don’t you think?” His wide face broke into a broad smile, creasing the deep pencil lines layered in his fudge-brown face. Dark eyes gazed upon the sea of faces. Supporters began clapping and the familiar chanting, “Governor Hudson, Governor Hudson!” rose to a crescendo.
“First of all, I’d like to commend my campaign manager, Sage Kennedy; all the volunteers who went door-to-door to register voters; and the very dedicated folks who participated in the ‘Ride to the Polls’ drive. I appreciate everyone who, in some form or fashion, helped to make this moment possible. Above all, I especially want to thank the voters who did not let threats or fear stop them from exercising their constitutional rights. It is you, the voters, who deserve a round of applause,” Cameron said, bringing his hands together.
It was several minutes before he could quiet the crowd and continue. “Georgia is the greatest state in the Union, but its most significant resources remain largely untapped. I’m talking about you—the people of Georgia. If we develop the minds, hearts and bodies of our citizens, then we become even greater, rich with people and economic prosperity.
“People come to this state from near and far for economic opportunities. To find the American dream…
“As governor, I will help Georgians realize that dream. As an experienced government administrator and a human rights advocate, I will enact change to make the dream a reality for all Georgians.
“I’ve been elected governor because of you. You share my vision for the future, and with your continued support, we can make the vision a reality. We can again give birth to the dream.”
Cameron’s inspiring words drew an applause that sounded like the rush of Niagara Falls.
* * * * *
As the last wave of supporters made their way to Cameron to congratulate him on winning the election, Sage sat down for the first time in hours. She looked at her watch. It was one thirty in the morning. She leaned back in the chair and felt a wave of exhaustion wash over her from her head to her toes. Her long legs were stretched out in front of her as she watched the crowd dwindle, thankful they were finally leaving.
Sage closed her eyes and sighed deeply. Ramion stood behind her, massaging the tense muscles in her neck and shoulders. She was so relieved that the unpredictable, chaotic campaign had come to an end.
“I’m glad the election is over. Maybe now I can spend some time with my baby,” Ramion said. “I’ve missed you.”
Sage looked up at Ramion with a tender smile, thinking that, in the charcoal-grey pinstriped suit that draped his well-toned body, he looked like a model. He wore the multicolored vest and matching tie she had bought for his birthday four months ago. “I’ve missed you too. How did it go today?”
“Very well,” Ramion said, nodding his head. “I discredited the state’s main witness. I think the jury is beginning to question the evidence.”
“Score one for the defense,” Sage said with a proud, approving smile.
“That’s right. But I don’t want to talk about work. I want to talk about us. No, I just want to be with you,” Ramion said, with eyes of desire that conveyed more than words could.
“I’ve been meaning to tell you, the FBI came to my office last week to question me about the explosion.”
“Do they have any clues or suspects?”
“I don’t think so.”
The music stopped, and quiet settled in the hotel ballroom. It’s finally over, Sage thought. In spite of her exhaustion, her mind moved to her next task. As deputy chief of staff, there was plenty of work to be done—getting the family moved into the Governor’s Mansion, preparing for the inaugural festivities and selecting candidates for key appointments.
“How cozy!” Edwinna sniped, wishing it were her neck Ramion was rubbing. Edwinna stared at Ramion, baffled that she was still so attracted to him.
Sage’s olive eyes flashed open, and she sat upright. She im
mediately became alert, feeling the animosity of Edwinna’s hostile eyes.
“Hello, Edwinna,” Ramion said coolly. “Enjoying the celebration?”
“With all those hip-hop kids here, it seemed like a concert, not a campaign party,” Edwinna complained. “I hope I never have to hear or see ‘Get Your Vote On’ again,” she said dramatically.
“You missed the point, Edwinna,” Sage chided. “‘Get Your Vote On’ is one of the reasons why we won. It was targeted to the hip-hop crowd.”
“That may be true,” Edwinna acknowledged. “But some of these people, well, they seem street people.” Edwinna’s face shifted into an exaggerated mask of disgust.
“Everyone isn’t as fortunate as you, Edwinna,” Ramion said. It was just such insensitive, arrogant comments that had chipped away his feelings. Most of the people Edwinna talked against weren’t that different from him. Only his determination, education and drive separated them.
“Don’t even go there, Ramion. You wouldn’t be as fortunate as you are if it weren’t for my father,” Edwinna said, putting her hand on her hip for emphasis.
“Edwinna, your father has nothing to do with this conversation,” he retorted.
“He has everything to do with where you are,” Edwinna snapped. “I guess you’ve forgotten that, now that you’re with someone from your own humble beginnings.”
“Edwinna, you don’t know anything about me,” Sage said coolly as she stood up.
“I know enough,” Edwinna said, dismissing Sage and turning toward Ramion. “I predict that next year at this time, I’ll be the one making a victory speech.”
“You know I intend to run,” Ramion said in a warning tone.
“Well, I intend to win,” Edwinna baited, swinging the gold-chain strap on her black Chanel bag.
“How many times have I heard you say that you would never go into politics? That you would hate to live under a microscope? I really can’t believe you want to be a state senator,” Ramion said.
“Obviously I changed my mind,” Edwinna said. “Just like you changed your mind…about things.” She cut her gaze toward Sage, her begrudging bitterness obvious.
Anger creeping into his voice, Ramion said, “You don’t care about the people in that district. You know nothing about how they live and what they want.”
