Where There's Smoke

by L. A. Witt

  I chuckled and slid my card key into the reader, then opened the door. “After you.”

  “You’re such a gentleman,” she said with a smirk as she walked past me.

  “Was that sarcasm?”

  “From me?” She put a hand to her chest and gasped. “Well I never.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  We exchanged glances and both laughed, then went in to join the rest of the staffers. Ranya found a place to sit on one of the two beds, and I leaned against the wall beside the table on which I’d spread several notebooks of poll results and other pertinent data.

  “Casey’s going full-bore on this smear campaign,” I said once I’d called the meeting to order. “The Repubs are behind in the polls right now, so he’s getting desperate. He’s probably got people sniffing around every place Jesse’s ever set foot, looking for any hint of anything. I want the same effort put forth to find dirt on Casey.”

  David straightened. “I thought…” He drew back slightly.

  “You thought what?”

  Clearing his throat, he tried to look relaxed. “I, um, I thought we weren’t going the smear-campaign route. Smearing Casey, I mean.”

  “We’re not. What I want to do is capitalize on any Casey weakness as a Cameron strength. Casey has a damned overdue library book, I want to know about it, and I want the public to know Jesse’s never had a late book in his life.”

  “Well,” Tina said, “the contrast between Casey and Jesse’s respective marriages is a good place to—”

  “No,” I said, probably a little sharper than I should have. “That’s already out there. Find anything else. Now, the Republicans are also harping on Jesse’s colorful college history. All the crap about Jesse being a screwoff in college, even though he’s already addressed it and admitted to it. It doesn’t seem like a big deal when you figure in how long it’s been, how well he did in graduate school, the fact that he’s never denied it, and things like that. And it’s actually alienating Casey from college kids, so in a way, it’s backfiring on him.” I paused. “Problem is, rumors like that can put a bug in the voters’ ears to start, consciously or not, questioning the validity of Jesse’s academic qualifications and his legitimacy as a mature, solid candidate.”

  “Like Clinton and whether or not he inhaled?” Carla, another staffer, asked.

  I nodded. “Yes. And Clinton’s exploits weren’t nearly as recent. Jesse is still young, he still looks young, and voters will keep thinking about what he was like when he was younger. As a result, they’ll think of him as a kid. No one wants a kid in office, so we have to counter this.” I looked at Lydia and Ranya. “I’m going to need you two to help me with this part, because we’re going to be shuffling Jesse’s schedule around a bit. I want Jesse and Simone as visible as possible at some formal events and dinners. And for the love of God, get him visible and photographed around younger voters. For that matter, we need some younger politicians seen with him. People who won’t make him look young by comparison.” I smirked. “Keep him away from his uncle.”

  Ranya giggled. “Oh, Jesse will be crushed.”

  “Yeah, probably,” I said. “And while you’re at it, get hold of Simone’s assistant. Let her know I want Simone to take extra care in how she dresses for events. I need elegance, class, and sophistication.”

  “So I suppose I shouldn’t tell her you want her to look older?”

  I laughed. “No, don’t tell her that. Sophistication is the name of the game here.”

  “Got it.” She nodded and started writing on her notepad, mumbling to herself, “Tell Simone to wear jeans and a propeller beanie…”

  Chuckling, I shook my head. Ranya was about the only one who could get away with cracking jokes during discussions like this. It was probably because she was the only one with the balls to smart off to me, and because I knew she’d do anything and everything I asked without bitching or putting in a half-assed effort. Plus she could settle Jesse when he was wound up, which was a lot these days. Someone like Ranya had room to banter.

  “All right,” I said. “To recap. I want Jesse around younger voters. Find dirt on Casey so we can put a positive Jesse spin on it. I want him and Simone portrayed as sophisticated and mature—”

  Ranya snorted and quickly put a hand over her mouth. I tried to glare at her, but her mortified expression made me laugh, and when I laughed, so did everyone else in the room.

  “Let’s just make him look a little less young, all right?” I said, still chuckling. “Make them both look like something other than a couple of kids playing house and pretending to be adult enough for politics.”

  Ranya cleared her throat. “You know, if we want to get Jesse around younger voters, maybe we should get him in front of some college kids. That’ll provide a contrast between him and them, and endear him to the younger demographics.”

  I smiled. “Ranya, if you ever want to get out of this PA stuff and try your hand at managing a political campaign, do let me know.”

  “No, thanks. I just do this as a hobby.”

  The other staffers snickered.

  “Well, hobby or not,” I said, “you’re absolutely right. Andre, Ranya, and Lita, you three work out a strategy and focus on getting Jesse into college campuses. And not just universities. If Podunkville, California, has a community college, I want Jesse doing a Q&A there. Those places are almost more important than the universities, because Jesse will connect with the voters Casey makes a habit of forgetting. Any other ideas?”

  After a good solid hour of coming up with strategies for digging up dirt on Casey and making Jesse shine to the voters, I called the meeting to a close. The staffers took off, and Ranya disappeared to her room to conjure up some bullshit to feed Greg the Mole when he returned.

  With a little time to myself for once, I went down to the hotel bar and ordered a drink. While I waited, I flipped through a binder Lydia had prepared for me with all manner of data relating to poll results and fundraising information. Not exactly exciting reading, but I obsessed over numbers during campaigns.

  A beer and a half into poring over those numbers, the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. The information on the page stopped making sense, and I turned my head, listening.

  From the blur of half a dozen people talking over the top of each other, Jesse’s voice reached my nerve endings and raised goose bumps down the length of my spine. Frustrated or not, I couldn’t even try to tell myself the response was an unpleasant one; the fact that we weren’t sleeping together anymore didn’t change the fact that his very presence turned me on. If anything, it enhanced the effect he had on me. Time and again, like smoke to a quitting addict, and it wasn’t getting any better.

  And he wasn’t getting any farther away.

  Not at all.

  Swallowing hard, I closed the binder and pretended to be relaxed as Jesse, sleek and suave in a tux, crossed the sparsely crowded room with his uncle and Ranya. Closer, closer, until there were handshakes and small talk and “how was dinner with the family?” and thank fuck for the alcohol or I might not have been able to breathe. What I wouldn’t have done to get him out of this bar, out of that tux, and—

  Breathe, Hunter.

  Only a few months. Just had to stay sane between now and the election. And probably the inauguration. And however long it took for Jesse and Simone to divorce. And however long it took after that for Jesse to come out.

  Fuck, who was I kidding? I’d been the skeleton in a man’s closet one too many times and didn’t want to go down that road again.

  Even if the sex was amazing. And the man made me trip over my own feet. And he had a smile that was like Ctrl+Alt+Delete on my brain.

  Get it together. Come on.

  After all, whatever the fuck happened once everything died down—if everything ever got around to dying down, which they usually didn’t after a successful campaign—the fact remained we had to work together for the time being. I worked well under pressure. Shit, I was at my best in the worst
crises. But this? This was bullshit. How the fuck was I supposed to make sense of page after page of poll results, surveys, projections, numbers, numbers, and more goddamned numbers while Jesse was in the room?

  Might want to figure it out, Hunter.

  “Anthony?”

  My head snapped up. Roger, Jesse, and Ranya all watched me like I’d suddenly grown an extra limb.

  I cleared my throat. “Sorry. Just…thinking.” About how much I want to kick everyone out of here except Jesse so I can…focus. Fucking focus.

  My train of thought miraculously found its way back onto the rails, and I remembered one of them—Jesse? Roger?—had asked what we’d come up with during this evening’s meeting.

  “Why don’t we take this outside?” I gestured at the other patrons in the bar. “Fewer ears listening in.”

  Roger pulled up the sleeve of his tux and looked at his watch. “You three go on ahead. I think this old man’s going to turn in for the night.”

  “Come on, Roger,” Jesse said. “It’s not that late.”

  “Your perspective about what’s late and what isn’t changes a bit when you’re my age,” Roger said. “I’ll see all of you in the morning.”

  We said good night to Roger, and as he headed upstairs, the three of us went out to the parking lot. I lit a cigarette and looked around, making sure we were alone. Could never be too careful, particularly not after Greg the Mole had grumbled his way back into the hotel earlier.

  Satisfied there were no eavesdroppers nearby, I tapped my cigarette ashes onto the pavement and turned to Jesse. I gave him the rundown of everything the staffers and I had discussed, including the latest strategies for his campaign.

  “Overall those involved in political groups like you,” I said, “but the voters in general aren’t convinced. Not enough for my taste, anyway. We need to keep you visible to those groups, but also get you on the ground and shaking more hands. Have you appear in more intimate settings with smaller groups so individuals feel more of a connection to you.” I paused to suck in some more smoke. “You’ve got a strong lead in the thirty- to fifty-year-old demographics, and we need to keep at least some of our efforts on maintaining that lead. At the same time, we need to work harder on the older and younger generations.”

  Jesse inclined his head. “So everyone, then?”

  “Basically,” I said. “And for that matter, Casey’s latest bent is that you were a college screwoff. Like that’s news. After doing a little informal polling, though, we’ve found that his attitude is leaving a bad taste in the mouths of college kids. They feel like he’s attacking any student who doesn’t spend every waking moment studying, and it’s off-putting. We can take advantage of that and get them on your side.”

  Jesse cocked his head. “If he’s already alienated them, is that really a group we need to focus on? Seems like he’s done the work for us.”

  “Yes and no. He’s turned them off to himself, but young voters have a shit turnout in most elections. Doesn’t matter who they like or dislike if they don’t even vote. But give them a personal connection to you on top of a dislike for Casey, make them feel relevant, and they’ll make the effort and vote.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  I nodded toward Ranya. “She suggested getting you in front of college students, which I think is a brilliant idea.”

  “Nicely done,” Jesse said to Ranya.

  She sniffed. “Would you expect any less?”

  “Of course not, darling,” he said, rolling his eyes.

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “So much humility on this campaign,” I said with a wistful sigh.

  “Oh right,” Ranya said. “This coming from you.”

  I laughed. “Anyway, I’ve got Ranya in charge of a team who’s contacting every politically minded group on every college campus in the state. Including the little guys. You’re expected to visit students at Berkeley and UCLA, but show up and shake some hands at a community college in Yreka, and you’ll make an impression on every student on campus. This will put a few holes in Casey’s attitude that you’re just some kid, and it’ll connect you to the young voters while simultaneously separating you from them. You’ll be accessible, but not one of them, because you’re not just some kid trying to get into office.”

  Jesse nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”

  “Of course it does,” I said, bringing my cigarette to my lips.

  “Cocky son of a bitch,” Ranya said with a grin.

  “Guilty as charged.” I took a drag, then dropped the cigarette and smothered it with the toe of my shoe. “And I think I’m about ready to follow Roger’s example and get some sleep.”

  “God, no kidding,” Jesse said. “Where in the fine print was that part about campaigns running us all into the ground?”

  “It wasn’t in the fine print,” I said. “It was in bright red neon letters.”

  “That would be why he missed it,” Ranya said. “Hide it in plain sight, he’ll never find it.”

  “Hey!”

  “What? It’s true.”

  “Whatever.”

  The two of them bantered as they always did, all the way to the elevator and up to the second floor, where she got off. Jesse and I both had rooms on the sixth floor, so we stayed in the elevator, which was conspicuously—and more than a little uncomfortably—silent now that Ranya was gone.

  We stood almost an arm’s length apart, facing forward. I kept my gaze fixed on the numbers above the door, and guessed he did the same. As the doors closed, faint music filled the silence.

  The elevator started upward, and Jesse said, “Think they have cameras in here?”

  I furrowed my brow. “Yeah, probably.”

  “Damn.” The note of playfulness in his voice hinted at what he had in mind, and set my teeth on edge.

  “I certainly wouldn’t gamble with my campaign to find out.” I looked at him. “And either way, didn’t we agree—”

  “We did.” He kept his eyes focused above the door.

  “Then…?”

  The ghost of a smile played at his lips, and he shook his head, dropping his gaze. “Sorry. Never mind.”

  I resisted the urge to curse aloud. There were few things that irritated me more than a damned tease. “Jesse, I’m serious. We—”

  “So am I.” His head snapped toward me, and the vague smile was long gone. His voice unsteady with desperation, he whispered, “Anthony, I’m going out of my damned mind.”

  I swallowed, closing my fingers at my sides just to keep from reaching for him. “You’re not the only one. But you said yourself we can’t do this.”

  “I know. And…I know we shouldn’t. But my God…” He exhaled. “That was before I figured out what it was like to not do this.”

  “So what do we do?”

  Before he could answer, the elevator stopped. As the doors slid open, he lowered his voice to a nearly inaudible whisper. “You tell me.”

  We locked eyes, and he backed up his words with even deeper desperation than what was in his voice a moment ago.

  You tell me.

  Please. Tell me which way this should go.

  Tell me, Anthony.

  The elevator doors started to close. I grabbed one side, and as they yielded and reopened, I said, “Whatever we do, it won’t be in here. Come on.”

  We stepped out of the elevator in silence. Since Simone was in town tonight, and would be in their room at some point if she wasn’t there already, I stopped in front of my own room. Jesse stopped too, sending my pulse soaring.

  Neither of us spoke as I pulled my card key out of my pocket. The click-beep of the card reader echoed down the silent, almost deserted hallway, and the clank of the door handle sent a surge of panic through me. Christ, could they have made the doors any louder? Everyone in the hotel must have heard. And if they heard, then they knew, and they would—

  Fuck it. I don’t even care.

  I gestured for Jesse to go ahead, and after he’d disap
peared into my room, I glanced up and down the hall just in case anyone had seen us. There was no one around, so I followed him in and closed the door behind us.

  And with no cameras and no prying eyes, we stared at each other. Fumbling blindly, I felt around on the door until I found the deadbolt. I turned it. Jesse gulped.

  So what do we do?

  You tell me.

  I pushed myself off the door and reached for his waist, and in half a heartbeat, we were in each other’s arms. Clothes rustled and breath hissed across skin, but as we kissed for the first time in too long, my pounding heart threatened to drown out any sound we made.

  I hauled him to me and leaned against the wall so we wouldn’t collapse. His kiss gave me a rush like that first drag after I caved to a long-resisted nicotine craving, but there was no guilt. No self-loathing, no sense of failure that inevitably accompanied a cigarette surrender. Just relief. Pure, blissful relief that was just as likely to drive me to tears as it was to drive me to my knees, but the wall kept me—us, thank God—upright.

  Jesse broke the kiss, and we stared at each other, panting and shaking.

  “I suppose,” he said between struggling to catch his breath, “there isn’t any point in mentioning we shouldn’t do this.”

  “Not really. Can’t say it makes much difference.”

  “Isn’t there some parable about forbidden fruit or something?” he murmured. “We want what we can’t have?”

  “Mm-hmm.” I ran my fingers through his hair. “But that’s not why I can’t stay away from you.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Oh yeah.” I touched my forehead to his. “I’d want you this way whether I could have you or not,” I growled and kissed him.

  Jesse whimpered and melted against me, pressing his hard-on against my own as his lips parted for my tongue.

  When we separated again, just enough for me to speak, I said, “I want you so goddamned bad, Jesse. I can’t even…”

  “Then don’t,” he whispered and kissed me.

  It didn’t matter anymore if this was wrong. A bad idea. Unprofessional. Dangerous.

  We needed to.