“I was told to be here, Deena. Now make yourself useful and let Roger know,” I tell her as rudely as I can manage.
“Wait here,” she says, spinning off to the small office where my future was forged less than a week ago. She mumbles something under her breath as she walks away. It doesn’t matter what, but I’m positive it wasn’t complimentary.
I wait in the war room, in full view of the hateful eyes of every volunteer who toiled on the phones all day to get out the vote. The polls are closed now, so nothing more to do than converse, await the results of their efforts, and talk about me in quiet whispers. This sucks.
Deena opens the office door and the sound of yet another patented Winston Beaumont tirade spills out.
“This is a disaster!”
“You are still ahead sir,” Roger consoles.
“By a hundred votes! I had an eighty percent approval rating six months ago!”
“Maybe we underestimated Bennit and his staff,” I hear Madison say from the office. Not surprisingly, she got promoted to be the new me.
“It was your job to get me reelected! And yours Roger! And here I am barely beating some nobody and a bunch of kids.”
Winston walks out of the office, sees me and scowls. He turns and whispers something to Roger before putting on a fake smile and working the room. He plies the mindless zombies here with false gratitude, telling them he couldn’t have done it without them. I have learned Winston Beaumont III is not the type of man who sincerely acknowledges the contribution of people he considers beneath him.
Roger walks over to me, the Ice Queen in tow. Madison remains in the entrance of the small office with a look of pure satisfaction on her face. Win or lose, I am going to be metaphorically tortured tonight, and she will enjoy every minute of it.
“Blake,” Roger says, not bothering to offer his hand. He doesn’t shake with the disloyal.
“Roger,” I respond, in the same tone. I don’t shake with the dishonest. Well, now I don’t.
“Go find a seat out of everyone’s way. You may be here a while.”
Surveying the alternatives, I choose to sit in a molded plastic chair along the wall of small offices. Why am I putting myself through this? I could leave, and Lord knows I should. Just tell Beaumont where he can stick his crotchety attitude and walk out the door with my head high, but my feet don’t move.
I need to have it out with my former mentor, the man who I worshipped for so long. I was brainwashed into thinking the political games he played were for the greater good. Enemies were nothing more than mere obstacles that needed to be circumvented, or in extreme cases, destroyed. The ends justified the means, and when those means meant destroying lives, it was dismissed as collateral damage. That is the Beaumont way, and until a couple of days ago, my way.
Manson, Koresh, Jones, and Beaumont. They are all different men, but each possesses the uncanny ability to get the people around them to follow blindly their chosen course. And follow I did, up until the point I just couldn’t anymore.
I look down at the ‘Hell on Wheels’ pin stuck to the lapel of my coat. I wonder what my dad would think of me now. Would he applaud my decision to try to right a wrong, or scold me for my lack of loyalty? Seeing me through his eyes, am I courageous or foolish for what I’ve done? Would he think I went crazy over a beautiful teenage girl or understand there was so much more to the decision? I like to think I have the answers to those questions, but he’s gone, so I’ll never know for sure.
What I do know is I chose this path, and now the world looks different. I regard the people in this room I once considered allies in the cause as unwitting stooges. So, I will sit here and pay the penance for my sins under the disdainful glares of those still enchanted by Beaumont’s spell. I will endure the snickers from Madison and the pettiness of Deena, just so I can get my last shot in at Winston Beaumont III.
.
-SIXTY-
KYLIE
I am trying not to be rude, but this is not the time anyone should expect my undivided attention. Since I arrived at the Buzz, Chelsea, Brian, Peyton, and the crew have been parading countless student volunteers from other districts over to meet me. Some want to be journalists after graduating from college. Others fancy themselves as future politicians or staffers.
They are all good kids, and I answer their barrage of questions as earnestly as I can. Under any other circumstances, I would be flattered by the attention, but my focus keeps getting drawn to the TV. It’s election night, and we are approaching the finish line and finding out how this adventure ends.
I peak again at the huge screen, and with 74 percent in, Michael has actually taken a slight lead in the race. No longer able to divide my attention, I politely excuse myself and settle on a spot closer to the screen.
There are about a dozen people watching with zombie-like interest, and they pay me no notice as I join them. The sound coming from the speakers is muffled under the cackle of the crowd in the room, so I strain to hear what is being said on screen.
“I cannot tell you how shocked I am,” a female pundit offers to her two peers. “Here’s a guy who ran his entire campaign on social media using high school students for staff. With nothing more than a shoestring budget, he has positioned himself to beat a well-respected incumbent.”
Well-respected my ass. The pundits know it too, but this makes for better ratings.
“Regardless of what happens, do you think that this campaign will change modern politics?” the moderator of the group asks.
“Absolutely. Everyone in America now figures that if this guy can do it, they can do it! You heard it here first. Running for elected office will never be the same.”
Well, that may be true now, but if Michael holds me to writing my final article about him? How can I get out of doing that? Do promises have loopholes? Great, now I sound like a politician.
I sense, more than see, Chelsea come up beside me. “Have they talked about any other race tonight?”
“Barely,” I mumble. “This is the greatest show on Earth so far as the media is concerned. Control of Congress could be seized by a political party made up of disgruntled circus chimps and they would still be focusing on this race.”
Chelsea laughs, but I’m pretty serious about that comment. The media attention over the past two months is on a scale I could never have imagined.
“The once untouchable Winston Beaumont has had the fight of his life in this re-election campaign. Now it looks more and more like Michael Bennit may pull off the upset,” says a reporter outside our lively little coffee house. “The big question in Connecticut tonight, and especially in the small business behind me, is just how much of an effect the scandal that rocked the Bennit campaign just a few days ago will have on how people vote.”
“People have gone to the polls in record numbers, and many of them told us they dismissed the allegations and cast their vote for Michael Bennit,” the anchor says after his on location reporter finishes. “But will it be enough to unseat the popular incumbent? What's the word from the Beaumont camp, Bob?”
Bob is inside a ballroom, a dais with American flag backdrop set up along a wall. The room is filled with Beaumont posters, balloons, and a hundred people watching the election results on the screen.
“The feeling here has been one of nervousness over the past half hour. As the latest results came in, the crowd quieted considerably as their slim lead turned into a slim deficit. Remember, Winston Beaumont was embroiled in a scandal of his own last spring involving the Lexington Financial Group. Now, people around here are wondering whether political newcomer Michael Bennit is poised to make history.”
“Thanks for your report, Bob. We are now getting ready to call some races that have been decided in other parts of the country.”
“We getting close?” Michael whispers into my ear.
“Very.”
* * *
Another whole hour lurches by before people begin paying rapt attention to the results. As a group,
the people assembled here share a sense of the final verdict being close at hand. Peyton, Brian, Amanda, Vince, Emilee, and Amanda all move up through the mass of humanity to join us up front, Xavier and Vanessa following a few moments later. Vince begins cracking jokes about the candidates in other districts, lightening the mood a bit, but only a bit. The tension in the room is thick like a morning fog.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we are getting ready to call the race in the Connecticut Sixth District.”
“Everybody quiet!” Chelsea shrieks to silence the audience behind us. Peyton, Vanessa and Brian also turn to quiet everyone down. The cacophony of nervous sound quickly turns to an eerie silence. The pundits on the television, whose voices only moments ago could barely be heard, now boom into the room.
“Here we go. Moment of truth,” Amanda says anxiously.
“What has been perhaps the most intently watched congressional race in history has lived up to its billing as the contest between Independent Michael Bennit and Democrat Winston Beaumont has gone right down to the wire. We should be getting the final results any second.”
Peyton covers her mouth with her hands.
Vince bounces his leg nervously.
Emilee is literally covering her eyes with her hands.
“We’re sorry for the delay, folks, but we are just awaiting some final confirmations because we want to get this right.”
Vanessa hides behind Brian's shoulder.
Chelsea inhales and holds her breath.
My hands are cupped in front of my mouth, and I notice I am biting down on my index finger with my teeth.
“C’mon, c’mon!” Brian mumbles to nobody in particular.
“You’re killing us here!” Vince exclaims.
For a moment, just a moment, it feels like the world has stopped spinning.
.
-SIXTY-ONE-
MICHAEL
“In one of the most captivating elections I have ever had the privilege of reporting, the contest between Winston Beaumont and the iCandidate Michael Bennit literally has come down to the last votes counted,” the anchor says, her voice dripping with excitement.
My students are bundles of nervous energy. Even the steadfast Kylie Roberts is caught up in the moment. As the anchor prattles on, all motion in the room ceases. Deep breaths are held almost universally. Months of work, and it all comes down to the next words out of her mouth. Could I really be a U.S. Congressman?
“With one hundred percent of the precincts reporting, we can now announce that the campaign of Michael Bennit, the iCandidate has fallen short, and Democratic incumbent Winston Beaumont has successfully retained his seat in the House.”
A graphic depicting Winston Beaumont flashes on the screen with a large check mark next to it. A collective gasp, followed by an audible groan of disappointment, shakes the room.
Vince drops his head.
Vanessa covers her face with her hands to hide the tears welling up in her eyes.
Nothing stops the tears from streaming down Chelsea and Peyton's cheeks.
Brian puts an arm around Peyton and hugs her, stunned by what he just heard.
Kylie turns to me, her eyes moistened from her own tears. “I’m sorry,” she mouths to me. I reach out and pull her into my arms, giving her a tight hug as I bury my face in her hair. We hold it for a long time, before I finally break the comfort of her embrace. She nods over to the students who are consoling each other.
Peyton reaches out and hugs me, followed by Vince, of all people. One-by-one they each join in a group hug as cameras flash from the crowd. There is little doubt one of those pictures will end up on the front page of every newspaper in the country. I’m not sure if my rule against physical contact would apply to an emotional moment like this, but since I am suspended anyway, I don’t really give a damn.
When we finally release, it is Brian who summons the courage to speak first. “So much for our Cinderella story.”
“I guess the glass slipper didn’t fit after all,” Emilee chimes in through her tears.
I can’t help but give them a little smile. “You may not realize it when it happens, but a kick in the teeth may be the best thing in the world for you.”
“What go nowhere idiot said that BS?” Vince says, upset and angry. I put my hand on his shoulder.
“Walt Disney.”
They all crack little smiles which fade quickly. The crowd in the shop starts moving in closer and begins to shake hands with all if us. I haven’t been around campaigns before, but I can’t imagine any would be more supportive than this one.
I get everyone’s attention and say a few words of thanks to all those that worked so hard for us. I keep it brief, but I’m sure I could have spoken for an hour and no one would have budged. When I finished, Chelsea comes up to me.
“I was just thinking, what about the absentee ballots?”
Kylie puts her hand gently on my shoulder. “Break even at best, Chels.”
“No use in putting this off any longer. I guess I have a call to make.”
To my surprise, Kylie gives me a quick kiss on the cheek.
“Don't let the bastard get the best of you.”
.
-SIXTY-TWO-
BLAKE
The herd gathered around the TV like it’s a midwestern watering hole has grown quiet. From the far side of the war room, I can almost make out the voice of the anchor on CNN reading the results of races throughout the country. Winston Beaumont is not among them, deciding to watch from the comfortable solitude of his small office like the coward he is.
Why are all these people even here? Beaumont secured a ballroom in Danbury to host his victory celebration. I imagine he is hiding here in case he loses, but I have no idea why so many others aren’t at least enjoying the open bar. If they hung around the campaign office because I was coming, it wasn’t so they could interact with me.
I sit alone in the plastic chair without a soul within fifty feet of me, ostracized and shunned by the army I once helped command. This is their moment, not mine. I gave up that right the moment I crossed the great and powerful Beaumont.
I don’t need to see the television to know what happened. The spontaneous eruption of joy by all the people in the war room speaks volumes. I changed the course of the election and was too late in stopping it. As a result, Winston won.
The congressman emerges from his office with a beaming Roger and shakes his hand. “You need to do better in the Senate race Roger. I’ll be counting on you.”
“We will, sir.”
Beaumont gives a wave to the enthusiastic serfs content to suspend reason and common sense and support this arrogant blowhard.
Deena walks up to him and taps him on the shoulder, and whispers something in his ear that mercifully cuts short his bloviating.
“Bennit is making his concession call,” he announces proudly. ”So let me take this and I’ll meet you over at the ballroom to get the party started!” The zombies erupt with pleasure.
“Why don’t you join us, Blake?” he says, turning to me before walking into the office. Madison, Roger and Marcus accompany us in the small room as Deena punches the speaker button on the desk phone.
“This is Winston Beaumont.”
“Good evening, congressman. This is Michael Bennit. I wanted to congratulate you and your staff on your victory.”
“Why thank you, Michael. You gave me a bit of a scare, but as I told you after the debate, there was no way I was going to lose.”
A long silence on the other end of the line is punctuated by the sounds of the celebration outside in the war room.
“But you did lose, congressman.”
“I’m a bit confused, Michael,” Winston says in the most condescending voice he can muster. “This is a concession call. Surely even a novice like you watches the news. I won.”
“You won the election, yes, but for a veteran politician, you’re unbelievably short-sighted.”
“Oh, yeah? How so?”
“Congressman, you spent over twenty-five million dollars running a negative campaign against me, and all you have to show for the cost is the narrowest margin of victory in a congressional race in history.”
It amazes me. After everything Winston did to him, he still addresses him by his title, offering a measure of respect the office, if not the officeholder, deserves. If there was any lingering doubt in my mind about Michael Bennit’s character, that squashed it. I am not feeling so conciliatory.
“I still won. That’s the only thing of consequence,” Winston concludes.
“You won this election, but what about the next one? You won't be up against a novice next time, nor will you benefit from a huge war chest to buy your way out of defeat.”
“It won't matter!”
“Your staff knows differently, and if they haven’t brought it up yet, they’re lying to you,” Michael says in the same measured tone that made him a hit at the debate.
“I can always raise more money.”
“Sure you can, but you’re going to have a much harder time changing people’s opinions with it. You won with the lies you spread this time, but I wouldn’t count on history repeating itself. The cold, hard reality is simple. Beating me has cost you your political future, you just don't know it yet.”
“Look here Bennit—”
“Congratulations, congressman. Enjoy your last two years in politics.”
The call disconnects, but Beaumont continues to stare at phone like he is waiting for a stripper to pop out of the damn thing. Deena and Madison are equally dumfounded, if not disgusted by what they perceive as Michael’s lack of respect. The only other person in the room that gets it is Roger. He is staring at me, so I give him a look of amusement. Everything Michael Bennit said is absolutely true. I may be finished in politics, but so is the man I once worshipped.
The iCandidate Page 27
