by Ali Vali
Those two had a history, and Sam was determined to find out what it was without having to ask her father. He always said the secret to this job was to ask as little as possible and find out as much on your own as you could. Too many questions were at times your downfall because they revealed your plans in the answers others had to give you.
“Well, what do you all think?” Virgil asked when he stepped out of the dressing room. The navy-blue pinstriped suit, along with the white shirt and red tie, made him appear like a different person. Even if all Virgil ever did with his life was sell cars, you’d feel better about signing on the dotted line sitting across from this guy than you would if he’d still been wearing the loud neckwear and tan suit that was slightly too small. “Think I need some new shoes to go with this rig?”
Chili and Sam gazed down at his black alligator boots and shook their heads at the same time. “No, but the big diamond Rolex has to go,” Chili said, and handed him a simple wristwatch with a leather band. “Now you look like the senator people are going to put their faith in.”
“You really think so?” Virgil asked as he studied his reflection.
“Almost, but as soon as we go over a few more things you can bank on it.”
“Isn’t this dishonest, though, even if my wife will be thrilled? She’s been after me forever to change my look, but real men don’t care about stuff like that.” Virgil held his arms out and let them drop. “Without your help I’d still look like a hick.”
“Let me share with you the most important wisdom I learned from my mentor when it came to politicians. After the votes have been counted and you and your wife start looking for an apartment in Baton Rouge, the clothes and a good haircut can make you someone people are more likely to sit and listen to, and that’ll win you the seat. What I can’t change is what your beliefs are and how you express your passion about them. That comes from the part of you no new tie and suit can dress up enough to get elected. Your convictions are going to keep you honest and in favor with the people who’ll put their trust in you.”
“I think I’m going to like you,” Virgil said as he slapped Chili on the back.
“Don’t worry. By the end you’re going to love me,” Chili said.
When the manager of the store came with the bill, Sam pulled Chili off to the side again and whispered what she thought was an important point. “You do realize that he’s twenty points down in the latest polls, right?”
“And here I thought you didn’t read anything in the report,” Chili said with a smile.
“I’d like to think I learn from my mistakes.”
“Don’t we all,” Chili said and laughed, but she stopped abruptly when Paula stepped into her personal space, pushing Sam aside.
“Chili,” Paula said, and wrapped her hand around Chili’s bicep in a way that reminded Sam of an octopus getting ready to devour some helpless fish. “How about we get together over drinks tonight and talk strategy?”
“I’m sorry. I have a dinner meeting with Huey tonight to set our schedule for the next couple of months. Have Virgil go over the position papers we sent him and make sure he gets his numbers right.” Chili’s smile had faded, and she almost seemed to strain to break Paula’s grip. Sam had never seen someone so blatantly go after someone like they were a piece of meat and she was a hungry piranha.
“Did I hear my name and some sort of homework?” Virgil asked.
“I want you to become an information wonk overnight, Virgil.”
“Shucks. Doesn’t the state have enough of those already?”
“A bumper crop, but you’re going to be much different than all that.” Chili stepped closer to him and straightened his tie. “There’s being a wonk who spits numbers out like a Gatling gun, and then there’s being one who’s also a successful car salesman. You’ve got the charm to make them sign on the dotted line, and we’re going to use that to get you elected.”
“You’re pretty good at that too, so what’s next then?”
“Get to know the facts as a way to arm yourself, and while you’re doing that I’m going to get to know your opponent. You’ll build your strengths, and I’ll find the weakness in the other guy so you can deliver enough blows to even out your numbers a bit.” Chili accepted a bag from the salesman and gave it to Virgil. “Only keep one thing in mind.”
“What’s that?” Virgil asked, but wasn’t referring to the bag in his hand.
“If your opponent is even halfway decent, and considering his polling numbers at the moment he is, his people are doing the same thing we are, with great success. That means no more than one drink when you’re in public, no speeding, I don’t care what the problem or emergency, and when you attend church on Sunday, if I catch you sitting in the first row of pews I’ll personally kick your ass. There’s nothing more aggravating than a politician who goes for the most visible seat in the church, because even if you do it every Sunday, everyone is going to see it as a cheap photo-op.”
“Anything else?” Virgil asked as he peeked in the bag.
“Plenty, but I don’t want to overwhelm you on the first day.” Chili tapped on the side of the bag so Virgil would open it all the way. When he pulled out the pink tie with little race cars on it that Sam had picked out but that Paula had thrown out of the bunch he’d bought, Sam smiled at Chili. “A gift from Sam and me for Election Night. The women will love it, but the race cars will keep anyone from thinking you’re too sensitive.”
“I think I’m going to like you a lot,” Virgil said, and put the tie back in the bag carefully.
“See, that’s what separates you from the competition, Virgil. You’re smart,” Chili said, and laughed. “Read the files, and we’ll see you first thing in the morning.”
“Chili, I expect you’ll make some time for me as well. There’s so much to cover and so many hours in the day. Maybe dinner or drinks, if not tonight sometime this week?” Paula said, and ran her finger from Chili’s shoulder to her hand. “Not that much time has passed that you don’t remember what a great team we make.”
“I’ll make a point of having Chili’s assistant review her schedule, and he’ll get back to you,” Sam said, and opened the door for Chili.
Sam followed her out and didn’t say anything to break the silence on the way back. She hesitated when Chili stopped in front of the office and put the car in park but didn’t turn the ignition off. “Good job today, Sam,” Chili finally said, but didn’t look at her.
“It’s only four. You’re taking off already? I have a lot of stuff to ask you about.”
“Does it count that I was here until ten last night?” Chili finally gazed in her direction. “It won’t take you long to get the political fever that makes this job the center of the universe, but even less time to figure out that sometimes it just makes you sick. I’m on bullshit overload, and I’d like nothing better than to sit somewhere quiet and have a drink.”
“If you’re in a rush to meet someone, then I’m sorry I’m taking up so much of your time. Next time I’ll drive my own car so you won’t have to be burdened with having to bring me back.”
“Did I say this was a burden?” Chili said each word slowly and looked at her like Sam had lost her mind, which she was questioning herself about. “The first rule of this game is to never assume anything. The second rule to memorize is it’s no place for spoiled little girls.” Chili gripped the steering wheel and her nose flared. “I never took you for one so I didn’t consider I’d have to mention it. Take tonight to decide if this is too much for you. Virgil Emery wants to be anointed a state senator, and it’s our job to get that done. In the realm of all things he’s going to have marginal power, but to him and the other peacocks in Baton Rouge it means the world.”
“I didn’t realize you held our clients in such contempt,” Sam said, and opened the door as she felt her anger rise, but she had about as much control over it as she did the weather. “My father and most of my professors said the day that happens it’s time to contemplate r
etirement.”
“Well, hey, if your father and professors said it, then it must be true. You did, after all, graduate at the top of your class, so it’s only reasonable to assume that even though it’s your first day you can already read minds and do it better. Great—have at it. What the hell do I know?”
“What in the hell’s wrong with you?” Sam said, and slammed the door closed again since she didn’t want anyone to hear her screaming. “I was making a point, so you don’t need to be an asshole about it.”
“I’m not being an asshole. What I am is tired and don’t need any more curve balls than I’ve had thrown at me today.”
“You want to tell me what’s up with you and Paula, since I assume that’s the curve ball you’re talking about.”
“There you go assuming again, and just because you’re the boss’s daughter doesn’t mean everything’s your business, which in this case it isn’t, if you didn’t understand what I just said.”
“If I’m going to be forced to work with you, then it is most certainly my business. I want to know your head is in the game and not on some woman’s ass.” The moment the words left her mouth Sam knew she was way over the line.
“Get out of the car,” Chili said succinctly. “Now,” she added with a little heat when Sam didn’t move.
Sam opened the door and stood with it open, getting ready to apologize when Chili put it in drive and left. Great, just great. At least my first day will be memorable.
Chapter Four
The door closed with the momentum of the car moving forward once Sam had done as Chili had asked. “Fuck,” she said as she concentrated on the road, refusing to look back to make sure Sam was all right.
She hadn’t meant to take her mood out on Sam, but running into Paula was the last thing she’d expected, and the fact that she’d have to work with her was more than she’d planned for the coming weeks. Their history had started during the second campaign she’d handled on her own after going to work for Huey. The lieutenant governor’s race had pitted their client, the son of a prominent New Orleans political family, against an aging country singer who’d been a one-hit wonder. Huey had trusted her even though she didn’t have that much experience, and he’d been the one who’d introduced her to Paula at their first strategy meeting.
It had taken Paula exactly two days of blitz flirting and outright come-ons before Chili found herself with her pants around her ankles in the bathroom of the campaign headquarters after a long day out campaigning with their client. The sex had been good at first, but Paula was one of those women who you figured out for a psycho leech the moment the haze of lust wore off. When Chili broke it off, things had gotten ugly. It was the only campaign she’d ever come close to being fired from after the show Paula put on the morning after their last night together. Only Huey intervening on her behalf had saved her job with the campaign and her reputation.
Now they ran into each other occasionally, and when they did, Paula acted as if they’d never broken up and if she tried hard enough Chili would just fall back into the role of the obedient puppy who rolled over and played dead on command. Those passes were easy enough to ignore, since they didn’t happen often, but working closely with her on another campaign was going to be like sixty days of constant root-canal work.
“And don’t forget about Sam in the middle of all that,” Chili reminded herself when she turned onto the road that would take her over the levee and to the shores of Lake Pontchartrain. Her three-bedroom houseboat was permanently docked on the water in a marina made for such structures. It was about as far away as she could get from the hassles of the office that was only a fifteen-minute drive.
The damn thing had cost her a fortune, but she hadn’t had anything else to spend the money on, and it was better than saving for triple-bypass surgery from the stress she accumulated at work. Here the only things causing a ruckus were the crickets that chirped along the shoreline.
She stopped and got her mail and flipped through the envelopes as she made her way to the end. Most of her neighbors were weekenders who seldom made an appearance more than a couple of days a month, so she never looked up until she reached her gangplank. The wall of television sets went on as soon as she unlocked the door, but tonight she was more interested in the ones recapping the weekend games. C-SPAN would have to wait until she could open a beer.
“Guess what happened to me today?” Dale Alexander, Chili’s brother asked as he stepped out of the kitchen with two beers in his hand. He laughed when the mail shot in his direction and Chili gasped from the surprise.
*
Sam watched the taillights of Chili’s American sedan disappear around the corner and balled her fingers into a fist to fight the urge to call her and apologize. The last comment she’d made was sarcastic and totally unprofessional, but her mouth had engaged before her brain could filter the words, so all she could do was go home and worry about what tomorrow would bring.
“Are you free for dinner?” she asked action-reporter Maria Poplin when the need to call someone won out.
“What’s wrong?” Maria asked, the sounds of the studio behind her as they set up for what Sam knew was the five o’clock news. “It’s your first day so it can’t be that bad.”
Maria had been a senior when Sam had started attending Tulane, and they’d struck up a friendship when Sam made an appointment with her world-history professor and got his teaching assistant instead. Their stint as lovers had been brief since their spark in that arena was nonexistent, but they enjoyed spending time together, so Maria had become one of her closest friends.
“I insulted my boss and got thrown out of the car.”
“Huey must’ve lost his mind to get that kind of reaction out of you.” The noise died away from Maria’s end and Sam figured she’d escaped to her office.
“Daddy isn’t my boss at the moment.”
“Uh-oh,” Maria said and laughed. “Who’d he put you with?”
“Chili the Great.” She glanced back where Chili had turned and hoped she’d return for the apology she was due.
“What the hell did you tell her? I’ve interviewed her a few times, and she never loses her cool no matter how obnoxious my questions get.”
“How special for you then,” she said, her sarcasm in full force again.
“I’m on at five and six, so after that I’ll be happy to tell you how special I am and listen to your sorry tale.”
“Sorry I’m being such a bitch, but it’s been a long day.” She took a deep breath to control herself from taking out her mood on Maria. “Did you want to call and ask Danielle to join us, or should I?”
“She’s in Miami pitching their bid for the carnival celebration they’re having in the Cuban section of town.”
“I thought the whole city is the Cuban section?”
“From what I understand, it is, but they don’t like to admit it. All I know is she’s eating, drinking, and smoking cigars on a nightly basis—a habit she’d better lose somewhere along the way before she gets back here.” Sam heard a muffled yell from Maria’s end, then someone banging on something she guessed was her door. “Hang in there and we’ll head over to Lucy’s after I tell the citizens of our fair city what the hell is going on.”
“Thanks, and be good.”
Chili wasn’t coming back so Sam turned and headed to her car. If she wasn’t the boss’s daughter, she doubted she’d be allowed in the building in the morning, but unfortunately for her, she wasn’t only allowed, but expected. “Way to go, Sam,” she mumbled as she walked. If tomorrow went any better it’d end up in a catfight.
*
“Don’t you ever call first?” Chili asked as she picked up her mail. “One of these days you’re going to kill me from the shock, and I’ll make it my personal mission of my afterlife to haunt you on a twenty-four-hour basis.”
“I’d be afraid, but knowing you, you’d spend your time scaring the snot out of plenty of politicians out there, leaving me in the clear.” Dale
continued to wipe his hands on her dish towel and smiled. “Besides, considering the pitiful pile of stuff you have in that fridge, you should thank me for coming over here and saving you from certain death if you eat anything in there.”
“It might be a cure for some terrible disease, so be careful if you throw anything out.”
“You’re past the cure stage for anything,” he said, pointing behind him toward the kitchen, “and onto weapons of mass destruction. If you wrap it carefully and really try, I’m sure you could get a military contract.”
“So you’re making anthrax soup?” She dropped the mail, along with everything in her pockets, in the silver dish she kept by the door.
“Hell no. I double-bagged all that shit and hauled it the curb. We got some especially good rib eyes at work, so I thought I’d come over and share.”
Chili accepted the beer he handed her and sat at the small table by the glass doors to watch him work. Dale was as comfortable in the kitchen as she was in the middle of a campaign, and sometimes she envied him that. His job very rarely followed him home and kept him up nights. The place he owned in the French Quarter was closed for dinner on Mondays, so, on his day off, she often found him cooking for her when she got home.
“Thank you, and I’m sure Mom thanks you.”
“I don’t cook for you because I think you’re not taking care of yourself, which clearly you’re not. I do it to spend time with you.”
She could hear the tinge of hurt in Dale’s voice and noticed the slump of his shoulders as he stirred something on the stove. Her life moved at a million miles an hour sometimes, so Dale always made the effort to see her, and that he still did it so enthusiastically made her sigh at how bad she was at personal relationships. She should’ve looped the block and gone back and talked to Sam.
“What’s the long face for?” Dale asked as he sat across from her.
