by Ali Vali
“What do you mean?”
“Granted, I called you down yesterday, but this is more than that. Believe it or not, I was really looking forward to working with you on a full-time basis. You’ve always reminded me a lot of your father, and I wanted to help you make your path. After yesterday and now, I see you don’t like me much, but you don’t know me well enough to feel that strongly about it, so I must’ve done something.”
“Wait,” Sam said when Chili reached the door. “It was a simple question, and if you don’t want to answer, then don’t. You don’t have to run out on me.”
“I’ve got an early meeting so I’ll eat on the way. Don’t worry. You don’t need to apologize again, and I’m late. Think about what I said and I’ll see you later.”
Chili had forgotten to get coffee to go, but she was damned if she was going back in there, so she walked briskly to her car and called her office. “Paul, remember I’m in Baton Rouge this morning, but it shouldn’t take long. Patch through anyone who can’t wait. If not, I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”
“Paula Stern has called for you three times already. You want me to patch her through?”
“Do you think you’d look rugged with your front teeth missing?”
“Fair question, boss, and I’ll tell Ms. Stern you’ve moved to the Amazon to live with the pygmies. They were looking for someone tall to pick the high-hanging fruit, and the clothes-optional way of life made you jump at the chance.”
“Remember to make an appointment with a mental-health professional and stay out of trouble until I get back.”
*
The Louisiana state capital was full of people running around as if they held the answer to the state’s woes so it was important for them to get where they were going, no matter if they plowed you down to do it. Chili had enough contacts to become a successful lobbyist either here or in Washington, but her bullshit limit was too low to put up with these jackasses for long. Her side of the political game was too exciting to quit for three times the money she was making now.
“Did you come to help me or to encourage electric-shock treatments again?” a man asked as he covered her eyes with his hands.
The move reminded her of elementary school, but State Senator Theodore Rooster Roberts was anything but simple. Rooster was one of the savviest people she’d met in this line of work, and he had only two years left to his term. The only thing that’d finally unseated him was the term limits he’d helped to pass a few years prior.
“I’m going to demand it if you called me because you’ve got your eye on some other office.” She turned around and hugged Rooster, who enthusiastically returned her embrace.
“Can you blame me?” Rooster kept his arm around her shoulder as they walked in the direction of his office. “You’ve got this bug as bad as I do, so don’t give me all that shit about quitting. Both of us will quit when we’re old and senile. Hell, even then we’ll have better ideas than most of the jackasses around here.”
Rooster’s office had a beautiful view of the Mississippi River and part of the city. His seniority had gotten him the space that was even larger than the governor’s office, and the asshole in that position at times couldn’t stand that fact. Rooster’s large desk sat between two large windows, and over his chair on the wall hung the largest wild boar Chili had ever seen. The thing’s name changed every few years, depending on who’d pissed Rooster off, and at the moment the pig shared the governor’s first and middle names.
“What’s on your mind?” Chili asked as she sat at the small conference table on the other side of the room, since that’s where the coffee service was set up.
“Don’t make me beg.” Rooster sat heavily across from her and accepted the cup she’d prepared for him. “Tell me what the public has on its mind.”
“Right now you’re running six points behind the incumbent if the election were held tomorrow. That’s not an impossible number to make up, but he’s got a war chest bigger than one of those barges out there. It’s enough money to paint you or anyone who dares run against him as a wild-spending, God-hating, flag-burning liberal the second you announce.”
“Any good news in that bag of tricks?” Rooster leaned his head back and covered his face with his hands. “I promised Carla I’d only consider it if we could avoid a mud fest.” Carla Roberts was Rooster’s second wife, but the only reason the young, gorgeous twenty-six-year-old had caught the sixty-two-year-old Rooster’s eye was because his sainted wife of thirty years had lost her battle to cancer. It’d taken Rooster four years after that to crack a smile, but Carla had completely changed his life after Rooster’s daughter Gabby had introduced the two of them.
“If you want this, really want it, you’re going to have to fling a little slop yourself. I know it’s not your style, and it hasn’t been necessary in your district since everyone who lives there thinks you’re the anointed one, but negative campaigning has a way of sticking. Once they slime you it’s hard to get rid of the stink, so you might as well warn Carla now.”
The door opened as Chili was talking, but she finished when she saw who it was.
“Might as well warn me about what? I assume you two are talking about me,” Carla said as she kissed Chili on the cheek before heading to Rooster. “Come on, keep talking. That’s why I’m here.”
“Your husband has had a long and successful career here despite being a Democrat in a very red state, and he’s about to retire from state politics. If you two have Washington-type ambitions it’s not impossible, but don’t expect the cakewalk it’s been up to now to get yourself elected.”
“You don’t think Rooster’s got some good left in him?” Carla asked as she took her husband’s hand.
“People across the state are going to take one look at you and think Rooster’s got a whole bunch left in him, I’d imagine, but I want you both to go into this with eyes wide open.” Rooster laughed and Carla joined in as Chili took out the report she’d compiled and gave them each a copy. “These are the results of the polls we took, as well as how I believe they’ll come after you. You’ve got a good team, and I think, if done right, you’ll give Blow Hard a run he won’t soon forget.”
“How about you, Chili? Isn’t it time you got involved on the policy side?” Rooster asked. “I can offer you a good gig with a view as pretty as this one.”
“I’m not ready to beat my head against the wall yet, so stick with Charlie. He’s good people,” she said of Rooster’s chief of staff. Usually state senators didn’t have large staffs, but Rooster had the money to go along with his charm and good looks.
“That’s all you got for me?” Rooster asked as she stood to go.
“Thursday of this week you’ve been invited to speak to the oilmen’s group in New Orleans, followed by the chamber of commerce for lunch. I put some speech ideas in the back. Later this month you’re talking to the largest faith-based organization in North Louisiana. These people meet quarterly in Alexandria, and they love to hear preaching from the pulpit as to who to vote for, so deliver the speech I wrote word for word. No ad-libbing, Rooster, I mean it. Carla, make sure not to miss that one, and both of you try to look as conservative as possible.”
“You’re never this specific, so what’s up?” Rooster asked as he thumbed to the back of his folder.
“Good things come to those who show surprise and awe at the stupidity of others when the time comes. Word for word, don’t forget that.”
Chili took her time walking back to the car and thought about the rest of her day. “Unfortunately there’s nothing else to keep me away from Sam and the human octopus,” she said to herself as she reached the parking lot. “Both of them seem hell-bent on making me relive my embarrassment.”
*
“Have you met her?” Sam asked Chili’s assistant Paul.
“Paula Stern, you mean?”
“That’s who we’re talking about. Chili told me to ask you.”
Paul’s hands rose slowly from his keyboard
, and he just as slowly swiveled his chair in her direction. “Chili Alexander told you to ask me about Paula? Seriously?”
“That’s why I’m here talking to you,” she said, crossing her legs in an effort to exude calm.
“Are you sure about that? I ask, because knowing Chili the way I do—she’d rather be strapped to the statue in Jackson Square buck naked and beaten than talk about Paula.” He stared at her as if trying to see through her game. “Do you mind if I call her before we go on with this?”
“Okay, technically she didn’t say specifically to talk to you, but you know the story, so let’s hear it.”
“I also know that setting my ass on fire would probably really hurt, but I don’t want to try and prove myself right. Why do you want to know so badly anyway?”
She slid off Paul’s desk and pulled her skirt down. “Curiosity, nothing more, and if you’re not going to indulge me, then don’t mention this to Chili, okay?”
“It’s our little secret,” Paul said as he held up his crossed fingers.
The shit was going to tell Chili the first chance he got, she thought as she stepped into Chili’s office. She’d visited here so many times in the middle of campaigns, when it was hard not to get caught up in the frenzy, and often daydreamed during her classes of spending her career doing the same thing. The enjoyment would be short-lived if coming to work meant navigating a minefield littered with eggshells.
“Did you get a chance to swing by Virgil’s new headquarters?” Dolly Larson, one of Chili’s team, asked as she put up the new artwork on Chili’s wall.
“Was I supposed to? Chili didn’t mention it.”
“I’m sure she’d appreciate you checking it out before she gets back. Paula called and said they’re almost set up, though I’m not sure what that means since we did everything yesterday.” Dolly handed Sam a slip of paper with an address and waved as she left.
“Please let Chili know where I am if she beats me back,” she said to Paul.
She took the opportunity to escape for a while and noticed the location Chili had picked was a few blocks from the other candidate in the race. Since she passed that headquarters first, she slowed and took a look at their handiwork. The signage out front was passable, and a few cars sat in the parking lot, which Sam guessed belonged to volunteers. Overall it appeared normal in a “this is our headquarters” kind of way, which is why Virgil’s place really stood out.
The parking lot at Virgil’s was decorated with the flag streamers usually found only on car lots, and over the main entrance she couldn’t miss two large wooden cutouts of rifles crossed with little explosions coming from the barrels. That alone was bizarre enough, but an American flag was pinned to the butts, along with a sign that read God Bless America. The only thing missing was a statue of Jesus holding a vote-for-Virgil sign.
“Where are you?” she asked when Chili answered her phone. No way was she getting out of the car since Maria and her crew were setting up to shoot a segment for what Sam guessed was the noon news. It had to be an either extremely juicy story or truly bizarre to get Maria interested, and Virgil had delivered in grand fashion, so she couldn’t blame her friend for covering this.
“About twenty minutes from the office. Is there a problem?”
Sam held her phone up and snapped a picture. “Can you pull over and look at the text I just sent?”
“Give me a minute.” Sam slouched in her seat, praying Maria wouldn’t notice her. “Are you fucking kidding me? Is that Maria Poplin the action reporter next to that news van?” Chili asked, her voice booming through the phone.
“The one and only, and from the looks of it, the cameraman’s trying to get her to stop laughing before they go on air.” That was an easy call since she’d been around Maria enough to know what she was like with a case of the giggles.
“Slowly drive away and meet me at the office. If Virgil goes out and gives Maria any more ammunition to go with the flag and guns, he’s on his own.”
Sam waited outside until Chili arrived and didn’t interrupt the telephone conversation Chili was having as they stepped into the elevator. “Did you get drunk and decide to punk me last night?” she asked someone. “Shit.”
Beth Richards was holding her phone to her ear and shaking her head when they got off at their floor. “You know me better than that. Come on. That place didn’t have any of that crap when we left last night.”
“Get Virgil on the phone and tell him if he talks to Maria ‘I’m waiting for my big break’ Poplin with that circus in the background, I quit.” Chili appeared ready to either throw her phone at something or hit someone. “And if he decides to defy that suggestion, tell him to put that goddamn ugly tie back on so he’ll complete the redneck-asshole image he’s shooting for.”
“Does this happen often?” Sam asked when Chili stood in the middle of her office, breathing so hard Sam figured she’d faint at any moment.
“I’ll tell you after we fix this, okay?”
Sam could hear Beth in the background, and it sounded as if Virgil was in the building. Chili had turned on the television, which showed Maria talking as she headed for the door. Thankfully it was locked, but she knocked hard enough to rattle the glass.
“Chili, Mr. Emery’s on line one for you,” Paul said through the intercom.
Sam couldn’t tell if Virgil was still a client, since all Chili said was “uh-huh” twelve times before she gently put the phone down and sat. “Let’s wait until our action-reporter friend has finished and cleared out before heading back over there and redecorating.” Beth had stepped back in and nodded at everything Chili said. “I’m sorry I doubted you, and I trust that you, Sam, and some of the others will make the changes necessary to make it look like we’re running for the state senate and not state clown.”
“I should tell you—” Sam said, but Chili’s phone rang again and she answered it.
“I’m not doing live with you again, and before you start, you know exactly why. I just learned from experience, so we can tape it or nothing.”
Sam thought back to what Maria had said about not rattling Chili’s demeanor, but maybe that wasn’t the entire truth. She had to come clean about Maria now or suffer the temper she’d just seen from her new boss.
“Sam, you ready?” Beth asked, but Chili was still on the phone.
“Sure,” she said as she walked away, glancing back at Chili a few times. “Crazy day, huh?”
“And it ain’t over yet, kid,” Beth said as they all crowded into the elevator.
Sam hoped Beth’s words weren’t a curse. Her relationship with Chili was already shaky enough.
*
Chili headed to Virgil’s house before she had to face the gloating face of Maria Poplin. She thought that was the safest place for the come-to-Jesus talk they had to have before the situation became the funny story people told at cocktail parties for years to come. All she knew so far was the guns and fanfare were courtesy of Paula, since Virgil was running in a conservative, affluent, and religious part of the state. That usually translated into white, gun-loving, rich, somewhat pious older men who loved and lived for the opportunity to vote.
Except for the age, in a way that described Virgil, who, like everyone on his block, had a flagpole dead-center in his front yard. The flag blowing in the wind looked brand-new, but the pole had been there as long as the house, so no one could accuse him of pandering his patriotism because of an election.
“Welcome to our home,” the beautiful blond woman who answered the door said as she held out her hand. “I’m Candy Emery.”
“Chili Alexander, ma’am.” She tried not to think of Huey and his nickname for all her dates as she shook Candy’s hand. “It’s a pleasure, and thank you for having me over.”
“After hearing Paula and Virgil talk about you so much, I feel like we’re friends.”
“That’ll be true by the time this process is done.” She followed Candy to the gorgeous study Virgil had in the back corner of the ho
use. The mahogany-paneled walls, antique desk, and book-lined shelves behind it bore no resemblance to the life Virgil seemed to lead outside this room.
“I’ll leave you to talk,” Candy said.
“Actually, Mrs. Emery, I’d like it very much if you’d stay. Before every election process I tell every couple the same thing. Virgil is running for office, but he’s not the only one this campaign will affect, so I’d like your input.”
She learned more about Virgil in the next fifteen minutes than she’d planned, but it was what she needed to right his ship. Candy wasn’t some fluff Virgil had married to better his image; she was a member of one of the richest families in Louisiana. The former debutante had met Virgil in college, and they’d been devoted to each other ever since.
“There’s a way to go about these things, and I’m not so inflexible as to try to bend you into something you’re not. What I can’t and won’t do is butt heads with someone set on going in the exact opposite direction of all our advice for the entire campaign. If that’s what you want, I’m okay with it, but the firm will pull back and do your polling and back-room stuff if you want to let Ms. Stern handle your campaign.”
Virgil and Candy agreed on how to proceed, so Chili drove to the station to keep her appointment with Maria. She didn’t totally dislike Maria, but she had a way of barraging you with rapid-fire questions so your answers at times seemed to get jumbled.
“Good to see you again,” Maria said as she sat down.
“Sure.” Chili exhaled in an effort to relax.
“How are things?” Maria stood as the techs attached her mike and earwig. “We haven’t spoken in a while, and that’s my loss. Who knew you had so many exciting things happening in your life.”
Chili smiled at her and decided not to fall for Maria’s usual bullshit. She liked Maria, despite her profession, and she never outright resented her for it. From what she’d seen of Maria’s work she was mostly balanced and fair, but like everyone in the news business, sometimes she let ratings matter more than anything like the truth. Right now she was also wired minus the earwig, and when any microphone was in the vicinity, she had to assume it was live.
