Mr. All Wrong

by R. C. Stephens

  “Governor Mathis. Glad you could make it.” Mr. Bachmaker’s grin is wide. He’s a good five inches shorter than me and at least fifteen years older. “Your father tells me you have some big news breaking next week.” He waggles his thick black grey brows.

  I smile. I think. It’s more like I’m pinching my lips together. “Yes, news,” I repeat because I’m now seriously considering taking off on a plane to Africa next week. If it weren’t for my commitments as governor, it would be the game plan.

  “Well, I’ll tell you. I have a niece. A pretty girl. She’s coming to town tomorrow. Maybe you two can get together. She’ll be working at Kincaid and Landry, moving here from Texas. Sweet girl… my sister’s daughter. I’d appreciate you showing her around. And hey, you need a lady by your side to run for office, you know? My niece Madeline may be the one.” He winks, and I groan internally. Another attempt at a setup. Blind dates weren’t my thing.

  If my father were here, he would be all over Mr. Bachmaker’s attempt to set me up. According to dear old dad, a candidate can’t run and win without a woman on his arm. At thirty-five and looking the way I did, snagging a first lady was a walk in the park. Only it was a walk I wasn’t ready to take. My sexual needs are more than met. No complaints from me in that department.

  I forced a smile, hoping I didn’t look constipated as opposed to happy. Mr. Bachmaker sure wasn’t the first person to try and set me up with a family member, and he wouldn’t be the last. Occupational fucking hazard. “Thank you Mr. Bachmaker, and your niece sounds lovely. Kincaid and Landry is an excellent firm, very reputable. My schedule is incredibly busy right now. I’m sure you can understand with my upcoming news and all, I don’t think I’ll have time to show her around.” I reply hoping I dodged that bullet. I hated lying through my fucking teeth.

  “Well, now I’ll have to talk to your daddy. Maybe we can all get together,” Mr. Bachmaker replies, his Texan accent coming through. He’s apparently unwilling to drop this idea. Why he thought that talking to my father would help was beyond me. I’m a grown man, and I decided where I stuck my dick, not my old man.

  “Sure, Sir, let’s set something up,” I concede knowing the old guy isn’t going to let up. The contribution he’s offering came with a price tag, it usually did. Now I had a week to tell dear old dad I wasn’t running for the presidency. The public saw me as this sharp, powerful figure fighting to get things done, laws passed, but that wasn’t who I was on the inside. I was a fucking grown man who was scared. Yes, I can use that word in my head only. I was scared to stand up to my old man. Fuck that was a difficult internal confession to swallow.

  The ribbon cutting ceremony began. The press took their positions and Al took his spot beside me. “You think his niece looks like him?” he whispers in my ear.

  I kick him in the shin and he lurches forward. “Shut up,” I whisper. Cameras are on us. I didn’t want to come across as a juvenile. My opponents liked to argue I was too young for my role. I didn’t want to give them bait. There was also the issue that Al was a bit of a prick when it came to women and he had many which could bring unwanted media attention. I wasn’t a prick. I was always honest, upfront. I didn’t want to leave a trail of broken hearts behind or bring scandal to my office.

  Mr. Bachmaker stepped forward to cut the ribbon. In the distance, I noticed a long line of protesters making their way to the front of the podium. They were holding large signs and screaming “Save Henderson Place,” repeatedly. I had half a mind to jump off the podium and join them.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Al elbows me in the ribs and speaks from beneath his hand. He knew me well that was for damn sure. I gave him a knowing glare.

  He tilted his head to the side and gave me a look filled with caution. “Don’t,” he said to emphasize his point. He was right. As much as I supported free speech and the right to assemble, this was not the time to stand up for what I believed. Now was the time to shake the hand of the man that was going to rip this beautiful building down. A structure that added character and vitality to our city. Instead he was going to build high-rise condominiums that would result in more traffic jams, use of too much hydro-electricity, and generate inequality due to the expense of making such a tall building.

  I smiled and took a step forward to shake Bachmaker’s hand. Yes, I was a fucking hypocrite but don’t judge. At least not until you hear my whole story.

  I spoke a few words into the microphone, but I honestly don’t think anyone heard me over the shouting of the protesters. I focused on the police cars positioned on the edge of the parking lot where the ceremony was taking place. I noticed the police setting up a blockade. After my brief speech, I stepped off the podium and shook Mr. Bachmaker’s hand once more.

  “I’ll be in touch about that date with my niece,” he nodded assuredly.

  “Yes, looking forward,” I smiled and straightened my tie which suddenly felt a little too tight around my neck. “Good luck with this project,” I said, then turned to leave. My detail is hot on my trail as I walked back to the Escalade since the protestors had moved up closer to the podium.

  “You planning on getting hot and heavy with what was her name again?” Al tapped his chin fucking with me. “It started with an M.” He pressed his lips together. As we walked past the protesters, I picked my head up to look at them. Although they were a rambunctious crowd, they weren’t putting up with shit. They were standing here voicing their opinions, standing up for what they believed in, and me? I was a fucking joke. I knew it and it was eating away at me.

  “Governor Mathis?” I heard the voice of a female shout my name. I picked my eyes up to make eye contact. When I spotted the female with the shouty voice, she had a cream pie flying at me faster than I could think. It slammed me in the face. The cool feel of whipped cream practically blinding me. Al burst into laughter beside me appreciating the sight when not a moment passed and he was met with the same fate. Pie is making contact with his smug grin.

  “Not so funny, now is it?” I shook my head. He could be so juvenile at times. As we both used our hands to wipe away the excess cream from our eyes, one of the men on my detail offered me a handkerchief while shielding us from any more protesters. I noticed the police charging toward the crowds while I kept my gaze locked on the woman who called my name and then had the nerve to whip a pie in my face. Her red hair flailed in the wind as I saw her taking off in the opposite direction. The red-haired vixen got away. I chuckled to myself. Can’t say I blamed her for the courageous act. I had just openly supported the destruction of a beautiful historical building.

  “We have to cancel the school visit,” Al said, looking down to his suit. The whipped cream had oozed down his neck and was dripping on his suit jacket. I was in a similar state.

  “We aren’t canceling. We’re heading there as promised. We can clean up in the school bathroom,” I said, and it wasn’t a suggestion. I was a man of my word, and those kids were waiting for their pizza.

  He rolled his eyes at me knowing I wasn’t going to concede. On the way to the school, my cell phone rang. My father’s name lit up the screen. James Mathis was a force to be reckoned with.

  “Father.”

  “Colton, what on earth….” His list of expletives followed. “The media is all over the fact that you had a pie thrown in your face. What happened to keeping a low profile before the announcement next week?”

  My father ran my campaign and he took his job too seriously.

  “Don’t shout at me. You’re the one who set up that media op anyway. I played along as usual. Don’t blame me if it backfired,” I hissed, biting my tongue because what I wanted to tell him was that it turned out perfectly. I didn’t want to run for president.

  “Did they at least catch the son of a bitch that did it? No one throws a pie at the Governor of Illinois and gets away with it.” My father was pissed and his long drawl came through the phone.

  “They didn’t catch her. Fine by me though.”

 
“Her?” my father asked, perplexed.

  “Yes, it was a woman that threw the pie,” I responded thinking of her pretty face. She was more than lovely; she was beautiful, the way her blue eyes danced with mischief as she ran away from the police was now ingrained in my brain maybe forever. She was a free spirit and her smile breathed sunshine.

  My father huffed. That’s what he did when he was at a loss for words which didn’t happen often. Then I heard a few heavy breaths before he continued. “Just great. I need to go. I have to find a way to spin this incident,” he mumbled to himself before I heard the phone click. No goodbye. I wish I wanted the things my father wanted for me because he was so driven and together we could probably land me in the role of president, that was the irony in all this. So many people envied my position. In my head, though it felt more of an instance of the grass being greener on the other side. To me the simple people who lead ordinary lives had me intrigued. They did what they wanted and didn’t have to answer to bossy parents who were power hungry.

  After cleaning ourselves up, we spent a good hour eating pizza with Ms. Fitz’s class. Well, it was more like I ate the pizza while Al flirted with Ms. Fitz. We discussed learning and the kids asked me questions about government and making the world a better place. I never wanted to have children of my own. It was something I just never craved, but I loved how real and altruistic children were.

  “Mr. Mathis. Can you help end poverty in our city?” a young boy named Mathew Murphy asked.

  Man, I would have loved nothing more than to make sure each person was fed and had a roof over their head, but Chicago is a dynamic city with many people. The budget wouldn’t cover that reality.

  “Mathew, I’m working on all kinds of reforms. I want to end poverty. I want everyone to have a nice place to live and food on their table. I’m doing the best I can, buddy.” I forced a smile because I wanted to do more. More needed to be done. It was obvious. It was times like this that I wanted to pack a bag and head back to Africa. At least there I saw the difference I could make. Here in Chicago making a difference took a lot longer.

  Mathew smiled at me and nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Governor, I’d appreciate that.”

  His words pulled at my heartstrings, reminding me why I allowed my father to convince me to run for state attorney and eventually the governorship-so that I could influence change. I learned the hard way that change wasn’t so easy. I was a grassroots kind of guy to my core, that’s why I fit in the Peace Corps. In the villages, small changes helped improved agriculture and drinking water. It was a group effort. Here in the US, bureaucracy bogged things down.

  We wrapped up in Ms. Fitz’s classroom and I’m pretty sure Al scored her number. Then we headed back to the office. My dad always tried to sell me on the idea that I was different than other politicians, that I was special and that I could be a driving force for change, for creating good and equality. Heck, there were times I bought his rhetoric, just not this time. Years in politics taught me change was hard to come by and that little incident this afternoon with Mr. Bachmaker reminded me that money didn’t sway me. I wasn’t the guy who would concede on his values for an endorsement; I wasn’t the right guy to run for president.

  Back at my desk, I pressed the call button and my secretary Susan picked up.

  “Yes, Mr. Governor?” her voice came through the speaker.

  “I need you to search for a boy named Mathew Murphy.”

  “Can you give me a little more information, Sir?” Susan asked.

  “Yes, he’s a student at Greensboro Elementary. Find out where he lives and what his parents do,” I said through the phone, knowing this wasn’t a conventional request for a secretary in a governor’s office. Susan was used to these types of requests from me. She was very good about keeping things confidential. Even things that may be borderline illegal, like this request.

  “Okay, Sir. And once I have that information what would you like me to do?” Susan asked because she was good at her job, always thinking a few steps ahead. That way she didn’t need to bother me when she found out.

  “Secure the home address and let me know where they live and any family background you can gather,” I responded.

  “Getting right on that, Sir,” Susan responded.

  “Thank you,” I pressed the speaker button to end the call. I had to know why Mathew was so concerned with poverty. His old clothes and worn out shoes told me that maybe his family wasn’t fairing so well. I couldn’t save the world with my trust fund but I liked to make a small difference when I could.

  Chapter Two

  “Would you stop consulting with Albert on his latest conquest and mingle a little.” My father leaned into my ear and shout-whispered. There was never a moment to myself when he accompanied me to functions, and this one was no different. Mingle Colton, make connections Colton, maybe find yourself a wife while you’re at it, Colton. I swear I was sick of my name. I clenched my fists at my side feeling my jaw tense. I had wanted to give my father a piece of my mind so many times in the past and held back. Lately, the urge was growing stronger and gaining fuel. I didn’t know what fire was causing my fuel to burn but I was embracing it for once.

  I gave him a sidelong glance while gnawing at the inside of my cheek hoping it would curb the words threatening to spill from my lips. Without answering him, I returned my attention to Al, who just asked me to tweak my speech tonight to include a vague comment about old age pension since we were trying to capture the senior vote. Assuming I was still announcing my intent to run for President. I tended not to share my intimate thoughts on the matter with Al anymore even though he was my best friend; he always wanted me to run. He believed I was the right guy for the job. “Will do,” I replied, not wanting to stir the pot before I made a final decision.

  “Don’t ignore me, boys,” my father cut in. It’s funny that he still liked to call us boys. We were far from boys. I left my father’s home when I went off to college and never returned. Al and I also paid our bills and fucked around with too many women to be considered boys.

  “With all due respect Mr. Mathis. Our boy,” Al grinned salaciously, “is nowhere near ready to settle down. He may not have a bride by his side, but our boy,” he accentuated again, “is well liked.” Al responded to my father understanding his hidden meaning in the words mingle. I knew there was a reason I kept Al close.

  I blew out a breath, straightened my tie, gave my father a cheeky smile and said, “Time to mingle.” I just wanted to remove myself from my father’s presence before he took on the role of matchmaker and dragged me around the room to meet all the potential lifelong partners in the place. I’m not exaggerating; he’d done that before. It wasn’t pretty. It usually ended in him finding me a lady whom he felt was, and I quote, the perfect match… proper upbringing, education and wanting to commit to the role of the first lady. Gah! The problem was the many holes in his tactics.

  Firstly, most of the single women he came across wanted to date me or at minimum bed me. These females took in the scent of power that the governorship gave and wanted in. I was good looking, built, had a trust fund, and a sleeve of tattoos down my arm. Most women were intrigued by the tattoos. Not many men at my political stature had them, at least from what the public knew. It had become an intrigue for a politician to have a tattoo. I blame the Canadian Prime Minister who visited Washington last year. The media was all about publicizing his tattoos and somehow they latched on to me too, reporting on my muscular arms and colorful sleeve. The media attention added to the frenzy on me even though I’d already been established as Chicago’s most wanted bachelor.

  I scanned the room in search of some interesting conversation. This was the second year I was attending the Veteran Affairs Gala. I respected our veterans wholeheartedly. Before I applied to Harvard, I wanted to join the military. My father had been against it. Said I was all he had and if something happened to me, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself. I didn’t enlist naturally but I’ve always felt
like it was something I should have done.

  Just as I’m about to have a seat at one of the tables next to some older veterans that have tags on their suit jackets saying they fought in Vietnam my father stops me. “Son, glad I caught you. Mr. Bachmaker wants to introduce you to his niece.” My eyes widened and I blew out a long puff of air. Is that guy here tonight? Dammit! For some reason, I had a feeling my father would orchestrate a meeting. I just didn’t think it would be so soon.

  “Not tonight. I was hoping to speak to these men.” I nodded to the gentlemen sitting around the table exchanging war stories. My father pursed his lips together a telltale sign he wanted to get his way.

  “Don’t you see that this is for your own good?” I was losing the battle to meet the niece, so I caved like I usually did. I couldn’t be the only one raised by a single parent who was intrusive and borderline obsessive about my personal life. I just couldn’t be.

  “Wouldn’t it be nice to have a woman standing by your side when you make your announcement?” My father’s dark brows furrowed together. His deep brown eyes, so different from mine, darkened while he waited in anticipation.

  I tilted my head back and a deep chuckle escaped my throat. “I don’t need a woman beside me when I have a different one under me every night.” I winked because my father was the one who taught me how to be a lady’s man. I learned from the best and now he was all for me throwing my bachelor status and fun out the window.

  “Not here, Colton. You can’t think with your dick when it comes to campaigning. Thinking with your dick will have you falling for the wrong woman.” And even though he didn’t say it, I knew he was speaking of my mother.

  “You can’t surely believe I could meet and have time to fall in love with a woman in a span of a couple of weeks? You know me.” I scoffed, shaking my head at the notion. I’ve never had a relationship last longer than three months. My old man hasn’t had a relationship with a woman last more than a few weeks since Mom left. How he thinks I can fall in love so quickly was ludicrous.