Campaign For Seduction

by Ann Christopher

  Liza certainly understood the feeling.

  She, Takashi and Brad stood in the press pen, the roped-off area where journalists were confined during the senator’s rallies. They’d arrived four hours ago—two hours before the rally—to allow plenty of time for them to be wanded, searched and generally harassed by the senator’s omnipresent security personnel. Then they’d stood around for what felt like days, waiting, chewing the fat and twiddling their thumbs.

  And people thought she led a glamorous life because she was on TV.

  Ha. If they only knew.

  All around them shone the bright lights of other correspondents speaking to other anchors back in the studios of other networks. No doubt they were all reporting the same thing: Senator Warner excited a crowd like no one else—except maybe Bruce Springsteen or Prince, if they were lucky.

  From deep in her ear came the faraway sound of Kevin’s amused voice. “Has anyone told those people that the senator lost the New York primary tonight? And several other states as well?”

  Liza grinned. “Well, you can understand the confusion. The senator came in, very graciously congratulated Senator Fitzgerald on her wins, which were big ones, and then went on to pump up his crowd into the kind of frenzy you normally see at a playoff game of some sort. If he keeps up like this, I’m thinking Madonna will ask him to open for her when she goes on her next world tour.”

  Kevin laughed. “Tell us about his message because, obviously, this is a very serious loss for him. It’s down to him and Senator Fitzgerald now and neither one of them can afford to lose any more delegates. So how did he manage to spin that into what had the look and feel of a victory rally? If I didn’t know better and just wandered in from the street, I’d think this was the convention and he’d just given his acceptance speech.”

  Liza did the whole stare-into-the-camera-and-nod-while-listening thing, as though she were gazing deep into the invisible Kevin’s eyes. “Well, as always, Senator Warner stayed on message and said that this was a setback but he was not going to give up because the future of the American people is at stake. He focused on public service, lowering taxes, health care and education, his four big points, and said that he was the underdog but that was okay because people often underestimate underdogs. And then this millionaire, Ivy League-educated politician—who has, by the way, spun himself into the underdog champion of the American worker—played some music, got the crowd started with his “Now Is the Time” chant and left the building to catch his flight back to Washington. But he can’t go on losing like this, and I imagine we’ll be hearing more in the next few days about some changes in his campaign staff.”

  “Yeah, because no matter how he spins it, Liza, the numbers aren’t good.”

  “I think horrendous is the word you’re looking for, Kevin,” she said. “If the late, great Tim Russert were here, he’d pull out his white board, do a few calculations and show us just how bad the numbers are. But, again, the senator used his speech tonight to look ahead and warn people not to count him out just yet.”

  “Let’s take a listen,” Kevin said in her ear, “and I’ll ask you some more questions on the other side.”

  Liza paused while they showed a thirty-second clip of the senator’s speech from earlier. She didn’t need to see it again at this moment—a video could never capture even a small portion of the synergistic energy between the man and the crowd—but she knew she’d see it again as soon as she had the chance. But she’d do it alone, in the privacy of her own home, where she could stare and grin and clap to her heart’s delight and not have to wear the detached armor of an objective journalist.

  Senator Warner had stood in his shirtsleeves with a Plexiglas TelePrompTer flanking him on each side and the crowd circling him in every direction. Speaking with the conviction of an idealistic true believer, he reassured the crowd that he still planned to fight for a better world.

  “You know what they’re saying,” he’d told the roaring crowd, prowling to each far corner of the stage and giving everyone the chance to see him. His prepared speech scrolled by on the TelePrompTer but he ignored it, slipping into that hypnotic cadence that could convince the birds to come down from the trees. “You know who they are, right? All the pundits and all the naysayers over at Senator Fitzgerald’s campaign—they’re shaking their heads and muttering like Lurch from The Addams Family—” here he paused to mutter and shake his head in a pretty good impression of Lurch from that old black-and-white TV show, and the crowd screamed with laughter “‘—Ohh,’ they’re saying, ‘we can’t curb our dependence on fossil fuels, and we can’t do much about global warming, and we can’t get health insurance for every family or a quality education for every child, and we can’t lower taxes, and one person can’t make a difference and it just can’t be done.’”

  A consummate master, he’d paused here to let the crowd grumble and boo. This, of course, built anticipation, and Liza had found herself holding her breath along with everyone else in the room.

  “And here’s what I say, ‘Why not?’”

  He tried to continue but the crowd wouldn’t let him go on. Waiting, suppressing his grin, he let the audience laugh and yell itself hoarse for the next several seconds. It showed signs of going on for longer than that, but he finally raised a hand and the noise settled down to an excited murmur over which his voice could barely be heard.

  If there was a single person in the room—young or old, black or white, student, housewife, laborer or professional—whose feet were still touching the floor at that point, Liza couldn’t see who it was.

  “Why not?” Senator Warner asked again. “‘Why can’t each and every person listening to me go to the local park and pick up an empty can and put it in the recycling bin? Why can’t we all turn off the lights when we leave the room and limit our showers to three minutes when we can? Why can’t each and every person listening to me go down to the nearest elementary school and mentor a child? Why can’t we all try to change our little corner of the world and see what a difference it makes?”

  The clip ended and Liza pushed away the memories even if she could do nothing about the lingering adrenaline surge. She would not remember her heartbeat’s frantic staccato as she listened to the senator’s speech, her body’s uniquely feminine response to seeing such an enthralling, powerful man in action or the fact that every other woman in the room was also mesmerized and half in love with him.

  She was a journalist now, not a woman. And she had a job to do.

  “There’s one more thing I want to mention, Kevin.” Liza called on every ounce of her self-control to appear objective for a few more seconds. “The senator talked about underdogs. He talked about fighting hard and not giving up, and then he ended with the ultimate never-say-die song: “Gonna Fly Now,” the theme from Rocky.”

  “Rocky?” said Kevin.

  Liza laughed. “I know what you’re thinking, and you’re right. It was hokey and it was over the top and it was blatant pandering. And guess what? It worked. It was perfect.”

  “Thanks for that report, Liza,” Kevin said, wrapping up the segment. “I know you’ve probably had another eighteen-hour day and your feet are hurting. Where are you heading now?”

  “Well, the day isn’t over yet. I’ve got to get out of here and hop on Senator Warner’s plane for the trip back to Washington and I’m hoping they haven’t left without us. That’s assuming that the weather issues out of the Midwest don’t ground us anyway.”

  As she signed off, Liza felt the biggest surge of excitement she’d felt all night, and that was saying quite a bit. Senator Warner would sit for an interview with her tonight on the plane, and she couldn’t wait. She’d been off the campaign trail for a few days, back in the studio substituting for the nightly news anchor, who’d been out with the flu, and she hadn’t seen the senator.

  It wasn’t smart and it wasn’t convenient, but God—she was so anxious to see him right now she’d happily sacrifice her right arm for the privilege.

>   The campaign went into full damage control mode starting the second the senator climbed on board the plane later that night. After standing in the aisle to address the initial barrage of questions, he went into the conference room for a more formal setting and was interviewed by each of the major networks.

  Jillian, who’d been campaigning with him, hovered on the periphery with Adena and other staffers. Journalists waiting their turn stood around in the packed space, listening and taking notes. Off-camera they all yawned, grumbled about being tired—it was past two in the morning by then and weather kept delaying their takeoff—and wished for a hot pizza and a warm bed.

  Not the senator. With the upbeat attitude and enthusiasm that Liza was beginning to realize was a deeply ingrained part of his personality, he explained, over and over again, why he hadn’t quit the campaign.

  One by one, all the other correspondents finished up and returned to the back of the plane until only Liza, Takashi and Brad were left. She’d just grabbed her notes and taken a step or two toward the now-vacant interviewer’s chair, excitement burning in her cheeks and throat, when—oh, God.

  The senator sat in his interview chair with his elbows resting on his knees and his face in his hands. His shoulders were stooped and his spirit seemed crushed. It was a posture of utter defeat and absolute exhaustion, as though he couldn’t walk one more step or give one more speech if his life depended on it.

  Liza had never seen him look so forlorn.

  She had to do something.

  Galvanized by the sudden and urgent need to comfort him, she took two quick steps in his direction—before Adena swooped in.

  Get away from him, Liza wanted to yell, but she said nothing because she had no right. So she watched, seething, as Adena beat her to him, put her hand on his back and leaned down to whisper something in his ear.

  The senator murmured something low in response and grinned at Adena.

  They were lovers.

  The horrifying certainty crept into Liza’s mind on silent cat feet and the sudden and unexpected jealousy was a kick to the gut. All the old insecurities she’d felt when she discovered Kent was cheating on her roared to the surface like the snarling beasts they were, and she wanted to rage at both the senator and Adena.

  But then common sense intervened.

  Calm down, girl. Take a deep breath. Think.

  The senator hadn’t made her any promises, had he? No. He was a free agent, wasn’t he? Yes. And not that it mattered one way or the other, but Adena was married.

  Liza didn’t do relationships anyway.

  The jealousy still bubbled inside her, a cauldron of ugliness in her chest, and she couldn’t stop herself from speculating.

  Would the senator have an affair with a married woman? No. She didn’t think he would. From everything she’d seen and read about him, he was a principled man guided by his strong inner compass. Moral men sometimes fell short, true, but Liza’s gut told her this wasn’t one of those times.

  So…the senator and Adena were just colleagues. Very close colleagues.

  Liza’s jealous heart didn’t care.

  She was debating whether to approach the senator when, without a word, he got up and disappeared into his private cabin.

  What the—?

  Where’d he go?

  Bewildered, she looked to Takashi, who gave her a don’task-me shrug.

  After a few minutes, irritation set in. All the other journalists had gotten their interviews tonight—why not her? And why didn’t someone bother to give her some explanation about his disappearance?

  “What’s going on?” Fuming now, she marched over to Adena, who was flipping through some papers at the table. “Where’s the senator?”

  Adena raised one sleek eyebrow and gave Liza exactly the kind of hateful look that made Liza want to smack her every time she saw her. “Liza. How nice to see you.”

  Liza was in no mood for Adena’s nastiness. “Excuse me,” she said, “but we’ve been standing over there for two hours waiting for our interview, and now that it’s our turn, the senator just walks off. Would you please tell me—”

  “Liza?” the senator said.

  Liza wheeled around. He stood in the doorway with a sandwich of some kind in one hand, an open bottle of beer in the other and one brow raised at her rudeness.

  “What’s the problem?” he asked.

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 12

  “W hat about my interview?” Liza demanded.

  The senator finished chewing, swallowed and raised his sandwich for her to see. “Well, you see,” he drawled, taking another bite, “it’s been kind of a long day. I missed dinner. I thought I’d get something to eat and then we’d do the interview in here.” He indicated his private cabin. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Fine.”

  Was that her voice? Snapping like that? Wow. She really needed to dial it back a few notches, didn’t she? Turning over her shoulder to address Takashi and Brad, she stalked into the senator’s cabin.

  “Let’s go.”

  The first thing she saw was the Senator’s late supper on the side table: a gooey peanut butter and jelly sandwich—it looked like crunchy peanut butter and blackberry jam—spread on thick slices of whole grain bread, a handful of Cheetos, a Granny Smith apple and several enormous macadamia nut cookies.

  Oh, man.

  He ate Cheetos? How could she resist a man who ate Cheetos?

  Tonight’s music added to her ambivalence. The current selection was Al Jarreau’s “Since I Fell for You,” a breakup song of such beauty and misery that her soul ached for hours every time she heard it.

  Swallowing hard, she tried to stay focused and aloof. Being sarcastic always made that easier, so she gave it her best shot.

  “Is this the best they could do for you, Senator?” She caught his eye while Brad set up the camera for the interview and someone turned off the music. “Peanut butter and jelly? Did you make some heads roll in the galley tonight?”

  He’d been taking a long pull on his beer, but now he lowered his arm and flashed that boyish grin at her, to devastating effect. “This is what I asked for. It’s the best meal I’ve had all week.”

  “And people said the former president was a good old boy.”

  He laughed and quickly sobered. “It’s good to see you, Liza,” he said, low.

  Liza’s equilibrium did a cartwheel or two but she frowned and tried to ignore the swooping sensation in her belly. “Are we about ready? It’s late.”

  A shadow fell over his face and she ignored that, too.

  Once everything was set up and Brad was ready with the video camera, Liza and the senator settled into chairs facing each other. She fumbled with her pen, now as anxious to get away as she’d been to see him in the first place.

  She opened her mouth to ask a question, but he spoke first.

  “So you think my Rocky music is hokey, eh, Liza?”

  How the heck did he know about that? “Have you watched the coverage tonight, Senator?”

  Dumb question. Of course he hadn’t had time to watch the coverage. One of his flunkies must’ve told him what she’d said.

  “I try to watch here and there, whenever I can.” He actually enjoyed catching her off guard. The turkey. “I like to stay in touch.”

  “The music was over the top, Senator.”

  “Ah, but it helps me make my point. And even you said it was perfect.”

  So much for hoping he hadn’t heard that part. Flushing furiously, Liza fought to reclaim her journalistic detachment. “And what’s the point?”

  He answered in full presidential mode. “The point is that we are the underdog, but we knew that going in. Senator Fitzgerald is a fierce campaigner. I didn’t expect her to make it easy for us, and she hasn’t. But we’ve got a little fight left, so don’t count us out.”

  “Tenacity is all well and good, Senator.” Thank God they were back on firm interviewer/interviewee ground. “But this primary season
has already dragged on and party leaders, meanwhile, are growing concerned—”

  His brows sank low over his eyes, darkening his face.

  “—and on the other side, Governor Grant will cinch his party’s nomination by the end of the week.”

  “What’s your question, Liza?”

  “My question is this—when is enough enough? The numbers are not good and—”

  “I understand the numbers.”

  “—people are wondering if you’re damaging the party at a time when it should be coming together. What do you say to them?”

  His expression turned to stone, as jagged and unforgiving as an Acapulco cliff. “Liza, I didn’t know that democracy could be damaged by letting people vote. There is a process in place that needs to play out. I plan to travel the country and tell voters what makes this campaign different from Senator Fitzgerald’s.

  “After that, the voters need to vote and their votes need to be counted. People can decide when they have all the information. Not before. And I don’t think this process should be shortened or circumvented because a few pundits and a few party leaders think it would be easier if we packed our bags and went home.”

  Man, he was fierce. Despite all her best efforts to see him as another sound bite-spewing politician, she never could. Especially when he was such a true believer. And all her pitiful efforts to keep him at arm’s length were useless at best, ridiculous at worst.

  Still, she was a professional with an interview to finish.

  “Let’s switch gears, Senator. Assuming we can ever get out of New York, the campaign is headed back to Washington for a couple of days of retooling and regrouping. What’s on your agenda?”

  “A nap.”

  They laughed together for one delicious moment, and Liza prayed her growing feelings for him weren’t shining like a lighthouse beacon on her face.

  “What are your plans after your nap?”