The Golden Boy Returns (The New Pioneers Book 5)

by Deborah Nam-Krane

  Kasi's heart mended a little bit that day. It wasn't going to afford her the same prestige, but she was going to get a good education if she wanted one. In one way, her life was still intact.

  Ironically, it was one of the history classes that she'd taken that had made her realize she wanted to major in political science. The class was "US History, 1945 to the Present". It was just another requirement until the subject came around to the changing role of the media.

  "How many of you have read the U.S. Constitution?" Kasi's was one of the many hands that went up.

  "Then tell me how many branches of government there are."

  People looked around, too embarrassed to eagerly answer such a simple question. "Three," someone finally said.

  "Very good!" the professor boomed. "I'm glad someone was paying attention in the fifth grade." The class laughed. Thirty seconds later, the professor continued. "Now which branch is the most important?"

  The same uncomfortable silence. Kasi bravely raised her hand. "Yes, Ms. Panchal."

  "They're all supposed to have equal power, and they’re supposed to make sure no one branch abuses its power through a series of checks and balances."

  "Good!" the professor said. "Someone was paying attention in ninth grade." More laughter. "Next question, since you're all doing so well: which branch is the most represented in the media?"

  The class hummed almost in unison. "The executive."

  The professor nodded in satisfaction. "Executive," he repeated. "The president, for example. How many of you wanted to be president when you grew up?" Half the class raised their hands. He nodded again. "Did any of you dream of being a Representative or a Senator?" All hands went down. "What about a Supreme Court Justice?" No movement. "Of course you didn't. If you were to watch the evening news or these days even read the paper and didn't know what the Constitution said, which branch would you say had the most power?"

  "The executive," someone murmured.

  The professor nodded. "Now, when do you hear about senators or representatives?" A couple of people snickered in the back of the class. "I'm sorry; would someone like to speak up for the rest of the class?"

  "When there's a sex scandal," some brave soul answered before the class erupted into laughter.

  "Is that the only time?"

  "During an election, or sometimes during a campaign finance scandal," one of the upperclassmen said.

  The professor nodded his approval again. "But for the most part?"

  The student shrugged. "Yeah, sex scandal."

  The professor leaned on his podium. "Now what about a Supreme Court justice? When do you hear about him or her?"

  "When some of them try to take away a woman's right to choose!" someone shouted from the background, and a couple of people cheered.

  The professor put up his hand. "Okay, abortion. What else?"

  "Race," Kasi said.

  The professor nodded. "Discrimination. What else?"

  "Crime," someone said.

  "Abortion, race, crime," the professor repeated. "And I bet most of you could tell me where, on average, the court stands on those issues. But what about campaign finance reform? What about entitlements?" Silence. "Could you guess?" The upperclassman raised his hand, and the professor waved him away. "Someone who isn't obsessively tracking the news." The upperclassman rolled his eyes. "You don't, do you?" The class shook its collective head. The professor nodded, though Kasi thought he seemed disappointed. "Here's the real question: what are you losing if that's all you know? What are you losing if you don't know which justice is a strict constructionist and which is a revisionist? What are you losing if you don't know your congressperson's voting record? What are you losing if you think the president is not only the head of state but the king?"

  "But why does the media do that?" someone asked.

  The professor grinned. "I swear, I did not have this prearranged—but see me after class and I'll give you an apple." More light laughter. "Why does the media make the president—or the mayor, or the governor—so important and make senators, representatives, and city councilors look like his court?"

  "Because it's easier for the media to focus on one person," Kasi answered automatically. "Because one person lends himself—or herself—more easily to mythology than a group." She swallowed as the professor stared at her. "And monarchs are more romantic than politicians."

  The professor smiled. "And don't forget nobler."

  Kasi went to the state archives that weekend and looked up everything she could find on Boston governance. It was hard to piece together—there were at least four separate documents that pertained to the matter—but her conclusion was clear: the City Council had a lot more power than it regularly exercised. That weekend, Kasi knew that she wanted to be involved in making sure the City Council lived up to its potential; she just wasn't sure how.

  Kasi had been as excited by anyone else in Boston watching David Hwang’s career, if not more so. If anyone could make that body work as it should, this guy was the one with the best shot.

  She watched from afar as David learned the most basic lesson about the Council: you had to move everyone else with you, and the skills that worked in your favor as a community organizer weren't the skills that would work as a councilor.

  Of course David wasn't the only person on the council who wanted to improve Boston. The councilors from Hyde Park, Jamaica Plain, and Roxbury, plus another at-large councilor, frequently voted with David and supported his resolutions. But they were five, and they needed at least seven. By the time those extra two votes could be negotiated, Cervino would have plucked the ideas that worked for him and put out a press release announcing the new program, or he would have sent clear signals that he would do everything in his power to crush David’s initiatives, vote or no vote.

  Hwang's frustration was clear at that point, and his second campaign's theme was the need to be a bulwark against the mayor and the inertia of half of the City Council. Kasi had chuckled her way through her finals watching David clearly describe Donnelly, the president of the City Council, without using his name. It was clear to Kasi that they were both going to run for mayor. Good riddance, she thought, to Donnelly, but what a waste of Hwang.

  And the City Council hadn't changed one bit.

  Shortly after the election Kasi had heard rumblings that Paloma Castillon, one of Senator Kelly's staffers, was contemplating a run for an at-large seat. Kasi went to a few events to see her speak. There was something about her: she was rough about the issues beyond the talking points every Democrat in the country got, but she had a natural ease and charm. The fact that she was beautiful and quick-witted didn't hurt either.

  Kasi approached Paloma's handler, a young woman named Francine Pierre, who looked like she was juggling three jobs, and not too well. Kasi shook her hand before she could say anything. "My name is Kasi Panchal, and it looks like you could use some help."

  Francine looked her up and down. "Do you live in Boston?"

  Kasi nodded. "And I could start tomorrow."

  "Be at the office by eight and you're hired."

  Kasi got into the office at seven-thirty in the morning and stayed until seven at night. She was Francine's right hand, and she didn't care that she was strictly tactical. She knew that would change quickly.

  A month and a half after she started, Francine asked to speak to the campaign manager. The entire office could hear shouting from behind closed doors, and fifteen minutes later the door flung open. Francine was crying as she ran out of the office.

  Before Kasi could go after her, the campaign manager came to her desk. "Kasi, you'll be taking over Francine's duties, effective immediately."

  Kasi's expression didn't change. "Yes, sir," she said with a nod. "We're going to need to talk about adding some more phone banks."

  Phone banks, lit drops, donor calls, and event scheduling were all part of Kasi's responsibilities. She also reached out to community groups to not only schedule campaign events but als
o promote Paloma's candidacy.

  "Who is Paloma Castillon?" the director of one of the community groups asked when Kasi stopped by to make her pitch. "Where did she come from? What does she want to do?"

  "Paloma came from Chicago," Kasi began, "but stayed here for school."

  "Yeah, yeah, yeah," the man said. "Needed to work so she could support her mother; got a job in Fitzgerald's office; I read the press releases. But what's the real story? And what does she want to do?"

  "She's committed to making sure women in this city aren't discriminated against and that they have access to equal pay and child care."

  The director blinked. "Are you kidding me? What kind of policies is she going to propose at the city council level that will affect that?"

  "The councilor is open to all suggestions—"

  "Because she doesn't know the answer yet," the director finished. "Uh huh. Okay. I don't care if she comes and speaks, but frankly you haven't given me one reason to vote for her other than the obvious one: she's a Latina woman. That might be enough for some people, but that's not going to be enough for everyone."

  The man's comments bothered Kasi. She left the office that night and went home to her little studio in Dorchester. She'd spent so long thinking about tactics that she hadn't examined their core argument to the voters. She looked at their website and then every press release and piece of coverage she could find about the campaign.

  Tacit endorsements by Fitzgerald and Kelly. Speeches at women's groups. Speeches to Spanish-language groups. An early alignment with Cervino. And half of the pictures with Governor Kirk.

  Where did she come from?

  Kasi sent Francine a text.

  Can we talk?

  They met at eight the next night at the Prudential Center Food Court. "Tell me why you left," Kasi said after Francine chewed a bite of food.

  "Because Paloma is a liar," Francine said as soon as she swallowed. "Look, I've wanted to work in politics since I was ten and I've seen a lot, but that is one of the most disorganized campaigns I've ever seen. She’s making promises she can't possibly keep. Okay, what else is new in this business, but there's a limit and she's met it before the primary. I want to work after this campaign, and I can't screw around like that."

  "What kind of promises?"

  Francine grunted. "You don't tell a child advocacy group that you want healthier public school lunches the week after you've taken money from a processed food company. You don't talk about the need for people to spend more time outdoors when you're also courting a major communications company. And you don't tell the attorney general that you'll support him for Senate when your sugar daddy can't stand him."

  Kasi gasped. "Excuse me? Sugar daddy?"

  Francine nodded vigorously, then took another bite. "You didn't think she got into a senator's office because she's a hard worker, did you?"

  Kasi had already noticed how little time Paloma spent in the office, but she assumed that she was in high level donor meetings with the campaign manager. "I assumed she worked her way up, or maybe knew somebody; like most people."

  Francine swallowed. "The person she knew was Kirk, and not just because they're both from Chicago. He got her the job in Fitzgerald's office when he was an up and comer that the Dems wanted to keep happy as a bulwark in the next election, and when that dried up he helped get her into Kelly's office."

  Kasi exhaled. "Wow. And so Paloma...?"

  "Kirk has carte blanche to decide what happens in this state and no city matters more than Boston. Cervino isn't going anywhere, but the Council is constantly in motion. So Kirk is making sure that as many of his people get in there as he can reasonably manage." Francine shrugged. "And he's seen fit to make sure that Paloma gets one of those seats."

  Kasi pursed her lips. "Someone had better tell Hwang that Cervino isn't going anywhere, because he's been busting his ass. We keep running into his people lit dropping, and he's been shaking hands like he's, well, like he’s Cervino."

  Francine shrugged. "Yeah, it's a real shame, because he deserves it."

  "You don't think he'll get the votes?"

  Francine's eyes widened. "Kasi, are you kidding me? He's not going to make it past the primary."

  "What are you talking about? He clearly has the votes to get at least that far."

  Francine shook her head slowly. "Didn't you hear Cervino a few days ago? He promised that he's going to get over fifty percent of the primary vote. That's what's going to happen because he said so. And he's made it very clear that his opponent is going to be Donnelly, and he'll make sure of it. And we already know who the candidates are going to be for City Council. I mean, it's the same ballot."

  Kasi was horrified. "Are you saying—?"

  "You know exactly what I'm saying."

  "And you know this for a fact? How?"

  Francine threw up her hands. "Because it's common knowledge! I'll prove it: when the endorsements come out next week, the Globe is going to do something unheard of and endorse both Donnelly and Cervino. They're going to act like Hwang isn't even running. But Hwang isn't going to lose by much—because he does have the votes."

  "That's illegal," Kasi said softly.

  "Yep," Francine answered casually. "Welcome to Boston."

  Kasi felt like ice was flooding her veins. "You're okay with that," she said slowly, "but you're not okay with Paloma double dealing?"

  "Politics is war, and we have our rules of engagement. She's not respecting them. She's got enough protection that she'll be fine." Francine made a face. "But that protection doesn't extend to her staff."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  It wasn't every day that a longtime mayor of a major American city vacated his seat, and in Boston's case it wasn't even every decade. The candidates seemed to pour out of the woodwork, but only eight were worth mentioning.

  David Hwang, the former community organizer who had created two of the most successful social entrepreneurial programs in the country. Charming in person, but could he spell out a positive vision this time?

  John Nelson, scion of a Boston political dynasty, but the poster boy for New Boston. But didn't Old Boston vote too?

  Tony Chauncy, current city councilor for Mattapan. The lack of support he drew from his home district spoke volumes about his service.

  Evelyn Clarke, former director of housing for the mayor and public health for the governor. Possibly the most impressive resume of all of them, but her first priority was to win. Beyond that, no one knew.

  Paul Cleary, former policeman, current radio station owner—and a deadbeat dad.

  Ron Cervidas, school committee member, local restaurant owner. A young, hard worker, but did he have enough experience?

  Tom Benjamin, former federal health care official who founded a successful health clinic in the heart of Dorchester. Experience showing that profits didn't have to shun compassion, but were his very left-leaning politics too much for anyone but Boston's New Progressives?

  Michael Zanuck, Jr., current city councilor and heir to a developer's fortune. He could afford to run a well-funded campaign, but would his chumminess with the city's developers hurt him with renters?

  "Why are you better than any of these people?" Charlie asked as he, Martin, David and Kasi sat in the office eating burgers and fries on a Saturday night.

  "I am not better than any of them," David said, almost too exhausted to eat. "In fact, Evelyn is measurably better than I am."

  "Why?" Kasi asked as she rubbed her eyes.

  David shrugged. "Because she has a proven record in housing and health, and she has deep ties to the community that outdate mine by twenty years." There was no point in getting upset about what he couldn't change.

  "So why don't you just go home?" Charlie asked.

  "Because she is all about things she's done, and all of her accomplishments have been on-staff, never as an executive. She isn't entrepreneurial, and if she's got a vision she's keeping it secret from everyone, including her staff."

/>   "Good," Kasi said, crossing off a name as she bit into her burger. "Next."

  "Speaking of entrepreneurs," Martin said as he chewed, "why would anyone take you when they could have Cervidas? He's got a successful small business and he's serving his community."

  Kasi put up a finger. "And don't forget better looking."

  David looked hurt. "You don't have to take such pleasure in pointing that out."

  "Anyway," Charlie said, clearing his throat as Kasi winked. "I should vote for you over Ron why?"

  "I do know how to turn a profit; when I was working as a community developer and when I was in New York, I worked with people who wanted to start a small business from the ground up and had almost nothing. I helped them figure out whether a small business was something they could manage, and I helped them figure out whether that business could be sustained in their neighborhood. Ron is doing great because he has a great business model; I'm the guy people came to when they needed to develop one."

  "Fair enough," Kasi said as she crossed off Cervidas' name, "but make sure you work out right before your next appearance with him."

  "What, now he's thinner than I am?" David asked testily.

  "Oh, no; you've definitely got that tied up," Kasi said with a mischievous smile. "But working out will help your circulation so you don't look so pasty, and he’s got that nice glow." David blinked. "What? Isn't it better you hear it from us so you don't have to hear it from the press."

  Charlie snickered. David narrowed his eyes. "What's so funny? Who do you think's going to be my running buddy?"

  Kasi snorted. "Okay, okay! Next...? John Nelson."

  "Ooh, I've got this!" Martin said excitedly. "You made your name as a community developer who was a master technocrat, but many of your initiatives fell flat once you were on the Council. Nelson's a technocrat too, but he's had a lot more success. Why are you the better choice for mayor?"

  "I was fought on every proposal and hearing order I made as soon as I entered the Council, and my easy wins were adopted by the mayor before I could hold a hearing. I congratulate John on all of the successes he had, because I think he was genuinely trying to make Boston a better place. But his approach has been piecemeal; I was opposed because every proposal I made was part of the larger vision I had for Boston, and I was very open about that. Too open? Maybe. I'm not going to say I was younger; I'm going to say I was honest. And I still am."