When I finally shamefully knocked on her door, she took her time in answering and, when she did, she looked like she was suffering from a mild allergic reaction: cheeks burgundy, eyes puffy, nose runny, and speech nasally.
“Whoa, averse to that shrimp, huh?” I greeted.
Ellie Anne laughed, blew her nose, and had me in at once. “Gosh, I hate being alone!” she bellowed with an echo and contrasting emotion. “Don’t you? I mean, that’s why you’re here, right? Your dad’s probably as busy as mine now.”
I nodded solemnly, following her to the den. She moved as gracefully as a ballerina, offering me a glass of punch and spot next to her on the sofa. I gratefully accepted her hospitality.
“So what’s wrong, Dahlia?” she besought sweetly.
I bit my lip, shaking the ice in my cup. “How do you know something’s wrong?”
“I’m an expert!” she returned too enthusiastically, the color in her face gradually returning to normalcy. Her left arm rested an inch behind me as she contorted her legs like a pretzel.
She had the sheep out again, the smallest pressed against the front of her bright pink tank top. Their loveless eyes creeped me out a bit; they weren’t so cuddly-looking, but she treated them as if they were. Again, I wanted to ask, but I knew it’d deter her.
“So, tell me, Dahlia, who is it, hmmm? Mum, Dad, boyfriend, girlfriend? They’re all so ordinary sometimes, aren’t they? So frustrating and formidable.”
I squinted at her. I’d never meet another girl like her. The eagerness she had to discuss what should be misery made me suspicious. “I might say so. Do you want to feed off my misfortune, Ellie Anne? You sure seem happy about it,” came out more callous than I thought it would.
Her eyes scaled back. “Heck no, Dahlia; I’m not like them,” she sneered, referring to that us-versus-government mentality again. She was more hurt than mad though. “I was just curious. I just wanted to help. I know talking is something you’re taught not to do a lot of later.”
She had me so lost, I could barely see her. “You’re such a puzzle!” I groaned. “Why can’t you ever say what you mean? ‘Taught not to do a lot of later.’ What does that mean?”
Her green eyes glistened with conviction. “Is that what you think; I’m not honest? I say exactly what I mean and nothing I don’t. Talking does so many awful, gritty things in Congress that I don’t like doing much of it myself. If you can’t understand that, you’re, too, like them. But you don’t have to be.”
“Speak English!” I insisted as she wrapped that close arm around me. I wanted to cry for all that was out of my reach and all those masked monsters who wanted to take it from me so soon. Anthony, Ellie Anne, the deficit of Mama and Arthur.
She sighed. “I should teach you. Then you’ll understand how things work, then you’ll be prepared for all the let-downs and fake ups that come with Congress … Dahlia, when your dad wins, everything will change. People are phonier than phony. Nobody will be there for you, but they’ll pretend they will. They’ll call it ‘entertaining,’ because it’s patronizing. They’ll call you sweetheart and let you yap to them, but when you or your dad is on the wrong side of the tracks, they’ll push you from memory.”
I heaved together and listened, evaluating her credibility. I guess rich doesn’t mean put together. I guess rich doesn’t mean fortunate in the affairs of friends and family.
“You’ll see how to speak like them, Dahlia. So many finks say the same thing two ways. They’ll say something as snotty as sincere, that way they’re unpredictable and sophisticated; that way they’re expelling emotion. There, listen. Expel. I’m throwing emotion away and at you. You can’t tell if it’s good or bad. It’s just an empty word that hangs with you.”
I sniffled. “Then how can you say you’re not like them?” She was still holding back, encased in weak smiles and giggles.
“I don’t mean to be that way, but maybe it’s caught on. Heck, sometimes you have to be that way, believe it or not. Sometimes you just have to confide in someone, no matter what they’ll think of you. You gotta walk the line. Flexible, know when to make your move, that’s how you gotta be; a character you fall in love with. I’m insignificant so I can be as aloof as I want. I fit the bill everyone wants me to. Right now I want to be your friend and vice versa, yeah?”
I nodded.
“Then that’s what I’ll be, that’s what we’ll be. I’ve never had anybody as real as you in years. You’re not a politico at all. Anthony hardly is—which is why he faces the risk of losing. I mean, did you even know a word I was saying during dinner?”
I couldn’t help but laugh. Hysterical, I was. “Real”? Not me, not yet. “No, no, I didn’t,” I admitted. “I’d like to though. I’d love to learn all the political dirt from an insider, an ‘amateur spy,’” I joked and swallowed. “I bet we’re not that different. I bet we could have some fun being self-loathing Washington insiders.” I giggled. “We’ll prowl the Capitol and mess things up. We’ll wait in the weeds and take Washington by storm.”
“Like Tippecanoe and Tyler too!” she roared.
I shrugged, taking one of her tissues. “Yeah, whatever that means.”
This time, she took my hands and squeezed. “Seriously, we can do that. We can make it happen. We can be happy as low-profile Tip and Ty. They only wanted as much.”
Chapter Four
6/8
I slept slanted against her frame until morning, until the ambitious dialogue of yesterday faded like ashes. Though Ellie is a couple months older and infinite years wiser than me behind those old soul eyes, she moaned and clutched her stuffed lamb in sleep as if she could place her age on one hand. My Romantic friend (yes, friend) didn’t stir until nearly ten. In the meantime, I pondered how I’d phrase all my questions, if I should tell her who I really am.
It was easy to decide against it when her fragile face fell upon my breast. She was angelic in sleep, a whole and virtuous child. Earlier, I was reluctant to play my roles in saying “Father isn’t keen on the idea of the D.C. trip.” Now, I feared even my heartbeat would tell her too much.
When she’d arisen, however, I knew honesty was a commendable policy and path. One that should be taken in measurable steps. I started by confessing my guilt for how ill-tempered I twisted Anthony; he was mad enough to hit, honestly. “You see how this is bothersome, don’t you?” I inquired like her. This sounded as hollow as the O in my last name when I realized her father never so much as came to check-in the last few days.
Polite, she bobbed her head in submission anyway, picking away the sticky blonde strands stuck to her mouth. Less myopic than me, she said, “Yeah, Ty, that dent isn’t good if it persists beyond the pale of Election Night, and, on a lesser scale, you won’t be able to go to the Washington Dinner with me.”
I guess we really are Tip and Ty now. At least, until someone tips her off that I’m tied to a lie.
Ever confused, I shook my head. “You speak so poorly of politicians. You say your dad’s different but how do you know? How will I know if mine changes?”
Her pupils widened like a Venus flytrap. Slow and ominous. “You won’t,” she began on too much breath. “Not right away, I mean. People don’t start off bad or evil. They become that way in time. My dad’s different. They call him a ‘basement Libertarian,’ a moderator. He’s a good politician, but a better person. He’s for his party, but more for people and personal liberties. He knows what’ll work and what won’t and what invariably won’t work is the Fed.
“If a politico changes, it’ll be evident in the way he talks, his connectivity. Some psychologists talk about a Mandate Theory; that when a candidate wins, they believe everybody around them are yes-men. They believe that because they won, they’re God’s gift to the world and you must agree with them or you’re defective. Of course, that’s wrong. A statesman must never forget he’s a servant more than a leader.
“A statesman must never forget he never clocks out from doing or saying the right thi
ng. Now, Anthony doesn’t have to be a wonk, but he should be good and sharp. Politicos have to be on their game even when there’s no microphone around, even when they’re off-the-cuff. With all the recording devices and all the seedy journalists lurking about, it’s easy to look like an idiot. If you don’t open yourself up to that, to dulling your mind or morals, you’ll beat the game.
“Daddy isn’t redundant. He knows the trick: saying the same thing a million times without getting old. Every time Daddy speaks—and he tweaks and nit-picks the speeches himself—it’s new and it’s classic. Even though it’s truly not. He’s saying the same things Thomas Jefferson said and repackaging them. He’s riding the coattails of James Madison. He’s by the good ol’ book and the Constitution, and that ironically makes him a freak. When he feels entitled, he is lost.
“You’ll know, Dahlia. You’ll know if Anthony is turning into a bad guy. His speech pattern will get vaguer, he’ll be colder, and he’ll have less time for you.”
Thoughtfully grinding my teeth, I just stared at her. Her words felt so practiced and intense—eerie—like she’d been waiting to give me that advice since I said I was Anthony’s daughter.
The more I communicate with Ellie Anne, the more I question my commitment to finding release this way, in a poor persona. Certainly, Ellie wasn’t lying or mistaken, but maybe this was a Polaroid of her former inclinations towards her father. Mr. Moss sure didn’t seem to walk the walk when it came to being a “good ol’” family man. I’ve spent a solid twenty hours with Ellie Anne and not seen her father approach her once.
Maybe there was a bitter, little child inside of Ellie, as hinted by the stuffed animals, social withdrawal, and attention-getting look-at-me clothing. Maybe there was a bitter, little politician inside of Ellie, as hinted by her cynical knowledge.
But, with all the mending I had to do, I couldn’t be taxed by any more of Ellie Anne’s weird mannerisms. I had to escape the vaguely disturbing pictures Ellie painted and I had to accost Anthony before he severed our chances to taste Washington, D.C., in whole.
~***~
Throwing an eco-mag to the ground, bitter as the java he consumed as voraciously as birds do bugs, he graveled, “What’re ya doin’, Ree?” like he wasn’t expecting me.
We share this fuckin’ room, Anny. You forget? I wanted to say but tamed my tongue. I patted the creases out of my skirt and smiled as any little lady should—on the outside. “Tryin’ to apologize. But you’re making it difficult in that shade of intolerance, buddy boy,” I churned as soft as butter.
“Oh really?” He countered drily, “How’re ya gonna do that? Did you bring me flowers, love?”
The last word was hard as steel. I bid a minuscule laugh. Anthony never preserves grudges but he was never called a push-over neither. I ironed out the folds in my forehead too. My glower was anything but playful after I boarded the armrest abreast him. “Nope, you already took my flower, ’member, Anny?” I recalled, rolling my eyes to meet my long lashes.
“If you could just jog my memory … I think we could work somethin’ out,” he enticed, a dab more friendly, lechery prevailing in his hazel eyes.
Oh, you’re lucky you’re good-looking! I simpered. “As in …” I paused like I was thinking off the top of my head. “You’ll take me to Congress so you can do your camp some good? As in we can go to Congress to be among your future colleagues, tour the halls to your will-be office and ‘deface it’ with our love? Drop the idea on Mr. Moss or whoever to go to the House-Senate whatchamacallit? Cuz that’s going to be about what I think it’ll cost,” I bargained, rocking on the edge of the bar, my bare feet rubbing the grenade in his lap.
He looked up at me incredulously. “Baby girl, you ’most make it sound better than it’ll be.” He tilted his head back and gazed inquisitively a moment. “You never have any idea what you’re asking for.”
I clutched him by the tie and roused, “I’ll make it better if you let me. You have no idea.”
His breath was liquor on my lips.
“Leave,” I insisted before our lips touched. “It up,” I charged as they met in the middle. “To me,” I husked in the crescendo, fingers tracing his chin, our pupils tracing those fingers and darting in symmetry.
And they call Alexander Hamilton the Great Compromiser … Ain’t got nothin’ on me …
~***~
Ecstatic to tell her the good news, I stalked Ellie Anne in the lobby while she conversed with her fast-walking father. Funny, I thought, I haven’t seen them together once in two days and now that they are, he’s desperate to get away from her.
But I couldn’t be bothered with that so much. I just got another one of Arthur’s emaciated threats and was sure I’d outdo him. Crafting another lie to Mama? No problem. This place is swarming with professional liars! Arthur? Too much of a pansy to tell! House-Senate Deal? In the bag. Arthur’s got no proof.
Brows pulled like an anxious dog, Ellie had just let go of her father’s arm as he slipped into a conference room when I caught up.
I hailed, “Hey, Ellie, guess what!” like a cheerleader.
“Hi,” she drained, body stiff and stylish as a mannequin.
“That’s not how you’re supposed to respond, silly!” I playfully shoved her. “Guess; you know this one!”
“Tell me,” she scraped with a disarming stare.
“Wow,” I said. “If you’ll be like that, I’m not sure it matters anymore.” I mimicked her pout.
She realized she was being crabby and became repentant without a word.
I broke composure. “Anthony’s set for Capitol Hill!” I exclaimed to oust her tart feeling like a liberated banshee, taking her by the elbows and jumping up and down.
“That’s great!” she joined in, her frown thawing. “Now Gilbert can divide the pestering between us!” She brightened the more she contemplated. “And Anthony will score some political points, carry them in his pockets ’til November—”
“And he’ll win, our fathers’ schedules will sync, and we can continue our plan for world domination—or something like that!” I finished in a flurry of giggles, Ellie’s hopping apparent by this point.
A sleek smile cut through her cheeks. “All we need now is some poll testing and revelry,” she asserted, rubbing her hands together. But upon scanning my dumbfounded expression, she clarified, “That means we sneak into one of these rooms, slip Anthony’s name into some of the politico’s heads, and slip out with their booze. Got it?” She was bubbling with anticipation. “Dahlia, don’t get left behind!”
“Then let’s go!” I heralded, knowing she’d be better at mingling than me.
And I couldn’t have been more right. She was chatting up a young suit before I got a hold of one of the salon doors.
“You know, Harold, you were there!” she laughed like a good aristocrat as I walked through the threshold.
Harold, the boyish 30-something with ash blond hair smiled, bopping his head with hers like they were listening to good Jazz. “I been a lotta places, kid, can’t remember ’em all,” he said as jovial as Yakko Warner and took her arm. “But I remember that one.”
“You ought to with what went down when Andrew came around! I thought he’d be reprimanded by Newt or impeached for sure!” Ellie prattled as an insider, eyes lit like spotlights.
I smiled, overseeing her gerrymandering. She was good at energizing the boys in office.
“Ah, El, you know by now guys like that got too much pride to step down, wouldn’t do it for the world if the moon was on a collision course,” Harold sighed after a long suck. His head shook so much, I was sure his vertebrae were on an axis.
Ellie Anne crumpled up her mouth like a pug. “That’s why we’ve got to enlist good men. We’ll get good men.”
“Oh? What gives you hope?” Harold asked. “After ’94’s freshman mature it’s all an uphill battle.”
Ellie shook her head. “For one, you’re here and it’s not been so long since you were a freshman; they look u
p to you like a father. There’s a lot you can do to recruit as amicable men.”
Melted like ice-cream, he ruffled her long, braided bangs, going “Shucks” like he never heard a compliment before.
“And two …” my friend went on, combing the flyway from his invasive hands, “I’ve taken a look at the primary picks. You’ve got some handsome contenders and provocative voices you can mold this year. That lawyer boy, Anthony from Austin; I hear putting criminals away isn’t the only thing he’s good at.”
“Thanks for the tip, honey. I’ll be on the look-out. Could always use more of those go-getting boys for Kolansky’s new program. Oh, and tell your dad it’s a ‘yes’ on the pipeline bill,” he assured, kissing her hands and giving a thumbs-up before being torn away by one of his female aides.
I started to understand why they call the political field a science. Ellie worked by a formula: Greet with a familiar memory, joke, fit some touching in, laugh more, ask about family, demonize the other party, discuss up-and-comings like Anthony who can take them down. Agree heartily to that candidate’s core issues with those head-shakes, say “gotta run” and do it again with the next unsuspecting schlep.
I was as sickened as I was stunned. I was horrified by the elegance. What a bombshell! Ellie Anne’s Aphrodite among aristocrats, a glambassador!
She, Congress’s darling, slipped from one man’s arms to the next like she was doing the Samba with less sex appeal.
~***~
“I didn’t know you drank. You don’t look like the type,” I said, watching Ellie Anne uncork the wine bottle once we were back to base. I thought she was kidding about the booze part. Apparently not. The label read Echezeaux Grand Cru. I figured my lack of ability to pronounce that correlates directly to how expensive and good it is.
“I like the rush from the catch,” she explained, pouring the ruby liquor in two glasses. “I need something to do while I’m imprisoned at another toady convention, don’t I?”
Imperative Fate Page 3
