Parties in Congress (28 page)

Kristin flipped the switch and the room went dark except for the illumination from Eliot’s flat-screen monitor. He turned it slightly so everyone could see and clicked his mouse twice, prompting the ad to start playing.

The ad showed Colleen speaking in slow motion, a popular technique that viewers found subconsciously unsettling and tended to make the speaker look awkward and unattractive. The voiceover sounded menacing.

“Congressman Colleen O’Bannon, radical liberal, is running for your vote. But do you really know everything she stands for? O’Bannon wants gay marriage legalized in Virginia, which mandates teaching our second-graders about things like same-sex marriage, sex education, and transgendered people and their sex-change operations. If you agree that these aren’t the values you want forced on our young children, then reconsider your vote for Congresswoman O’Bannon. Does she really represent you? Or is she just another permissive Washington deviant trying to push her liberal agenda? I’m Janet Denton, and I approve this message.”

Eliot paused the video at the end and signaled Kristin to turn the lights back on. Bijal stood speechless as the blood rushed to her face.

“This is what I’m talking about,” Eliot said. “We’re going for broke now, folks. The gloves are off, and we’re hitting O’Bannon with both barrels.”

“Can I ask a question?” Bijal said, surprised by the sound of her own voice.

“Sure.”

“The claim about what would be taught to second-graders—”

Eliot ran his hand through his hair idly. “We lifted that from the ads for Prop 8 in California and Prop 1 in Maine.”

“But it’s not true,” Bijal replied.

“Look, it’s a hot-button issue that motivated voters. Everywhere that it’s been tried it’s been successful.”

“Is Janet okay with this tack? I mean, she supports gay marriage too.”

A couple people in the office nodded in agreement, but said nothing to back Bijal. Eliot began to glance around the room defensively. “I understand what you’re saying. But desperate times call for desperate measures. And, quite frankly, with only a handful of weeks left before the election, things simply can’t be more desperate for us. So everyone needs to decide if they’re ready and willing to do what needs to be done to get the mayor into Congress, where she can really make a difference.”

“So the end justifies the means,” someone said from the back, less of a question and more of a statement.

“Yes,” Eliot replied. “Because if she’s not elected, she won’t be able to do any of the things that you believed in enough to motivate you to join her campaign in the first place. Until now, we’ve enjoyed the fact that O’Bannon has run TV and radio spots that are almost entirely positive and about what she’s already done and what she wants to do. Our ads before this wasted too much time branding O’Bannon as ‘fiscally irresponsible.’ We just talked about her raising taxes. It was practically Sunday school! Everyone needs to understand that every seat in Congress that we lose is an obstacle to the entire party and our ideals, as well as a setback to us doing everything we’ve promised the public. If we don’t fight back in the war against a crippling national debt and massive government expansion, we’re just as culpable as the people perpetrating it, are we not?”

The campaign workers all seemed genuinely encouraged now, so Eliot continued with his pep rally.

“This election isn’t some piddly little thing, people. This impacts every piece of legislation that comes through the House of Representatives for the next two years. So if you believe in your candidate and what she stands for, you’re either here to win or you’re just passing time. I’m telling you that from this moment on, we’re here to win!”

Everyone responded by either clapping or audibly agreeing.

“Shit,” Bijal whispered.

*

Bijal sat in her car and anguished over her next move. She glanced at her watch and saw that she had only another eight minutes left of her lunch break. She picked up her phone for the eleventh time and studied it with an uncertainty so powerful that she was nauseous and had sweaty palms.

She took a deep breath and typed a message to Colleen.

Please know that I had nothing to do with our latest campaign ad, and I’m very sorry.

She pressed Send before she could possibly second-guess herself further.

How had she ended up here? She’d originally gotten interested in politics because of the low caliber of elected officials, both local and federal. Every other week someone was getting caught stealing, taking a bribe to do something utterly reprehensible, or cheating on their spouse with a staffer/paid escort/gay prostitute. Politics didn’t have to be like that. If we just worked hard enough to remove the corrupt officials, we could replace them with ethical people who would neither compromise nor sell out their principles.

Now here she was working for a candidate who’d allowed herself to be scared into doing those very things.

Her phone vibrated suddenly, startling her in multiple ways. Did she really want to see the response?

Already saw it. I’d like to say it didn’t faze me, but I can’t. It’s loathsome and irresponsible.

Bijal quickly entered a reply.

I tried to argue against it, but the ads were already distributed by the time I saw it this morning. They’re desperate and see this as their last chance.

It took less than a minute this time to receive Colleen’s response.

That doesn’t justify incendiary lies. So your strategy has become “If we can’t win on merit, just make shit up that will get people angry enough to vote for us”?

Bijal was becoming more despondent as she feverishly pressed the keys to answer.

They feel threatened enough to take a page right out of the Proposition 8 handbook.

Bijal’s lunch break was now almost over. Though she desperately wanted to see how Colleen would respond, she was so upset and patently embarrassed by betraying her principles that she didn’t think she could withstand any more terse text messages. Then it arrived.

Even more reprehensible to use propaganda that was used to discriminate against your own community in an attack against me. How do you sleep at night?

Bijal turned her phone off and got out of her car. As she walked back to her desk, she couldn’t blame Colleen for being angry. This campaign had become exactly what Fran had predicted. Anyone with an ounce of integrity would march right in to Eliot’s office and tell him to fuck off. But Bijal couldn’t do that—not without at least speaking to Janet first.

Doug Patel, the media specialist for the O’Bannon campaign, stared through the camera viewfinder. “And cut,” he called, making a slashing motion with his hand.

“How was that?” Colleen asked, feeling fairly confident about it.

“Perfect,” Doug said. “You’re a natural.”

Max stood nearby with his arms crossed, staring in interest over Doug’s shoulder. “I told you this would be a breeze.”

“Yeah,” Doug said with an affable grin. “But just so you know, everyone says that and it’s almost never true. Luckily our subject wasn’t horrible.”

“Thanks for setting the bar so low for me,” Colleen said, taking out her BlackBerry and scrolling through her e-mail.

Doug’s face froze. “That came out wrong.”

“I was hoping it was unintentional,” Colleen replied without looking up. “Do you need anything else?”

Doug watched the commercial as he played it back on the camcorder. “I’d say we’re good. In fact, that last take was so first-rate, we can use it unedited—just a single shot that slowly pulls in tight.”

“Excellent,” Max said. “I want to see your first cut the second you have the graphics and music incorporated.”

“You know what I’m thinking?” Doug stopped the playback and spun in his chair to face Max.

“What?”

“Let’s not have music. Have it just be the congresswoman talking to the voters—no gloss. In fact, maybe we put the sponsorship message at the beginning so we don’t lose the impact at the end.”

Max smiled broadly. “Ooh, nice! Does that sound good, Colleen?”

It wasn’t that Colleen didn’t care, but the prospect of being done with this was the best news she’d had all day. “Whatever y’all say.”

“Were you even listening?” Max asked as he yawned.

“For most of it. Sorry, Max, but I have to head over to the television studio to get ready to film my spot on
The
Tank Guzman Show
. Then, first thing in the morning, I jump on an international flight.”

Max raised his hands in feigned surrender. “Okay, you win. You officially have too much to do. Don’t worry, I’ll send you the ad as soon as it’s ready for your approval.”

“Thanks, guys.” Colleen stood and gathered her belongings.

“Try to mention the campaign website at least twice when you’re on TV,” Max said.

Colleen paused long enough to respond. “Max, my goal is to encourage the public to get involved with the Patient Access Reform Act, not to campaign. Sorry, but I won’t be prostituting myself tonight.”

“You could just sort of toss it in at the end,” Max said hopefully.

“Nope, won’t happen.”

“Maybe just the phone number?”

Colleen shook her head slowly. “Get me the ad as soon as possible, so I can approve it before I leave in the morning, okay?”

“You’re ignoring me again?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Colleen replied, heading out the door. “Thanks again!”

They waved good-bye as she headed out to find her car. She unlocked the driver’s door and got inside before stopping to once again consider the impetus of this impromptu commercial—Denton’s inflammatory and deceptive attack ad.

She really wished Bijal didn’t work for that campaign. But as much as she sensed that Bijal hadn’t been a party to all their shifty schemes, Bijal
had
been the one with a video camera rooting through the mud in Colleen’s front yard.

She shut her car door and tried to massage the tension headache out of her temples. Perhaps she’d been impulsive to get involved with Bijal before the election. It wasn’t like her to act recklessly—but it had been so long since she’d found anyone this alluring.

Unfortunately, as disappointed and burned as she felt politically, she was just as saddened that things were now awkward between her and Bijal.

She turned the key in the ignition and the engine started.

*

Bijal sat dejectedly at a dimly lit booth in the Cheshire Grille, a place not too far from her apartment that served delectable comfort food and strong mixed drinks. Glancing at the door, she saw Fran walk in and make a beeline for her.

“Hey,” Fran said, sliding in across from her. “What’s up? Your text had a lot of punctuation.”

Bijal groaned and took another sip of her libation. “A bad day at work.”

“I thought those were the only kind of days you have anymore.”

“Pretty much.”

“What happened now? Did Denton slap a nun?”

“Nothing that forgivable.”

The server arrived with a menu, which Fran quickly waved away. “No, thanks, Chuck. I already know what I want. I’ll have the meat loaf and a light draft beer.”

Chuck nodded. “And for you?”

Bijal grimaced. As much as her appetite had left her for a sunnier climate, if she was drinking, she needed to eat something substantial. “I’ll take the chili and cornbread, and another whiskey, please.”

“Will do,” Chuck replied, then spun away toward the bar.

“Okay.” Fran propped her chin in her hand. “Lay it on me.”

“As of today, we’re running a deceptive, contemptible anti-gay ad.”

“And?”

“What do you mean ‘and?’” Bijal snapped.

“Okay, don’t get all pissy about this, but look at the base of your party, honey. Their mutual hatred of other people is the glue holding them all together.”

The muscles in Bijal’s neck tightened uncomfortably. “I’m not supposed to get pissy about that?”

“No, because it’s true.”

“It’s
not
true, Fran. It’s a Democratic talking point. The Republican Party was originally founded on the principles of advancing the middle class, small businesses, and civil rights. We can and should still be about those things.”

Chuck appeared with their drinks then vanished again.

Fran picked up the frosty mug and gave it a taste. “Well, then, someone needs to tell the folks in charge, ’cause they’re the ones running on an anti-gay, anti-immigrant, anti-affirmative action, pro-corporate conglomerate, pro-gun platform.”

“So you’re saying that because I don’t subscribe to the ideology of the far right of my party, I should just walk away from it? How would a mass exodus of the moderates improve things exactly? Don’t you believe in a two-party system?”

“Sure.”

“As long as the party other than yours is reduced to a small pocket of angry, socially regressive people who can be easily mocked, right?”