The Best Laid Plans (15 page)

“Good question, Susan. In the jerkwater rural towns, the Leader is really hammering away on the Tories’ plans to reduce and eventually eliminate any form of agricultural support programs in the name of free trade. We’re getting a great response from the farmers, and the Prime Minister actually took a tomato in the forehead yesterday on the same farm in the Annapolis Valley that we’d visited the week before. In the urban centres, health care and federal support for cities are the hot buttons, and we’re right there with our Smart Health and Smart Cities programs. I forget exactly what those initiatives are, but I’m certain they’re groundbreaking, and they seem to be popular with the electorate,” he remarked, without even the decency at least to look sheepish.

Stanton stopped to take a swig from a bottle of Evian before he wrapped up his part of the presentation. “Finally, as I alluded to earlier, the Tories are really trying to ride the Cameron budget into the sunset, and that’s what really worries me. I think you all know Michael Zaleski from National Opinion. He’s going to give you a look at the national numbers before zeroing in on your ridings and, more importantly, your candidates. Michael.”

Michael Zaleski, like Stanton, remained in his chair and just talked about the numbers. There was no handout, no PowerPoint
presentation, just a stack of cross-tabs in front of him. I expected this. Polling numbers were hot commodities during campaigns, so it was not uncommon for the national campaign only to
talk
about the numbers even with insiders like campaign managers. History had shown that hard copies could easily go astray and perhaps fall into Tory hands or, worse, a reporter’s.

“Thanks, Brad. Nationally, the numbers have stayed painfully stable during the campaign as if we weren’t even fighting an election. We’ve been doing weekly tracking on our standard general-population national survey with a sample of 1,500 Canadians, large enough to give us reasonably accurate regional breaks. Of decided voters, the Tories have held steady at 43. We’re at 38, and the NDP are at 19. What tells us that there is, in fact, an election up for grabs is that the undecideds have grown to 33 percent. Now, if we look at the demographic makeup of the undecideds, we see a preponderance of young- to middle-aged women and of immigrants who have recently become citizens. These two categories of voters among the decided electorate tend to vote as follows: Liberals 44, Tories 38, and NDP 18, which bodes well for us,” Zaleski droned on as he flipped through his printouts. I’d spent five years bearing witness to Government by poll and Opposition by poll. I wasn’t sure I could take much more of election campaign by poll.

Unfortunately, my fellow campaign managers weren’t quite so jaundiced. Noticing that they were still conscious, the polling pooh-bah went deep on the numbers while I drifted and counted the number of times he said “in terms of,” an affected crutch phrase I’d come to loathe for some inexplicable reason. Instead of spending half an hour on pollster-babble, Zaleski could have summed up the numbers quite simply. If there were no knockout punches in the Leaders’ debate the following week, it looked like the Tories would be re-elected with a slim majority or, at worst, form a minority government. With so little time left before the vote, it would be difficult, if not impossible, for the Liberals to
turn enough minds. The only hope was a total flame-out of a scandal that might send the Tories into free fall at terminal velocity – our own faint hope clause.

I tuned back in when Zaleski started into the riding-by-riding breakouts. I admit I was curious about the numbers in Cumberland-Prescott. As I expected, he offered up the results for the other six ridings first, leaving my freak show until the end. Things looked quite good in the other campaigns. In the two Ottawa constituencies represented in the room, we were ahead by reasonably comfortable margins. The favourable ratings of both of our candidates had improved since the start of the campaign. In fact, the Ottawa Centre candidate had doubled her positive ratings after a rather lacklustre start. Short of catastrophes in getting out the Liberal vote, these two urban ridings were ours to win. This was particularly impressive as, entering the election, we’d been neck and neck in both. It reminded me that it really was possible for individual campaigns to overcome national trends and assert some local control. Yes, the coattails effect was alive and well as local candidates rose and fell on the performance of their Leaders. But we did have some influence over our destinies at the grassroots level.

“In the four rural ridings here this morning – we’ll get to you in a minute, Addison – we have four very tight races that could go either way. And we seem to be moving in the right direction in all of them,” Zaleski noted.

Zaleski then proceeded to break down the data for the other campaign managers. The room hung on every number as if the words came straight from God. Predictable. In modern Canadian politics, the pollster stands first in the line of succession should God ever be unable to perform his/her righteous duties. The Z-man, as Zaleski was sometimes called (much to my nausea), reviewed the individual candidates’ numbers before noting how crucial these six ridings were to our national electoral fortunes. Stanton couldn’t resist jumping in for a little ham-handed pep talk.

“So it’s absolutely critical that you six really bear down in the last two weeks. Winning your seats would be huge for us. We’re in a fight to the death, and victories in your ridings could push us over the top. We must win all of your seats. Defeat is not an option.” (I was close to hurling at this point.) He actually punched his fist into his other hand when he made this last statement, reminiscent of a Batman and Robin exchange. (Holy blowhard, Batman!) I know I should have kept my yap shut and let him finish his very, very bad Knute Rockne impression. But then again, I really didn’t like Stanton.

“You’ve given us the national picture,” I said, “but how do our numbers look in the seat count analysis across the country. That’s what really matters on E-day. Michael, I assume you’ve run those results.” I turned to Zaleski and tried to look earnest. My fellow campaign managers nodded in agreement.

“Of course, we’ve run those numbers,” Zaleski started as he flipped through the large stack of computer printouts in front of him. “The seat analysis shows that we’re likely to –”

“Hey hey, Michael!” interrupted Stanton. “We agreed we weren’t going there in these briefings.” Stanton glared at him and then at me. “Let’s just move on to the train wreck in Cumberland-Prescott, shall we? The rest of you are free to go unless you want to hear about the state of affairs in Canada’s safest Tory seat.” His tone was frigid. No one left.

“Michael?”

“Right. Cumberland-Prescott. Well, it’s not a pretty picture for the Liberal cause. Never has been, as you all know,” Zaleski said.

“Let’s just hear the numbers, shall we?” I prodded gently.

“Well, of the decided voters, which constitutes 90 percent of those eligible, 92 percent are for Cameron, and the support is rock hard. When we really get into the numbers, we’ve found only a handful of NDP supporters, all of whom seem to be related to the candidate. As for the Liberal candidate –” Zaleski consulted his notes again. “One Duncan Angus McLintock, our extrapolated
numbers tell us that approximately 350 voters correctly identified him as our candidate but that only 127 say they’ll vote for him. The lion’s share of our support is firmly rooted in the over-75 demographic with another pocket among those with more than two postgraduate degrees. If the undecideds break down on election day in the same proportions as the decideds, we should finish with somewhere just south of 140 votes,” he concluded in a tone that might as well have just voiced “ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”

“Have we moved up or down since the campaign started?” I asked.

“Masochist,” Stanton whispered not quite under his breath.

“Ah, well, Muriel Parkinson earned 3,600 votes last time around, so I’d say our support has dropped significantly since you signed up Mr. McLintock,” reported Zaleski.

Thanks. The other campaign managers and the party’s pollster kept their heads bowed in classic funeral-visitation style as they filed past me and out the door.

“Addison, would it be helpful if the Leader paid Cumberland-Prescott a visit in the last week of the campaign?” Stanton inquired. “He and your Angus McGillicuddy could do some main-streeting – rally the troops, as it were.”

I was nearly certain he was just kidding, but in case he wasn’t, I needed to play it right. Angus wouldn’t even be in the country next week. “It’s
McLintock
. Kind of you to offer, Brad, but I really don’t think a tour stop in Cumberland is a good use of the Leader’s time with one week to go in a close election. Better to have him in the neighbouring ridings where he could really tip the balance our way,” I replied.

“Oh, I wasn’t offering up the Leader. I was just asking whether you thought it would be helpful. Keep smiling, Addison. It’s not over until the ballots are counted.” Stanton chuckled as he made good his escape, leaving me alone at the table.

I found Muriel in her usual spot by the window, a marked-up voters list on her lap and my old cell phone implanted in her ear. She
took one look at me, ended her call, and waved me onto the couch beside her. She turned over the voters list she was calling, but not before I’d seen the sea of blue from the highlighter she held in her hand. Two other apparently exhausted blue highlighters rested at the bottom of a nearby wastepaper basket while brand new red and orange highlighters remained in their unopened packaging on the side table next to her. No need to open them.

“Daniel, whatever is the matter, dear boy?” she asked, patting the seat next to her – a paragon of grandmotherly sympathy. “You look like crap!” I was always caught off guard when she slid into sailor mode.

“Hi, Muriel,” I replied, sinking onto the plastic-encrusted cushion. “I’ve just come from national headquarters for a little peek at the numbers. We’re doing well across the country and in the eastern-Ontario ridings. However, that’s the end of my glad tidings. Angus seems to enjoy the support of half of your housemates, but that’s about all. Cameron owns the entire riding.”

“Well, of course he does. Where have you been?” Muriel poked.

“I know, I know, but it seems so much more depressing when the cold, hard numbers are thrust in front of you. And I assure you, they’re very cold and very hard.”

“Don’t get so wrapped up in it. It was doomed from the start,” she soothed. “’Twas ever thus. This isn’t about winning. It’s about making sure the cause is well served in an admittedly quixotic quest. I never once allowed myself even to contemplate the possibility of winning. If I ever had, I’d have been lost.”

I smiled and gave her frail shoulders a quick squeeze. I could feel the involuntary vibrations of her Parkinson’s.

“You know, Daniel, I love my granddaughter very much,” she started in a serious tone.

“Muriel, we went to Starbucks to talk about the campaign. It wasn’t a date,” I pleaded.

“You misunderstand me, college boy. It’s been a while since she’s
been out with anyone. She’s so focused on her schoolwork and my well-being. I’m worried about her. She’s not getting any younger.”

“Please, Muriel, she’s only 28. She’s pursuing a master’s in political science. She’s intelligent, quick-witted, confident, and beautiful to boot. I don’t think you need to worry about her. She’ll do just fine.”

“Well, I’m glad you think so. If I were you, I’d consider asking her out again. I have a feeling she’d say yes.”

“Muriel, we’re not in public school. I’m not going to pass you a note to give to her.” I feigned disinterest for as long as I could, which was about nine seconds, before turning towards her again. “Okay, you got me. What do you mean you think she’d say yes if I asked her out? Has she been talking about me? If so, I need all the details just so I don’t put a foot in the wrong place, like in my mouth.”

“I’m not about to betray her confidence any more than I already have. Let’s just say I see a spirit and an energy I haven’t seen in her for a long time. I don’t think it’s because she’s studying the Senate or visiting me and my merry band of aging lechers, who shamelessly ogle her whenever she’s here. And if you mention one word to Lindsay about this, don’t bother coming back here.”

“You’ve been very bad, Muriel. And I thank you.” I was surprised and pleased. It’s always easier to navigate the shoal-infested waters of the early relationship when you have insider assistance reading the charts.

Something caught her attention out the window, and I followed her gaze. I heard her sharp intake of breath. She seemed transfixed by something along the banks of the Ottawa River.

“Well, dip me in chocolate and call me candy,” she said as she shook her head, still looking out the window.

“What?”

“Do you see that big, old, dead tree on the shore there?” she asked and pointed.

I found it. “Yep.”

“Do you see that long tree branch that’s now floating down the river?”

“Sure do.”

“Well, that huge, dead limb has been hanging out over the river, threatening to fall, ever since I came here. I’ve watched it bend over in the west wind. I’ve seen it bowed so it dipped into the water under the weight of a heavy snow. I’ve even been sitting here when kids have swung on it, trying to break it off. Against all of those trials and probably many I haven’t witnessed, that tenacious limb has just held on for dear life, refusing to fall. Who knows how many years it’s been swaying there on the verge of collapse. Well, I just watched it fall all on its own. No wind, no snow, no kids – just age and gravity.”

“It’s surely a sign,” I said in mock reverential tones.

“Don’t you make fun of me,” she snapped, cracking me lightly in the ribs. For all I knew, she’d hit me as hard as she could.

“So sorry,” I said, my hands in plea position, “I wasn’t mocking you. I’m a believer in signs, too. What do you think it means?”

“I have no idea, but it seems so odd that after all that limb has been through, it would just up and fall completely on its own.” She continued her vigil until the limb floated out of sight, heading east, before she looked at me. “It could mean something as basic as all that was is no longer.”