The Best Laid Plans (18 page)
Read The Best Laid Plans Online
Authors: Terry Fallis
Tags: #Politics, #Adult, #Humour, #Contemporary
“Are you all right, Daniel?” asked Lindsay, still propping up her grandmother, who was shaking with glee as much as with Parkinson’s. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”
“I’m just trying to process this rather unexpected development, and it’s giving me a headache,” I said, all too aware of the seismic shift in the political landscape that might have been triggered by a small electrical fire in a nondescript Cumberland home.
I had to get out of there. The growing and chanting crowd was pushing my anxiety level from “very concerned” to “deeply troubled.” I thought it prudent to take my leave before it reached “meltdown.”
Soon, there was nothing left for the camera crews to shoot beyond the rebellious rabble and the firefighters coiling their hoses; the fire was, by then, long extinguished. I made sure Muriel and Lindsay were safe and content. I learned that
content
was an understatement. In fact, they were safe and deliriously happy.
I turned to go when Muriel sounded an ominous note in a voice distorted by laughter. “Daniel, time to start thinking about Plan B.”
I simply waved and backed away, appearing calm, though my pulse was pounding. As I hustled to the car, my life actually flashed before my eyes. Until that moment, I’d always thought that phrase was just a cliché. In review, I thought my life looked quite impressive, at least until I reached the fire scene at Petra’s house. I slid behind the wheel, fished out a sprig of Mrs. Kravchuk’s rose bush that was digging into my neck from beneath the headrest, and turned the key. In the crowd-cramped road, I executed a perfect seven-point turn and headed home.
Surely Muriel was overreacting. The Honourable Eric Cameron was the most popular politician in the country, perhaps in Canadian
history. He had such an enormous balance in the political-goodwill bank, I figured nothing short of necrophilia before a live studio audience would threaten his re-election. The good people of Cumberland had displayed, election upon election, their unreserved contempt for anything or anyone remotely related to the party of Laurier and Trudeau. Five times vanquished, Muriel should have known that better than anyone. What were the voters going to do – toss their lot in with Absent Angus? I thought not. Not in this riding. Not in my lifetime. Nothing like clear thinking to calm jangled nerves.
I was feeling much calmer by the time I parked and dragged myself up the steps into the boathouse. Eric Cameron would apologize humbly and masterfully like the virtuoso spin-meister he was and sail to another victory with a substantial, if somewhat reduced, plurality. The die was cast. History and momentum were on his side, and the election was only two days away. He’d blundered badly but would survive. Angus was safe; therefore, so was I.
My breathing slowed to normal. The planets returned to their time-honoured orbits. The river just beyond my window still flowed to the east. All was right with the world and still would be come election day. Feeling restored, I settled into the easy chair and flicked on the television.
What an idiot I am.
I’m Peter Longwood. Welcome back to “CBC National News” and our special live coverage of the firestorm engulfing the Conservative government and its popular Finance Minister
.
I couldn’t look away, though I desperately wanted to. It was a train wreck in slow motion, and I felt like the conductor.
Eric Cameron is in police custody at this hour along with his chief of staff, Petra Borschart, following a fire at Ms. Borschart’s Cumberland residence. The video you’re seeing
was shot by CBC earlier this evening at the scene. We advise discretion as some of these images may be disturbing to some viewers. As you can see, Mr. Cameron and Ms. Borschart escaped from the fire, wearing very little. Based on their distinctive attire and many hours of video footage found at the site, it appears that the two were engaged in –
I came to my senses and changed channels to escape my misery. I made the mistake of turning to CTV, then to Global, then to the multicultural network, and finally, to the local rural cable station – nothing but leather, leashes, and a nearly naked Cameron. I’d never really thought about how the Finance Minister might look
au naturel
. Why would I? But in strange times, the mind works in strange ways. Would he be a little flabby? Did he have chicken legs? A noted intellectual, he was obviously well-endowed upstairs. And by the way he, in the political sense, liked to swing his big staff around, I think most Canadians assumed he was quite gifted downstairs, as well. Enquiring minds want to know. Such is the undeniable curiosity that dwells in us all. Well, truth be told, though there was a chill in the air, Cameron wasn’t half the man I thought he’d be. (Forgive me, but several million Canadians glued to their TVs made the same lewd observation of Cameron’s shortcomings and, within minutes, clogged the Internet with crass little jokes about it.)
In an admittedly desperate attempt to escape the wall-to-wall coverage, I actually switched over to the American Fox News Network. I was never a regular viewer of what Fox called news.
… electrical fire upstairs triggered panic downstairs in what has been described by Canadian media as a sexual torture chamber. Apparently, a dominatrix dragged Canadian Finance Minister Rick Cameron from her den of discipline by a leather, studded leash. The Minister escaped without a shirt on his back but with alligator clips on his front. The lifesaving dominatrix turned out to be –
Maybe I’m stating the obvious, but there is something very comforting about the fetal position. The stunning footage of Cameron and Borschart being led away in handcuffs (which they may well have enjoyed, for all I knew) didn’t look quite as sinister from my curled-up position on the hardwood floor. I heard a soft moaning and spent a couple of minutes identifying the source. It was me. I mean I. Eventually, I grew uncomfortable. Even in the fetal position, three and a half hours on hardwood can take its toll.
It was midnight when I collapsed into bed. My only solace – Angus was not burning the midnight oil in the workshop below. I realized that my earlier sanguine analysis, preserving a still comfortable victory for Cameron, may have been pure delusion sprung from wishful thinking. The curse of the sunny optimist. When I really stripped away all the trappings and distractions from the crisis, I realized we might be in a wee spot of trouble. Strike that. We were very likely in deep, deep shit. All would depend on how the story played out nationally, and just as importantly, how it unfolded in Cumberland. Cameron had a great deal of support that could be siphoned off long before his seat in the House of Commons was truly threatened. My neck was really in the hands of the voters of Cumberland-Prescott. If they failed me, my neck would then be passed into the hands of one Duncan Angus McLintock, and I had a reasonably good idea what he would do with his formidable paws. My fate was left to the voters’ collective capacity for patience, understanding, and forgiveness as they weighed the sins of the Honourable Eric Cameron. I would also rely on their distaste for all things Liberal.
And what really was Eric Cameron’s great sin, anyway? So he liked to be ordered around while wearing leather. So he liked to grovel at the feet of a rubber-clad she-wolf. So he liked to attend to the needs of said she-wolf in front of a camera while being whipped with a riding crop. Was that so wrong? Was that so very different from the life of the average Canadian voter that it might have some influence in the privacy of the polling booth? He
didn’t intend for his proclivities to become public. He practiced his little, sordid secret in the privacy, or more accurately, the captivity of a private home. Were not Canadians all about tolerance and acceptance? Did we not have a proud history of progressive and enlightened views on sexuality? To paraphrase Pierre Trudeau, the state had no place in the private sexual torture chambers of the nation. Was this really such a big deal?
In the face of such ubiquitous media coverage, one thing was certain. Unless you happened to be in a remote corner of Papua New Guinea, you would certainly have heard all about Cameron’s self-immolation.
DIARY
Friday, October 11
My Love,
I have truly enjoyed my time in this remote corner of Papua New Guinea. It is a unique slice of the world completely at odds with our own. Where we have our blessed technology and all the modern conveniences of life in millennial North America, the lever and the yoke remain leading edge here where I write these words. Where we drive on smooth, wide asphalt highways that link one mall to the next, a cow path takes me from the village shanties to the nearly arid fields where struggling crops are grown on the village outskirts. Where we pass hundreds of strangers on our streets with nary a sidelong glance, let alone a greeting, it takes me a half hour to walk the hundred metres to the village square for all the friendly banter and offers of food I encounter. How can people with so little give so much? It is a humbling and grounding experience shared by all too few from our part of the world.
We’ve made tremendous progress on the water-purification system here since my arrival. Our experiments in the lab have translated better than expected into this real-world setting.
We’ve made a couple of adjustments to valves and have added better filters to accommodate the perpetual dust that hangs in the desiccated air. Other than that, the 200 people in this village now walk 40 metres for a plentiful supply of fresh and clean water rather than the thrice-weekly four-kilometre trudge they’ve faced before. As well, these parched pastures can now be irrigated, increasing agricultural efficiency, not to mention yield quality. The people here are amazed at the change in their world our work has wrought. They are also grateful beyond measure. They have placed me on a pedestal at a frightening altitude. I have tried to convey that my reward is in witnessing the change in their quality of life, but it is to no avail. It leaves me feeling uncomfortable at best, embarrassed at worst.
However, I do feel renewed and totally rejuvenated. I’ve spent the last four days training two young men and three young women in the care and maintenance of the system and in the critical weekly testing of the water quality. If the filters are not carefully monitored and become clogged, impurities that can carry nasty bacteria can find their way into the water supply. Educating these five eager young people is critical to the long-term success of the system, the cleanliness of the water, and the health of the villagers. Better to teach them to fish than to deliver a skid of tuna and then bail out. Upon my return, I have some new ideas I intend to explore on how the filtration system might be expanded to serve larger but similarly challenged villages. With adequate clean water, there may be a chance to nurture the seeds of industry, exports, and perhaps even self-sufficiency.
You would have loved it here with me in this faraway land. I would have loved it, too. There is a fledgling movement towards equality though still in its nascent stage. The men are still the decision-makers, but I see among the women, particularly the younger, a growing sense of their own, if not,
power, at least leverage. The exercise of their leverage is manifest in modest ways, but the ripples of which you so often spoke are evident for all to see.
Aye, you’re right, I’m feeling stronger, and my dark times are fewer and shorter. But I find I do need at least your spirit with me.
AM
You know how sometimes, after a really bleak and demoralizing experience, when all hope seemed lost, you awake from a fitful sleep to a sunny morning and just like that, the world doesn’t seem quite so malevolent? When after what seemed dark and depressing the night before isn’t nearly so threatening in the light and warmth of a new and promising day? Well, that didn’t happen to me. When I awoke the morning after the real Eric Cameron was laid bare for all Canadians to see, I had absolutely none of those redeeming and hopeful thoughts and feelings. None. Nada. Zilch. I was positioned directly in front of the fan, and a whole lot of shit was arcing my way.
So, already depressed and anxious, I opted for the full-meal deal and turned the TV back on. Lucky for me it was still tuned into the Fox News Network. As I waited for the pharmaceutical commercial to finish (10 seconds of product promotion, 50 seconds of detailed descriptions of side effects), I wondered how on earth things could get any worse. How about like this?
We are back on “Fox News Saturday.” I’m Aaron Olson, and we are going deep on the sex-crazed Canadian Finance Minister. Fox News has obtained exclusive footage recovered from the scene of yesterday’s fire in Cumberland, somewhere near Ontario, showing Finance Minister Eric Cameron engaged in very naughty sex games with his chief of staff
and dominatrix, Patty Boochard. Joining me now to guide us through this extraordinary video is noted sex therapist Judith Humphrey, whose particular specialty is S and M. Hello, Judith, and welcome to “Fox News Saturday.”
I’ll spare you the blow-by-blow (literally) analysis provided by the inimitable Dr. Humphrey. I initially thought it was satire – a big joke. But no, for the 34th time in the previous two weeks, I was wrong. My fervent hope that only André Fontaine and Muriel Parkinson had copies of Cameron’s amateur sex-slave videos was faint and fading fast. If Fox News had footage, every media outlet in Canada and most in the United States had it, too. Preceded by a parental discretion warning, the American network aired the entire 17-minute video of Cameron and Borschart well on their way to sadomasochism nirvana. With an endless stream of expert colour commentary from Dr. Humphrey, it was kind of like watching an NHL hockey game, except this action was much rougher and the players were wearing next to no equipment.
A quick surf through the other channels, American and Canadian, confirmed my worst fears. They were all running unexpurgated footage (each station apparently with a different video) starring Eric Cameron and his sidekick (an apt term in three different clips). I had no idea Canada boasted that many bona fide sex therapists.
