The Frankenstein Candidate (19 page)

Spain won New Hampshire handsomely, and as expected, Rogers was a very distant third. Colin Spain was clearly the frontrunner now, and a win on Super Tuesday was going to seal the nomination for him.

As soon as the New Hampshire results were in, Katrina and Larry strung together a series of fundraisers across the country, and Olivia was away from home for several days.

On the Republican side, Kirby won against Reed and Logan, but that was a much closer race. On the day of their town hall debate, bags containing fruit were strictly forbidden, but one woman nevertheless managed to sneak in two dozen eggs with predictable effect. The eggs were pelted in the direction of the speakers whenever they evaded questions or spoke around them. Some Frankensteiners were arrested and removed from the hall and they made the television news that evening. Mr. Flannery was delighted.

This time, the White House leaned on NBN to not use the Frankenstein chanting footage, but it was too late. A Frankensteiner had it filmed on his tiny camera, posted it on the Web, and the video soon went viral. The only thing that disappointed NBN was its inability to be the first to show it, but the compromise of bowing to the White House while securing the ratings anyway was brilliantly convenient. Anchors made a show of citing the violation of broadcast conditions by the man who recorded the event, but the police did not press charges.

Meanwhile, Spain raised a record $27 million in one week following the New Hampshire win.

On the run, Olivia had to rush out to buy a whole new set of formal dresses fit for the fundraising events: demure suits when they hosted union leaders, stunning gowns for the formal balls, and power suits for the lunches with the business leaders. Colin and Larry went for the business dollar. Spain was the candidate to back on the Democrat side, and the executives and the directors keen on saving their careers wanted government protection under the guise of patriotism. Spain had implicitly promised protection and so had Kirby. Kirby, too, was doing well in his fundraisers, extending the gap between him and Reed and Logan.

When Olivia finally got home, she was exhausted. Gary wanted to go out to celebrate, but she managed to convince him to order in.

In bed at eleven, Olivia once again could not get to sleep. At first, she thought it was the enormity of the whole occasion. Victor Howell, the Democrats’ most elder statesman, had given his green light to the announcement of her vice presidential candidacy. Tomorrow, she was going to be on the news everywhere.

That’s when it struck her again. At first, it was just a dull pain in her forehead. She thought she was getting an anxiety attack. How she wished now that she had heeded Dr. Joshy’s advice, but then she thought there was something else. She had a funny feeling that Gary wanted to broach something with her but just wouldn’t or couldn’t because of the wall she had built around herself. She looked at Gary. He was fast asleep. She needed to sleep too. She popped a pill. On the campaign trail, she had practically popped one sleeping pill every night. She wondered how she was going to cope for the remaining ten months.

The following morning, she slept in till eight.

She had barely parted the bedroom curtain to let some light in when she noticed a camera and crew. Then, as the curtains parted some more, several cameras and crew—enough for at least four or five outlets—appeared in her field of vision. The announcement was already out.

Nothing could have prepared Olivia for the onslaught that followed the announcement that she was Colin Spain’s running mate for the vice presidency. There were seventeen messages on her private cell phone, most calling for interviews. Her inbox had over three hundred e-mails. She had to do what Larry had suggested, which was to turn them all over to the campaign office for processing.

The four of them met again that Saturday afternoon in DC. She wanted to say yes to Kayla Mizzi, but the other three were unanimous—no interviews until Colin and her had perfected the campaign message. She had heard enough of his speeches and was already in broad agreement with the strategy. Olivia was a voracious reader; she was already well versed in the intricacies of the U.S. economy and its foreign policy.

When they left, avoiding the paparazzi meant she had to leave via the back door in Larry’s car and meet her designated driver several blocks away.

Dr. Rohan Joshy was waiting for her in his office when she got there, a mixed bundle of nervous energy, excitement, and fear.

“Congratulations, Vice President,” he said.

She liked the way he could have the measure of almost anything and be able to poke fun at it.

When the pleasantries were dealt with, she chose to recline on the couch, facing the pale blue ceiling.

“Why did mom want you to succeed so much?”

“I guess because she…because she was herself so…no, maybe because she was trained the same way…”

“How does that make you feel…to be trained a certain way?”

“What other way is there?”

“Is there no other way?”

“I guess not.”

“What about the inner you?”

“It never says much.”

“Never?”

“I just want to be normal sometimes…”

“What’s normal?”

“Just to go out and meet friends, have dinner…”

“And?”

“And not have to worry so much about the whole world.”

“So why don’t you?”

“Because there is so much wrong with this world. It needs to be fixed.”

“Is that mom speaking?”

“No, it’s me. That’s me, I’m sure.”

“Absolutely?”

“Absolutely sure, yes.”

By the time she left, Olivia was not sure of anything at all. The minute she left Dr. Joshy’s rooms, the magnetic pull of the outside world ferociously ripped her out of the inner vortex that he had painstakingly pushed her into; it was as though its force easily countervailed his gentle pushes.

Olivia’s cell phone seemed to beep several times the minute she turned it on. Someone on the road outside recognized her. She made a quick dash into the back of her car, beckoning the driver to move, scared that someone was following her. The gale force of her outer world had become a typhoon. All the gentle tugs of her inner vortex were just too easily overpowered and just as quickly forgotten.

The following week, a new Olivia, sculpted to perfection, entered the world as confident, poised and articulate as ever but also measured, immaculate, and cautiously ambitious.

Vanity Fair
was the first to record an interview with her. Then it was Oprah Winfrey on her OWN channel. Bloomberg followed soon after, then NBC, the new NBN channel, CBS, ABC and Fox News. Never did her message detour from the orchestrated strategy, not even once did she err on facts, never did she miss an opportunity to praise Colin Spain, and never did she miss an opportunity to discredit Kirby or the GOP. Her knowledge of Turkmenistan was voluminous, and her understanding of the intricacies of the proposed Wall Street regulation was comparable to a top-ranked Wall Street attorney.

She smiled at all the right moments; she knew the price of bread, the wholesale price of oil by the barrel, and the price of gasoline at the gas station. She knew what the federal budget deficit was a year ago and what it would be in five years.

Katrina even had an acting teacher work on her emoting. Olivia loved it. Drama was the one thing she had never done before, even at school. Her acting classes allowed her to express inner emotions in the privacy of a teacher-student setting. There was method in Katrina’s madness. Olivia could bring a watery, almost imperceptible tear to her eye when the tough talk shifted to the possibility of higher unemployment and struggling middle class families. Then she would clear her throat and blame the current administration for its handling of the economy and proceed with a magnificently delivered treatise of economic policy, of “gentle intervention” and “good old fashioned stimulus” spending.

They said the package that was Olivia Allen was perfected in campaign heaven.

Here was an all-American mom who even the conservatives could not match, but here also was an immaculately confident, sharp-as-nails intellect with just the right touch of emotional empathy to make people feel like she was one of them—they just loved her.

Her camp was more than pleased. Victor Howell was ecstatic. He blessed the Spain-Allen ticket. Her public approval rating was nearly 90 percent, which even for a honeymoon period was unheard of. In a matter of weeks, her popularity began to catch up and outshine Colin Spain’s; it was only then that Katrina Marshella suggested that she cease giving interviews and rejoin the strategy room.