The iCongressman (29 page)

CHELSEA

Our relationship is only a week old, and we haven’t really
had much time to enjoy it. I have not had a lot of boyfriends, but whenever I
started dating a guy, I felt giddy with excitement. It was new, fun, and …
exhilarating. Of course, that was all before I took this job.

Blake and I have spent a lot of time together, but sadly,
most of it has been work related. We have a bill to defeat, and have been doing
everything we can to ensure that happens. Essentially, that means working long
days, endless nights, and little sleep to prepare for either when the sun comes
back up. Our romantic dinners have been limited to pizza and Chinese takeout in
the office. It also means my quality time with Blake tonight, as with the last
several, has been spent working over as the clock ticks toward midnight.

“Ah, this sucks,” Blake says, stretching in the chair across
the desk from mine.

“Stop your whining. You worked on Beaumont’s staff. You’re
used to this.”

“Actually, we never worked this hard, except once and a
while during a campaign.”

“I guess that’s why you’re here and Beaumont isn’t.” I look
up to gauge his reaction. “Sorry, I didn’t mean for it to come across like
that.”

Blake smiles, and I’m happy he didn’t take my comment the
wrong way. He is still sensitive about the time he spent with his former mentor
who now has several felony convictions. I learned that the hard way.

“Forget it. I know what you meant.”

“Good, because I’m not sure I can handle any more stress
piled on right before Christmas.”

“Is the fake anthrax attack still bothering you?”

“No. Well, yeah, but that’s not what I meant.”

“You haven’t finished your shopping yet, have you?”

“No, and now I have one more to shop for,” I say, giving
Blake a playful smile he eagerly returns.

“Well, at least all the threats you guys were receiving seem
to have stopped. That reduces the stress a little.”

“I only wish that were true,” I say, instantly regretting
it.

“What do you mean? I spoke to the congressman earlier and he
says you haven’t gotten more than one or two since the anthrax scare.”

This has been wearing on my conscience since I started doing
it three days ago, so without explanation I open up the bottom desk drawer and
reach way in the back behind the hanging file folders. Finally grasping what I
was looking for, I pull out the bundle of letters and set them on the desk.

“Are those what I think they are?” he asks, staring at the
bundle. Yes, rocket scientist, they are.

“So much for the threats stopping, right?”

“Holy shit, Chels, Congressman Bennit doesn’t know about
this?”

“No, and if you breathe a word of it to him, you will wish
you had anthrax when I get done with you.” I’m a redhead and that is not an
idle threat.

“Why would you do this?”

“Because it’s my job to protect him.
His focus needs to be on winning this vote four days from now, and he can’t do
that if he’s spending every waking moment worrying about us.”

“But there could be something in there―”

“There is nothing in any of these we haven’t already seen,”
I interrupt. The Capitol Police have their hands full investigating the anthrax
scare the media is still obsessing about, so they don’t have any interest in
more creepy letters.

“But―”

“This upcoming vote means everything to us. If it succeeds,
all the work we’ve done to this point is for nothing. We need this rules bill
to be defeated to do our job, even if the media and the rest of the country
don’t care.”

 
I don’t tell him it
will be the last vote I am ever involved in. He doesn’t need to be privy to
that information. I guess that’s why I am working so hard. I want to leave on a
positive note. It would be one of the few I’ve had here.

“Have you talked to Kylie about this?”

“Are you kidding? She is an emotional wreck right now. She
thinks she’s in danger of losing him to something terrible.”

Blake spins the stack of letters on the desk and reads the
envelope on top. I can tell he’s quietly mulling things over, and I begin to
wonder if he disagrees with my decision.

“He’s going to be pissed off if he learns about this.”

“Probably.”

“You don’t care?”

“Everyone is either upset, pissed
off,
unhappy, worried, or stressed out these days. Amanda is angry at our tactics,
Brian is annoyed we gave up using social media to influence the vote … I can’t
make anyone happy, so I’ve given up. All I am trying to do is get us through
this session of Congress—everything else will work itself out after that.”

Blake stares at me with an expression I can’t quite place.
Our relationship is brand new, and although we have known each other for a
while, we don’t really know each other. For all the time I have spent trying to
read him for deception, I never paid attention to any of his other emotions.

“What? Are you pissed off at me, too?

“Hell no.
Quite
the opposite, actually.
I’m proud of you.”

“Uh, okay, that’s not what I expected. Why?”

“Because, Chelsea, you are doing what you think you need to
do to protect your boss, consequences
be
damned. Now
you’re acting like a chief of staff.”

MICHAEL

No less than a half dozen freshman
representatives sleep in their offices. Some don’t want the hassle of
maintaining a residence in the district, and others do it to as a public
relations stunt for the benefit of the voters back home. I did it myself for a
while until Kylie found work in D.C. When she found an apartment, she asked me
to move in with her. It is technically her place, but it’s really ours.

Many politicians choose to live outside the District of
Columbia in Virginia, but Kylie is too much of a hipster for that. Having lived
in the East Village of Manhattan for so long, I wasn’t surprised when she chose
a new, chic building north of Massachusetts Avenue. Earning the moniker “
NoMa
,” it’s an up and coming neighborhood conveniently
located just four blocks north of Capitol Hill and Union Station. I can walk to
work if I choose.

The apartment itself is reasonably priced and more than
spacious enough for the two of us. The furniture was all transplanted from her
NYC walk-up, and we collaborated on the décor, which is to say she picked it
all. I still maintain my place back in Millfield because I legally have
to,
and because she’d never let me keep most of my
furniture.

With a mere four days left before the vote which will
determine the political direction of the government and how the House of
Representatives functions, I am doing what any good representative would do
under these circumstances—Christmas shopping. Hey, there’s only eight days left
until Santa comes and I’ve done nothing. Thank God for whoever invented the
online shopping cart.

My notebook computer in my lap, Sam Adams in my hand, and
credit card melting due to overuse, I occasionally glance up at CNN on the flat
screen hung on the wall. The coverage of what is going on in this lame duck
session has been unimpressive, and what they have reported is generally wrong.
News coverage strongly influences political behavior, but the media are a
capricious bunch. Nostradamus couldn’t predict which stories they cover and
which get ignored.

Obviously, the anthrax scare from a few days ago is still
dominating the headlines as investigators scramble for answers. It may have
only been innocuous baking soda, but it’s more than enough to distract the
media. As a result, the events surrounding this rules bill introduced in the
lame duck session have been glossed over.

Political pundits still dwell on the fact there is no
majority party, but none are concerned about the latest tactic to address that
situation. Any outrage we managed to spark and stoke on social media has fallen
off in the wake of the faux-attack. As I feared, nothing we have done on that
front will translate into action. I thought it was a long-shot before, but now
relying on social media to affect change is
an impossibility
.

Since we first found out about this bill a month and a half
ago, we worked tirelessly to defeat it using every tool available to us. Media,
social media, pressure from constituents, and even through trying to broker
deals. None of it worked, except to inspire people to constantly let us know
they wanted us dead. Thank God those threats seemed to have abated. Now, all
that’s left is the Hail Mary play I sent Blake out on.

The
Washington Post
has
stopped Kylie from working on the two biggest political stories of the year:
the debacle that was my Ethics hearing and subsequent expulsion vote, and the
anthrax scare which still has Capitol Hill tied up in knots.

Without her tenacious attitude to lead the way, the press
lost interest in pursuing the perpetrator of my witch hunt last summer. I guess
trying to frame an elected representative for bribery doesn’t rank as a scandal
in this day in age.

The trail went cold fast, and despite the obvious
involvement of Ibram & Reed, most investigative arms of news organizations
moved on to alleged voter fraud following the November election. Unfortunately,
the FBI and other watchdog groups are not having much success either, although
they don’t have papers to sell or viewers to entice, so they are still
officially working on it.

Now the dog has a new bone to chew on, so the old one is
left out in the yard. The anthrax scare is the shiny new media toy, and all
their resources are devoted to endless coverage of it. Of course, they haven’t
added a single shred of analytical value or new information to the discussion
or investigation.

To compensate for her perceived lack of value, Kylie is
putting in some overtime by writing about the rules bill on the side. Part of
me believes she’s doing it to distract herself from the threats and the white
powder scare. I can’t say I blame her for wanting the distraction.

Unfortunately, there is little interest being generated in
the stories she is sending out. The woman who could have gotten my grocery list
printed during our first campaign is now suffering from a dry spell that makes
the Gobi Desert look like a tropical rain forest. To say it is frustrating for
her is an exercise in understatement.

Speaking of the devil, Kylie comes in and slams her purse on
the small kitchen island, then tosses her coat on the ground. She may not be a
clean freak, but this is aberrant behavior even for her.

“Tough day, honey?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

She sits next to me on the couch with her legs tucked under
her and buries her head into my chest. I drape my arm around her and kiss her
forehead, pausing long enough to enjoy the pleasant scent of the fruity
conditioner she uses on her hair. It’s the smallest things in life like this I
enjoy most.

“Do you ever wonder if this was all worth it?”

“What do you mean?” She lifts her head off my chest and
cranes her neck to look up at me. I think the question caught her a little off
guard.

“I mean, do you miss the days after I lost the first
election where we just crashed at your apartment and only left to shop for
groceries and rock out to Dead Rocking Horse at the
Bowry
Ballroom?”

Kylie has never been a mainstream music fan. She’s adamant
in her belief that a select few choose the winners and losers in the music
industry. It’s how we end up having to endure the obscene lack of talent and
publicity antics of people like Justin
Beiber
and
Brittany Spears. Living in New York, she became an ardent follower of bands few
others know about. Dead Rocking Horse is one of them, and if people ever had
the chance to hear them, they would own the Billboard Top One Hundred.

“We were unemployed then, Michael.”

“I didn’t say there weren’t a couple of
small
downsides.”

“Small downsides?”

“Yeah. ‘
Money is something you need
in case you don’t die tomorrow.’”

“Is that your favorite
Wall
Street
quote?”

“‘Greed is good’ has already been adopted by everyone else
in this town,” I answer, paraphrasing the actual line. Even being a history
guy, Oliver Stone’s 1987 hit starring Michael Douglas as the venerable, yet
despicable Gordon
Gekko
, is one of my favorite
movies.

“You’re going to lose the vote on this bill,” Kylie
responds, suddenly up shifting from light to serious.

“I know.”

“You don’t sound upset about it. If that’s the case, maybe
you should just vote for it.”
Uh-oh.

“Why would I do that?”

“Maybe the threats against you might end. People will stop
sending you white powder everyone thinks could be laced with anthrax, or
ricin
, or any other biological agent that could kill you
through the mail.”

“Please tell me you aren’t serious.”

“I’m dead serious!”

“Kylie, I am not going to be blackmailed into voting for
something I don’t believe in!” I exclaim, getting a little heated at the notion
of it all.

“You are going to lose anyway.”

“It doesn’t matter. I will not compromise my principles
because someone
threa
―”

“Even if the threat becomes real?
What happens when someone really does try to hurt you, or Chelsea, or any of
us?”

“Honey, I can’t afford to think that way. I have a job to
do, and I will never be scared me into voting for something I don’t believe in.
You know that. I love you, and I love my staff, but if I change my vote out of
fear for my safety or anyone else’s, I don’t deserve to be here.”

She doesn’t want to hear those words, but she knows I am
right. Kylie is driven, independent, but also very protective. She’s scared,
and isn’t realizing the fear of the unknown is clouding her judgment.

“I’m sorry,” she says, tabling the argument more than
conceding the point. “What’s the plan to defeat this bill now that nobody is
paying attention?”

“I’m hoping for a miracle, like maybe the mainstream media
waking up and doing their jobs.” She scoffs at the notion. “What?” I ask
sarcastically. “You don’t think the media will accurately portray what’s going
on here?”

“I work for the established media and I wouldn't trust them
to give the weather report in the Sahara. The noise about the tie in the House
and the white powder gives them higher ratings than a rules bill Americans
don’t understand. If you are expecting the media to suddenly shift away from
that, you are going to be disappointed.”

Kylie has not been aloof in her dissatisfaction with her
current employer. It isn’t working for them she has a problem with, it is the
constraints they have put on her. She loves journalism, but just as she learned
with the
New York Times
before they
fired her, she’s usually at odds with their agendas.

“I think it’s time we seriously discuss something. I want to
take our relationship to a new level.” Wait, what?

“Uh …”

“No, not that.
I can wait for
that.” She sits up and looks me dead in the eye. “I want to
come
work for you.”

“As tempting as that sounds, it’s a horrible idea,” I say,
trying not to sound relieved. It’s not that marrying Kylie is not high on my
agenda, because it is. I’m just not quite ready for that level of commitment
considering what happened to me with Jessica.

“With Chelsea leaving, you need a new chief of staff: that’s
Vince. When he moves up, you’ll need to replace him. Vanessa doesn’t like
working with the media, so she’s out. I want to be your PR person.”

I don’t say anything. It’s not that I don’t want her to work
for me, because on some level, the idea does appeal to me. On the other hand,
happy personal and business relationships rarely coexist between people. Kylie
is fearful and wants to be with me every minute she can. This request is an
extension of that. She prepped the battlefield well in this conversation, and I
need to avoid any landmines.

“Vince isn’t going to be the chief of staff, is he?” she
says, squinting at me as she does when drawing conclusions. I wait too long to
reply, and now I’m about to have another problem. “Oh my God, you promised it
to Blake, didn’t you?”

“Not exactly.”

“Not exactly as you didn’t, or not exactly as in you didn’t
want to tell me?”

“I don’t know, both?”

“
Hm
,” she says with a disagreeing
look. “Why would you ever even consider him working on the staff?”

“Maybe I see something in him everyone else doesn’t.”

“I think you fell and hit your head or something. He’s a
lying scoundrel who would betray you in a New York second to advance his own
agenda. You treat your staff like family. Do you really want him to be a part
of it?”

“I’m not sure that’s true anymore. Besides, Chelsea is
dating him now. That does make him a part of it,” I say in my defense.

“I’m not sold on that being a good idea either, but that’s
her choice.” My God, we sound like parents discussing our daughter bringing
home an edgy guy, covered in tattoos, and driving a van.

“You know, it dawns on me that he was dating your sister,” I
recall, alluding to the brief relationship Kylie’s sister Madison had with
Blake when they were both serving on Beaumont’s staff.

“
Ew
.
Don’t remind me.”

“If things had gone a little differently, he could have been
your brother-in-law.”

“Okay, seriously, you’re making me gag here.”

“Imagine that wedding …”

“Stop it!” she chastises and hits me with a throw pillow.
“Thanks so much. I’m going to have night terrors tonight with that image in my
head now.”

We share a laugh, and it is a welcome respite from the
growing tension over this vote, Chelsea almost leaving, Blake’s role, and a
host of other things. Now we can add Kylie’s newly revealed desire to leave
journalism and come to work for me.

The thought of her becoming her sister came to mind, but I
bit my tongue. Kylie was always critical of Madison for becoming a press
secretary who thought nothing of lying to everybody for Winston Beaumont.
Madison retorted by classifying her as a second-rate journalist clinging to an
unreachable idealism. It’s a touchy subject to bring up with her, so there’s no
reason to broach that subject right now or I may get hit with something harder
than a throw pillow. Like a lamp, or a coffee table.

“Is Amanda coming around at all?” she asks, suddenly getting
more serious again.

“No. If anything, she’s even more adamant against what we’re
doing.”

“I know she’s an idealist, but it’s not like you’re signing
a pact with Satan. You’d think she would see that.”

“Honestly, I see her point. I don’t know if what we’re doing
is the right thing.”

“A lot is riding on this vote. If you lose, the Speaker
fixes one problem and creates a myriad of others. I don’t know how much longer
the country will tolerate a broken government. Your scheme with Blake is the
only bullet left in your rifle. What are you going to do if it doesn’t work?