Part 2
I hate the scene where I’m walking along the street, it just doesn’t look right. I step up the curb on to the sidewalk to shake hands with the firemen and I look awkward. I wonder if it’s the exception to the rest of the video because it’s just an off moment or if it exposes how I really look. Please Jesus, make me look the way I need to look.
“I like this part here,” Clay says and Pam and the interns stretch their necks out to focus on the screen.
It’s strange to watch yourself on television. You look at the person on the screen and you’re aware that it is you up there but you notice so many things that you were never conscious of before. The way your hair jostles when you move your head or the odd rhythm of your blinking. The way you walk; never have I seen a stiffer walk than my own right there on the screen. In my mind my walk I free and easy, light as a feather. Then I watch the screen and I see a woman walking like she has an invisible suit of armor hanging from her limbs.
“Oh Mrs. Bates, that is so good. I like it a lot.”
Sandra the intern is piling it on thick during the part where I’m shaking hands with seniors. I remember the day we shot it. I don’t think the old people were even aware of who I was but they went along with it anyway. I catch Pam giving Sandra a look. The new intern is on the fast track to dethroning the assistant. I enjoy watching the struggle. They both will come out stronger from it.
“This is going out in six markets instead of four,” Clay explains as the video ends. “That’s all due to the increase in budget here in Iowa and that is all due to the hard work that everyone in this office is putting in. Keep it up.”
They all begin to chatter and break away into their groups and clicks and various duties. Clay is pounding away on his cell phone, replying to texts and e-mails in the brief break from the constant storm.
“I want that part where I’m walking down main street cut,” I tell him and he looks at me glass eyed and distracted.
“Cut?” he whispers, trying to concentrate.
“You know. The part where I’m walking along ‘main street’ and I step up to the sidewalk to shake hands? I don’t like how it looks and I want it out.”
Clay nods absently.
“Yes, absolutely. That has to go,” he says. He points towards the interns where they are gathered talking amongst themselves. “You! We need to get Mrs. Bates over to her rehearsals right away. We’re running behind and Frank Wagner doesn’t like waiting.”
The young people look startled and stare back at him until he snaps the fingers of his free hand at them and it’s obvious he’s referring to Will Cedar.
“Let’s go! Pam will get you the address.”
“I don’t have a car,” Will explains sheepishly.
Clay pulls the keys for his Mercedes from his blazer pocket and throws them across the room to the intern.
“Just get going. I’ll have Pam text you the address.”
Clay turns towards me and points sternly towards the door.
“I can drive Mrs. Bates,” Pam protests and I feel the claw of irritation.
“No you can’t,” Clay bellows “I want you updating the donor list for California. You hear me? You were supposed to have that ready three days ago and then I hear from Sandra that they’re not ready. We’re just over a week away!”
He lets his face go slack to show her how much she’s let him down and then he begins chattering into the phone. Pam’s skin looks ash colored and then the hurt and embarrassment give way to a crimson anger which she directs silently towards the intern Sandra. Sandra has opted to walk away like she didn’t hear the entire exchange. I gather my debate binder and Blackberry from the conference table and head towards the door with Will following behind me.
It’s a gray day and I feel the downturn of the weather bringing my spirit and my thoughts to low places. As a little girl I aways imagined that a foggy or cloudy day made it so God couldn’t see us and it frightened me. Now the idea of Him not seeing us depresses me. What is the point of going through all the motions and struggles if no one is watching?
The intern is driving, concentrating very hard on the road in front of him. He’s quiet and I appreciate it. I imagine he’s partly uncomfortable being stuck in a car alone with “the boss” for a half hour. I’ve seen many young men like him float in and out of our campaign already: boys that lead their college Republican club and are now looking for real world experience with a campaign that has some momentum. A few of the young men were sucked up by the Ackley Campaign a month ago when Bob entered the race. I try not to let it bother me, in fact the thought of these young men seeing Bob as a ‘winner’ only feeds the desire I carry to fight all the way to the end.
“When did you get involved with the campaign Will?” I ask him absently. Freeing myself from my own thoughts through conversation will stop my mood from plummeting.
He seems shaken awake by my voice. He blinks and looks over at me and leans back in the seat.
“Pretty recently.”
He doesn’t seem to have much to say beyond that but I look over at him, waiting for something. He grins to kill time but I continue to wait and he swallows and stares unblinking at the road ahead before he can get another thought out.
“How do you think it’s going?” he says.
It’s funny but nobody has asked me that, at least not recently. I sit in the passenger seat of that car on that long highway on that gray day and I realize that no matter how Clay puts forth positive news and sugarcoats it we may have very well come close to the end. Bob Ackley’s campaign has stopped us in our tracks. We may have reached the peak of our momentum and my popularity and my breath catches because for the first time I allow myself to realize that I have known this for weeks. Somewhere inside of me I’ve allowed myself to except that we don’t have a chance of winning, even without evoking the idea that it may be God’s plan.
“It’s going really well,” I say “We’ll see after the debate.”
Frank Wagner lives in a pale yellow two story house about fifteen miles outside town. It has been years since he has agreed to meet with a candidate at their respective offices. If you want to work with Frank then it is your responsibility to get to him and to follow his instructions to the fullest. Frank has refused to go beyond working as a consultant since working as a full time member of the staff on the failed second campaign for president by the first George Bush. It is rumored that he has advised a number of Democratic candidates in the past but that does not bother me. He is one of the best and this is our second meeting and first full debate prep session.
He greets us at the door and I immediately smell the stink of my uncle Jefferson; Blatz beer and Southern Comfort. Frank shakes my hand.
“Who are you?” he asks coldly and his red eyes give Will the one over.
“He’s one of my interns,” I inform him.
“You want him here?” Frank wonders and turns towards me with a grimace.
“What’s he supposed to do? Wait in the car?”
“Yes. That’s what interns do.”
Will nods and begins to make his way back down the stairs to the sidewalk.
“No no no. Will, come up here. You can watch and take notes or something,” I tell him and he jogs back and joins us inside the house.
Frank keeps two mean red eyes on Will all the way to the living room where he leaves us as he retreats to the kitchen. He returns with a glass of water for me and a glass of whisky and ice for him. He drags an old wooden chair over and directs me to sit in it while he drops back into the couch with his drink and puts it to his lips.
“Now, Ackley will be in this debate, is that right?” he asks.
“Yes. As far as we know.”
I grimace at his drink. He doesn’t seem to notice.
“Alright, from here on out we’re going to focus completely on Bob Ackley. The other candidates don’t matter. They’re background. They might as well not even be there. As far as you're concerned it’s you and Bob Ackley on that stage and no one else.”
“Must you drink right now?” I ask and he’s stops himself short. He blinks and doesn’t even seem to understand what I have said. I nod at the drink: “Must you drink while we’re doing this?”
He looks at me like one does to the protesters outside my office. I am a crazy person, stupid, a child. He raises his glass and takes a large gulp.
“Listen Mrs Bates-”
“Marsha.”
“Marsha. I’ve been in this business for thirty years. You have been in the national spotlight for what? A year at most?”
“I was elected to congress nearly three years ago.”
“National spotlight. National. You are here so I can coach you so you can compete on a national level. When you go out on that stage Thursday you're not going to be just speaking to a bunch of Jesus freaks and Right wing nut jobs. You're going to be talking to all kinds of people. People that vote. I am going to prepare you for that and how I do it is my business, whether it involves a drink in my hand or not. I do my job my way. Your job is to simply take what I say and use it to your advantage. Do we understand each other?”
I nod and let me breath out, slowly. I don’t have to like him. I just need to listen and absorb some of his points. He waits a moment to see if I will challenge him and then moves on.
“Right out the gate the Republican establishment is going to be shining it’s spot light on Ackley. He’s the one they want, not you.”
“I know that,” I say, my voice bitter and hard.
“So, you have to force them to want you by becoming someone they can see as their candidate. You have to go after Ackley, but not too much. You have to speak to the base that has gotten you this far, but not too much. You have to impress these people and show them that you can compete against this president and think on your feet.”
He sits forward on the coach and points one thick pink finger at me.
“Mrs. Bates, how old is planet Earth?”
I gather myself and lay both of my hands on my knees.
“6,000 years, give or take.”
Frank takes back his finger and the red eyes squint at me.
“Jesus Christ, you can’t say that.”
“Please don’t use the Lord’s name in vain.”
He pops up from the couch with his drink in his hand and paces the floor in front of my chair.
“I thought from what Logan has told me that you were farther along than this. I thought you had a least a notion of how to make your answers work.”
“I said ‘give or take’!” I protest. I can feel the blood in both of my cheeks.
“You said 6,000 years! Without me even dragging it out. Do you know how many people write you off as a nut job when you give an answer like that?”
I can’t look at him. I glance over at Will who is looking at both of us with his hands grasping the arm rests of his chair. I glance at the floor.
“Mrs. Bates, Marsha, it’s time for you to make a conscious effort to tailor your answers for the bigger stage. Otherwise this is all a waste of time.”
“It’s what I believe.”
I hate him. He is the little worm reporter from Cornerstone magazine and the protester who cursed me on the street and Clay and my Father all rolled into one. He places his drink on a coffee table and leans down towards me.
“I don’t care if it’s what you believe. You keep it to yourself and answer the question by not answering the question. You pass it on. You say leave it to the scientists. You say something. But you do not answer the question with what you believe.”
I look out the window at the day outside and am thankful for the clouds cover the sky and that God can’t see us.
The drive back to the city seems to take longer than the ride out. After nearly five hours at Frank Wagner’s I am fatigued. I am dried out in mind and spirit but I am not feeling down. The confidence I felt waning that morning is now renewing itself inside of me and the lights of Ames Iowa are inviting in the distance under the purple sky of evening. Will drives and says little, concentrating, thinking maybe. He was silent through the entire session at Frank’s, observing respectfully, and I can’t help but wish to know what goes on behind those eyes that take in everything carefully, methodically, barely blinking.
“Are you a Christian Will?” I ask.
“Yes.”
His reply is quick as if he was waiting for me to say something.
“When did you find the Lord?”
“When I was a boy. I was raised in it.”
“I wasn’t,” I tell him and he looks away from the road for a moment to glance at me, “I always believed a little but I didn’t find Him until I was eighteen. My Dad was a salesman and we moved around constantly and we never had a chance to really make a place a home or become part of a community and he was always gone-” I stop, catching myself. The fatigue is making me ramble a bit. I can feel Will listening next to me and I let it go. “It was a great feeling to give my soul to Jesus. It was like coming home finally.”
“Were you close to your Dad?” he asks.
It’s dark in the car now. There’s a little light coming from the dashboard but there are no street lights on that part of the freeway and I can’t see Will’s expression, I can only see a hazy outline. His voice sounds different from how it sounded earlier, more at ease and confident.
“No, I wasn't. He was never home. All he cared about was making sales so he was always out doing that. That was his true faith, selling things, no matter what it took.”
“I guess people can believe in whatever they want,” he says and I wish I could see his face.
“I guess they can. But me and you both know they’re not going to necessarily make it to Heaven.”
I wait for him to answer but he doesn’t. I think he may have nodded but it’s too dark to tell.
The hotel room seems emptier than usual. Don is gone and when I check my messages I find one that has him explaining he had a late session and it was hard to tell when he would be back being that his patient is in crisis. It imagine it’s the patient Jeffery who flew all the way out from Wisconsin for a session with Don when we first came out for the straw poll and the debates. Jeffery seems to always be in crisis.
I throw my shoes off and drop into the bed, exhausted. I drag the remote control from the bed side table and flip on the television and the sounds and images of all that world are suddenly in the room with me. A man is trying to eat ten pizzas by himself. There are dirty looking Muslim men shooting guns into the air and yelling about Lord knows what. Latinos are laughing on their own network and trying to be like us while still speaking their language.
I push the button again and there he is; the President. He is speaking in that slow patronizing tone he always uses and is looking just left of the camera. It’s hard to even watch him. As tired as I am I can still feel the rage building up until it’s a knot in my throat. It’s not just his face that causes it, it’s all the people that supported him when he was elected and all that still support him now, even with everything that has befallen us. When I watch him speak I don’t see a president; a see a UN secretary, or a NATO press secretary, someone international, not an American, not someone you can trust.
I flip the channel after only a few seconds. I see the man has made it through half of his fourth pizza. He’s fat and he makes me laugh because he’s trying so hard to get all that crust and cheese down his throat. I flip again and there I am. It’s footage from the rally at Moose Park just a few days ago. I turn up the volume but there is a commentator speaking over the footage so I can’t hear my speech. Freaking A. I at least look good. I’m nodding, but not too much, and I’m making my point and looking very serious. I look presidential.
A commercial comes and I start to nod off. I wonder what Will thought of my speech at the rally. Or was he with the campaign yet? I’m not sure. I’m trying to remember and then I’m asleep.
Frank is more clear eyed today and he’s not holding a drink in his hand. I like to think that he’s actually taking this seriously.
“These guys doing the questioning for the network are going to try to trip you up,” he says and looks me right in the eye. “Don’t let them do that. If you don’t know the answer to a question or you're not sure then just bypass it. Do you know what I mean? Just go around it. Repeat the question they asked and just take a word, any word that may have stuck out in what they said, and use that as a way to bridge back to a point you were trying to make earlier in the debate. If nothing sticks out then just take the opportunity to go back to something Ackley said.”
He stands up from the couch and looks over at Will like he’s addressing a panel of commentators.
“That’s a very good question Dan but I would like to go back to address something Senator Ackley said. Senator Ackley, do you really think that socialist programs, the same one’s they used in communist Russia and other repressive governments, have been a help to the American people?”
“Did he really say that?” I ask and I can feel the hair on my neck stand up in excitement.
Frank looks down at me, yanked out of his role playing.
“I don’t know. I was just using an example.”
It’s our third session this week and things are going well. I can feel the techniques Frank throws out taking hold and adding to my confidence and strengthening the skills I have already accumulated over the years. Many of the things he says and shows me are things I have already known and sensed but it is exciting to see someone bring them right out in the open and explain their importance.
Will continues to drive me to the sessions. He sits on the couch and watches Frank point and bellow and carry on and he watches me take it in and become a solid competitor right in front of him. Part of me wishes I could see it all from his point of view, to watch myself actually become better and more fluid in such a short time.
“You know if they ask me something that they try to angle really liberal and lofty I can always answer the question with some horse doo back at them,” I say.
“What do you mean?” Frank asks.
The red eyes squint at me suspiciously.
“I’ve done it before. Someone asks me some cruddy thing and I just throw it back at them and make up my own crud as a reply.”
“Make it up?”
“What does it matter?”
Frank takes in a breath and lets it go stale in his lungs as he turns what I said over for a moment.
“That’s true, as long as you say it with a confidence that convinces people what you're saying is true then it doesn’t really matter. But it can be tricky. Especially when they have fact checkers thrown into the post debate spins. They’re checking everything that comes out of your mouth these days. Ackley will probably have twenty of his own people down there to do it that very night just to trip one of you up. I can’t recommend it.”
Frank paces in front of me and the chair.
“Also, you keep throwing in that thing about the shots they gave babies in Montana that Ackley sponsored. I don’t think that’s a good look. It’s too conspiracy theory or whatever. You need to stick to the things that are currently on people’s minds and not go beyond the mainstream.”
“Beyond the mainstream,” I mutter.
“Yes.”
“What if I don’t know what’s ‘beyond the mainstream.’”
“Well, then youre fucked.”
There’s a sudden frustration in his voice and the words come at me aggressively.
“I don’t care for that language,” I tell him coldly.
He collapses into the couch and rests his head back so that he’s looking up into the ceiling. He’s a pushy vulgar man and there’s sweat building up around his temples, probably from need of drink. I wish he would go and get himself one.
“A lot of people don’t think the Bible is exactly the truth.”
It is the first time Will has spoken during a session. Even though there have been three people in the room during every day it hasn’t felt that way and his voice is jarring.
“Shut up,” Frank says while still staring into the ceiling.
“Don’t talk to him that way.” I shoot back, “Go ahead Will.”
“Well, I’m just thinking that you may want to get away from the religious references for now. The people that agree with you are most likely on board right? It might be better off trying to talk about jobs and the economy. People won’t expect that as much as the other stuff.”
He looks as surprised as us that he’s opened his mouth.
“The kids right Marsha,” Frank brings his head down to look at me “A lot of the people in the mainstream probably see you as the ‘religious candidate’ at this point.”
“Is that a bad thing?” I ask and I’m irritated with both of them.
“Not necessarily but you should spend these debates getting people to realize that you’re more than that. Like the kid is saying. I mean, what do you know about jobs?”
I lock my eyes on him.
“I know the president isn’t doing enough to create them.”
Frank ignites into life and launches off of the couch.
“Yes! Good! That’s the ticket. You go up there with those kind of answers while keeping Ackley in your cross hairs and you're going to make some head way. I guarantee it.”
I’m annoyed that he thinks he’s made some sort of breakthrough. I’ve always had the tools to dig Bob Ackley’s grave it was just a matter of someone suggesting what plot of land to dig it on.
The hall is surprisingly shabby. The stage itself is fine, all the candidates have a podium and the lighting is top of the line, but the seats where the audience sits are old and worn and the backstage area is atrocious. Doris is there right on time and is applying her special make up camera combo on my face before the other candidates have even arrived. When they do start to show up it’s Melvin first with his entourage, Kelly and Birkstand walking in and having some sort of long conversation in the corner, and then Hangley, the fat one, and then Moore, the black one.
Ackley is the last to show up and the all the other men in the room seem to stop what they’re doing to look over at him. Melvin and Birkstand even go up and seem to fawn over him as we wait for the stage manager to call us out. We go out for lighting and spot checks an hour and a half before the doors open. Ackley has been positioned firmly in the middle of the stage and I am two podiums over from him. I am going to have to look through Moore to get to Ackley but that will be fine.
We are brought backstage to wait for the debate to actually start. There are a few press people that have been filtered in and one interviews me for a few minutes. I give soft simple answers to most of the questions and then give a hard slap to Ackley towards the end. The journalist, an ugly little man with a bow tie, appreciates the quote and seems to feel the energy and confidence coming off of me.
“Can’t wait to see you in the debate,” he says.
We’re called out and the lights are lit and the cameras are on and the room is packed. Ackley gets the third question and I can immediately see his angle. He’s all charm and chuckles and little jokes. It makes me want to vomit. When the question goes to me I’m all seriousness and professionalism and I keep it that way through the first half of the debate. Ackley seems to adjust to it and eases off on the jokes and the chuckles and I realize just how cunning this freaking son of B really is.
I can hear Frank in my head. Not too serious! You don’t want America to think you don’t know how to laugh!
I let myself smile during a rebuttal about the tax ceiling while also getting a dig in at Ackley about flip flopping. The network people leading the debate spot a juicy show down with that and turn the mic back to Ackley for his own rebuttal. With a smug smile on his face he points to how long he’s been involved in politics compared to my recent entrance. I let him tie the noose and then I pull it taught when I get my thirty second reply.
“You’re right Bob, I’m not a career politician. Where I come from that’s a good thing.”
There isn’t a roar of claps or cheers there in the hall but I can feel how it looked on television and how it will look tomorrow and the next day when the clip is replayed. It was short and hard and slightly sarcastic with a light note in my voice that delivered it perfectly. It was the high point of the debate and it has wiped that smile right off of Bob Ackley’s face.
Our post debate celebration is held at a pizza parlor. I try to give Clay some cold words about this but he’s distracted by two phones now, one to his ear and one held out arms length as he frantically texts and e-mails. I’m embarrassed by the surroundings, especially with two camera men taking in the scene from the other room but nobody else seems to mind. The interns and volunteers are gulping root beer and I pick at a salad and try to enjoy the moment. But a pizza parlor? Lord, I know Ackley is in an upscale hotel events room but I grit my teeth and try to enjoy it.
Clay gets off the phones for a moment and sits down next to me.
“I’m so proud of you,” he says and I can tell he means it. There’s no sugar coating in his tone. It’s genuine and it makes me feel good.
CNN goes to some clips of the debate on the wide screened television and the room becomes hushed as everyone peers over and watches my performance. They show the clip where I answer Ackley’s comment about my experience and everyone cheers and claps. Sandra the intern stands up and applauds. I smile at her and let it beam around the room. I get to the far right table where Will and the intern Dana Ellis are sitting and I see her talking to him and he laughs, his mouth open wide and his face stretched with genuine joy. It’s a moment of conspiracy between them and it breaks my concentration and I’m no longer smiling.
A number of people make their way to my table to chat and give me compliments on my performance but I’m distracted. Clay sits down in the seat next to me again and tries to have a brief discussion.
“I’ll tell you what stood out,” he says “Everybody else was up there trying to sell themselves and you looked so in control. There was no need to sell anything. You simply said your point and you did it with such, grace.”
“I didn’t mention God once,” I mutter and he looks at me strangely.
“That’s true. I guess you didn’t. You didn’t need to.”
He forces his face into a smile and I shrug at him.
“Listen Clay, I want you to let that new intern go. I don’t think she’s working out.”
I avoid his eyes and pick at the salad with my fork.
“Who? Sandra? She scares me too Marsha but she’s a go getter. We need people like that.”
“Not her. The other one. The skinny one with the big teeth.”
“Big teeth?”
“The one that showed up the same day as Sandra. The one with brown hair.”
“Oh, Dana. I forgot about her. What did she do?”
I look at him coldly, annoyed that he even needs a reason.
“I just don’t think she’s taking this seriously. Every time I look over she’s joking and partying when everybody is trying to work.”
Clay nods vigorously like he’s noticed it too. He types into one of his phones.
“No problem. We have interns coming out of our ears here anyway. By the way, Shelly sent an e-mail right after the debate and said our whole California office is staffed and ready to go. We’re on a roll.”
He holds up his hand while still peering into the phone and I give him a high five. He swings out of the chair and walks off and I wave over Pam and tell her to get me a taxi back to the hotel. I make it a point to not look at the table on the far right.
I let myself into the hotel room and am surprised to find the lights on. I drop my bag onto a chair and see Don and a man I don’t know sitting at the table outside on the patio. The man notices me first and nods at Don who twists his head around and stares at me in mock surprise. He stands up and slides the glass door open.
“Hey honey. I thought you were going to be later than this. I guess me and Ted got to talking about the Lord and next thing you know it’s eleven o’clock. How did everything go?”
“Fine,” I reply coldly.
I don’t know why but I am suddenly very annoyed. I have never been bothered by Don’s unrelenting dedication to his work but for some reason find myself resenting him for not being there tonight.
“Fine? I saw a few clips on TV and it looked like you kicked their butts sweetheart.”
I sit down on the bed to pull off my shoes and he sits down next to me, his heavy frame forcing my side up higher and I have to steady myself with one hand.
“How long is he going to be here? I left early because I was tired,” I mutter.
Don nods and stares into my face like he is taking in all my troubles and worries and concerns and making them his own. It is a look he gives people often and in this moment is adds to my over all irritation.
“We were just finishing up sweetheart. He’s gonna get going now.”
He pecks my cheek and it takes real effort not to pull my face away. He gets up, normalizing the bed, and makes his way back to the patio. I take off my earrings and put them on the bed side table. Don and Ted make their way through the room and Ted nods at me sheepishly as he passes the bed.
“Nice to meet you Mrs. Bates. Dr. Bates has told me a lot about you and everything your doing.”
He offers his hand. I take it and flash the smile at him to put him at ease. He’s skinny and pockmarked and looks younger than his actual age.
“Ted hasn’t really been following politics honey. He’s been having a tough time the last few years,” Don explains.
“Yes ma’am. Was doing a lot of the meth and ended up in jail to be completely honest and out right with you here. But I’m saved now thank Christ.”
“Thank Christ,” Don echos and puts his hand on Ted’s shoulder.
“Our campaign is all about giving a voice to people like you Ted. People that have pulled themselves back and are trying to improve themselves and this country. That’s why I’m running for president.”
Ted smiles and his teeth are crooked and misshapen.
“A lady president. Isn’t that something,” he says and follows Don to the door.
After they leave I switch on the TV and try to see what they’re saying about the debate. They keep showing Ackley, that smile, his idiotic wave. The freaking worms. It takes a few moments but then they finally show my career politician reply. It’s perfect. I don’t look like I thought of it before or had it prepared. Did I have it prepared? Or did Frank give to me? No, I may have said it before but I’m sure I’m the one that came up with it. The debate in my head becomes blurry as does the television screen and I fall asleep on top of the bed, fully clothed and in Doris's special camera make up.
Sandra picks me up in the morning from the hotel and talks my ear off in the car about the debate and the reaction and everything else. I tune her out mostly and watch the street pass. When we get to headquarters there are people everywhere. They all seem to be in a rush, running this way and that, stuffing envelopes, drinking coffee, talking into phones. None of our offices have ever been this busy or well staffed. I shake ten hands before I make it across the room, trying to escape to the back office. I am almost to the door when Clay flies out and points at me with his eyes bulging wide.
“You haven’t heard yet have you?!” he demands and I shake my head.
He sees Sandra standing behind me and directs his finger towards her sternly.
“You didn’t tell her did you?”
“What?” Sandra replies. Her puffy face goes tight and the cheeks go from pink to red.
Clay drops his arm and takes three steps into my face so that my whole world is his blue eyes with the bags under them and his receding hair line.
“We’re up!” he cries “Every poll since the debate has us up. We’re passed Moore and Birkstand and every poll has you no more than fifteen points behind Ackley.”
He waits for my face to acknowledge what he has said but since nothing is happening, since no part of me seems to know how to react, I stand dumb and blank and he feels he has to explain more.
“Not only did last night push us up, not only did you crush them last night, it hurt Bob Ackley! The consensus is that he was weak in his first debate and that you were the only, the only, clear winner!”
He holds up his hand and I slap it and the people around us erupt into a spontaneously pocket of applause that spreads across the room. The intern Sandra moves in for a hug and I give her one before Pam somehow pushes her way in and I hug her to. I give her the warm rub on the back she deserves. Good hearted loyal Pam. Been with us since Wisconsin. She deserves it.
I let her go and prepare to hug the next person and I find Will standing in front of me and stop short, smiling at him awkwardly. He smiles back and gives me his hand and I take it before embracing him as well. We keep it short and then I’m shaking hands and hugging all the interns, some familiar, some not, and Clay is dramatically standing up on one of the chairs and speaking over every one's head.
“We are going to the White House people!” he cries.
I smile up at him and let it beam across the room as we all share this moment of hope and possibility. I smile because what he says actually has a glimmer of hope. I smile because I see no sign of the intern Dana there in the room.
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