The iCongressman (21 page)

SENATOR VIANO

There are few things more thrilling
to the politically minded than a presidential election year. Between the
contest for the Oval Office and the phenomenon that is the social media candidacies
of over a hundred independents for the House, the media is so elated they have
been doing cartwheels for weeks.

Now that we have finally reached Election Day, coverage is
at a fever pitch. Networks are paying rapt attention to what the viewers want
to see more of and are desperate to give it to them. Considering how tuned in
the country is, the competition over who calls what races first will be as
staunch as ever.

“Exit polls across the country are telling the story of this
election. America is fed up with politics as usual in Washington,” an analyst
says from in front of a huge display of the United States, “and that is being
felt in the ardent conservative and liberal districts where social media
candidates are running. These exit polls indicate that many of these races will
be decided with the final votes cast …”

The knock on my hotel room door interrupts the trance the
cable news coverage had me in. Probably for the best as it’s almost time to
head to Millfield.

“Blake?” I ask after answering the door. “This is a pleasant
surprise. Come in.” What the hell does he want? It’s not like I wasn’t planning
on seeing him in an hour.

“Thanks,” he says, entering my hotel room suite and looking
around. “Where’s Wonder Dog?”

“I assume you mean my superhero-infatuated former chief of
staff. It’s Election Day. He’s handling his duties for his current boss. His
absence has been noticed of late so he can’t exactly skip out on holding his boss’s
hand as he loses an election.”

“I suppose not.”

“I’m just getting ready to head to the coffee shop.
Something on your mind?”
Not that I really care if something
is or not, but he wouldn’t be bothering me otherwise.

“Yeah, there is. What’s your plan?” The question isn’t
bothering me so much as how he is asking it. While there is no way he could
know with any certainty what is in store on this big night, I have to wonder
what he’s been able to deduce.

“My plan?
What do you mean?” I
reply, stalling and fishing for more information at the same time.

“Senator, I’ve known you my whole life. I grew up listening
to you and your political adventures at the dinner table at Thanksgiving. You
don’t help people out of the kindness of your own heart. You are doing this for
a purpose, and it’s time you let me in on it.”

Isn’t that bold of him? I have toyed with the idea of
looping him in, but I can’t be sure whether I trust him yet or not.

“Okay, Blake, you’ve earned that much. I do like Michael
Bennit, but you know what I think of the House of Representatives. There is a
reason the Senate is known as the ‘upper chamber.’ Anyway, I will never get
support as a traditional candidate again after the Democrats abandoned me. So,
I want to run as the first icandidate in the Senate.”

“I don’t believe you,” he says with a dismissive wave of his
hand.

“I don’t give a damn if you believe me or not. It’s the
truth and whether you accept it or not is your problem.”

“You can run again any time you like, Aunt Marilyn. You have
connections and financial resources and didn’t have to help Bennit for that.”

“I believe social media candidacies are the future of
elections in the United States, but doesn’t it makes sense for me to want an
unassailable proof of concept that running as a virtual candidate can work? We
have demonstrated the viability of running an election this way, regardless of
tonight’s results. Now I plan to march a new wave of icandidates into the
Senate in two years,” I lie. A convincing one, if I may say so myself, but a lie
nonetheless. “And since when do you think you have the right to question my
motives? That’s pretty ballsy, even for you.”

I can almost hear the gears turning in Blake’s head. I have
him back on his heels, questioning everything he thought he knew. There is an
old adage that claims “the truth will set you free.” It’s a load of crap. In
politics, the truth only gets you in trouble. Lies are much more convenient.

“If that were true, you would have told me from the
beginning. No, there’s more to it you’re not letting me in on.”

“You are your father’s son, Blake.” I pause, putting my coat
on and thinking exactly how I want to put this. I still need him on my side.
“You know, I loved my brother to death, but he could be a crazy ideologue when
he wanted to be. Everything was about sacrifice and honor with him.”

“You talk as if that’s a bad thing.”

“It is when it is both unappreciated and unreciprocated. Do
you really think the people of this country give a damn about his sacrifice?
About anyone’s for that matter? Sure, they pay it lip service, but all anyone
really cares about are themselves. They prove it day after day and election
after election. It’s why we are in the same place now that we were thirty years
ago. Americans cannot be bothered.”

“And you’re any different?”

“No, I’m no different, with one major exception. I care
enough to educate myself and am willing to make the tough decisions for them.”

“You sound like a despot,” he scoffs, clearly not buying my
benevolent women of the people routine.

“You used to agree with me, remember? Why do you think you
worshipped Beaumont once upon a time? I got you in the door with him because
you were two peas in the same pod.”

“Don’t compare me with Winston Beaumont.”

“Why? Does the truth hurt? You may be engaging in some
revisionist history, but we all know the truth. That crisis of conscience you
had was nothing more than weakness. You may pat yourself on the back for taking
down a scoundrel, but you’ll be remembered for your disloyalty and nothing
more.”

“How I am judged for my past actions isn’t as important to
me as how I want to be judged for my present ones,” he says, sounding like a
quote on morality. “I know you’re up to something, and since you feel compelled
not to include me, I’m going to assume it’s not in Bennit’s best interests. Or
mine.”

“Assume away, Blake. I don’t require your approval or your
counsel.”

“No, but you do require the congressman’s. If I think for a
second you are working against him, I will do everything I can to freeze you
out.” That’s an empty pledge coming from Blake. He doesn’t hold any standing
with Michael or his campaign staff, and I’m annoyed that he dare challenge me
like this.

I was right when I made the decision not to loop him in. I
almost caved after the debate and am sincerely happy I went with my gut and
didn’t. Blake’s loyalty to Michael, his staff, and his combativeness towards me
leads to another problem. I planned to include him at some point, but now the
price is too high. Things have changed, blood is not always thicker than water,
and I can’t count on him being in my corner. I need to find a way to get him
removed from the situation.

“I have been nothing but helpful to Michael, and I will
continue to be long after you are nothing more than an afterthought. With all
the challenges he faces, I am beginning to think you are a bigger problem for
him than you think I am.”

“Keep believing that, Aunt Marilyn. I’ll be watching you.”
With that, Blake leaves the room, the door closing behind him.

“That’s right, Blake, keep watching. Maybe you’ll finally
learn how it’s really done in Washington,” I say to myself once he’s gone.

SPEAKER ALBRIGHT

“It’s now seven p.m. and polls have
closed in seven states. We have some projections both in the presidential race
and the closely watched congressional races.”

For the first time in my political career, I am more
interested in the congressional races than who wins the presidency. The race to
become the next president will come down to just a handful of swing states as
usual. The Republicans still hold dominion over the South, Midwest, and Texas.
The
Dems
still own the Pacific Northwest, New England
states, New York, New Jersey, parts of the Rust Belt, and California. Per
usual, the contest comes down to the voters in Pennsylvania, Ohio, Florida, and
Virginia. I only half listen as the analysts on CNN drone on about precisely
that.

My political career hangs on the ability of social media to
get people to the polls. Watching the first Bennit campaign, the world saw what
a capable social media candidacy could do. Not only did he reach people and
establish a rapport with them, it became a motivated grassroots effort that
showed up at the polls. But that was then and this is now. Now he’s the iCongressman,
and the question for tonight is whether he can spur the other independents
running virtual campaigns to similar turnouts.

“There are seventeen independent candidates running in
districts where polls are closed, and we are ready to announce some early
results. In Georgia, we can proclaim Michael Garcia winner over the Republican
incumbent. The other races there are too close to call. In South Carolina, it
looks like Speaker of the House Johnston Albright will keep his seat, but two
fellow incumbents have fallen. We project Independents Mickey Stevenson and
Pamela Russell will claim the seats in districts that have been Republican held
for a generation.”

I listen as the anchor announces similar results in Kentucky
and Indiana. This is a nightmare.

“The Democrats are also falling victim to the icandidates.
We can now announce that five-term incumbent Geraldine
Cantera
from Vermont has lost her seat to Jeremy
Penton
. And
in Virginia, Democrats Kenneth Michaud and Brett
Gemmell
,
serving strong blue districts around Richmond, have also been defeated.”

I wish I could take solace in knowing that any of those
seats were vulnerable. They weren’t. Had there not been independents running,
the incumbents from both parties would have won easily.

Unfortunately, that’s not the case, and it’s all because of
that damned Michael Bennit. How could one man create so much havoc with so much
unmitigated regularity? Harvey was right—he was a threat. The only disagreement
now was whether we needed to get rid of him or let political natural selection
run its course.

“Mister Speaker?” my chief of staff asks after knocking and
poking her head in the door. “They are ready for you in the ballroom, sir.”

“Thanks, Elizabeth. I’ll be right down.” She nods and closes
the door behind her.

I don’t really feel like celebrating my own victory. I have
now been elected to this seat seven times, and in the first six elections,
could barely contain the excitement and enthusiasm bursting inside me. That’s
just not the case tonight.

“We are on the verge of a historic election night in
America,” I hear the politico say before I punch the power button on the
remote.

It will be a historic election, all right, but for all the
wrong reasons. I have watched the talking heads prattle on all night about just
how seismic a change tonight’s results will be in the House for the next
Congress, and I am actually physically ill thinking about it.

I stare at the now dark television as if I were still
watching it. I’m at a complete loss. I fancy myself as the type of leader that
has all the answers. It is that prowess that got me elected by my party to lead
them in the House of Representatives.

If they had only listened to me from the beginning, we
wouldn’t be in this mess. Bennit would be making his concession speech about
now and I would be at the head of another wave election that propels
Republicans to a large majority.
Now …

Bennit has survived everything that has been thrown at him
since he entered politics. Winston Beaumont went after his staff to embarrass
him and that backfired. He tried to mire the fledgling campaign in a scandal
about an affair with a student, and that was enough for him to be reelected,
but alienated Blake Peoni enough to present evidence to have him indicted.

So Michael Bennit made it to Washington after all, and
survived two reprimands, two censures, and a vote to expel him. I did my part
to end his influence, and now I am lucky to survive my own reelection as a
result. The man is made of Teflon, and anyone who goes after him pays political
consequences.

And that is the problem. The party will turn to me to find a
way to limit his influence and power. The task is much harder than it was last
summer once the final numbers come in and we find out how many independents
were elected tonight. Scandals, ostracizing him, disciplining him … none of
that will work now. The path is clear. Someone will need to get drastic in
dealing with Michael Bennit if he’s going to be stopped.

CHELSEA

The weather is mild for early November, meaning it was
in the low sixties during the day and is only dropping to forty-eight degrees
Fahrenheit tonight. It also means all the people crammed into the Perkfect Buzz
is
causing the shop to get stuffy.

I slip out the door and walk past the half dozen smokers who
are calming their nerves by sucking down Marlboros. Since we decided against a
ballroom again, the congressman asked Laura for permission to rent and erect a
party tent in the parking lot. Other than a small pool of journalists and
photographers allowed in the coffee shop, the rest of the media are set up
there for what will hopefully be a victory speech. The tent is big enough to
hold a small army, and the far end has a raised podium framed against the
backdrop of the largest American flag I have ever seen. Not the most elaborate
setup, but very Mister Bennit.

Wanting to be left alone and not accosted by the press, or
by Vince who is canoodling with them, I head into the parking lot and away from
the tent. I don’t get far before Emilee catches up to me.

“You can only avoid him for so long,” she says, stopping in
front of me. Wait, what? I look around to see if anyone is planning on joining
her, and am relieved when I realize she’s alone.

“Don’t worry, everyone is busy either chatting with
volunteers or lighting up Twitter and
Instagram
.
What’s going on with you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Chels, we’ve been friends for a while now, so don’t play
dumb and expect to get away with it,” she chides. “Why are you going out of
your way to avoid Blake?”

“I didn’t realize I was.”

“Please. You’ve got me feeling like I’m back in high school.
You look like a girl trying to avoid making eye contact with a weekend hook-up
during study hall. So look at me and tell me why you’re avoiding Blake or I’ll
start making stuff up.”

As much as I don’t want to tell her, I know she’s already
figuring it out. I am reluctant to open my mouth, and am sure the guilt is all
over my face. That was all the confirmation she needed.

“Oh … my … God!”
Emilee screeches,
covering her mouth in shock.

“No, it’s not that. We just kissed, I promise.”

“Just kissed? Oh, Chelsea, please tell me you had some
mouthwash with you for afterwards.”

“Emilee―”

“Vince and Peyton are going to flip when they find out.”

“
Which is why they’re
never
going to.
It was a mistake, nothing more. Promise you
won’t say anything?”

“Say anything about what?” Kylie says from behind me. Damn
it! Can’t anyone get a moment alone around here? I can only guess how much she
heard.

“Nothing.
Girl stuff,” I say,
instantly regretting the lame response.

“Girl stuff, eh?” she says, looking down at her chest. “I’ll
try not to be insulted. This wouldn’t have anything to do with you playing
kissy face with Blake Peoni, would it?”

It’s a cliché, but my jaw literally drops and hangs open.
I’m stunned speechless. I try to say something, but the words get caught in my
throat. My dirty little secret isn’t much of a secret after all.

“How … I mean … you couldn’t …”

“Chelsea, I’m a journalist. Being observant comes with the
territory. You might despise Blake, and hate being in the same room with him,
but
you’ve
never avoided eye contact with him like you
have tonight. It wasn’t hard to hazard an educated guess as to why.” I have a
new found respect for Kylie’s investigative powers.

“This isn’t happening to me,” I say, hanging my head in
shame. If she knows, how long will it be before the congressman finds out, or
the others for that matter?

“Don’t sweat it, Chels. I tried to keep my crush on Michael
a secret from the day I met him. It took months before I got the nerve to show
him how I felt, and even longer before we made it public. Your secret is safe
with me.”

How can you not love Kylie Roberts? She’s almost like the
big sister I never had. Maybe she kind of regards me as a surrogate for the
little sister she disowned and is now sitting in a jail cell for complicity in
crimes committed by Winston Beaumont. Either way, it’s nice she has my back.

“Thanks, but it’s not the same. It was a mistake, and it
won’t happen again.”

“Right.
Keep telling
yourself
that,” she says with a smile and a wink. “I
actually came out to find you guys. It’s getting close to eight o’clock and we
are hoping they call our race quick once the polls in Connecticut close.
C’mon.”

* * *

“We are on the verge of a historic and unprecedented
election night,” the NBC anchor exclaims to the camera, “and I don’t mean in
the race for the presidency. While that race is a dead heat in the Electoral
College, we are also watching what’s happening in the congressional races
across the country. All four hundred thirty-five seats are up for grabs, and
some of the results are shocking.

“We have called the races in just a third of the contests,
and we have already seen fifteen independent candidates defeat well-established
incumbents from both parties. There were a total of a hundred ten independents
running, with all but eight part of Connecticut Congressman Michael Bennit’s
effort to elect icandidates. Many of those races are still too close to call.”

“Not this one!” someone shouts from the back of the coffee
shop to the delight of everyone.

“As we approach the eight o’clock hour, polls will be
closing in seventeen more states and we’ll be able to update the tote board for
at least some of the one hundred seventy-two electoral votes up for grab in
them. We’ll also have results in some key congressional races. One in
particular is for the iCongressman Michael Bennit, whose resurgence in
popularity is all the talk around America tonight as he leads this wildly
successful surge of independents upsetting established candidates across the
country.”

Another cheer surges out of the crowd and I look around for
the congressman, only to realize he isn’t in the room. I look to Kylie who only
mouths “Viano” to me. I am left with the eerie feeling that we are about to
find out exactly what the cost for her help these last few months is going to
be.