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Authors: Mikael Carlson

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The iCongressman (22 page)

BOOK: The iCongressman
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-FORTY-SIX-
 

SENATOR VIANO

 
 

“You’ve completely lost your mind, Senator,” Michael
says to me. I knew this would be a hard sell, but his reaction is a little more
aggressive than I expected.

“Are you paying any attention at all to what is going on
tonight? Do you understand the implications of what is happening?” I adamantly
question. “We are on the verge of history. Dozens of independents are going to
get elected tonight, and they are going to be looking at you to unite and lead
them. This is your chance to step up.”

“The very nature of being an independent is being free to
represent your constituents without the undue influences of a political party
and their ideology. That’s what this movement is about.”

“That’s a naïve line of thinking. There’s safety in numbers
in politics. It’s the reason why political parties came into existence in the
first place.”

“I don’t need a history lesson, Senator. We spent the last
couple of months convincing people to take a chance and vote for change. We
called it a revolution, the definition of which is the forcible overthrow of a
social order in favor of a new system. We are doing it at a ballot box in lieu
of rioting in the streets. America has become impotent because of partisanship
in Washington. Adding a third party does not rectify that, it exacerbates it.”

“I didn’t realize you considered this a revolution.”

“Apparently you haven’t been listening to Vince.” Viva la
revolución
. Now I get it.

There were three truths about Michael Bennit I came to
understand as I prepared myself for this discussion. The first is he can debate
a topic with the best of them. Watching him dismantle Beaumont and Johnson is
still a YouTube favorite two years later, and makes
The Daily Show
highlight reel whenever the topic of inept
politicians comes up. The second is he is incredibly stubborn when his principles
are being compromised. The third, and most important, is to win any argument
with
him,
you have to appeal to his sense of duty.

“Independents won’t stay that way for long. Sooner or later
they will be swayed to toe the line with one of the parties, unless they have a
strong figurehead to guide them. Americans are giving you this opportunity to
do just that. You served your nation as a Green Beret, and now your country
needs you again, Michael. They need you to serve and to lead. To complete the
mission they are voting to set you on tonight.”

I watch as he squints at me, and at least for a moment, I
think I may be getting through to him. So much rides on this moment. I have
rehearsed this conversation time after time, and convinced myself that I could
bring him along to my line of thinking. It will make everything go much
smoother for me if he does.

“I see your point,” he says, causing a smile to creep across
my lips. Yes!

“I’m glad we could come to an agreement,” I say with barely
controlled enthusiasm. “A new political party under your leadership will be a
powerful force in national politics.”

“Do you know what the Spanish-American War and the Vietnam
War have in common?”

“No, but I think I’m about to be treated to one of your
history lessons.” He smiles, but the surging enthusiasm from moments ago is
tempered by the thought of one of his boring lectures.

“In 1898, the Democratic Party and a cabal of industrialists
were pushing for American intervention in the Cuban revolution against Spain.
When the U.S.S. Maine mysteriously exploded and sank in Havana Harbor, they got
the war they wanted.

“Similar circumstances existed in the Gulf of Tonkin when
the U.S.S. Maddox engaged several North Vietnamese attack boats. A second
incident supposedly occurred two days later that compelled President Johnson
and Congress to take a more active role in Southeast Asia. We both know how
that turned out.”

“Is there a point to all this?” I ask impatiently. History
is for fools because it has no apparent relevance to the present. Only
sentimentalists care about such trivial things.

“You saw my first campaign as the country’s first icandidate
as an opportunity. You helped create a conflict with the Republicans and
Democrats by helping me assemble a coalition of independents to run against
them. Now you are using their impending success tonight as your U.S.S. Maine
and Gulf of Tonkin Incident to advance an agenda.

“I may not know what your scheme is, but I know enough to
not go along with it. I appreciate the support you have given me and the
icandidates this fall, but there is no quid pro quo on this. If you were ever
left with the impression there was, you are greatly mistaken.”

“Michael, I think you have completely misinterpreted my
intentions,” I say defensively. The denial was a reflex, because I didn’t
expect him to blindside me like this.

“No, I don’t think I am. For the first time, I think I’m
finally starting to understand them.”

Screw this, the time for niceties are over. He needs to know
who he’s dealing with.

“You don’t want to make an enemy out of me,” I say in my
best menacing tone. He matches my hard glare and doesn’t back away one inch.

“You’re
right,
I don’t, but will if
I have to. A third party is the wrong course and I won’t be manipulated or bullied
into taking it.”

Michael looks at his watch and then back at the coffeehouse.
It must be after eight now, because I sense this conversation is over.

“You’re not the man I thought you were.”

“I guess not, assuming you thought you could push me into this
against my will. You’re correct about one other thing, too. Americans need a
leader they can count on to make the tough decisions and act in their best
interests regardless of the ramifications. Unfortunately for you, they’ve found
him.”

“So you’ve made your final decision? How unfortunate for
you. All you’ve done is
make
an enemy tonight.”

“If that’s your attitude, Marilyn, then I’m not sure you
were ever a friend to begin with.” He used my first name for the first time
ever. It is a subtle, yet telling shift in the dynamic of our relationship.
“And yes, I have made my decision, and there’s no level of deceit,
manipulation, or treachery you or anybody else can use that will change my
mind.”

With those final words, Michael heads back in the direction
of the Perkfect Buzz. There is no need for me to follow—I’m no longer welcome
there after this conversation. As I watch him walk away, I can only lament that
he was a tougher nut to crack than I thought he’d be.

“No level of deceit, eh?”
I mutter
to myself. “We’ll just have to see about that.”

 
 
-FORTY-SEVEN-
 

MICHAEL

 

I sneak back into the coffeehouse
and am greeted by guests mired in an eerie silence punctuated only by the occasional
tense verbal ticks. I was beginning to think they announced I lost when Kylie
finds me.

“They are getting close to calling our race,” she whispers
urgently. “Where were you?”

“Around back making out with Marilyn
Viano.
Sorry.”


Ew
, that’s just gross,” she
replies with a grimace. “If you’re going to better deal me, it better be for a
Victoria’s Secret model. I have an ego to stroke. Seriously, I know that look
you’re wearing. What’s going on?”

“We’ve got a problem, but I’ll tell you about it later.”

We move up closer to the giant plasma television Laura has
mounted to the wall to listen in on the coverage. The channel selection has
rotated through Fox News, CNN, and ABC over the past few hours, and has now
settled on NBC for the final announcement. During presidential election years,
electoral vote tallies trump everything. Americans want to know who the next
chief executive is going to be. This is definitely not most years.

“Polls are now closed in many of the New England states, New
Jersey and the ever-important swing states of Florida and Pennsylvania, and we
have some races to update you on,” the anchor comments into the camera. “Before
we get to the electoral numbers, let’s look at a couple of key congressional
races where independents are making historic gains.”

 
For the next several
minutes, we watch contest after contest get called in surrounding states. Of
the races that featured an icandidate, we won two of three. There are a great
many that are still undecided, the analysis being the margin of victory in
those races will be razor thin. I know how that feels—I lost by less than a
hundred votes two years ago.

“C’mon, get to ours!” Vince shouts. He’s not known for his
patience.

“Let’s go!” another voice chimes in until the crowd sharing
the room with us begin shouting at and taunting the television. I can barely
hear now over the cackle.


Shhhhh
! Quiet down everybody!”
the usually reserved Brian chastises from in front of me.

“And now, we turn our attention to the Connecticut Sixth
District and the race of the man who has helped
lead
this surge of icandidates tonight,” the anchor says.

The graphic on the television first zooms onto Connecticut,
and then our odd shaped district colored yellow is a sea of blue meant to
represent the political affiliation of the incumbent. A set of three graphics
pops up featuring the Republican in a red square, the Democrat in blue, and me
in the yellow. Maybe I should have started a third party just to get that color
changed. I hate yellow.

“They love to drag this out, don’t they?” Chelsea
rhetorically asks from next to me. She’s not quite the bundle of nerves she was
last year. None of us are.

“This contest went late into the night two years ago, but we
can call it early tonight. After seeing an approval rating that dipped well
below fifty percent, Michael Bennit has rebounded to retain his seat in a
convincing win …”

The rest of the announcement is drowned out by the
thunderous cheer erupting from the gathering at the Buzz. It is the first time
we’ve gotten to celebrate the result on an election night. Two years ago was a
very different emotion, and the special election in the spring, although a
convincing win, lacked any of the dramatic coverage you see when the entire
nation goes to the polls in November.

I gladly accept all the handshakes and hugs from all the
people around me who worked so hard. The victory is equally sweet for my staff,
especially the ones at college who seemed desperate to get caught up in the
moment once again. But for as happy as I am, something dark is nagging at me
and I can’t seem to get it out of my mind, no matter how hard I try to tamp it
down.

 

* * *

 

“I don’t know about you guys, but I’m completely
smoked,” Xavier says, crashing awkwardly into one of the plush chairs tucked
into the corner of the coffeehouse.

“I wasn’t this tired cramming for final exams last year,”
Peyton says, sprawled out in her own chair.

“You guys do this every day?” Emilee asks Chelsea and Vince.

“Yeah,
sorta
.
Although life in D.C. isn’t nearly as intense as an election day is.”

“C’mon, guys, you’re in college. You can’t tell me you
aren’t used to nights a lot later than this,” Vince challenges.

“Yeah, but most of those involved a drink in my hand,”
Amanda states.

“La, la-la, la-la,” I sing out with my fingers plugged into
my ears. My avoidance is less the fact that they aren’t legal, but more because
I still think of them as my students.

“Nice victory speech tonight, Congressman,” Vince says. “You
struck the perfect tone.” The others all chime in with their agreement.

“Thank you, all,” I say with a playful bow. At that moment,
Brian and Vanessa return from the other side of the shop. I may be tired of
staring at the TV, but that doesn’t apply to them. “What’s the word, guys?”

“You can tell the network news guys are tired. They’re
getting increasingly cranky,” Brian opines. “Ohio went blue, as did Florida.
Looks like the Democrats will win the White House.”

“A surprise, but that only makes the majority in the House
that much more important to the GOP.”

“There are going to be at least a dozen recounts, and they
have only called ninety-five of our hundred races, outside of you and
Congressman Reyes.”

“And?”
I ask. Having to pose for
pictures and shake the hands of a few hundred people tonight, I am a little out
of the loop as to what is happening nationwide.

“And if nothing changes, it looks like seventy-seven of the
icandidates upset forty-five Republicans and thirty-two Democrats for seats.”

Everyone in the room erupts in applause, including an
exhausted Laura who is still cleaning up behind the coffee bar. It is an
amazing accomplishment, and not hard to understand why the media was making
such a big deal about it tonight.

“I have a question, Congressman.”

“Shoot.”

“Why were you getting questions about a third party after
your address?” Vince asks.

“I thought it was just me! I got, like, five questions about
it,” Peyton adds.

“Nope, I got
three myself,
” Vanessa
points out.

“I got two,” Xavier stammers, half asleep in his chair.

“So did
I
,” Amanda murmurs, now
seated on the floor and rubbing her temples.

“And now we know why,” Kylie chimes in after Laura lets her
and Blake in the front door and then locks it behind her. “The press was
expecting to hear about the eventuality of forming a third party. Naturally,
they were curious why they didn’t. I can’t imagine where they got the idea
from.”

“I’ll give you three guess, but you’ll only need one.”

“Senator Viano,” Chelsea answers just to keep everyone on
the same page. Blake sits on the table next to her, prompting her to get up and
choose another seat without looking at him. I have no idea what that’s about,
but I hope Kylie fills me in on whatever drama is brewing between them now.

“Explains why she spent so much time in the tent tonight,”
Vince laments.

“Why would she want to form another political party?” Brian
asks, just verbalizing what everyone in the room is wondering.

“Yeah, is there something I’m missing here?” Peyton poses,
looking around for help.

“What aren’t you telling us, Mister B?”
Time
to come clean.

“Senator Viano approached me right before they announced our
win to convince me to unite the independents under the banner of a new party.”

I expected everyone to be a little more shocked, but nobody
shows more than token surprise. I anticipated something like this from Viano,
and so did Kylie, but the fact everyone else did as well shows how little trust
she earned with the group. All eyes turn to Blake, some out of curiosity and
others flashing contempt.

“Got something you want to tell us, there, buddy?” Vince
asks in a threatening tone. There is no love lost between those two.

Blake launches into a narrative of his suspicions and the
story she told him when he confronted her in the hotel room tonight. His
explanation is sound, but most of my college-aged staff isn’t impressed. I’m
not sure if I am either.

“You believe
her
?”
the quietest and most sensitive to betrayal amongst us questions.

“No, Emilee, not for a second. Viano is nothing if not an opportunist.
She has something up her sleeve so sensitive she won’t share it with me.”

“More importantly, why should we believe
you
?” Amanda asks in the most disdained
way possible.

“You don’t have a good track record in the honesty
department, Blake,” Peyton chimes in.

“You’re the one working for her. This could just be a part
of her ruse,” Brian concludes.

“I wish I could give you all a convincing reason to believe
me,” Blake says in his defense, “but I know I can’t. I’m not going to ask you
to trust me. All I can tell you is everything I said is one hundred percent
true. Whether you believe me or not is entirely up to you.”

“That’s an easy decision,” Vince states.

“Why do we really care about Viano?” Amanda asks, trying to
figure out the relevance after a few awkward seconds tick by.

“For one thing, it’s about to become the next big story. If
she laid groundwork for this in the media, they are going to wonder why we are
changing our minds.”

“It’s bigger than that, Kylie,” Blake corrects. “I just did
some rough math in my head. Vanessa, you said there were forty-five Republicans
and thirty-two Democrats losing their seats, right?”

“Yeah, why?

I do some quick math of my own. “Oh, crap.”

“What?” Chelsea asks, finally saying something with Blake in
the room. He looks at her, and then the rest of the group.

“Subtract that from the current balance of power and you get
seventy-nine Independents …”

“One hundred seventy-eight Republicans and …” A shiver of
dread creeps up my spine.

“One-hundred seventy-eight Democrats,” the love of my life
finishes.

“A tie?” several of the staff say at once.

“I didn’t think that was even possible,” Amanda states.

“In a traditional two-party system, it isn’t,” Kylie
responds. “Add even one independent into the mix and the odd number of
representatives no longer matters.”

“What are the odds of there ever being a tie?” Emilee
posits.

“I think there’s a better chance of getting struck by
lightning on the way to claim a Powerball jackpot at high tide, during a full
moon, when Mercury is in retrograde.”

“You know the media is going to go bonkers over this if it
holds up,” Vince correctly surmises.

“What does that mean for us?”

I lean back in the chair to let this new found knowledge
sink in. In my wildest dreams I never imagined something like this would
happen. Assuming the results stay this way after all the recounts and lawsuits.
There will be no shortage of those, given this new political reality.

“Did I ever tell you guys about the kid who couldn’t add?” I
ask, honestly forgetting what I have and have not told them over the years
since we shared a classroom together.

“Oh, God.
Here
comes
today’s history lesson,” Vince deadpans to the rest of the group.

“Math teachers love to inspire their students by telling the
tale of this eccentric German kid who could never manage to do well on his
exams. They rant and rave that he was clueless, and if he could learn to do it,
so could they. Any guesses who I am talking about?”

“Albert Einstein,” Brian answers, probably having heard the
story before.

“Gold star for you,
Bri
.”

“So that wasn’t the truth?” Peyton asks, disappointed. She
may have been one of the students the math teachers were trying to encourage.

“Not even close. Einstein was a mathematical prodigy, and better
at calculus at age twelve than we will ever be. He believed school was holding
him back, and was so advanced that he probably should have been teaching the
class.”

“So who started the lie?”

“A 1935 article in
Ripley’s
Believe It or Not!
is
widely considered the
source, but that’s not the point.”

“They made it up? Crap, I knew I shouldn’t have used them as
a source in my last essay,” Xavier laments. I seriously hope he’s kidding.

“How does this possibly relate to us and a tie in the
House?” Amanda asks, still massaging her temples.

“We’re the new Einstein. Everybody thought we couldn’t play
the political game, but are now figuring out that we’re more of a threat than
they ever imagined. We’re now the brightest blip on the radar of some very
powerful people who stand to lose a lot of influence and money because of what
we helped pull off tonight.”

I think back to our conversation with
Nyguen
a few days ago and wonder what’s going through his head now. If he believed we
might be a target then, what would he say about creating a power vacuum in the
House? When contemplating the fallout of our little revolution, this would have
been at the end of my list of possible consequences.

I meet Kylie’s eyes and don’t like what I see—fear. My job
is to protect her and make her feel safe. What I see is the opposite. I see the
love of my life terrified at the possibility that anything Terry
Nyguen
said would come true. We can handle scandals and
smear campaigns, but once he introduced the element of physical danger, Kylie
started to become unhinged.

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