The Media Candidate (24 page)

“But he was right, wasn’t he?” Elliott replied
with a grin.

“What do you mean?”

“It really was neither fish nor fowl,” Elliott
jibed.

Guinda laughed. “Yeah, he had that right on.”
Guinda stood up and stretched, nearly popping the buttons on her
blouse. Elliott gulped and lost his train of thought. “How about
something to eat?” She walked toward the kitchen, and Elliott
followed her with his eyes.

“Sounds good to me. I can go out and get some
sushi or something,” Elliott offered.

“You like sushi, too? Fantastic! I love it. How
about if we make some right here? I don’t have any fish—or fowl—but
I think I’ve got all the makings for some damn good sushi. What do
you think?”

“Let’s do it,” Elliott responded
enthusiastically.

Guinda rummaged through the refrigerator and
came up with an arm full of ingredients. “Here’s some cream cheese,
and an avo, and some left over asparagus, and a tomato. And here’s
even a package of seaweed.”

“You’ve got a better stocked refrigerator than I
do. We’d have to be satisfied with a cheddar cheese and bean sushi
wrapped in lettuce at my house. Our Japanese cook grew up south of
the border,” Elliott joked.

“I’m flexible. Could be an orgasmic experience,”
Guinda joked in return. “How about a beer while we’re rustling up
this grub? When you said south of the border, that reminded me I
have some Tecates in there.”

“Great idea! Thought you’d never ask. Here, let
me get the beer going. Looks like you’ve got your hands full with
the rice.” Elliott poured two glasses of Tecate and presented one
to Guinda. “Here’s to Terra Halvorsen, Guin. She must have been a
very special person.”

“She was. … She was unique. … But I seem to have
an affinity for unique people.”

“How’s that?”

“You’re a pretty unique person, too. I’ve never
met anyone like you before. And it’s been years since I met anybody
who blushes! … In some ways, you and Terra are much alike.”

“Was she old, too?” Elliott asked with a
laugh.

“My Aunt Germaine told me, ‘You’re only as old
as you feel,’ and if you feel as old as you act, then you’re just a
kid inside.”

“Well, I haven’t looked at my insides lately,
but the outside of me doesn’t play with marbles anymore.”

“I see the way you zip around on that bike. You
can’t be very old if you do that.”

“The only reason I ride a bike is that I can’t
pass the driving test anymore. The last time I went down there to
get my license renewed, they took one look at me, tore up my
license, and told me I was lucky that I could still put one foot in
front of the other. I told them if they gave me my license back,
I’d promise to only use it for ID when I wanted to buy beer. But
that didn’t work, so here I am peddling around town on a bike.”

“I think you’re in pretty darn good shape for
however old you claim to be.”

“Thank you, Guin, and I can say the same about
you.”

“You can’t make me blush by telling me I’m in
good shape. I know I’ve got a great body, but I lack … maturity,”
she said as she laughed and dragged out the word
maturity
throwing her head back and accentuating one breast
dramatically.

“That’s okay, I think I’ve got us both covered
on that score. With my maturity and your body, we make a great
pair.”

The rice and the veggies were soon ready, and
they began rolling sushi, making bets on whose sushi would hold
together the best.

“COPE says you’re dangerous. Sherwood says
you’re an anarchist. He thinks you may be planning something.”

“I guess it all depends on your point of view,
Guin. I’ve never considered myself dangerous, but my point of view
is certainly uncommon enough these days that somebody entrenched in
the establishment might view me as dangerous. As for anarchy, I
have to plead ignorance on that one. I don’t know what this
Sherwood guy means by that, but according to my understanding of
the word, I wouldn’t call myself an anarchist. I believe in a
strong constitution, but where I probably differ from Sherwood is
that I believe in following the one we’ve got rather than inventing
a new one just to suit my own purposes. My biggest sin is that I’m
old fashioned, which used to be okay but now is illegal … or at
least, unhealthy. I really can’t understand why I’m so important to
this guy. I haven’t done anything, and I’m nobody. It sounds like
Terra was a low profile person, too. I wonder if we’ll ever figure
out why they got to her.”

“I don’t know, but it upsets me that it may be
our own government behind all this stuff.”

“You’ve been working for CBS for two years now,
haven’t you? Haven’t there been any other unusual things going
on?”

“Please don’t take this the wrong way, Ted, but
before you walked into my office the other day, I was totally in
love with my job. I only had to deal with those moguls at the
regional office about once a month, and even that wasn’t so bad
until that creep, Sherwood, showed up a little while ago. And I can
even tolerate him, except in person. I never had any of this cloak
and dagger stuff to deal with until Sherwood got on your case. It’s
been really exciting dealing with the University and the students
and getting the political candidates to come and make appearances.
What I’m seeing now is that there’s a whole other side to this
politics business that I didn’t even know about.”

“And now that you’ve seen both sides, what do
you think?” asked Elliott.

“But that’s the whole problem. I haven’t really
seen both sides. I don’t know what I’ve seen. It’s confusing as
hell. And then you come along with your new ideas.”

“But my ideas aren’t new, Guin. Yours are the
new ones. I’m the dinosaur.”

“Well, they’re sure different from what I know
and all the things I grew up with. I really felt good about what
I’ve been doing and my role at CBS and the candidates I work for.
And now, all of the sudden, there’s you and Sherwood and Terra and
her secret files and anarchists and surveillance. What am I
supposed to make of all that?”

“I wish I could help you understand,” Elliott
said with a sigh, “but I’m even more on the outside than you are.
I’ve isolated myself from all this nonsense for more years than
you’ve even been alive. I wasn’t joking about being a dinosaur. I
roamed the planet in prehistoric days when things were a whole lot
different. I guess that’s why COPE feels threatened by us
dinosaurs, because we’re not quite extinct yet.”

“You know, Ted, you still owe me the end of your
science-fair story.”

Elliott stirred some wasabi into his soy sauce
in silence. “I’ve never told this story to anyone. I hoped I’d
forget it with time, but I remember every single detail … as much
as I tried to forget. I’ve always hoped the people who witnessed my
… disintegration, didn’t have as good a memory as mine. But I think
the people who mean the most to me are cursed with quite excellent
memories.”

Picking up a sushi roll delicately between two
chopsticks, his gaze rose across the counter to meet Guinda’s.
There was true fear in his eyes as he said, “Okay.” He began.

* * *

The day of the science fair finally arrived. On
that one weekend each year, the screeches, laughter, and tears of
the pursuers of round balls yielded to the screeches, laughter, and
tears of the pursuers of scientific truth. Friday evening was
reserved for the setup of the displays. Then Saturday morning would
bring the judges to scrutinize each entry and rank it among
Trumpet’s finest young scientists.

When the Townsends brought Susie’s material into
the gymnasium that Friday night, the setup had already been well
choreographed. Luke knew exactly how the Legos were supposed to be
arranged, in fact he was the one who had suggested using them. The
tabletop display with its artistically arranged materials nestled
in their appropriate places was his personal contribution. Every
time Susie or Martha would rearrange his display, they were met
with Luke’s retribution whereupon he would reinstate its correct
order.

Elliott stood back and contributed pride. The
Townsend crew worked like a well-oiled machine and was completed
before many others could even choose a leader, which was usually
done by attrition.

Bobby Schneider’s booth was next to Susie’s. He
was a seventh grader with an engineering project consisting of a
plastic model of a 1957 Ford Fairlane 500 with a sign “This is how
cars used to be made” and a model of a new Jaguar with its sign
“This is how cars are made today.”

Bobby’s sister knocked the Jaguar off the table,
breaking off a fender and a bumper. Bobby responded by pushing her
into another project, a homemade liquid-crystal computer display,
which tumbled to the floor ripping off electrical contacts. Gloria
Falquist was a little upset at seeing her work treated so rudely
and with one swat of her vengeful arm, sent Bobby’s engineering
triumphs careening across the floor.

The Ford survived with minor scratches. The Jag
was totaled. It had become a one-wheeled convertible without a
windshield or a hood. Bobby included no conclusions, but the
message seemed clear: hang on to your old Ford.

The levity surrounding the science fair was soon
to end. Tomorrow morning was judgment day, and there was more than
a pair of skis riding on its outcome.

The judges worked from 8 AM until noon reading
abstracts, notebooks, and conclusions of the 88 entries and
examining piles of gear. As in earlier years, environmental science
was the most popular entry. At exactly noon, Ms. Dobbs opened the
doors of the gym and invited the anxious participants to enter.
Susie was, of course, near the front of the line and pushed passed
several other kids to race to her booth. The rest of the Townsends
were quite a ways back, and only Luke broke and ran when he got
through the door. He ran up behind Susie, tugged on her right
sleeve, and shouted, “Ok, Otter, what color skis you gonna
pick?”

Susie shook him off with such violence that he
fell to the floor.

“What’d you do that for?” he yelled. But by the
time he regained his feet, she was gone. He looked around and could
only see children dancing and hopping about with blue, red, and
green ribbons and their parents beginning to filter in. The noise
approached the pain threshold in every direction but was especially
loud two booths down where an eighth grader, Melissa Macon, was
shouting for her parents to hurry up as she waved to them with a
blue ribbon and a white ribbon. Elliott and Martha finally arrived
and stood beside Luke.

“Is that the best prize, Daddy? Is that what
that means?”

“No, Luke, that’s not what Honorable Mention
means,” Martha said. “Maybe your father could explain to you what
it means.”

“Well, Daddy, is it better than first prize?
What does it mean?”

“It … ah … means … it’s the prize they give you
if they don’t want to hurt your feelings. … The judges didn’t think
it was any good. … Dobbs didn’t think it was any good.”

Elliott slowly reached for the three evaluation
forms. The one on top was from N. Mayfield. Under the comments
section it simply said, “Good job.”

The next evaluation comment was from R. Rock and
said, “Nice display.”

The last form bore the name S. Dobbs and read,
“This project is devoid of the human qualities that mark the
environmental sciences and direct the cause of enlightened human
ecology as we evolve from the unconscionable state of technology
expansionism to the state of perfect environmental harmony.”

“That goddamned bitch!” Elliott whispered. “That
goddamned bitch!”

“I feel terrible about this,” whined Martha. “I
feel like it’s all my fault.” Elliott looked up with surprise to
meet her gaze. “About a week ago, Susie asked if she could trust
you because you told her to use her data the way it is and not
worry about some other kind of truth or something. I told her that
you’re the scientist and you should know more about this kind of
thing than either of us. If I’d just kept my mouth shut, she
probably would have gotten the right answer.”

“Daddy, did you know Susie was going to lose? I
thought you were helping her so she’d win.”

“Well, Dr. Townsend,” Martha’s icy words broke
against Elliott in stormy waves, “what do you have to say?”

But Elliott was no longer listening. He began
walking around the science fair with a mission. On the next aisle,
he found the seventh-grade first prize, a model of a short section
of DNA by Sally Mipps. A pretty blonde girl posed before it for a
photo with her blue ribbon. “Jesus! Goldilocks plays with her
tinker toys and wins a prize,” he said to himself but loudly enough
so the man behind the camera suddenly rose above it and followed
Elliott with his eyes.

Elliott trudged down the isle again, stares and
disbelief retreating from his stern. His own eyes darted from side
to side, searching every booth, inspecting each project for the
telltale symbol of triumph. “Ah, here’s another blue ribbon,” he
said pushing aside several excited people to gain access to the
front row. Before him was the fifth grade first prize, a hastily
colored time line of the last hundred years chronicling many of the
species that had become extinct during that period. At the far
right of the time line, the young prophet questioned, “When will
Homos Apiens become extinct????”

Elliott leaned over to Charlie Ringwood and
said, “I’ll bet your boy spent a lot of time on this project last
night. It shows!” Charlie’s smile evaporated as Elliott pushed away
to continue his search, muttering as he left, “Christ, he must be
sleeping with Dobbs.”

As Elliott continued along the aisles
overflowing with smiles and flashes, drops of sweat formed and fell
from his nose. His eyes became frantic and squinted as he zigzagged
his way down each aisle, pausing only enough to check out the
ribbon on each exhibit, leaving a trail of jostled people behind
him. The people he encountered had no faces, no names. He was as
ignorant of the feelings in his wake as he was of his constant
mutterings. He stopped a couple of times to reread the Dobbs
comment he clutched in his left hand. “This project is devoid of
the human qualities—”