Parties in Congress (13 page)

“Exactly,” Colleen replied. “Violet was the real deal. By the way, would you like something a little more fortifying than a fast-food taco?”

“Quesadilla.”

“Whatever it was. I have some spaghetti, meatballs, and garlic bread if you’re interested.”

“You know, that sounds wonderful.”

*

“So emmy get tiss tate,” Fran slurred incoherently, shifting her toothbrush to reach her back teeth.

Bijal rested against the bathroom doorway, clutching a steaming mug of coffee in the vague hope that it would make her feel whole again. “Sorry,” she said, stretching. “I’m too tired to understand you if you don’t use consonants.”

Fran spat and rinsed. “So you’re telling me your political opponent found you skulking outside her window in the mud, armed with a video camera with which to spy on her in her own home, and instead of calling both the cops and the local newspaper, which incidentally I’d have done in a New York fuckin’ minute, she invited you in, washed your dirty clothes, let you rinse off your filth, vice, and shame in her shower, and then fed and entertained you?”

“Did you even take a breath during that question?”

Fran began applying mascara in the mirror. “Air-flow control is the only positive thing I gained from seven years of playing bass clarinet.”

“Impressive.”

“Thanks, but stop changing the subject, Bij. Was my run-on synopsis accurate?”

Bijal sighed. “Yes.”

“So when did y’all fuck?”

Bijal nearly shot java out of her nose. “There was no fucking, Fran.”

“Why not? I mean, I know it’s not your personal integrity holding you back, Ms. Crawl-around-in-the-goddamn-dirt-like-a-Peeping-Tom. Does O’Bannon have scruples? Is that the problem?”

Bijal rubbed her eyes wearily. “I’m too tired and demoralized for this line of questioning.”

“Look me in the eye and tell me you didn’t size up that tall Irish potato and imagine jumping on her like a hot chive.”

Bijal stared back at her blankly. “Tall Irish potato? Really?”

Fran’s face lit up. “Aha! I knew it. And I couldn’t think of anything else Irish, so shut up.”

“There’s no moral compromise in being attracted to someone and not acting on it.”

“Is that something you heard from Oprah? ’Cause please enlighten me. When have you ever
not
acted on an attraction?”

“Hey, I’m not some compulsive sex addict who rubs up against strangers on the Metro. I can keep it in my pants, thank you. Besides, did you just get a little taste of something bitter in the back of your throat as you were saying that? Know what that is? That’s hypocrisy, baby.”

“Just because
I’m
slutty doesn’t mean your behavior can’t appall me.”

“I guess I assumed that your inherent narcissism would keep you from noticing.”

Fran glared. “You are so lucky you’re right, because otherwise I’d be hurt. So do you plan to go back to the office to talk to Frau Blücher and tell her your cover is blown?”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Why?”

Bijal was incredulous. “You want me to tell my sadist boss that the surveillance she asked me to do, that was a direct result of my drunken flirting with our adversary, is now pointless because I was caught red-handed trespassing on her property? Which of my many fuck-ups do you think I should start with? I mean, I wouldn’t want to lose the flow of the narrative.”

“So you’re just going to keep wasting your time?” Fran asked, propping her hand on her hip.

“What choice do I have?”

“Well, don’t take this the wrong way, because I’m not remotely rooting for your side to win, but shouldn’t you be spending your working hours doing something that might help Denton get elected?”

Bijal took a deep sip of her coffee. “Are you implying that spending the evening watching old movies and eating pasta didn’t help Janet’s polling numbers?”

Fran’s eyes narrowed. “If I didn’t know better, I’d almost think you want O’Bannon to win. Thus, you don’t so much mind spending your workdays on useless endeavors.”

“What?”

“I mean, it’s certainly easier to reconcile working against someone you like when you’re not working against them at all.”

“I can’t just be motivated by not wanting to be fired?”

“You tell me,” Fran replied with a shrug. “If Denton loses, will you feel guilty that you didn’t do more?”

Bijal considered that question for a moment. “I hate it when you have the high ground.”

Colleen sat at the desk in her congressional office going through her e-mail when a deep voice called from the doorway.

“Hey, Colleen. Do you have a minute?”

She looked up to see House Majority Whip Luke Sherman grinning at her. He was known by the entire District of Columbia as a smooth talker and a tough negotiator—two attributes that made him very good at his job.

“Sure,” Colleen replied. “Come on in.”

He shut the door behind him and took a seat across from her, his posture exuding comfort and cockiness. “How’s everything been going for you?” he asked. “Good?”

Colleen scoffed. “You know I like you, Luke. But you never just drop by for chit-chat.”

He flashed another insincere-looking smile and simply shrugged.

“You want to talk about the Patient Access Reform Act, I assume.” Colleen pushed her chair back so she could see him better.

“I do admire your bluntness.”

“Hmm, I don’t think you really do, but why quibble? I can’t vote for the bill as it currently reads, Luke.”

He rubbed his chin. “Because of Congressman Saturday’s amendment, I’m guessing.”

“Absolutely. It restricts women’s accessibility to abortion and sex education. How could I possibly vote for that?”

“Maybe indirectly,” he said slowly. “But in the end, that will only affect a small population of women.”

“The poor—the ones who need it most.”

“This bill does a lot of good things that will impact everyone,” he said, without addressing her point.

Colleen adjusted her glasses on the bridge of her nose. “So you’re telling me that the right to a legal medical procedure for some poverty-stricken Americans is just collateral damage? That’s a price you’re willing to pay for the rest of that reform bill?”

He shifted in his chair. “Look, you know that this reform, both comprehensively and in small pieces, has been on our agenda for a long time.”

She nodded.

“And you know that politics is nothing but compromise.”

Again she nodded.

“Now I agree that this bill isn’t perfect, but what bill ever is? It’s important to the Democratic Party to move this into the win column, especially with Election Day weeks away. Am I right?”

“Actually, no. You’re not right.”

Luke looked incredulous. “What? Where did I lose you?”

“You left out a few critical facts.”

His eyebrow arched. “Such as?”

She grabbed a three-ring binder sitting on her desk and flipped to a page near the back. “Such as the minor oversight that the formal platform of our party says we ‘strongly and unequivocally support a woman’s right to choose a safe and legal abortion, regardless of ability to pay, and we oppose any and all efforts to weaken or undermine that right.’ Remember that? It’s a pledge to the American people.”

“Come on, you’re making a mountain out of molehill.”

Colleen was officially becoming irritated. “You think so? Well, I suppose you could try to rely on the charisma and appeal of the amendment’s sponsor. Oh, wait. I guess that might be a challenge since Congressman Saturday is an eighty-three-year-old former segregationist.”

“Ancient history, O’Bannon.” Luke’s calm façade seemed to be faltering.

“Perhaps it is to you. Maybe not to me, or to a lot of African Americans. Between the two of us, Saturday doesn’t have a lick of compassion in his whole body. Is he really who you want portrayed as the face of the Democratic Party?”

“This isn’t about Saturday.”

“You’re right, Luke. It’s about the fact that this amendment would restrict non-abstinence-only sex-education programs that would actually
reduce
unwanted pregnancies. And it would limit abortion access for the women who are poorest. To totally abandon them like that is unconscionable.”

Luke rolled his eyes, his schmoozy demeanor now gone. “So forget the large majority of people who’ll benefit from the other reforms in the bill? Are you saying you care less about them and more about the minority? Don’t the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few?”

“That depends, Mr. Spock. Are you selling the few down the river to claim a token victory for the many?”

“Look—”

“And one more thing you may have overlooked,” Colleen said, “is the teensy little detail that our party ran on the principle of progressive reform, and we won. So when the voters realize that not only did we
not
advance any significant progressive reform while we were in the majority, but we actually diluted some rights that they started with, do you really expect to be reelected? I mean, what’s your campaign strategy there? Next time we’ll screw you over less?”

Luke stood and started to pace. “So you think it’s better not to pass anything and have nothing to show come Election Day? Your strategy is ‘Sorry we didn’t accomplish a goddamn thing. We were trying to get it perfect, but we couldn’t stop screaming at each other long enough to make that happen’?”

“I think it’s better to keep your word. What does it say if we can’t accomplish all the reform we promised because so many of us are afraid to upset our corporate donors and actually vote the way we said we would? What part of ‘No, we didn’t do anything useful for you like we pledged to, but here’s something watered-down and moderately regressive that we’d like to take credit for’ sounds truly inspired to you?”

A muscle in Luke’s cheek twitched. “Funny you should mention reelection, O’Bannon. How’s your campaign coming along?”

Colleen eyed him suspiciously. He was like a completely different person now. “Fine.”

“That’s good. It must be hard running as a far-left liberal in a red district. I’d imagine you need a lot of support from the party—political endorsements, financial contributions.”

“Are you threatening me, Luke?” She rose, letting the edge of her desk support her, surprised at the turn in conversation.

“Goodness, no!” he replied disingenuously. “How could I? I’m certainly not involved in the decisions of the DCCC.” He crossed his arms and stared at her confrontationally.

Colleen was speechless. Was he trying to extort her vote on this bill by withholding assistance from the Democratic Congressional Campaign Committee? “Oh?” She was disappointed that she couldn’t manage a more pithy response.

“Well, I can’t help that my peers consult my opinion from time to time. I suppose you could consider that a form of influence. And if you were to ask me what I thought you should do right now, I’d suggest that you slide a little closer to the center. Stop thumping your chest so hard and let the party help you. Don’t fight us. After all, if you don’t work toward the party’s goals, how can the party work toward yours?”

She looked at the floor. “So my vote on this bill will directly affect the party’s involvement in my campaign.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Didn’t you?”

“I don’t have that kind of power,” he lied. “I’m just…encouraging you to consider the potential ramifications of voting against this bill. It might look bad for you. You might seem obstructionist, which, I have to admit, is particularly off-putting in a woman—you know, to voters.”

“Just as veiled threats can be off-putting in men—you know, to everyone.”

Luke laughed and straightened his tie. “Well, on that note, I’ll leave you to chew on what we’ve discussed.”

“Thanks. Just so you know, it tastes a little bit like shit.”

She could hear him cackle as he headed toward his next destination.

*

Bijal walked into campaign headquarters and saw Kristin sitting at her desk, working furiously on her computer. Bijal loudly pulled up a chair across from her and got comfortable.

“Well, hey, stranger,” Kristin said with a smile. “How’s the night shift been?”

“Lots of junk food, somewhat demoralizing, chilly. It’s like I’m dating again.”

“Trust me, I’m married and it doesn’t sound much different.”

Bijal couldn’t deal with the thought of any more small talk. “I got your message, Kristin. Lay it on me.”

“Honestly, I can’t believe you haven’t heard.”

“I was on my way to an O’Bannon rally in Bankshire, but when I saw that your text included the word ‘catastrophic,’ I decided to stop by so you could explain exactly what happened.”

Kristin began queuing something up on her PC. “Slide over here and I’ll show you. I don’t think I’d be able to fully do this story justice anyway.”

Bijal moved her chair so she could see Kristin’s monitor. “Was the whole rally bad? Did the crowd turn on her or something?”