The iCongressman (18 page)

CHELSEA

The house lights come up and the three candidates shake
hands on the stage. Tonight’s debate wasn’t as entertaining, nor was it the
epic beat down as the one two years ago, but the result was the same. The
congressman owned it.

Scheduled three weeks ahead of the election instead of the
week before it like last time, the debate was once again held at Western
Connecticut State University in Danbury. They did a fantastic job hosting our
first, so it was only fitting they hold it again. At least we knew what to
expect this time.

The debate will probably land some good ratings because of
the social media fervor we stirred up again. With the media presence, it feels
like a case of déjà vu. The ten-point lead the congressman carried into
tonight’s debate will grow overnight. No need to spend a sleepless night
worrying about catching our opponent this time around.

Emilee, Brian, Amanda, Peyton, and Xavier all went back to
school when classes started in September but still made it back to town for the
debate tonight. Some of them had long drives here from school, but none thought
classes were more important than being here for this. Even with the additional
responsibilities of college life, each has been very active on the social media
front in support of all the icandidate campaigns.

Congressman Bennit comes backstage and gives a kiss to
Kylie. She embraces him, whispering something in his ear only intended for
them. Kylie has been on edge since they got back from their NYC trip a week ago
for the congressman’s interview on
The
View
. She hasn’t said why, but her attitude has changed a little and she
has been clingier then I have ever seen her.
 

Breaking the embrace with Kylie, Mister B doles out the hugs
to the rest of us. Even Vince, Brian, and Xavier get in on the act with a sort
of man hug that guys are known to engage in. As a teacher, he was always
careful to avoid any physical contact with us outside of a high five or fist
bump. Oh, how times have changed. He’s gone from a well-respected and liked
teacher to cherished boss.

“How did it feel to come into a debate as the frontrunner?”
Amanda asks.

“I wasn’t really looking at it that way.”

“You might not be, but I know I am,” Vince proclaims to the
delight of the group. The congressman sighs, and shakes his head.

“You guys have been out of my classroom way too long. Let me
share a little story with you.”

“Uh-oh.
Here
comes
today’s history lesson,” Amanda says, channeling the old expression we used
before the congressman’s lectures during our first campaign.

“You’re lucky you don’t have to live with him,” Kylie says,
rolling her eyes.

“This is a short one, I promise. There was this kid who
started his career by working paper routes, selling magazines door-to-door, and
reporting for duty in his grandfather’s grocery store to earn money. Through
those experiences, he learned the value of a good work ethic and to never take
success for granted. Like us, he did the impossible, and made it when everyone
didn’t think he could. He was a millionaire by age thirty-two, but he wasn’t
content to stop there like many others would have. There was much more out
there to accomplish, and he did.”

“So who was he?” I am trying to recall all the lessons we
received from Mister Bennit, but this one isn’t ringing any bells.

“The Oracle of Omaha.”

“Who?”
Peyton, Xavier, Emilee, and
Vince all blurt out simultaneously.

“Warren Buffett,” Amanda says with a smile. “He runs
Berkshire Hathaway, one of the most powerful investment firms in the world.”

“Glad to see the tuition dollars you are spending at
UConn
are well-invested,” I compliment with a wink. An
accounting and business major ought to know about him.

“I’m not seeing the point.”

“The point is, Peyton, that Warren Buffett was a consummate
entrepreneur and worked hard to become the billionaire and the world-renowned
financial expert he is today. He could have retired decades ago, but it wasn’t
in his nature. It’s not in mine, either. We may be leading our race, but this
election is about more than winning reelection.

“The icandidates,” Kylie says, making it clear to anyone who
had yet to figure out where we are going with this.

“Their success is our success. Without them, I will spend
another two years in Congress like I spent the last one, and I refuse to do
that. Tonight was a big win for us, but the fight isn’t over. You guys were mad
at me for not including you in my plan to teach America a lesson about how they
vote in elections during our first campaign. I’m not going to make that mistake
again. I need your help, because the final surge starts tomorrow.”

* * *

We all went out to dinner following the debate, and it
felt good having something to celebrate for a change. Now on my way home, I
feel the need to stop somewhere first. I park the car and gingerly wander down
the path as the large iron behemoth looms ahead. I hear the clicking of my
heels against the metal decking once I reach the bridge, only stopping when I
assume my traditional vantage point in the middle of the span.

Blake can lay
all the
claim he
wants to my spot on the steps of the Capitol, but the old iron bridge across
the river at Briar Point State Park is mine. The last time I was on this bridge
this long after sunset, I was threatening him with my Dad’s old Ka-Bar knife.
Now he practically works for our campaign. It’s amazing how times change.

I almost wish Blake had been able to come to the debate
tonight. He would have enjoyed watching Congressman Bennit handle the issues
with ease and respond deftly to all the questions about the censures and
reprimands. There were no epic fails like Dick Johnson bungling the order of
articles in the Constitution, but there were still plenty of one-liners to keep
social and mainstream media buzzing.

I look out past the bend in the river to the center of the
town I grew up in. So much has changed. Three years ago, I was a high school
student just trying to figure out who I was and who I wanted to be. Two years
ago, I was running an underdog campaign for my favorite teacher that became a
media sensation. A year ago, we were trying to learn how to navigate the
treacherous political waters inside the Beltway. Today, I feel like I have
come
full circle, again wondering the same things I did
three years ago.

I’ve had moments over the past year where I felt … I don’t
know, proud. Dressing down Senator Viano last summer was one of them, but the
satisfaction I got was short lived.

I’m envious of my friends who went on to college—they work
hard on the campaign without facing the crushing responsibility of working on
the staff. They have been invaluable to our effort, but on their terms. It
makes me wonder what would have happened if I chose a different path.

Who would be chief of staff if I had decided to go to Yale,
Harvard, Princeton, or the dozens of other schools that offered me full
scholarships? Would he trust Vince enough with that responsibility? I love him
like a brother, but I’m not sure Vince is the right guy for the job. Maybe Vanessa
could have done it. Eh, he probably would’ve hired a professional political
operative who could have done a better job than I did.

Unless what Kylie said is true. That he does value me more
than I know. I need to know what he thinks, but he’s not talking about it, at
least not to my face. How do I ask him? Is it easier just to move on with my
life?

I pull the thin, ivory envelope out of my coat pocket and
look at it in the light of the moon. I received the letter in the mail earlier
today but didn’t want to open it before the debate in case it was bad news.
Breaking the seal and extracting the contents, I realize how much rides on what
is written on this sheet of paper. I’m not sure if only seeing a single
paragraph is a good sign or not.

Since the ambient light is not enough to read by, I flip on
the flashlight feature of my phone. The seal of Harvard University jumps off
the top of the page. The letter is short, to the point, and takes my breath
away.

Dear Chelsea:

I received a
notification from our Admissions Office that you were inquiring about the
status of the scholarship you were offered two years ago. The short answer is,
yes. There will always be a place for you at Harvard, and we would love to have
you attend this spring. Please contact my office if you would like to discuss
this further.

Warm and cordial
regards,

Andrew
Stemple

President, Harvard
University

SENATOR VIANO

Tarrywile
Mansion in Danbury
is a beautiful example of the "shingle style" Victorian-era American
home architecture. The gable roof with multiple dormers, large chimney stacks,
and Doric columns constructed in a semicircular fashion around the veranda
makes it no wonder it was entered on the National Register of Historic Places.

Virginia has its own beauty, but there are few places on
Earth prettier than New England at the peak of foliage season. This estate is
over seven hundred acres of red, yellow, and orange clad trees that scream
autumn like no other place in America. The air is a cool fifty degrees and is
invigorating without being frigid. There are dozens of trails here, perfect for
clearing one’s head amongst the quiet serenity of drifting leaves and
whispering evergreens.

There are two picnic areas in the park, and I make my way
back to the one of which is located in the wooded grove off the lower Mansion
parking lot for the meeting I set up. I find Blake and Gary waiting for me when
I get there.

“Good morning, gentlemen. Blake, I hope you’re not too hung
over after partying with Michael’s college-aged staff last night.”

“They’re not twenty-one yet.”

“I was in college once, Blake. It never mattered to me. So,
where do we stand?”

“The country watched Bennit seal his win last night. Not the
resounding win he had a couple of years ago against Beaumont and …” Gary trails
off and snaps his fingers, mentally searching for the name of the man who
became a political punch line and YouTube favorite for his Constitutional
gaffe.

“Johnson,” Blake interjects, filling in the blank of the
otherwise forgettable Republican candidate in that race.

“Right, that’s it. Anyway, Bennit will win pretty
convincingly, sans any last minute debacles. The GOP candidate will be second
and the Democrat a distant third.”

“That man is like a phoenix. He was a pile of ashes a couple
of months ago. What about the rest of the icandidates?”

“Feeding on his success,” Blake says. “Eighty percent are
within striking distance or already within the margin of error of the polls. Of
the remaining twenty, we are going to win five races with no problem and lose
the other fifteen.”

“Impressive showing for a bunch of no
names.
The country is embracing this movement far more than I thought
they would.”

“Never underestimate a grassroots effort on social media,”
Gary resolves.

“What about Albright? Is the Speaker going to keep his seat
in South Carolina?”

“It’s too close to call,” Vince explains. “Amazing,
considering how conservative that district is. He had a commanding lead just a
few weeks ago, but his poll numbers have tanked since. Tough place to be in,
and I remember the feeling well. His campaign is starting to panic.”

“‘You can’t come to any harm when you’re falling. It’s the
landing part you have to worry about,’” Gary pronounces.

“Iron Man?”
Blake asks.

“No.
Danger Mouse.”

“Nice one.”

“Are you two quite done?” I snap as Blake and Gary look at
each other sheepishly. Really, enough of the superhero quotes. When he comes to
work for me at the end of all this, I swear I need to banish them from his
vernacular. “Don’t encourage him, Blake.”

“Sorry, ma’am.”

“Don’t apologize, just get on with it.”

“It looks like Harvey Stepanik will win his contest,” he
says, refocusing on the task at hand. “The
Dems
may
lose their whip, though, and I would bet the minority leader goes down too.”

“They stayed on the sidelines for much of the Bennit
expulsion disaster, so I’m surprised it’s not the reverse.
And
Thomas Parker?

“He’s safe. Changing his vote played well in that district
and the icandidate there wasn’t as keen to run against him after that.”

A gust of wind sends a swarm of leaves blowing past us.
Instead of shouting over the wind and rustling leaves, I wait for the squall to
subside.

“So we could potentially win eighty-five of the hundred
races?” I ask, just restating the obvious because I don’t really believe what
I’m hearing.

“Eighty-seven of one hundred two,
actually.
We weren’t counting Bennit and Reyes. So long as no bombs get
dropped, it could be a historic election night.”

“Do we expect any October surprises?”

“Our opposition research guys don’t seem to think so,” Blake
replies. “They vetted each of the icandidates thoroughly before turning their
attention to researching the competition.”

Of course, it helps when there is nobody left to do research
against you. Part of the plan was to utilize every reputable
oppo
outfit in the country to work for us. It was an
expensive proposition, but extravagances like this are a perk of being filthy
rich and having some deep pockets supporting my efforts. The political parties
were able to eventually line up some resources, but we got the pick of the
litter.

“Many of them are riding Bennit’s coattails,” Gary observes.
“He has gone viral in social media again and his approval rating nationwide is
through the roof. The mainstream media isn’t covering him with the tenacity
they did last time, but that isn’t stopping America from talking about him.”

I have underestimated his appeal from the beginning. He is
the average guy’s politician this country has begged for. While most insiders
gasped in horror when he flipped that table at his hearing, the rest of America
shouted, “Hell yeah.” He makes politics more real for the country, and because
of that, they can relate to him.
One more example of the
magic that is Michael Bennit.

“We are on the threshold of a turning point in American
politics,” I state, knowing one of my small little group doesn’t know the half
of it. I can’t resist sharing a knowing smile with my former chief of staff.

“Let’s hope so,” Blake says, oblivious to the double meaning
of my words.

“Blake, you have done an amazing job with this effort, but I
guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you came through in the clutch. It runs in
our family. Your father would be very proud of you.”

“Thanks, Aunt Marilyn. I’ll see you back in D.C.”

With that, Blake heads back to his car leaving me alone with
Gary.

“Do you think you can trust him? He’s getting a little cozy
with the Bennit camp.”

“I think he’ll do the right thing when the time comes,” I
conclude, knowing there is a danger that his loyalties are divided.

“So when will you tell him the plan?”

The most dangerous part of this plan is the variables
involved. Michael Bennit was not supposed to survive his expulsion, and having
done so, has made life far more problematic. Now the decision on how I play
this lies with his reaction to my proposal. Either way, I will become a major
player in national politics again. Whether it is as an ally or enemy remains to
be determined.

“Let’s see how the election goes. It all hinges on how
Michael responds to my offer. If he agrees, we will need him with us
immediately. If not, well, I’ll need him to do his part in a different way.
Either way, I don’t think Blake is ready to hear what I have to say yet.”