The iCongressman (8 page)

MICHAEL

The average temperature in the middle of May for
Millfield is right around seventy degrees, but today is not one of those days.
With a cold front sneaking south out of Canada, it is barely cracking
fifty-five, and feels much more like October than the end of spring. With that
in mind, I skipped wearing shorts and opted for a T-shirt, light jacket, and
jeans for this meeting.

Climbing out of my car and seeing the group gathered around
the picnic table at Briar Point State Park brings back a flood of old memories.
My campaign with this group of overachievers may have been run out of the
Perkfect Buzz coffee shop, but it was hatched at the very table they are now
sitting at. Is it possible that was over two years ago?

“It looks like we’re putting the band back together!” Vince
announces as I reach the picnic table. The next few minutes are filled with
warm embraces, man-hugs, fist bumps, and high fives. The hardest part of
teaching is watching the kids you spent so much time in the classroom with grow
up. Luckily, it’s also the most rewarding. I remember each of the young men and
women in front of me when they were terrified freshman, and
it’s
wonderful seeing them full of confidence and optimism as college students.

When they graduated, this motley group of friends split and
went their separate ways. Chelsea, Vanessa, and Vince decided to put off
college and came to work for me in Washington. Brian, the resident computer
geek, got accepted to MIT and is studying computer science. Peyton did end up
as prom queen as we all predicted, and is now pursuing her dream of fashion
marketing at Vassar. Amanda, the numbers wizard who ran our campaign finances
both times without landing us in prison, chose to attend the University of
Connecticut, and is dual majoring in accounting and business. Emilee is also a
double major in education and, gulp, history at NYU. Xavier is playing
basketball at Syracuse, and majoring in political science, the poor guy.

They may have chosen different paths after graduation, but
they interact like they saw each other a week ago. Each may have new friends
and unique experiences from the others, but they are all bound by the events of
their senior year. Somehow, I think they will still all gravitate towards one
another at a high school reunion forty years from now.

“Good to see you all survived your freshman years in college,”
I say, remembering the trouble I used to get into at that age. “Any news I
should know about?” They all look at each other to see who wants to go first.

“Brian has a girlfriend,” Amanda offers, putting him up
first in the hot seat. Somewhat surprising considering, other than putting on a
few pounds, he’s just as dorky as he was in high school.

“The inflatable kind or one that actually
breathes?”
I ask with a smile on my face. The group snickers, and we
spend the next ten minutes getting caught up in everyone’s activities and funny
experiences. Then it’s my turn.

“How’s Kylie?” Emilee asks, still petite and sporting short,
brown hair, but a far cry from the shy girl that I remember from two years ago.
She always liked the freelance reporter who covered our campaign, and felt the
most betrayed after she wrote the articles I asked her to when it was over.
Nobody was more thrilled we ended up together.

“She’s great, thanks for asking. She really wanted to be
here to see you, but the
Post
has her
on an assignment.”

“Have you proposed yet?”

“Not yet,
Em
.”

“Damn, Mister B, what are you waiting for?” Xavier pries. He
appears a little more buff than I remember. Still lean and lanky like he was
when he set all of
Millfield’s
varsity scoring
records, he definitely has spent time in the gym.

“You know, if you like it you’d better put a ring on it,”
Amanda says, playfully paraphrasing
Beyoncé
. And yes,
I am thrilled that working with teenagers makes me hip enough to know that.

“I keep telling him that!” Vanessa exclaims. And she does,
almost every day.

“Mister B
―
”

“You guys are out of school, so you can call me Michael.”
They laugh and I realize that is never going to happen. Old habits may die
hard, but some never will.

Damn, it is so good having this group together again.
There’s a certain power to us that makes me feel invincible when I’m surrounded
by them. I know that isn’t the case, but that is the feeling I get.

“Okay, so how’s life been in Congress?” Amanda asks.

“The short story is we were not invited to join a caucus,
not on a single committee, haven’t gotten a single bill we introduced out for a
vote, and we’re not included in any discussions about anything.”

“Thank you for that rosy depiction of the last year, Chels,”
I say with a tinge of sarcasm. Chelsea hasn’t been happy for a long time now,
and even seeing her old friends isn’t bringing her out of her funk.

“Oh, and I forgot to mention he’s working with Blake Peoni.”
Chelsea almost spits when she says his name. Everyone looks at me, stunned.

“Really?”
Peyton asks.

“Did you fall and hit your head?” Xavier scolds.

“Are you
The
Manchurian Candidate
instead of the
iCandidate?” Brian quips.

 
“You don’t know the
half of it,” Vince explains to X. “It’s been a fun year for a person in my job.
He’s already set the disciplinary record in Congress, and even punched Blake
Peoni’s
lights out.”

“Twice,” Vanessa adds with two fingers extended.

“What?” the group utters all at once, looking at Chelsea and
Vanessa to gauge whether they need to flip on their internal lie detectors for
Vince.

“It’s a long story,” Chelsea bemoans.

“You know, Mister B, I can say this since we’re not your
students anymore, and I pretty much speak for all of us. You’re one crazy
bastard,” X observes. Yep, I still call him “X.”

“And yet you’re all still here,” I say with a smile.

“For now,” Brian smirks. “So how will this work?”

“The campaign will hire you as paid interns over the summer.
We should still have some money in the campaign account.”

“What about after the summer? Once I start this, you know I
won’t be able to just stop until it’s over,” Amanda says. I know better than to
doubt her.

“You guys will be going back to your respective schools in
September, so I don’t know what you’ll be able to do.”

“Mister B, you’re always going to be the iCandidate. With a
high-speed Internet connection, I could run your reelection from the moon.
There will be plenty of stuff to do. Besides, with all the time management
skills we learned during those two campaigns, college classes were child’s
play. We can balance the work.”

I have no doubt they can. I made them get signed permission
forms from their parents before our first run because I was concerned about
their grades slipping. It turned out to be completely unnecessary—most of their
grades actually improved. Go figure.

“Okay, so what’s the plan? We know you have one.” Apparently
Brian is eager to get to work. That’s good, because I am really going to need
his help to pull this off, just like last time.

I explain the plan we have as it has developed so far. There
are a lot of variables, and a lot of things we aren’t yet sure how to execute.
For the next ten minutes, I tell them about my meeting with Blake, and then
with Senator Viano, and what that could mean for us this summer. I even loop
them in on Cisco, who is the only friend I have in the House.

“Maybe it’s my déjà vu kicking in, but this all sounds
eerily familiar,” Amanda opines, looking around her.

“Amanda’s right, it is familiar. Only you guys don’t know
the whole story yet,” Vince says in warning.

“What does he mean?” Peyton asks me.

“Well, if you guys are serious about jumping on this train
one more time, you should probably know what you are getting yourselves into.
Both the Republicans and Democrats are running excellent candidates against us,
and considering my … colorful record … in the House, we are getting crushed in
the polls.”

“Colorful record is one way to put it,” Chelsea adds
sarcastically.

“Anyway, we always considered Beaumont to be the consummate
politician and a great strategist. Turns out, he was neither, at least compared
to what we are up against now. We managed to blindside him because he was
ignorant, an egotist, and didn’t consider us a threat until it was too late.
Now, we’re already in everyone’s crosshairs and both parties want to parade
down Main Street with my head on a pike.”

“Seriously?
You’ve been a
congressman for over a year and you still haven’t managed to work on your motivation
skills?” Xavier observes.

“Any other bad news?”
Brian asks.

“Yeah, we are probably going to lose this election no matter
what we do. There is no Kylie Roberts to come swooping in and put us on the
map. This is going to be much harder than the last time.”

“What about this former senator you mentioned?”

“I’m still not sure what she will be able to do for me, so
consider her a wild card,” I state honestly. Senator Viano may be a huge help,
complete bust, or anything in between.

“So, is that it?” Brian asks again.

“
Noooo
,” Vince responds.
“Tuesday, Congressman.”

“Oh, yeah.
I sort of stirred up a
hornets’ nest last Tuesday on the Floor, and now the Speaker of the House and
Republican majority leader want to cane me like a Singapore pimp. So don’t be
under the illusion I’m going to have a
Mr.
Smith Goes to Washington
moment that will make this better.”

“A Mister who?”
Peyton asks,
confused.

“
Mister Smith Goes to
Washington
. Frank Capra’s great American political drama …” I look around
and notice the bewildered faces. Sometimes I forget they are not even twenty,
and even giving them quotes from eighties’ movies is a hit or miss proposition.
“Okay, yeah, never mind.”

“So what’s the first step, boss?” Amanda asks, sparing me
any more explanation.

“The campaign needs a base camp. Coordinate with Chelsea on
how to find one. We aren’t running this out of the Buzz this time. Then we’ll
take it from there.”

“Viva la
revolución
!” Vince shouts
again. I hope he’s not planning on making that our unofficial campaign slogan.

CHELSEA

It is really awesome being with this gang again. We only
knew each other as classmates when we had Mister Bennit for American History
our junior year, but that changed as seniors in his Contemporary Issues class.
The shared experiences of working on a congressional campaign and a special
election allowed us to grow very close. So much so that I barely talk to my old
friends Cassandra and Stephanie anymore, and I have known them since childhood.
We’re just different people now, with far different interests and
responsibilities. I hope the same thing doesn’t happen to this clan.

“If you have this under control, Chels, Vanessa and I are
going to head back to the district office.”

“Sounds good, Vince,” I say with a wave, and then watch my
colleagues walk to their car, jump in, and leave.

“It’s great seeing you guys again,” Amanda says. “How often
do you get to come home?”

“More than you might think. The House is in recess more than
it is in session.”

“That explains why nothing ever gets done,” Brian adds,
rolling his eyes.

“It’s not all bad. The Speaker of the House likes to ensure
representatives have plenty of time in their districts. He scheduled
‘constituent work weeks’ so members can conduct business out of offices in
their home states.”

“Yeah, do they really do that?” Xavier asks with a
suspicious look.

“Probably not.
The congressman does
though. What about you guys?” I ask, trying to get off the subject. “You make
it back to Millfield much?”

“We’re in college, Chels,” Peyton replies. “We avoid coming
home at all costs unless our parents force us to.” The others laugh and nod in
agreement.

“There is way too much going on at NYU to ever want to come
home,” Emilee, once the shyest and most introverted among our group says. “I am
sort of tired of living in a dorm though. It’s a twenty-five-minute walk to
class.” Yeah, tell me again why I didn’t go to Yale, Harvard, or Marist?
Twenty-five minutes. If she thinks that’s long, she should try my commute sometime.

“Where do you stay down in D.C.?” Brian asks.

“Vince, Vanessa, six other young government types, and I all
rent a house in the city.”

“That sounds really cool,” Peyton says, almost in admiration
that I’m doing something else other than college and managing to survive.

“Yeah,
it’s
okay I guess.”

“All right, do the rest of you hear it too?” Amanda says to
the others and getting agreements.

“Hear what?” I ask, perplexed. I probably shouldn’t be,
though. This group of friends knows me better than almost anyone.

“You sound defeated and the campaign hasn’t even started
yet,” Brian observes. Maybe because I think losing is a foregone conclusion.

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re acting the same way you did right after the
campaign announcement was a bust,” Emilee adds.

“And after we lost the election. So, are you
gonna
tell us what’s up or force us to drag it out of you?”
Amanda directly challenges.

All the emotions I have spent the last year suppressing well
up inside me. I have tried so hard to be strong, but the walls I built up are
crumbling. I can’t tell the congressman how I feel because he relies on me.
Vince and Vanessa really don’t understand the pressure of my job, even though
they work in the same office. My father can’t know I made a mistake by taking
this on. With those thoughts, I lose it.

“I can’t do this job,” I sob, letting my frustration and
insecurities spill out. “It’s too big for me. We have had a horrible year and
it’s
all my
fault!”

Emile gives me a hug, but it does little to stem the tears
pouring from my eyes. After a minute or so, my bawling lets up enough for Brian
to try to console me.

“I’m sure that’s not the case, Chels.”

“You don’t understand, Brian! You can’t. You haven’t been
with us and seen me fail time and again.”

Brian started it. He tried to hide his smile, first by
squeezing his lips together, then by turning away. One by one, Amanda, Peyton,
and Xavier followed suit until they couldn’t hold it anymore and started
laughing. Emilee releases her hug and starts doing the same.

How dare they laugh at me over something like this? I feel
betrayed by my friends. My insecurity gives way to remorse, and now I feel
something else—anger.

“What the hell’s so damn funny?” I scream, only prompting
them to chuckle even harder. This is beginning to feel like a bad dream I am
hoping to wake up from.

“We’re laughing because of you,” Brian says, pointing out
the obvious. “This has been your M.O. since we’ve known you. You’re not
failing, Chels, you’re just not living up to the incredibly high expectations
you set for yourself.”

“That’s not true! This is different.”

“No it’s not,” Emilee consoles. “Hon, you didn’t think you
could handle running the first campaign, either. So what happened? You came
within a hundred votes of winning against a tough incumbent while not taking a
stand on a single issue.”

“And then you followed it with the most successful
congressional campaign in the history of the country,” Amanda continues, still
trying to stifle her grin.

“News flash, Chels, in case you didn’t notice, you’re the
also youngest chief of staff in the history of Congress. There are literally
hundreds of people around the country trying to replicate what you did. Really,
what more do you think you need to prove?”

“None of that means I’m getting the job done in Washington,
Brian.”

“Has Mister B said anything to you about it?” Xavier asks. I
shake my head no, my flash of anger now subsiding. “I didn’t think so. I’ll bet
he thinks you’re doing a great job under the circumstances.”

“I doubt it. He’s been too busy trying to get kicked out of
Congress to notice,” I smile weakly. It’s a start. I haven’t had a reason to
for a long while.

“Looks like neither of you have hit your stride yet,” Brian
says with hints of optimism that makes me feel a little better than I did a few
minutes ago. I look at Xavier who seems to be relishing this opportunity to
work with us again.

“And we’re now here to help change that.”

* * *

Dorothy had it right in
The Wizard of Oz
—there is no place like home. Most high school kids
can’t wait to leave home and either head out into the world, or at a minimum,
cut the parental strings at college. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t one of
them. But after a year inside the Beltway, the colloquial name for Washington,
D.C., I miss the comfort and familiarity of home more than ever.

I pull into the driveway and kill the headlights on my aging
car. My senior year, I was ashamed to have to park it next to a Range Rover and
BMW every day during high school and thought that would change once I left. I
was wrong. If anything, it’s worse on the occasions I drive to work given the
flashy cars most politicians and the senior staff drive.

Dad greets me at the door and gives me a huge hug before I
can even make it into the kitchen. “Hi, Snuggle Bear. I’ve missed you so much.”

“It’s only been a couple of weeks, Dad,” I say, probably
sounding way more insincere than I meant to be. “I missed you too,” I utter
before he gets the wrong idea.

I come in and drop my stuff on the chair that once housed
piles of college literature. Most colleges don’t bother sending out volumes of
brochures to prospective students anymore. Everything is done electronically
over e-mail and the Internet. My case was a little different once our first
campaign got rolling, and schools were going above and beyond to get me and the
campaign crew to listen to their admissions pitch.

“How’s work? You look a little rough around the edges.”

“It’s okay,” I mumble, hoping that wasn’t meant like my
emotional redhead self tends to take things.

“Only okay? You know, when you started this job, even when
things were bad, they were never just ‘okay.’ Please tell me you aren’t
becoming jaded at twenty years old.”

“No, I’m not jaded,” I say, lying a little. “The job can
wear you out at times,
that’s
all. I’ll be better
after the weekend.” Okay, I lied a lot.

Dad knows I’m down, but he also knows I won’t talk about it
until I’m ready. You can count on Bruce Stanton for two things in this
world—showing up to his shift at the factory every day for work and being in my
corner. He’s taken on the press in our front yard and even got into a fight
with Mister Bennit in our living room. He only replaced that broken end table a
few months ago.

“Would
ya
tell me if you were?” he
says with a wink. He knows me too well.

“How’s work treating you?” I ask, changing the subject away
from anything to do with my chosen career.

“Work’s fine, same
ol
’ same
ol
’. Not that I’m not thrilled to see
ya
,
but what brings all you guys up here?” Dad asks, bringing the conversation back
full circle. You’d think working for a politician in a town full of lawyers
would make me an expert in deflection, but apparently I can’t pull that
particular Jedi mind trick on my own father.

“We’re looking for some space to run the campaign out of
this year,” I reply, too tired and emotionally drained to add my belief that
the idea is a stupid one.

“You’re not
gonna
use the Buzz
again? It worked for you last time.”

No kidding. That was the exact point I made, but was
overruled.
Again.
Mister Bennit has spent the last
year trying to shed some of the aspects of the maverick image that got him
elected in the first place, and the quaintness of running the campaign out of a
coffee shop was sacrificed to help reach that goal. As has been the case many
other times this year, my opinion was ignored. One more instance of the
congressman and I not heading in the same direction.

“The congressman doesn’t think …” I trail off and Dad
flashes a parental look of concern. He probably already knows, but I don’t want
to let on how bad I’m struggling right now. I am having a hard enough time
keeping it together without Dad getting all gooey, or worse, combative. He is a
hard-nosed former Marine, and they have a tendency to do that.

“Are
ya
okay, Snuggle Bear?”

“I’m fine, Dad.
Just really tired.
It’s been a long day.” He nods in understanding, but I know that it will do
little to end this conversation.

“Can I ask one more question without you getting pissed at
me?” I’d rather he didn’t.

“Sure,” I say in the most upbeat tone I can muster.

“He’s becoming one of them, isn’t he?”