The Gambit (3 page)

I sat straight up in bed, gasping for air, and drenched in a cold sweat. As I calmed down, realizing I was in my room, I rubbed the inside of my left forearm. In the pale morning light the dark scar was just a dot, and always a reminder of my time in the Confinement.

“
Thank you
…” I heard the woman’s voice whisper.

I shook my head to rid myself of the flashback.

Out of all the things that occurred during my three months in Confinement, that memory haunted me the most. There was not a week that went by where I didn’t dream about it. I looked forward to the winter and wearing long sleeves. People loved to ask how I got the scar, and I hated retelling it. I threw my arm around and it hit the pillow next to me. It had been a long time since I had a woman in my bed. After the Confinement, I got to enjoy somewhat of a burst of stardom.

“Aren’t you Owen Marina? One of the founders of the Convergence Party? I saw your interview with the Huffington Post. You are
so hot
…”

It always went along those lines. Don’t kid yourself, the fruit was ripe and ready, so I picked it. Many times. Although, the flings only filled a gap, a part of me that had been empty so long. I thought I
had
something more at one point, a relationship with substance, but that didn’t end well. So now at twenty-seven I was alone. No wife, no kids, not even a dog—just my bike. At this stage, it felt like I was engaged to my party for Christ’s sake. Then again, I imagined the wedding being a sweet one and having a blowout of a reception. I set the date for November 8
th
. Perhaps Goodman and Cole would walk me down the aisle.

Ha. I stood up out of bed, laughing at myself for personifying our party. I was so backed up on sleep, I would either end up drinking more often than Cole, or wind up in a psych ward. Tonight though, tonight would be the moment that sealed the deal for our party. Perhaps, it would mean I could relax, work a little less, and answer fewer emails…because within less than a month, Senator Goodman would be President-Elect of the United States. I grinned, knowing that I had been a part of this monumental political awakening in our history. Even a year and a half later, I still remained shocked when people called me a ‘founder’. Who would have thought, me—a booze drinking post-grad working in Washington became a founder of something. I hope you’re proud, Mom…

I cruised down Canal Road, weaving around cars that were in my path. This was the long way around, but due to less traffic, it was a lot faster for me on my bike. Anytime I revisited Georgetown or anything along the Potomac, I always took this route; it was very green. I could smell the water from the canal on my right, with trees surrounding me on both sides. It reminded me of where I grew up in Virginia.

Within minutes, I was approaching the bend which looped around and revealed the university. Cars lined 37
th
St. NW as far as I could see in front of the Copley and Healy lawns. I had already passed the parking garage, and I was sure when the workers saw who I was they would offer to valet, and there wasn’t a chance in Hell I’d let anyone park my bike. I parked in a spot along the street, locking my bike once I stopped. I slid my helmet off and set it on the seat while I made sure my tie was straight.

Walking down the sidewalk, I had my helmet in one hand and slipped my keys in my pocket with the other. I was a block away, and I could already see the reporters lining the entrance. I was glad I wore my favorite suit. Paparazzi tend to capture the most horrifying angles. I figured that out one night when I left a bar and saw my drunken grin on a tabloid the next morning.

As I approached the entrance to the circle driveway, I heard a wave of chatter rise amongst the reporters. I was still a length away when the first camera flash went off.

“Sporting the royal colors tonight I see,” a familiar reporter said.

“Always, always.”

“Mr. Marina! What are your thoughts on tonight’s debate? Will Goodman trample the other candidates a third time?”

“Mr. Marina, what is your response to the accusation from the democrats and the republicans stating that your party has no real platform, it’s just fueled by the hype of the American People.”

“Mr. Marina, Mr. Marina…”

My name blended in with the electric snaps from their cameras—it was always dizzying.

I turned around to deliver my statement.

“It doesn’t matter anymore what they think. A sore loser’s ‘statement’ is nothing more than an insult. Those same democrats and republicans were safe and comfortable whether they lived within or outside of the boundaries during the Confinement. They had immunity, and
we
didn’t. Remember that…”

The reporters erupted with more questions as I turned my back to them. I looked up at the castle-like design of the buildings. Gray brick blended in with the sky. I approached Gaston Hall, where the debate was being held, and in all my years here at Georgetown I could have counted the times I’d been in the hall on one hand.

I approached the old, wooden doors, and I spread my arms and legs out, for there were security guards who used the wand to check me for weapons. They also patted me down before letting me in. Once I entered, things were more tranquil. All the people in the finest business attire, holding conversations at just above a whisper. The stage was draped with fabrics and the podium in lights, embellished with the Great Seal. The back wall of the hall was lined with dozens of news networks that would broadcast the debate.

As important of a member as I was in the political community, I had a moment of awkwardness. I felt like I was walking into the lunchroom on the first day of high school, nervously scanning the crowd to find some of my peers to hang out with. I was the young gun, the ‘kid’ or ‘boy’ as Cole called me. Over half of the heads in the room were peppered with gray, or just all white. I had made such a quick emergence in the political world, and although I knew I had influence, I felt intimidated. It was as if I were playing a game, and the instructions were written decades ago by all the people in this room…and since the start I had been
breaking
the rules.

People don’t like those who break the rules, especially when my rebellion threatened their title. I knew my cause was backed with purpose and value. I exhaled, trying to relax, then I spotted Cole along one of the aisles with his wife on his arm, talking to a man and a woman.

I adjusted my tie-clip and walked towards them. Immediately, Cole met my eyes and with his free hand he motioned for me.

“Owen! Come join us, my boy.”

His voice was always somewhat of a shout.

“Owen, it’s been long overdue, but this is my wife, Carla.”

“So nice to meet you! My husband tells me you are quite the leader around the office.”

I shook her hand gently.

“I try to fit the title,” I laughed sheepishly.
Damn it. I should have said more.

“You better watch yourself tonight, Carla, he’s a lot better looking than I am, charming all the girls at work and doesn’t know what he’s got going for him.”

I blushed and revealed a suppressed grin.

“Oh stop, he’s turning red for God’s sake. You better watch that mouth of yours, or I might just go home with him!”

We all laughed.
So…awkward…just bite your tongue
.

Carla and Cole looked like a couple that had similar interests. She seemed as if she had drunk too many glasses of wine and Cole probably paid off the guard to sneak in his flask. Her hair was dyed red, and Cole would rather buy a fifth than purchase something to mask the gray.

“Hell would have to freeze over before you left me, but anyway, while we’re here I’d like to introduce you to the chairmen of the other parties. Owen, this is Marc—Chairman of the Republican Party.”

“Marc Fleming, nice to meet you,” he said as he shook my hand with a vice-grip grasp. I returned the strength equally. He had a red tie on, naturally.

“Same to you, Marc, Owen Marina.”

“Owen this is Veronica Hall—Chairwoman of the Democratic Party.”

“Veronica, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“Owen Marina, my pleasure,” I said.

Her hand was as cold as ice. I could feel it transferring through my skin. Her eyes were cat-like and glacier blue. The color of her hair resembled sand when it was wet. The sensation her presence gave me almost made me pull my hand away…but that would have been rude.

“How couldn’t I know who you are?” she quipped. “Bravo, Owen. You’ve managed to blend Hollywood and politics.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“Take it how you see fit. You’re like a celebrity. I can’t walk into a store without seeing your face on some tabloid.”

I paused, thinking of a witty comeback.

“Well, Veronica, maybe I am the first ‘celebrity’ in politics who isn’t just a puppet.”

Her eyes turned into slits, and she pursed her lips in reaction to my statement. She looked at me as if I were an insect…an insect that needed to be squashed. I felt a tension in the air and no one else spoke. Her expression then changed quickly from scornful to a patronizing smile.

“Well then, I guess you are a rare breed in Washington. Am I right?” she asked, glancing at everyone.

Cole, Carla, and Marc all laughed to end the tension. I didn’t laugh, I just smiled and stared back at Veronica. Beneath her ice-blue eyes, I sensed something hostile, like inside there was a pot of boiling water about to spill over. I didn’t like her already…at
all
.

“He’s a rare breed all right, just look at him! I wonder if his parents are as good looking as he is.”

Cole’s rough slap on my shoulder broke my stare with Veronica.

Smile
.
Act like nothing happened
.

“Carla, you’re going to have to tell your husband to stop hitting on me,” I joked. Everyone laughed.

“You wish I was hitting on you, Marina! You’re not my type anyway,” he said, laughing, and grabbed the back of my neck, giving me a good shake.

In my adult life, I’d never met anyone as abrasive and loud as Cole. He just liked roughhousing all of his friends. It probably didn’t help he was constantly buzzed.

“Well Cole, it was nice catching up with you and your wife. Also, pleasure meeting you, Owen,” Marc said and shook my hand.