The iCandidate (27 page)

MICHAEL

“It’s Election D
ay in America and people from across the country are heading to the polls in this pivotal mid-term election. There are a lot of tight races this year, and while the balance of power in Congress is at stake, all eyes are riveted on the Connecticut Sixth District.”

Video footage rolls
of me at my polling place. As usual, I didn’t make any statements, but I guess seeing me out in public is enough for the media in this race. The highlight reel then shifts to the polling station where Winston casts his ballot.

“
Both Michael Bennit and Winston Beaumont have been to the polls to cast their vote this morning, and now the people are lining up to do the same in towns and cities across the district.”

Compared to the orgasm the media had after the Blake Peoni impromptu tell-all last night, no coverage is going to seem interesting to me until after the polls close.
Bored, I change the channel to see what other stations are covering. Fox News has a roundtable discussion of sorts on, and the subject matter is, not surprisingly, about the Connecticut Sixth. I flip over to CNN where an anchor narrates more video footage of towns in the district.

“
It has been a rollercoaster week following the debate and the apparently fabricated allegations about an affair between Michael Bennit and his teenage student campaign manager. But the dramatic turn of events following the admission from a Beaumont staff member of making the incident up makes this the race to watch tonight. Winston Beaumont and Michael Bennit are in a statistical tie according to Real Clear Politics, with Republican Richard Johnson a distant third.“

Police direct traffic
and erect barriers to control pedestrian traffic on a city street outside one of our more urban voting districts. From the looks of it, the scene is probably somewhere in neighboring Waterbury.

“
A record turnout is expected, and no one can predict the outcome of this race. What we do know is it will be a very interesting evening once the polls close here at 8 p.m.”

I change the channel again, much to the chagrin of the pretty brunette curled up in
an overstuffed chair to my left.

“It’s two o’clock.
Are you going to sit and watch TV all day?” Kylie asks.

“Coming from the girl comfortably ensconced
in my favorite chair? I’m still suspended, remember? What’s your excuse? Is this how you always do deep background reporting?”

“Only with the cute candidates.
Why, are you afraid CNN will report that I’m lounging in your favorite chair?”

“They probably would. Nothing stopped them from making the end of my engagement public knowledge.” And that’s true. I must have watched the video of Jessica storming out a few dozen time on Fox News.

“Would you rather have me sitting on Winston Beaumont’s couch instead?” Kylie asks, sporting a look of disgust.

“
Why not? Beaumont doesn’t do it for you?”

“
Okay, now you’re just making me nauseous.”

We share a laugh, because I know what she means. Winston has been stuffing himself with prime rib for years, and wouldn’t recognize a treadmill if I installed one in his living room.
I can imagine that even in his younger years, a century or two ago, he’s not someone you’d expect to see popping out of an Abercrombie and Fitch catalogue. More likely he’d be confused for wildlife in
Field and Stream
or
National Geographic.

I sit up a
little straighter on the couch, realizing this subject must be broached eventually. Procrastinating all morning, I realize it’s getting too late in the day to delay any longer.

“Kylie, I have one more favor I need you to do for me, regardless of what happens tonight.”

“No, I’m not writing it.” Either the girl is psychic or has been waiting for me to bring this up for as long as I have been putting off asking.

“You have to.”

“If you win, and I write that, it will destroy any chance you have to be reelected, or even make a difference while you’re there.”

“
Maybe, if I win. But if you don’t write it, this was all for nothing.”

“You are calling
being a member of the U.S. House of Representatives nothing?”

She’s right. I am a history teacher, so I know exactly what she means. As a soldier,
defending the people of this nation is a powerful motivator. But there is no higher honor than being elected by a group of citizens to represent their voice in government. Maybe I’m an idealist. I know Winston Beaumont thinks so, but that’s how I feel.

“No,
you’re right, but I also told you it has never been the point. Promise me.”

Kylie nods, but I can tell she wants nothing to do with writing this article
. “They’ll get it on their own,” she states, not sounding like she really believes it.

“Not in light of the scandals and post-election jockeying for power.” I lean forward, my eyes pleading with her. “
You are close to this campaign. If it comes from anyone else, it’ll be dismissed as partisan reporting. I need you to do this. It has to be you. Promise me.”

“You’re asking a lot.”

“And you have already given more to this campaign than I could ever ask, but I’m doing it anyway,” I say, pleading with her with my eyes. “Promise me.”

“Okay.”

I smile. “Say it.”

“Fine, I promise.”

CHELSEA

On Election Day, 8
p.m. is when the magic begins to happen in Connecticut. Polls close and the laborious task of counting and certifying results starts. For this first time in months, there is nothing more that can be done. The tweets, Facebook posts, and emails are all for fun now, or to thank the many volunteers who took up our cause across the district.

We probably have the money to host a fancy shindig at a ballroom or meeting place, but the Perkfect Buzz was where
this ride started, and thus we decided that’s where it would end. Laura agreed to close the place down tonight for the occasion, and even found someone to cater the event.

Despite this being our operations center since the beginning, except for the ever-present media, the shop never betrayed that fact until tonight.
The exterior is now adorned with red, white and blue bunting and a large sign that reads ‘Bennit Campaign Headquarters.’

Outside
the locked doors, it’s bedlam. Red and blue flashing lights pierce the dimly lit street as police try to control traffic moving past. As has been the status quo for months now, there are news vans everywhere, and several reporters are filing live reports under the glare of lights. It may be a national mid-term election, but the epicenter of interest is the little town of Millfield.

Crowds of locals are gathering across the street and in the center of town
, not far away, in a show of solidarity and support. It’s as if people sense history is being made tonight and everybody wants to be a part of it. If they can’t be with us when the results come in, they want to be celebrating at close proximity.

Everyone in the
Buzz is there by invitation only, a group comprised mostly of students and volunteers willing to make the trip from across the district on the big night. Many of them are posing for pictures with Michael, who despite maintaining a near exclusive social media presence, has spent the last couple of hours working the room and thanking the dozens of people now filling the quaint coffee shop to capacity.

The sounds of
idle chatter fills the space, but everyone is keeping an eye focused on the large flat screen television now tuned to one of the network news stations. Leading up until the hour the polls closed in many East Coast states, much of the discussion centered on Mister Bennit and the race against Beaumont. Now, as results pour in and other races are determined, we are only mentioned every few minutes or so.

I am standing
in the back of the shop with my father when Mister Bennit finally works his way over to us. He shakes my father’s hand and gives him a respectful nod.

“
Whatever happens tonight, Chels, I am extremely proud of you.”

“
Be proud when we win, Mister B,” I state with excitement and determination.

“
Whatever happened to that shy girl who used to sit in my classroom and study after school?”

“
Some former Green Beret teacher she had in school brought her out of her shell and taught her to kick ass.”

My
dad gives him a nod in respect. The Army and Marines may have their rivalry, but there is nothing except mutual respect between the two most important figures in my life.

Amanda, Emilee
, and Vince try to shush people from the other side of the room. Brian turns the volume up on the television. Updates on races from across the country as graphics scroll along the bottom, but the split screen shows the anchor and a graphic of the CT-6 District.

“The race everyone in America is watching tonight is in Connecticut, where eight-term incumbent Democrat Winston Beaumont is in the fight of his life with Independent
Michael Bennit,” the anchor says, the excitement noticeable in his otherwise professional voice.

“Enough with the preamble give us the numbers!” a voice from behind me calls out before being hushed.

“This contest has seen its share of accusations, counter-accusations, and wild point swings, with both candidates having double-digit leads at some point during the last month. Going into yesterday, it looked like Winston Beaumont was a lock for a ninth term with such a large lead.”

A chorus of sharp boos sound out around me, mostly from the many students here who helped with the campaign. Countless volunteers fled the campaign during our darkest days
, a group Mister B came to call ‘sunshine patriots.’ Many others stuck with us, and we jammed as many of them into the Perkfect Buzz tonight as the fire marshal would allow.

“However, Blake
Peoni’s admission of fabricating the allegation of a sexual relationship between Michael Bennit and student campaign manager Chelsea Stanton has tilted the momentum back towards the iCandidate. The only thing we need to learn now is, was it enough?”

“C’mon, get on with it. Geez!” Vince shouts in frustration.

“We will have to wait until a little later to find out. With fifty-six percent of the precincts reporting, the race between Democratic incumbent Winston Beaumont and Independent candidate Michael Bennit is a dead heat and remains too close to call,” the anchorman dramatically announces.

“
The last count had Bennit down over a hundred votes, but he’s gained ground, now only thirty-seven votes separating the two. What we do know is Richard Johnson is a non-factor at this point, with only eight percent of the vote.”

A huge cheer goes up from the crowd at The Perkfect Buzz.
Apparently, everyone is excited to only be down by a couple of handfuls of votes. I, on the other hand, am angry. We shouldn’t be losing at all. The story about the affair was a fraud perpetrated by the weak and the scared, yet it looks like not everyone in the district got the message.

My father must have read
my mind, because he puts his arm around me. “It’ll be okay, Snuggle Bear,” he mouths to me with a wink. Maybe, but right now I’m not so sure.

BLAKE

“You have some nerve to show up here!” Deena screeches, her little arms flailing around her
as I walk in the door to Winston Beaumont’s campaign headquarters.

Does the Ice Queen think I want to be here, especially on election night?
As Roger eloquently pointed out, I’m still getting paid by the congressman, and thus will report to my appointed place of duty. Hindsight being 20/20, I should have quit before I decided to bear my soul to the press.

“I was told to be here, Deena. Now make yourself useful and let Roger know,” I tell her as rudely as I can manage.

“Wait here,” she says, spinning off to the small office where my future was forged less than a week ago. She mumbles something under her breath as she walks away. It doesn’t matter what, but I’m positive it wasn’t complimentary.

I wait in the war room, in full view of the hateful eyes of every volunteer
who toiled on the phones all day to get out the vote. The polls are closed now, so nothing more to do than converse, await the results of their efforts, and talk about me in quiet whispers. This sucks.

Deena opens the office door and the sound of yet another patented Winston Beaumont tirade spills out.

“This is a disaster!”

“You are still ahead sir,” Roger consoles.

“
By a hundred votes! I had an eighty percent approval rating six months ago!”

“Maybe we underestimated Benni
t and his staff,” I hear Madison say from the office. Not surprisingly, she got promoted to be the new me.

“
It was your job to get me reelected! And yours Roger! And here I am barely beating some nobody and a bunch of kids.”

Winston walks out
of the office, sees me and scowls. He turns and whispers something to Roger before putting on a fake smile and working the room. He plies the mindless zombies here with false gratitude, telling them he couldn’t have done it without them. I have learned Winston Beaumont III is not the type of man who sincerely acknowledges the contribution of people he considers beneath him.

Roger walks over to me, the Ice Queen in tow. Madison remains in the entrance of the small office with a look of pure satisfaction on her face. Win or lose, I am going to be metaphorically tortured tonight
, and she will enjoy every minute of it.

“Blake,” Roger says, not bothering to offer his hand. He doesn’t shake with the disloyal.

“Roger,” I respond, in the same tone. I don’t shake with the dishonest. Well, now I don’t.

“Go find a seat
out of everyone’s way. You may be here a while.”

Surveying the alternatives, I choose to
sit in a molded plastic chair along the wall of small offices. Why am I putting myself through this? I could leave, and Lord knows I should. Just tell Beaumont where he can stick his crotchety attitude and walk out the door with my head high, but my feet don’t move.

I need to have it out with my former mentor, the man who I worshipped for so long.
I was brainwashed into thinking the political games he played were for the greater good. Enemies were nothing more than mere obstacles that needed to be circumvented, or in extreme cases, destroyed. The ends justified the means, and when those means meant destroying lives, it was dismissed as collateral damage. That is the Beaumont way, and until a couple of days ago, my way.

Manson, Koresh, Jones
, and Beaumont. They are all different men, but each possesses the uncanny ability to get the people around them to follow blindly their chosen course. And follow I did, up until the point I just couldn’t anymore.

I look down at the ‘Hell on Wheels’ pin stuck to
the lapel of my coat. I wonder what my dad would think of me now. Would he applaud my decision to try to right a wrong, or scold me for my lack of loyalty? Seeing me through his eyes, am I courageous or foolish for what I’ve done? Would he think I went crazy over a beautiful teenage girl or understand there was so much more to the decision? I like to think I have the answers to those questions, but he’s gone, so I’ll never know for sure.

What I do know is I chose this path
, and now the world looks different. I regard the people in this room I once considered allies in the cause as unwitting stooges. So, I will sit here and pay the penance for my sins under the disdainful glares of those still enchanted by Beaumont’s spell. I will endure the snickers from Madison and the pettiness of Deena, just so I can get my last shot in at Winston Beaumont III.