The iCongressman (17 page)

SPEAKER ALBRIGHT

I watch Michael Bennit sit in a seat along the aisle and
stare at the blue tally board projected above me. He’s remained like that for
the last several minutes, and I find the stoicism he’s displaying admirable.
Most of the lot in this chamber would be trying whatever last minute antics and
tactics they could to save their hides. Instead, he watches impassively,
expressionless, and with a confident placidity that almost makes me envious.
I’d be a nervous wreck.

I turn my attention to Parker who is talking to the clerk
when I witness one of the most politically horrific sights of my career. I
watch in horror as one of my closest political allies signs the back of a red
card and hands it to her. I am confounded. He changed his vote for Bennit. I
check the display next to me to be sure it wasn’t my mind playing tricks on me.
It wasn’t. The muted cacophony of voices in the filled room escalates into a
roar, and I shoot off the dais like The Flash over to where Parker is standing.

Members can change their vote at the voting station during
the first ten minutes of a fifteen-minute vote. After that time, any change
must be done by handing a card to the Tally Clerk on the rostrum. With a minute
and a half left, my own personal Judas did just that.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I demand, as I
storm up beside him in the Well.

“Calm yourself, Johnston,” Parker states as he slips his pen
back inside his suit pocket.

“Calm myself? Calm myself? You just changed your vote! Why?
What deal did you make with Bennit?” I yell, causing everyone in the immediate
area to stop what they’re doing and take notice.

“I didn’t make a deal with him. I tried, but would you
believe it? He turned me down.”

“You expect me to believe that?” I question, glancing back
at the clock to notice there is only a minute left.

“I don’t really care what you believe.”

“So you changed your vote because of what, your conscience?”

“It’s not a concept I would expect you to understand, Mister
Speaker, especially in light of the events that brought us to this moment.” I
need to try a different tactic.

“I am the Speaker of the House,” I softly say to my longtime
colleague to avoid the prying ears of those around us. “You know the favors I
can do for you and your entire caucus. I am a much more powerful ally than
enemy. You know that.”

“‘And I saw, and behold a white horse: and he that sat on
him had a bow; and a crown was given unto him: and he went forth conquering,
and to conquer.’ Revelations, chapter six, verse two. You have gone too far
this time, Johnston. While politics is a hard way for an old Christian preacher
to make a living, I cannot tolerate what you are doing to an honest man. I
might not agree with Bennit politically, but he deserves to be here.”

Damn! Fifteen seconds left.

“Look, Thomas, you don’t understand what kind of pressure
I’m under. As my friend, I need you to help me make this happen. There are
higher powers in play here.”

“There is only one higher power I answer to,” Parker says
pointing with his index finger and looking up. “‘But I will forewarn you whom
ye shall fear: Fear him, which after he hath killed hath power to cast into
hell; yea, I say unto you, Fear him.’”

I watch as the final seconds tick off. In that time, seven
more votes switch out of the “yea” column. Arguing with Thomas Parker is a moot
point now. Time expires, and now that the vote is over, the official
Congressional Record will show the resolution to expel Michael Bennit was
defeated by eight votes.

This news is not going to be received positively by my
political allies. The people I have to deal with do not respond well to
failure, nor accept excuses when it happens. I wasn’t lying when I said
powerful forces had their hand in this, and I’ll be hearing from them soon.

SENATOR VIANO

“How the hell did he pull that off?” I ask Gary, who
took his nose out of his phone to watch the final result of the vote and
resulting uproar on the House floor.

“No idea, but it’s impressive,” he muses in thinly veiled
admiration. He told me earlier that his boss told him this vote was a lock,
despite Michael’s theatrics during the committee hearing.

“It’s not impressive, it’s ridiculous!
And
to trust Reyes to play that little game and not betray him in the process?
Who does that?” I can’t help but think they must be old Army buddies or
something, because that level of trust is unprecedented in this town.

“Again, impressive.”

“Or stupid.”

“No, it only would have been stupid if it didn’t work.”

Gary brings up a fair point. Reyes and Bennit were smart
enough to fool the smartest politicians in the country. The leadership of both
parties was so smug about this vote that they never realized they were set up
to fail by a couple of political novices until the final votes were cast.

Michael is on the Floor, shaking hands with the men and
women who I presume took his side in this fiasco. I can’t hear what is being
said from up here in the House Gallery, but there are some spirited arguments
all over the place between members down below.

“Damn.”

“This throws a small wrench in your plan, I think,” Gary
astutely observes. It does.

I never thought for a second he would survive this vote when
it came up. When I was first told of how they planned on getting rid of Bennit,
I formulated my scheme around that. Of course, I could not have known about
Michael’s counter-surveillance move, nor known that he would use that cowboy
from Texas to embarrass the leadership of both parties on the Floor. He is far
shrewder than I give him credit for.

“I may still be able to control them even with Bennit in the
picture.”

“I doubt it, Senator. You may have picked them, but he is
their leader. They emulate Bennit, and he’s a messiah now. After this Houdini
escape, they’ll be waiting for him to walk on water next.”

If I were religious at all, I might be offended by the
inappropriate Christian references. Unfortunately, he’s probably right. There
is no reason for the icandidates to stop following Michael now.

“Perhaps it’s time to begin reconsidering our allegiances.”
My former chief of staff and longtime trusted advisor eyes me suspiciously.

“You’re playing with fire if you decide to cross …” He cuts
his warning short after realizing there are too many people around to discuss
this in public. He leans and whispers, “I signed on to do this with you because
your patron is a powerful voice in this town. I don’t want to be on the wrong
side of him. You told me the same thing.”

“That was before I realized Bennit may be stronger. Gary,
Michael survived this against all odds. How long do you think he will be down
in the polls up north in Connecticut? With all the social media fuss and the
news coverage of this mess, he’ll probably win that race now in a walk. If even
half the icandidates win their races, it’s a game changer that provides us a
lot of leverage.”

“It’s risky,” is all Gary says, turning back to his phone
which is now blowing up with notifications.

“But it’s an acceptable risk.”

“If you say so,” he concedes, still sounding unconvinced.

I had a favorite professor during my undergraduate studies
who was a survivalist. He would take nature trips to the deepest parts of the
Alaskan woods for a month with nothing more than a tent, sleeping bag, and
hunting rifle. He had one piece of advice for all his students I never forgot—no
matter how good
your
first is, always have a Plan B.

When I ventured into politics, I often had multiple
instances of Plan B lined up in case things went haywire. My benefactor, the
man who helped me win my Senate seat, takes it several steps further. He goes
deep into the alphabet, often referring to changes in direction as “Plan G.” I
was convinced my original plan would work because the very thought of Michael
Bennit surviving the joint effort to expel him was simply laughable. For that
reason, I never spent a lot of time developing a contingency. One is forming
now, though, and I need my former chief of staff on board to pull it off.

“Gary, if two independents can cause this many problems, can
you imagine what will happen when a group of them comes to town to face off
with the Washington establishment?”

“Yeah, like the Dark Knight says, ‘
We
find out what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object.’”

“Precisely.
Let’s make that
happen.”

CHELSEA

“Dad, this is a pretty expensive
place,” I observe, admiring the atmosphere after our waiter delivers the
appetizers.

“Nothing but the best for my little girl.
When was the last time we had a father–daughter night out?” he asks, knowing
full well it’s been a while. “I know you’ve been really busy and stressed and
wanted to treat you to someplace nice.”

My father is one of the most frugal men in America. He has
an old school work ethic and belief in saving your money that Americans, caught
in the frenzy of materialism that defines today’s society, have long forgotten.
He is a man who saves money by bringing his lunch to the factory everyday
instead of eating in the cafeteria. A trip to the local Taco Bell would be an
expensive night out for him on any other occasion.

“Excuse me, are you Chelsea Stanton by any chance?” a
slender woman in her mid-thirties says when she approaches the table.

“Yes, I am,” I respond, to the amusement to my father.

“I’m so sorry to interrupt your dinner. I just wanted to say
I see you on television and watched you during your first campaign. You are
such an inspiration.”

“Thank you, that’s very kind.”

“Good luck to you and Michael Bennit next month,” she wishes
before departing.

“It’s beginning to feel like old times again,” Dad observes
once she is out of earshot, referring to our experiences in the first campaign
run.

“After being invisible for over a year, I’ll take it.”

Not that we have had any problems with that since what we
have come to call “the flip.” That day in front of the Ethics Committee changed
our fortunes, and the failed attempt to expel the congressman turned it into a
circus. Social media has turned out to be the driving force that propelled us
to Capitol Hill and the anchor that managed to keep us there.

Over the summer, we were losing handily to both candidates
from the parties. Now, barring another October surprise like the last one, we
should have no problem getting reelected. I understand why the congressman
wants more though.

“I know you had a tough year, Snuggle Bear. Do you regret
your decision skip college?”
Uh-oh.
I already know
where this conversation is going. I’m one parental lecture away from feeling
like I’m in high school again. No wonder Peyton, Emilee, and the others never
visit home.

“I know I disappointed you when I didn’t go to Yale, but
it’s not like I don’t ever plan on attending.”

“I didn’t realize
ya
were.
When?”

“Dad …”

“I’m just asking. I know you’re really busy down there. How
do you plan on fitting college into your schedule?” he asks sincerely.

Busy is an understatement. Running one campaign as an
eighteen-year-old was daunting. Helping run a hundred of them at twenty is
ridiculous, especially since the congressman and Viano decided to target the
most influential, senior, and well-financed members of the House. It is having
a dramatic effect though.

Speaker Albright is fighting for his political life in his
own district against a rather tenacious and aggressive icandidate there. It is
much of the same over the other ninety-nine districts we are fielding virtual
campaigns in. We are giving them as much expert guidance and social media
advice we can. With three weeks to go it will only get busier.

“I don’t know. I’ll think about it after the election.”

“Then you’ll have the start of the next Congress, then some
scandal or major issue to work, and before you know it you’ll be campaigning
again.” Maybe not, but I’m not ready to tell him that yet.

“What’s your point?” I ask a little too sharply. Terse
replies like that caused us a lot of tension during my senior year.

“My point
is
,” my
father replies with a warning glance, “that it’s easy to get caught up with the
reasons to forego school.”

“I know.” I’ll say anything to end this conversation. I’m
sure he senses it, too.

“Snuggle
Bear,
I will always
support you in whatever decision you make.
Ya
know
that. But you also have to know that Bennit will not be a politician forever,
and you won’t always be his chief of staff. I just don’t want
ya
to end up unemployed with no degree and no job. I don’t
want
ya
ending up working in a factory like I did.”

His words break my heart. He is the hardest working man I
have ever met. After Mom died, he dedicated his life to ensuring I wanted for
nothing growing up. I don’t want to hear him talk about himself like that.

“Dad,” I say, reaching across the table to take his hand, a
lone tear rolling down my cheek. “I’m not going to blow college off, but I had
to do this first. I’ll make you proud of me. I promise.”

“You already have, Snuggle Bear.”

MICHAEL

“You were the first guy to crash
through the political wall, so you were bound to get bloody,” one of the ladies
says on my right.

“I agree. You are
a true pioneer like Henry Ford or the Wright Brothers, or even baseball general
manager Billy
Beane
, to use a more modern example.
You redefined how the public elects their representatives in the first campaign
and are taking on the extremes of our two political parties in an effort to
change Washington now. You should be commended on that.”

“Ladies and
gentlemen, Michael Bennit,” one of the hosts says as the audience’s applause
reaches a crescendo.

“Thank you,” I
say to the crowd, “and thank you all for having me.” As the cameras roll prior
to commercial break, I shake the hands of my hosts. This is a new experience
for me. As the iCandidate, I shunned anything resembling mainstream programming
and focused everything on social media. Now I am finishing my banter with the
ladies of
The View
.

This is a
different election, though. When I ran two years ago, the idea of being an
icandidate was unique. Running the campaign using nothing but social media
created enough buzz and headlines without much effort. With one hundred two
icandidates all vying for attention in the social media sphere, it’s a little
harder to generate that level of interest.

Vince urged me to make a run on the talk show circuit to
dial up the visibility for the rest of the icandidates. After focusing so long
on using Google Plus, Facebook, Twitter, and
Instagram
to reach voters, dealing with television programming is a departure from the
norm.

Of course, we didn’t stop there. The video of me doing the
top ten on
The Late Show
went viral
almost overnight and cracking jokes on
The
Colbert Report
is all over Facebook. People share everything these days.
The only question is
,
will all this be enough to sway
people’s opinions on Election Day? We almost won without talking about a single
issue, so I suppose anything is possible.

“You were great!” Kylie exclaims, giving me a big hug and
kiss when I emerge from the dressing room.

“Thanks, hon. I feel like I oversold it too much.”

“No, it was perfect. It’s still a little strange seeing you
on television though.”

I’ve never been comfortable in front of a camera. One of the
benefits of running as the iCandidate is not having had to. Now, even with the
iCongressman moniker, I know that avoiding them is impossible.

“I’m sure my Twitter feed will let me know if you’re telling
the truth or lying to me once this episode airs.”

“Hungry?”

“Starving,” she says as we exit ABC Studios. “Let’s go to
that little place in the Village we like.”

“You got it!” The studio is on Sixty-Sixth Street on
Manhattan’s west side, so we need to catch a cab to travel the nearly fifty
blocks to Kylie’s old stomping grounds. I move around the oversized UPS truck
parked on the curb and extend my arm.

“Look out!” Kylie shouts as she yanks my other arm
violently, pulling me off balance and into her in the process. A yellow cab
goes screaming by, missing me by mere inches. I am definitely losing my Special
Forces reflexes.

“Well, that almost sucked,” I say, catching my breath. “He
came out of nowhere.”

“That’s a lousy way to get assassinated,” Kylie says,
peeking around the truck and peering down the street before trying to hail
another cab.

“What do you mean?”

“Call me crazy, but it looked like he tried to swerve into
you.”

“Okay, yeah, you’re crazy. Do you really think someone is trying
to bump me off on a busy Manhattan street on the off chance I need a cab
leaving a studio?”

“Okay, probably not,” she says dismissively as a taxi pulls
up next to us. Something in her voice tells me she is far from convinced.