Curse of the Afflicted

by David Chill

  "Welcome!" came the familiar deep baritone, and we turned toward the vice president, dressed in a red golf shirt and khakis. Even without his business suit, the vice president maintained a regal presence. Our conversation with Iris, shining a light on his modest background, gave an odd insight into what had to be a dichotomous, complex man.

  "Mr. Vice President!" Blair crowed. "It's a pleasure to be here. I only wish I knew this was casual day."

  "Ha," he said, smiling a big, white smile. "I've just gotten through nine holes with the majority whip. Would have showered but I didn't want to keep you fellows waiting. I imagine you're busy people, too."

  "Kind of you," Blair said. "You know my partner, Ned Baker?"

  "By reputation of course, and we spoke yesterday," he said, and shook my hand warmly, a politician's handshake, big, soft, warm and comfortable.

  "Good to finally meet you, sir," I managed.

  "Likewise. Sit, sit."

  The vice president rambled on for a few minutes about his golf game, showing off his gift for filling time with words that sounded important but were really not. We were soon joined by two more people, the vice president's handsome chief of staff, and Amber, his fetching wife. The chief of staff was Randy Greece, nicknamed "Handy Randy" for his ability to grease the wheels and get things done. He was in his early forties, smooth skinned, glistening smile, curly blond hair, and movie-star looks. Greece looked like he could be a politician himself.

  "I'm so glad you could stop by on such short notice," Randy said. "Maybe you can familiarize us with your backgrounds."

  "No problem, we just happened to be in the neighborhood," Blair smiled, launching into the nickel tour of our company. Blair began with my background in polling and research and focus group moderating, moving on and giving more alacrity to his own background as a well-seasoned strategist, who was already acquainted with everyone in Washington. Blair didn't notice the condescending smiles around the room, but I did.

  "I understand you have some history with the president," Amber said.

  "You mean apart from the fact that he hates my guts?" Blair protested. "Yeah, I almost derailed his political career in Phoenix. He beat my guy fifty-one to forty-nine. I almost changed the course of American history. But it's water under the bridge. We're great pals now."

  The vice president threw back his head in laughter, freeing everyone in the library to laugh as well. They knew what the president thought of Blair, and they knew how frivolous his comment was. In the business world, getting a forty-nine percent market share often meant you were wildly successful, often the dominant player, the market leader. But in the world of political campaigns, forty-nine percent was no different than zero. It just signified you failed to win, you came up short and you were out of the game. Forty-nine percent meant you were a loser and losing is not something to boast about.

  "All right," Sudeau said, his smile fading. "The fact that the president hasn't been your biggest fan, well, that may work out okay. We're trying to distance ourselves from him. But I think you know why we asked you here. We've cut our ties with Frank Phelan as well as some other staff. I'm looking for something new. Not just someone to do polling, but to do strategy. Fresh start."

  "Any problems with Phelan?" I asked.

  "Yeah, his polls showed me losing. That's a big problem."

  There was more laughter, but not on the part of the vice president. Sudeau looked at his chief of staff and motioned for him to talk.

  "There were also some problems with the Phelan's methodology," Randy Greece said. "He was trying to build a model that included both telephone and online surveys, and no one could understand what he was doing. Plus, his voter turnout projections looked funny."

  I nodded slowly. "Forecasting voter turnout is critical, especially among different age groups and ethnicities. And a simple thing like over-estimating turnout in Cleveland or Philadelphia can throw an entire poll off. Difference between winning and losing."

  "Spot on," Sudeau said. "We don't want to get blindsided. Like what transpired with Trump."

  "That was only partly turnout. The pollsters actually nailed the national numbers in that one, they had Hillary up by a couple of points, they got that part right. Things went haywire on a state level. Some events you can't forecast so easily."

  "That can't happen here," he said definitively. "And I'm obviously not thrilled with how well this campaign is going, that's no secret. I never dreamed Grady Sanderson would ever be the frontrunner in this race. Guy's a governor from Montana, for goodness' sake. But his brand of liberal populism is catching fire. We need to douse it in a hurry."

  "Hasn't Phelan done some oppo research on Sanderson?" Blair asked. "Everyone's got skeletons hidden someplace. I've heard rumors he's got a pair of illegitimate kids running around."

  "You think there's anything to that?" Greece asked.

  "Once it's out there, it doesn't really matter if it's true, does it?" Blair countered.

  "I swear," the vice president shook his head. "That Phelan. He said the first goal was to do oppo research on me. I told him to forget about it."

  I didn't follow up, although I noticed the vice president's wife begin to squirm at the discussion of opposition research. Phelan's suggestion of doing oppo research on his own candidate was right on the money. Before a politician unearths dirt on his adversaries, his first step is to go back and see if there's any nasty tidbits lingering around on him. Mud that someone else could throw, so the candidate would be prepared with a response. It's not something any candidate likes, but it's a step every candidate has to take. The last thing you ever want is to be caught unprepared. Especially if there's something in the candidate's shaky past that can emerge from the shadows. And in a presidential campaign, it almost always will.

  "We'll uncover some stuff on Sanderson," Blair assured him and offered a wink.

  "Good, good," Sudeau smiled approvingly. "Look, I've had my eye on you guys for a while. I was impressed with how you helped Justin Woo get a landslide win last year. I'm just surprised you're still available, no one's snatched you up."

  "We've been sitting and waiting for your call," Blair said, with the most innocent of expressions.

  "Ha!" Sudeau laughed. "I'll bet. Randy, why don't you take them through where we are on the campaign."

  Greece began to go over a litany of policy issues the vice president had voiced, everything from when to deploy troops to how best to divvy up the federal budget. It was policy wonk stuff, the vice president and then his wife chiming in with their need to better understand what it was the voters were looking for in a president. Greece said they wanted us to take the nation's pulse, and if the vice president wasn't in sync, then, well, the vice president needed to know what he'd need to change about his image. They wanted to start by doing some focus groups.

  "That's a great idea," Blair said, suddenly deviating from our script. "We'd be happy to do that for you."

  "Can I ask you a question, Mr. Vice President?" I broke in, noticing Blair give me a sideways glance, an unspoken admonishment to be careful about what I said.

  "Shoot."

  "Why do you want to be president?"

  "Have you listened to the other ten guys who are running?" he asked.

  "Of course."

  "Then you know," he smiled.

  I really didn't know. "Is that because you think they're unelectable?"

  "No," he said. "It's because I think they're a pack of idiots. And yes, I like to win. The first duty of any politician is simple. It's to get elected."

  "All right," I said, trying to process all of this. "Let me run an idea past you. We think you need to differentiate yourself from the president. You're not him. You need to get out from under his shadow."

  Sudeau gave me an odd look. "Go on. I'd like to hear what you have to say. And I respect you for asking me why I want to be president. Shows guts. And I didn't mean to be flip. But I really believe I'm far more qualified, and I can be far more effective than
anyone else. I truly believe that."

  I took a breath. "All right. But you can't be the candidate of inevitability. You can't be the one who becomes president just because you're next in line. You have to offer something different. And in this climate, you've got to be the agent of change. People get tired of presidents after two terms and they want something different. Sometimes they want the polar opposite. The president had a privileged background. You didn't. He grew up rich. You grew up poor. He was given everything. You had enormous obstacles to overcome. You're the candidate of the people because you're one of them. But the people don't know that. You need to tell them. You need to connect with them emotionally."

  "Well, now you have my attention," he said. "How do you know all this?"

  I smiled. "Research. You need to present yourself differently. People think you're part of the aristocracy here. That's gotten you to a high level. But that's not a good thing because the everyday Joe won't believe he can relate to you. They're not familiar with who the real Richard Sudeau is. And now is when it matters most. Every single thing you say and do going forward will be part of changing voter impressions."

  The vice president nodded. "And how do we do that?"

  "We test different personas. We can start by doing some focus groups. We present two candidates, the elite person you've tried to present yourself as, and the regular guy you really are. We don't identify you, just Candidates A and B. We start by seeing how they react to that. Once we get buy-in from voters, we can test this through a survey. Get some hard data. Forget the polling for now. We need to launch a campaign to show people the new you. Then we can get into the field and do polls. The real changes will show up there."

  The vice president bobbed his head enthusiastically. "I like that. Yeah, I like that idea a lot."

  "Wait a minute," his wife started. "This is a whole new direction. Why would people buy into this? They've known him for so long as this august figure in American politics. How can you just pivot and now present him as plain old Rich, the poor boy who made good? Who would believe that?"

  I took a breath. This was a surprise. I had expected pushback from the vice president, not his wife. Convincing a candidate had its challenges; convincing the spouse was something else entirely. No one is closer to the candidate than their partner, no one else can have the intimate conversations, no one else would ever be accused of having ulterior motives or hidden agendas. This was the very delicate dance. And Amber Sudeau was as distinguished a political spouse as they came. She had been a congresswoman herself years ago, had even held a cabinet post under a previous administration. Secretary of the Interior. The Sudeaus were the ultimate power couple in Washington. And as uncomfortable as I was with Blair at times, he knew when to step in. Like siblings who would castigate each other mercilessly in private, they came together as a unified force in public.

  "Mrs. Sudeau," he said.

  "Call me Amber."

  "Amber," Blair said. "We're here for a reason. What Rich's been doing isn't working. It's why you've been through numerous campaign consultants in the past year. Multiple pollsters. Frank Phelan is a good man. So were the others. But they've been using standard techniques. When something isn't working, you have to abandon it. In this case, we need to rebrand the vice president."

  "Rebrand?" she scoffed. "You make Rich sound like he's nothing more than a pair of sneakers."

  I looked at Blair. It was tough to tell someone, especially someone savvy in the ways of political marketing that their spouse was little more than a product, an image that was malleable in the eyes of consumers. But voters perceived them in much the same way, almost like a favorite football team, something to root for. And when they cast their vote, it was not unlike choosing what restaurant to eat at, or what cereal to buy at the supermarket.

  "You know," Blair said casually, "people used to think of McDonald's as just cheap fast food, but when they introduced salads and cappuccinos to the menu, they changed consumer perceptions. And Mountain Dew was once a regional soda. Then they did a new ad campaign, promoted it as cool for kids, and sales took off. People looked at the brand differently. Yes, a candidate for president is much more than just a snack food. But the images a candidate projects can be molded and shaped in the same way."

  "And we need to change his image," I added. "Fast."

  "We really do," Blair said. "That's why we're here. People need to know the real Rich. They value authenticity. And it's like that old show biz saying. Once you can master authenticity, you've got it made."

  There was an audible silence, a gathering of thoughts. I wondered how much of Blair's last statement was resonating. Faking authenticity. This was classic Blair, over-the-top rhetoric. But we were playing on a different stage now. My gnawing fear was that the vice president would thank and dismiss us. In fact, he did not.

  "I think it might work," the vice president said absently, looking down at the carpet. "I should be leading in the polls, but instead I'm sliding into fourth place. Fortunately, no one else has broken out of the pack. Look, I've never come clean with the voters about my upbringing. Maybe I should. And I've got nothing to lose. If we don't nail the nomination this year, there won't be a next time. This is it."

  "I think you're absolutely right. You need to mix things up," Blair said, sensing an opening. "We can do it for you. It'll cost you some bucks, but it's worth it."

  "Hold on," Greece frowned. "Money is an issue right now."

  "Maybe so," said the vice president. "But the only times I've failed in politics is when I've gone cheap. Sometimes you just have to bite the bullet if you're going to win."

  "I agree wholeheartedly," Blair crowed. "It's not easy and it's not inexpensive. But we can get the job done for you."

  "What does not inexpensive translate to?" Amber asked. "Rich just started another fundraising push, in fact, he has a big one in L.A. in a few days. If he gets the nomination, we're looking at a billion-dollar campaign. We weren't counting on starting full-blown media spend just yet."

  "With all due respect Mrs. ... I mean, Amber," Blair said. "If you don't start right now, you may not get another chance. And the beauty of starting an ad blitz now is it can scare others out of the race. Shock and awe. Keeps the field level. If you have ten people running, it's hard to get your message across. Too much clutter. Start now and you can shoot off to a big lead and get established as the frontrunner. Wait a while, and, well, you know ... "

  Randy Greece spoke. "He has a point. No time like the present to take action."

  Blair smiled, his enthusiasm growing. "Hit the airwaves hard. We believe in being aggressive."

  I sat back and was reminded of something. When I was growing up, my mother had a saying, that if you worked hard, you should get a little something for yourself. It was a modest way of saying you earned something and you deserve something. But it also implied you shouldn't take too much. A little something for yourself meant just that. But I also knew that Blair's words spoke larger themes, the idea that a media campaign to change an image would be required for the vice president to ascend to the presidency. It would also mean a handsome commission for our firm, as Blair carefully omitted. But as he said it, the words of my father entered my mind as well, a signpost perhaps, a balancing of two visions of life. Whereas my mother's words were an encouragement that you could advance yourself, my father's were more of a warning. He only said this a few times, but the implications obviously stayed with me, and this tended to come into my thoughts when Blair was speaking. It was a backwoods saying, a vision to be heeded, a cautionary note that was fairly simple. Pigs get fed and hogs get slaughtered.

  "I understand your concern, Amber. But I like what I'm hearing," Sudeau said. "We need a new direction. And a way to separate from the president. I think we need to explore this."

  Amber Sudeau looked a little disgusted. "It's your campaign, Rich. You're the decider."

  Sudeau nodded. "All right. Let's do this. I'd like to put your idea in front of some civ
ilians. Can you arrange for some focus groups tonight?"

  Blair looked over at me, his eyes casting the pleading look of a person who wants something badly, but can't use words to communicate. I knew Blair wanted me to say yes, we can do anything, including renting out a facility in a matter of hours, grabbing a group of twenty likely voters off the street indiscriminately, and whip up intelligent questions to ask them. With the stakes being the presidency of the United States, the leader of the free world, the most important elected position on the face of the earth.

  "Tonight," I started, "wouldn't be a good idea at all. Too many things would have to come together perfectly, and you deserve better. We can move quickly, but we want to move intelligently. Give us a few days. A week would be better."

  "Why?"

  "We need to recruit the right people for a focus group. Registered Democrats, people who vote regularly in the primaries, consumers who are articulate, within a certain target age range. Men, women, certain income and education levels. All of that requires some thoughtful decisions."

  "I'm not a patient man, Mr. Baker," the vice president said, the timbre of his voice deepening, as if to let everyone in the room know who was in charge. "I just want to hear from some regular folks on this."

  "We want you to get accurate information, sir. You deserve it. The country deserves it."

  "You know," Randy Greece said, looking up at the ceiling, "Thursday would actually work. In two days you'll be in L.A. for the fundraiser at the Peninsula. Timing's perfect."

  I blinked a few times and felt my body stiffen. Another idea that needed tempering.

  "The vice president should not be attending focus groups in person," I said, imagining an incredible scene of Secret Service agents tromping through a focus group lobby and participants getting exposed to a full-blown spectacle. "We'll set something up so that the groups are streamed and recorded. He can watch the groups live on a phone or iPad. Or the next night, or whenever. It's better for everyone. It's also better if you don't do the groups in L.A."