The Goode Governor

by J J Arias

  “Am I interrupting something?” Mila asked, her eyes darting between the girl sitting on the floor and the blushing guy at the door.

  “Just a little Scrabble,” he replied with a cracking voice.

  “Wanna play?” Jetsam, devoid of her usual perma-sneer, asked in a rather chipper tone.

  “Oh what the hell,” she said while simultaneously making up her mind. Taking the spot next to Tim, Mila cracked her fingers and engaged her competitive spirit. She hadn’t lost at a board game since she was thirteen.

  Three hours later, there was a light film of perspiration on Mila’s brow and a soreness in her jaw from clenching.

  “That’s game,” Tim said as he laid down his last five tiles for a triple-word.

  Mila glared at him with pure, unadulterated disdain. Jetsam yawned and stretched as she stood.

  “Wait!” Mila cried. “Where are you going? I want a re-match.”

  Tim chuckled. “I think beating you four times in a row is about all my heart can take.”

  Mila narrowed her eyes. She didn’t like being reminded of her abject failure. Playing against her parents hadn’t prepared her for Tim the Human Dictionary.

  Through the fog of irritation, Mila noticed that Jetsam was lingering despite being openly tired and ready for bed. Oh, she thought, putting aside her desire to continue playing until she’d redeemed herself.

  “Alright, well,” she started as she got to her feet. “Next time I’ll be ready for you,” she warned as she headed for the door, saying nothing about Jetsam remaining behind.

  * * *

  “Our numbers are up,” Josephine announced as she slipped into the library and walked over to the sofa in the middle of the room where George was sitting.

  As George glanced up, she pulled off her reading glasses and set her tablet down on her lap. “Even after Blankenship endorsed that fetus?” she quipped sarcastically.

  Josephine chuckled as she dropped a stack of papers on the coffee table and sank into the sofa next to George. “He’s not too much younger than you were when you started running for the big office.”

  “He’s a little weasel is what he is,” she countered.

  “A little weasel who is polling pretty well and has the full support of his party. There wasn’t even a primary challenger,” Jo said, dumping a steaming pile of truth in her pristine sanctuary.

  “I know,” she admitted with scant enthusiasm.

  “At least no reputable outfit is pursuing the Mila and Nathan thing anymore,” she offered with a more upbeat disposition.

  “That hasn’t stopped the conspiracy theorists and paid shills from bringing it up in innuendo every time they see a chance,” George countered.

  Josephine shrugged. “They’ll use whatever they can to take the focus off the real issues. That’s why I’m thinking you need a big pet project. Something you can really get behind for the next legislative session.”

  “January isn’t a long way away,” she replied, pressing her fingertips over her tired eyes. They stung even more when they were closed than when they were open. Between her body discomfort and stress, sleep hadn’t been coming easily and the wear and tear on her body was growing exponentially. “We don’t have anything far enough along in the works.”

  “It’s a worth a try. As the incumbent, you have the upper hand and we should use that. Might be wise to throw yourself behind something that matters. Plays well with moderates on both sides. Something that will draw attention toward something else of substance.” As Josephine talked, she relaxed into the cushion behind her. She was always so arrogant when she had a good idea.

  “Gather the troops. Let’s workshop some ideas,” she announced. What the hell. What did she have to lose aside from everything?

  * * *

  “Do you know what this is about?” Mila whispered to one of the senior staffers as they hustled down the corridor in a pack.

  The stocky man with coffee stained teeth shook his head. “They don’t usually call additional meetings unless something’s happened,” he said, an ominous pathos in his tone.

  Are we all getting fired? Maybe she decided not to run again. The thoughts filled Mila with dread as they hurried toward the large meeting room. Hundreds of bodies dressed in business casual and worry poured in from offices and cubicles to join the mass aimed for the same place.

  While the trip there was wrapped in silent alarm, the huge meeting space was a buzz of deafening nervous chatter. In the discomfort of the unknown, Mila migrated toward her other fellows, Flotsam and Jetsam included. If they were getting the boot, they might as well get it as a group.

  In the absence of enough seats, the fellows clumped together in a corner. It was an unspoken rule that the most senior members of the team got preferential seating. Fifteen minutes in, Mila regretted not having worn flats. The room was too full to move around and standing still was killer on her feet.

  “Thank you, everyone, for coming on such short notice,” Governor Fernandez started as soon as she entered from the back of the room.

  Mila’s gaze followed her as she moved between the parting sea of people. It had been days since she’d seen her. Her hair had been trimmed recently to just below her shoulders and she’d kept the side-bangs she’d tried out for Halloween. The big, red-framed glasses were new and suited her tanned olive skin nicely. They gave her a professorial look that Mila decided she liked very much.

  “We need a pet project,” she explained before she’d even made it to the podium. The room breathed a collective sigh of relief, and Mila found herself releasing her clenched muscles. “You didn’t think I was going to fire everyone, did you?” she joked, and most of her audience laughed too loudly to release their tension.

  “What kind of project?” someone at the front of the room asked as Mila grabbed her notepad and pen.

  “A legislative initiative that we can make the focus of the campaign and the last year of this term,” she explained.

  As she spoke, Mila watched. Her back was straight and her chest high. There was a sense of determination in her voice and body language that set the pulse thumping in Mila’s neck. Her connection to the crowd was as captivating as her confidence and self-assured tone. Even if they shared very few views on policy, Mila was compelled to give her ideas a chance.

  “So, what have we got? You don’t lose points here, so just throw things out there,” she encouraged, taking a seat and presenting herself as an open audience.

  “Raising the minimum wage has been very popular in other states,” someone suggested.

  “Good start,” she nodded, offering eye contact, “but too controversial. That works in more majority liberal states. We’re too split down the middle. No matter what amount we push for, it would be too much for conservatives and too little for progressives. But you’re on the right track. I want something people care about that can actually be changed with a single law.”

  “We have so many retirees. Health care is always a big concern,” someone else suggested with no further detail.

  “Yes, that’s true,” the governor replied. “Unfortunately, that’s too big to take on for this. We must have this legislative proposal ready in a little under two months when the session starts. Once we write this thing, we’ll still need to find a member of Congress to introduce it for us. That’ll take some time, too.”

  The staff muttered amongst themselves and pitched more possibilities without success. After a several minutes long lull in offerings, Governor Fernandez stood and engaged the room again. “How about something in the news? Anything new that might spark some voter interest? And not the texting and driving thing. That’s already a done deal for next year and I’ll just look like I’m trying to steal someone else’s thunder.”

  “I don’t know if this is kind of macabre, but there was a pretty catastrophic accident this weekend near my parents’ house in Tampa,” a young woman just ahead of Mila started. “An oil tanker slammed into stopped traffic on the highway, and there we
re casualties,” she said, casting her eyes toward the floor. “Turns out, he was at the legal limit of alcohol in his system, but his reaction time was slowed just enough to be devastating.”

  The governor slid her glasses up the slope of her nose before grabbing her chin. It was the first idea she hadn’t shot down immediately.

  Mila’s guts twisted a little, but she made herself speak. “There’s a push in a couple of other states to raise the limit to point five blood alcohol levels. It’s a bipartisan issue that hasn’t been taken up in years,” she chimed in, providing more details about the other states’ initiatives to an intrigued and attentive Governor.

  “He was a commercial driver though,” someone else said. “They already have more stringent standards.”

  “And look at the tragedy that happened anyway. What better lesson that impairment kills and we need to take it more seriously,” the governor said, finding Mila’s eyes from far across the room. “We’ve got our project. Let’s get to work, people.”

  Chapter Eleven

  A week into busywork barely related to the new legislative initiative, Mila decided she wanted a more substantial role. She wanted it so much that she violated their unspoken rule and went in an hour late to the gym, a few minutes before sunrise and the governor’s usual time.

  By the time Mila had warmed up and started jogging, the governor appeared in the gym. She didn’t disguise her surprise, but she didn’t shoot Mila a glare either.

  “Good morning,” Mila said as if it were typical to run into each other.

  “Morning,” she replied grumpily and went straight for the mat, not speaking again as she warmed up and stretched.

  As she increased her incline and speed to divert her adrenaline-fueled energy spike, Mila tried to find an icebreaker topic. She’d never been the type to speak without having something to say. A key to her entertaining success was being a woman of few words.

  Fuck it, she decided when she hit her three-mile mark and started to slow down. The governor was already hundreds of meters into her row.

  “So, I’m a bigger asset than you’re using,” she blurted, standing in front of the row machine with her hands on her hips.

  The governor didn’t lose her rhythm. She continued rowing, her biceps glistening with perspiration on each pull of the handle, and her defined quads contracting through her blue tights as she laid back to complete the motion.

  In the face of her boss’ focused silence, she continued. “There’s a lot more I can do instead of just brainstorming or being bogged down with tedious crap,” she insisted.

  Governor Fernandez refused to break her stride, as if she was hypnotized by the damn rowing.

  “I’m really smart, you know. I have a lot to offer. We’re wasting time by not allocating your best resources where they’re actually needed. I didn’t sign up to do busy work a halfway decent algorithm could do.”

  “A fresh perspective might not be a bad idea,” Josephine commented from her place in the doorway.

  Mila’s eyes darted to her, but the governor was unfazed.

  “I’ll send you something to work on later today,” she continued, a lopsided smile barely concealed.

  Mila spared another annoyed glance at the governor before grabbing her towel and bottle from the treadmill. “Thank you, Ms. Peters. I really appreciate that,” she said loudly, hoping the governor would feel ashamed for not having the decency to even acknowledge her.

  * * *

  “Jo, do you think we bit off more than we can chew?” George asked, setting down a thick treatise regarding the body’s physiological response to alcohol at incremental levels. There were still hundreds of others like it to read, thousands of pages of data, and campaigning to do on top of her regular duties.

  “I guess that depends,” she replied, reading glasses dangling on the tip of her nose.

  “On?”

  “How big your mouth is,” she replied with a chuckle, basking in the delight of a terrible joke.

  George rolled her eyes and shut them to rest her sight. “What time do we have that call with the state surgeon general?” she asked, the tension creeping up her spine and into the base of her neck.

  “Just after lunch,” she replied. “After that you have a cabinet meeting and then a ribbon cutting and dinner for the renovated natural science museum.”

  George pulled on the dark sleeve of her blazer to read her watch. “Let’s go,” she said, jumping to her feet as if not wanting to lose momentum. “This will all be here waiting when I get back tonight.” She stretched her lower back as she scanned the piles and piles of papers and books.

  Josephine patted her on the back sympathetically. “A little bedtime reading. Can’t think of anything more riveting.”

  “On the way we can talk about your move with Ms. Dortch earlier,” she said as they slipped out of the library and into the mansion’s hallway.

  “My move?” Jo asked with all the innocence of child caught stealing a cookie.

  “I hadn’t agreed to give her anything more substantive,” she said, confident Josephine knew exactly what she’d wanted to discuss. “I don’t want the staff thinking they can bypass me by sucking up to you.” Her tone betrayed her irritation more sharply than she’d intended.

  “I apologize if I stepped out of line,” Jo said in a deferential tone. “I happened to agree that we could be using the fellows’ talents more effectively, but I should’ve conferred with you before saying so.”

  George squeezed her arm affectionately. “I agree with you on the fellows. We have some bright minds. I just hate that now she thinks it was all her idea and got one over on me,” she admitted as they continued through the side door and out to the waiting SUV.

  “Aren’t people supposed to get less competitive as they get older?” Josephine asked with a chuckle as they climbed into the backseat together.

  * * *

  The fellows and a dozen other junior staffers sat crammed together around a conference table meant to seat ten. Where empty walls would be, banker boxes were stacked five-feet high and full of papers Mila was sure no one had touched in years given the dust. There was no doubt they were in a glorified broom closet.

  “That’s another one in the books,” Tim said as he stood, closing his laptop and stretching his long arms over his head.

  “I don’t know why we have to work on this like this anyway,” Flotsam complained, his pinched face looking like he’d sucked even more lemons than usual. “Is anyone even going to read my thirty pages of notes on a restaurant lobby’s four-hundred-page report in opposition to the change?” He pushed the spiral bound document away from himself so hard it slid into Jetsam’s space, earning a glare. “Such an old school waste of time,” he continued almost unintelligibly under his breath.

  “If they asked you to do it, it’s for a reason,” Mila snapped. “You think you know better than Governor Fernandez?”

  Flotsam sneered. She could hear the tirade of insults in his mind, the ones only held at bay by the other staffers’ presence. More than once she’d heard him mutter about her under his breath, but he didn’t matter enough to offend her. His jealousy and lack of self-esteem were so obvious they were nearly palpable. If he weren’t such a malignant little shit, she’d almost feel bad for him.

  “Maybe it’s a good time to call it quits,” the most senior staffer among them said as she started picking up her things.

  “How are we going to get this done if we knock off early?” Mila protested.

  “Early?” Flotsam interrupted. “It’s eight at night,” he whined. “Some of us have lives.”

  “You’re more than welcome to keep working from home, but I recommend you all have dinner and get some rest. We can start back fresh in the morning,” the staffer said in a display of diplomacy.

  Mila couldn’t contain her irritation. “Make sure you get your beauty sleep,” she advised as she bumped Flotsam’s arm as she passed.

  Once at the mansion, Mila and Tim wast
ed no time in getting right back to work. When midnight neared, Tim tapped out and closed his materials, giving Mila the hint that he wanted to go to bed. She considered pretending not to pick up the signal but decided not to torture him.

  After changing into black leggings and a slouchy, off the shoulder sweater, Mila slipped on a pair of flats and tiptoed downstairs. Taking a chance that she wouldn’t be the only workaholic, she headed for the library where the governor had sought refuge on the night of the gala.

  The French doors, frosted for privacy, were closed, but the lights were on inside. She took a deep breath and tried the knob. As she peered through the cracked door, Governor Fernandez’s and Josephine’s heads snapped up toward her. Connecting with sparkling mahogany eyes gave her the boost to do what she wanted. With a puffed-out chest and chin held high, she walked into the library like she belonged.

  The governor pulled her glasses off as she regarded the intruder. “Can I help you?” she asked, her husky voice made deeper from probable hours of disuse.

  “It’s more like, can I help you,” she said as she took increasingly confident steps toward the women sitting across from each other on a stuffy-looking sofa. “There’s a lot to do and the rest of the team has crapped out on me,” she informed them, projecting much more calm self-assurance than she actually felt.

  As she approached, two Australian Shepherds appeared from out of nowhere and jumped at her.

  “No!” the governor cried, but it was too late. Mila’s arms were open as she crouched. She was the willing victim of two very excited smooch monsters. “Don’t let them jump all over you,” she insisted, but it fell on deaf ears.

  “Aren’t you adorable? What are your names, huh?” she asked the dogs as if they were going to answer her.