“The Bennit campaign started as a social media fad, but is quickly going viral. What was dismissed as a gimmick now has mainstream attention,” opines a reporter from Channel 3, “and voters of the Sixth District are taking notice, as is the rest of the state.”
Yes, they are, creating another set of problems. It’s been a week and a half since my first article about Michael Bennit ran in The Hartford Courant, and so far, the plan is working flawlessly. Two more articles were released since the first, each picked up by all the local, and now an increasing number of national newspapers. Frankly, I’m surprised only because I had to call in a lot of favors just to get the first article published locally. Each subsequent one gave the public a new piece of the puzzle on this campaign, and they want more of it. The local news reporting live from here shows that I have gotten people interested. I will know I made it big when CNN and FOX show up.
Beaumont must be getting a little scared, but before I push this any further, I need to understand what the campaign’s plan is. The couple of Skype sessions I shared with Michael have been enlightening, but I need to meet the man for real to see if he is a serious candidate. Unfortunately for him, the voters will need to be shown too if he expects to win. I am not sure he does.
* * *
An hour later, I watch the activity outside the now bustling coffee shop from my car as both Chelsea and Vince head in. They are remarkably poised under the circumstances. I drift back to reading the emails on my phone when a sharp rap at the window causes me to jump out of my seat. Before I could say a word, the passenger door swings open and the iCandidate himself slides into the seat next to me.
“Stalking is illegal in all fifty states, Miss Roberts,” he says with a smile.
“I’m not stalking, I’m chasing a story,” I manage to stutter, sounding like a complete idiot. Michael Bennit is even better looking in person. I’m actually a little breathless. “And I prefer you call me Kylie,” I say, with a smile he probably gets from every teenage girl with a crush that swoons over him. Recognizing the look or not, he smiles in return.
“What brings you up this way? You know you can call anytime.”
“I wanted to meet you in person.”
“Kinda poking holes in this whole iCandidate thing aren’t you?” he asks with a laugh.
“Maybe, but you climbed into my car, remember?” I pose playfully. Did I just bat my eyelashes at him? What the hell is wrong with me? I’m flirting with him.
“Touché,” he says. “What did you want to talk about?”
As I start to regain my senses, I realize we are in a parked car at the back of the coffee shop lot with nobody around. Cameramen and reporters are making their way to their trucks from the entrance, having shot their b-roll and filled up on caffeine. That leads me to my next thought.
“Don’t you want to go talk to the press before they leave?”
“Nope. That’s why I’m here with you. I’m hiding from them.”
“You’re strange, you know that? You must be the first candidate in history to ever shy away from the cameras when they show up.” And I mean that. I have never, and I do mean never, met a candidate or sitting politician who purposely avoids the press. In case there was any doubt in my mind the man in front of me is a different kind of candidate, it is now put to rest.
“You don’t need me to confirm that for you. Just ask my kids.”
“Okay.” The direct approach always works best for me. Some journalists try to play gotcha with people. I like to hit them hard and see what the response is. “You’re the candidate and they’re the staff, right? Why are you putting them front and center in the campaign?”
“I didn’t realize I was,” he says, continuing to look out my windshield at the dispersing reporters. A classic example of deflecting the question.
“You are, you know you are, and I’m wondering why.”
“Are we off the record?” he asks.
“Do we need to be?” is my quick response.
“That depends. Are you asking because you’re curious or because you just want to write another story?” Apparently he likes the direct approach too. Not a trait you see in most candidates, or politicians for that matter.
“I’m already in bed with you.”
He flashes me one of those looks that a guy gives to a woman when she says something unintentionally sexual. Normally, I shrug it off, but I find myself blushing.
“Figuratively, not literally. I want to know exactly where you see this going. Letting teenagers run with this is a bold move.”
“But it’s working.”
“It is for now. What happens when parents start getting involved and begin pressuring the district to put an end to this.”
“That won’t happen.”
He’s in denial. Beaumont got me fired from my job because he was afraid of what I might print. Not too many politicians in the country wield the clout, or the guts, to do that. Of course, Michael doesn’t know anything about my past, and I’m not sure I am ready to tell him.
“You’re running against Winston Beaumont. If this thing becomes a threat, trust me, it will happen.”
“You sound like you speak from experience,” he says, making me wonder if he does know. Time to shift gears.
“I did some research on you. Turns out you were a Noncommissioned Officer in the Army, attended Airborne School, Special Forces, HALO school, whatever that is, and did multiple tours in Iraq and Afghanistan. You’re highly decorated, including a Purple Heart, a pair of Bronze Stars for valor, and a Distinguished Service Cross you earned during your last tour.
“They give those away these days,” he says dryly.
“They give away the second highest award for valor in the military? I don’t think so.”
He finally looks over me with his piercing blue eyes and I melt. He’s not angry, although I am pretty sure I would never want to see him actually mad. His expression is more one of, impatience, maybe?
I lean in, closing the space between us to something almost uncomfortable. That tactic usually causes people to back away defensively. He doesn’t flinch. And he smells really good. “You are a war hero and qualified to run for Congress based on that alone.”
“John Kerry won three Purple Hearts in Vietnam and still fell short in the race for the presidency. McCain spent years as a POW in Hanoi and lost to Obama. Combat service does not qualify you for anything, and certainly doesn’t guarantee victory these days.”
“Presidential contests are different than legislative races. There are over one hundred veterans in Congress right now, and more than fifteen of them were deployed to the Middle East.”
“That’s not why they were elected. Nobody cares about where you serve.” Man, is this guy ever stubborn. For someone who has no particular platform, he sure is secure in his opinions. Speaking of which … .
“Is that why you don’t talk about issues? Because you think nobody cares about them either?” His smirk signals I struck a chord, but he still doesn’t move away. Fearless and sexy. “You are going to need to address them sooner or later. You know that, right?”
“Let me ask you a question, Kylie. Why are you doing this?” That causes me to move away. Crap.
“What do you mean?” I ask, trying to stall for time.
“You know exactly what I mean. I appreciate the near-militant interest in this campaign, I really do. Your articles are the only reason we have any awareness whatsoever, but that doesn’t explain why you wrote them in the first place.”
“Now tell me, why should I answer your question if you didn’t answer mine?” Michael Bennit is an honorable guy and I am really not sure how he would respond to my motives. Maybe he would understand them. Maybe he wouldn’t. But I have no interest in finding out right this moment so I dodge the question. “You don’t trust me, do you?”
“Trust is earned, not issued,” Michael pronounces without pause. “So why don’t we get to work earning each other’s first before we share secrets.
Figuratively, not literally,” he says, winking at me. The last of the reporters huddled around the entrance to the coffee shop have moved off. He nods toward the shop and opens the door. “C’mon, let’s go meet the gang.”
.
-TWENTY-SIX-
MICHAEL
Walking into the Perkfect Buzz with Kylie prompted more than a few incredulous stares from the dozens of students occupying nearly every corner of the shop. For those used to me walking in with Jessica, seeing me enter with this beautiful ‘other woman’ is a week’s worth of rumor fuel in a high school. I wonder what they would think if they had seen me sitting next to her in a parked car three minutes ago.
Lucky for me, Vince recognizes Kylie immediately, and I am spared the Gestapo-style interrogation from my teenage work force. Whether he took over the escort duties because of his role in the campaign or because he has a major crush on the stunning, brown-haired journalist shall remain a mystery. Wagering a guess, I would say the latter.
I realize this is becoming quite the burgeoning operation as Chelsea and Vince show Kylie around the room. In the far corner to the right of the counter, there is some sort of planning session involving students I both know and have never met. On the left side, fifteen teens are huddled into the corner of the seating area. Eight of them toil over open laptops while the others scribble notes and look on.
I walk over, my presence barely registering with them as they pore over various tweets, Facebook messages and emails. One appears to be working on a blog post for Tumblr, and another is posting an image to Instagram.
“Alice Kravitz wants to know how you think you are qualified to be in Congress,” Amanda reads from an email without looking up.
“Tell her I have an I.Q. over twenty which actually makes me overqualified.”
“This woman thinks you're a Mormon!” Xavier says, reading from our Twitter account. I lean over and read the tweet for myself, letting out a little chuckle.
“She spelled it wrong, X. She means moron.”
“Oh, she’s one to talk,” Xavier muses, shaking his head.
“Everyone can’t be a fan,” I tell him.
“Bill Connolly wants to know why you haven’t taken a stand on abortion,” Vanessa reads from a Facebook post. “Should I respond with something like ‘because he can't get pregnant’?”
“Ha, ha. Funny,” I say, amused. Kylie was right during our short conversation in her car. If I don’t address these types of issues sooner or later, some people are going to begin to ask why.
“Would it be accurate to say your feelings on global warming means more days at the beach?” Emilee asks.
“Who wound you guys up tonight?” I deflect.
“If we ain’t going to discuss issues, there’s not much more to say,” Vince points out from the other side of the room.
‘Still a little bitter about that are we, Vince?” I fire back. “I know this feels like we’re dodging questions because, well, we are, but there is a method to my madness. Trust me.”
They do trust me, but I also get the feeling the annoying little voices in the back of their heads won’t be silenced for long. I consider myself a man of principle, but I have no interest in taking a stand in this election. I just am not sure how long it will be before our not talking about the issues becomes the issue. More of a mystery is how they will react to me if it does.
“This one is from Mark Rabkin,” Peyton says, looking down at a new tweet. “If you hate politicians, why would you want to be one?”
“Hating politicians makes me the perfect representative for the people in the district who generally hate politicians.”
Amanda smacks her laptop a couple of times in frustration before realizing everyone stopped what they are doing and are looking at her. “Sorry,” she says, blushing.
“Mister B, hash tag iCandidate is officially trending on Twitter!” Brian exclaims, raising both his arms in the air signaling a touchdown. The students in the room let out a loud whoop and exchange high fives with each other. “I have no idea how we are going to keep up with all this!”
“Better do some more recruiting guys. You all have homework to do, including mine. You can't spend all night at this.” Can’t is a word of defeat, and they would turn this into an all-nighter if Laura didn’t need to close up.
Kylie has joined me with Chelsea at her side. “Not bad for an iCandidate,” Kylie says grinning. “I can’t wait to see how you bring it to the next level.” I am not certain if she means cramming eighty people in here instead of forty or something else entirely.
“Uh, Mister B? This woman posted on Facebook saying you're hunky and wants you to come home to her,” Emilee reads. I exchange a quick glance with Kylie.
“Don’t look at me, I didn’t write it,” Kylie offers, her eyes conveying that she wishes she did. Chelsea is looking at the two of us, perhaps wondering whether something may be going on. If she does, I’m sure she will bring it up before too long. For now, I just deal with the issue at hand.
“Thank her for the compliment,” I say to Emilee. “Then delete any traces of post before Miss Slater logs on and sees it.”
Emilee laughs. “Uh, Miss Slater wrote it. She says at the end that you're very late for dinner.”
.
-TWENTY-SEVEN-
BLAKE
“He is redefining how to run a modern day campaign,” the pundit emphatically states from her chair under the glaring lights of their television studio. Many of these roundtable discussions are full of know-it-all gas bags who just like to listen to themselves talk.
This is one of the more respectable shows on cable news, and being left-leaning, the panel is more sympathetic to the liberal politicians in the country. The fact that we are watching a recording of last night’s broadcast discussing our opponent’s campaign is not a good sign. Michael Bennit has jumped from being a local novelty to a national one.
“How is he redefining anything? This isn't new. Candidates have been using the Internet for years, and social media was heavily used in the last campaign season,” one of the male pundits counters.
Winston Beaumont watching this in the office at 7:30 a.m. is the type of bad omen the Mayans carved into rocks. The last time he was here this early was when Kylie first made a story out of this unknown. Since then, we watched as the gimmick campaign Roger expected to flame out after a few days grew into a three-alarm blaze. It turns out Madison was correct a couple of weeks ago. We screwed up by not starting The Machine. Now, Winston Beaumont fiddles while Rome burns.
“Not to this extent. It’s one thing to use social media and the Internet as tools to reach voters, but I’ve never heard of a candidate using them for the whole campaign,” a third pundit offers in response. “Or, should I say, used by a group of teenagers to run a campaign.”
“Is this good for American politics?” the moderator of the show asks.
“Of course not!” exclaims the first pundit. “It's one more example of the human element being removed from politics. What happened to the good old days of shaking a candidate's hand and looking him right in the eyes?”
“They're long gone. The meet and greet died with television, and now we’re seeing a change in how mainstream media gets used. This is the society in which we live, for better or worse. It’s the age of social media and mobile communications.”
“The Bennit campaign is leveraging social media to their advantage by creating a story around it. The end result is they are reaching voters in Connecticut not ordinarily involved in the political process and getting them excited about it,” I hear the pundit conclude before Roger punches the mute button on the remote.
Congressman Beaumont stared at the television with a blank expression now becoming contorted in anger, and there is no doubt that Roger and I will be the recipients of the wrath. The congressman returns to his window, fuming but not lashing out with the intensity I expected.
“So much for the story dying after a few days,” the congressman mumbles
. “Still think this is going to go away?” he asks, turning to Roger.
“The media keeps getting fed stories to report,” Roger says, embarrassed his political crystal ball is on the fritz. “I still don’t think the attention is sustainable and will die out on its own.”
“And if it doesn’t we’ll be faced with a bigger problem a month from now.”
“That’s a possibility,” Roger concedes. “We are looking into ways to break the momentum.
“Okay, what’s your plan?” The congressman is showing no interest in sharing media time with a guy who is beneath him, and I don’t blame him. I want Bennit stopped too.
“Blake?” Roger is handing this off to me. I understand the ramifications of the next couple of minutes. If the congressman doesn’t like this plan of action, I’ll need to pawn it off as someone else’s and conjure up another one quick. It’s a tough game to play, and not for the weak of heart. Fortunately, I have made the necessary arrangements should it come to that.
“I spoke with our oppo guys. Michael Bennit is a boy scout. Unmarried, no children, distinguished military career, pays his taxes—”
“You’re telling me they found nothing?” Congressman Beaumont asks, unconvinced. “I find that hard to believe.”
“Nothing of any use to us, unfortunately,” I respond. “Unless we want to do a character assault on him over a speeding ticket a couple of years ago.”
“Roger, if Blake doesn’t have anything of use, why is he here?” the congressman asks, pointing at me menacingly. “You think we should start The Machine or something too?”
Time to throw some staff under the bus. “No sir. That was Madison and Deena’s idea, and I don’t think it’s necessary.” I actually have no clue if Deena was involved or not, but the congressman doesn’t know that. Even if Roger does, he’s the chief of staff and won’t say anything unless necessary.
The iCandidate Page 12