Election Day

by J. A. Armstrong

  “Oh, boy,” Michelle whispered.

  Marianne took her sister’s hand and glanced over at Jameson. Jameson was intent on Candace.

  “Well, Dean thank you for your question. It’s certainly not the easiest one,” Candace began. Faint chuckling met her ears. “Another two-part question. Your observation is fair and accurate. I haven’t discussed my marriage in any detail. That’s because I haven’t seen the need. My ‘coming out’ was not private, as you might have heard.”

  Another rumble of suppressed laughter emerged.

  “There isn’t much that I can say about my marriage that is going to change the mind of anyone your question refers to. In my experience, people change their perception when they get to know someone—not from a debate or an interview—over a glass of wine, at a playgroup, in the office, even in church. Both Jameson and I were raised going to church every Sunday. We still attend when we can. I suppose, I have a different view of what faith teaches us than Mr. Wolfe does.” She took a breath. “What could I tell them?” Candace smiled warmly. “I will tell you this, I love Jameson. I love her because she’s the kindest person I know. She’s generous and honest, and she helps me to remember what matters most in life. What matters most is who we love. That’s why people vote—believe it or not. They want to have a say in making their lives better. They want the best chance for the people they love—their parents, children, friends, coworkers, and in more cases than we give credit, their employees. It doesn’t matter if someone disagrees with me or if they don’t like me. As president, my job will be to remember that every person matters to someone. Every person deserves an equal chance at achieving his or her goals, at thriving in their life. To me, that includes the right to commit their lives to the person they choose, to worship as they choose, to have the career they desire. Has this campaign gotten personal? Without question. Does that hurt? Yes, it does, and not just me. My family is just like everyone else’s. We have our ups and downs, we argue on occasion, we battle illnesses and we pay bills. It’s not lost on me that we are fortunate. I’ve never worried about my next meal or how I would pay for school, neither has Jameson or our three grown children. We have witnessed the struggle through Cooper’s eyes. I want every child—every person to go to sleep secure that there will be enough for them to eat the next day, and that they have the chance to make their dreams reality. How do I do it? I get to work.”

  “Mr. Rigby?” Dan Fitzgerald’s voice broke the momentary silence.

  “Governor, Mr. Wolfe said that he thinks you are less suited to be president because you are a lesbian. Do you think he is less suited because he is critical of who you are?”

  “Do I think he is less suited to be president because he has an issue with who I am? No. There are a lot of people who have issues with who I am. Some because I am a woman, some because I am a lesbian, others simply because I had the good fortune to come from a family that possessed wealth. One thing about serving in elected office, there is always more criticism than consensus. I think I’m better ‘suited’—as Mr. Wolfe put it—because I understand that gaining consensus requires just as much listening as it does expressing my opinion. People don’t have to like everything about me to work with me. They don’t even have to agree with who I am or how I live my life. They need to agree on one thing—to try to do what is best for the people we are all elected to serve. A president isn’t elected to serve the people who cast their votes his or her way. A president assumes the responsibility for the entire nation. I can assure you, I understand that.”

  Dan Fitzgerald looked in the camera facing him. “That concludes tonight’s debate. I want to thank both our candidates….”

  “Well, that was interesting,” Jonah commented softly as Fitzgerald made his closing remarks.

  “Do we really have to go shake his hand?” Michelle groaned.

  “Yes,” Marianne said.

  “I’d rather…”

  “Play nice, Shell,” Marianne whispered.

  “I don’t have to like it.”

  ***

  Jameson slipped into bed behind Candace and wrapped her in an embrace. “You never cease to amaze me.”

  “Let’s hope the pundits are as kind.” Candace turned to face her wife.

  “Glad it’s over?” Jameson asked.

  “I am. Two more to go.”

  “Are you worried?”

  “No. I just hope that I don’t let everyone down.”

  Jameson brought her lips to Candace’s. “Impossible.”

  “I wish that were true.”

  Jameson kissed Candace again. She traced a fingertip across Candace’s brow. “Quiet, now.”

  Candace closed her eyes and reveled in the tenderness of Jameson’s touch. They’d slept apart for the last five nights while Candace campaigned in the south. She’d missed the comfort of Jameson’s arms. Jameson could quiet her questions and ease her anxiety. Feeling Jameson close to her, Candace’s heart commanded her head. Here she could escape the world, lose herself in the presence of the woman she loved—in Jameson’s kiss, in her touch.

  “Jameson?”

  “Hum,” Jameson hummed in Candace’s ear.

  “Make love to me.”

  Jameson moved to look in Candace’s eyes. Sometimes, the blue of Candace’s eyes deepened to a hue that reminded Jameson of a brewing storm, signifying an inevitable thundering of passion and desire. She brushed Candace’s hair aside and gazed at her lovingly. Candace left her breathless without any need of words or the slightest touch. Her lips brushed across Candace’s forehead tenderly. Her hands moved to divest Candace of the clothing she wore. Candace began to speak. Jameson silenced her with the softness of her lips.

  “Shh,” Jameson cooed. She sat back and pulled her shirt over her head.

  “I need you, Jameson.”

  “I’m here,” Jameson promised.

  Candace closed her eyes. Her hands continued to roam over Jameson’s back and hips, back to the nape of her neck. Finally, they gripped the elastic of Jameson’s shorts. The need to feel Jameson moving against her overpowered thought and reason, as if she might be swallowed whole by Jameson’s presence. “Jameson…”

  Jameson began to glide sensually against Candace. Her hands caressing Candace’s body in slow circles, lingering at the sound of a passionate sigh. She could lie here forever feeling Candace and never wish for anything more.

  “I hate being apart,” Candace whispered. She did. Jameson provided comfort, acceptance—a place to soar and a place to fall. She guided Jameson’s lips to hers. Her fingertips traced the outline of Jameson’s face, committing it to memory as a blind person might, only sensation to guide her exploration. Warmth spread over her body and began to flow from her freely. The ache in her chest traveling to every nerve in her body and settling in her core. Her back arched, begging for anything to satisfy the need that swelled within her. Two strong fingers met her unspoken request. Her head fell back onto the pillow.

  Soft. Wet. Inviting. Yielding yet demanding. Jameson followed the gentle sway of Candace’s hips as they met her well-timed rhythm. Slow. No, fast. Soft. Jameson’s tongue bathed Candace’s straining nipple in a flurry of sensation. Candace’s body bent to her will.

  Candace’s head rolled side to side against an endless array of sensation. It would never be enough. Her hands found Jameson’s face, pulling her higher. No questions. She needed no permission. Candace turned them about. Her hair spilling into Jameson’s face as Jameson struggled to stay inside her. Deeper. Candace’s head fell back. Never enough. It would never be enough. She gathered her strength. Jameson’s face flushed with desire. Her nipples straining in the cool air. Candace’s mouth surrounded them one by one, back and forth. Soft. Hard. Deep. She prayed it might never end.

  Warm. Gentle. Jameson’s lips parted with anticipation. Her fingers continued their gentle assault, pressing deeper, twisting and probing. She became captivated by the sounds that mingled in the air between them. Quivers erupted from them both,
tiny prickles of pleasure brought on by painful anticipation. Should she beg? She startled at the sensation of sudden loss and watched in rapt fascination as Candace’s mouth moved to hers. No questions. Candace hovered above her. And, then warmth again. Warmth spreading everywhere—over her and through her. Softness above her, heat moving lower in long, languid strokes—giving and taking and giving some more. Jameson surrendered to the storm. Faint rumbling turned swiftly to thunderous pounding through her into Candace and back again. Another unexpected crash finally gave way to the soft pattering that followed the shaking from above and settled within. It was the perfect storm, the kind you met with outstretched arms, hoping it would overtake you.

  Jameson opened her eyes. The stormy blue of Candace’s irises sparkled now like tiny diamonds, clear and bright, hopeful and grateful. She traced Candace’s lips with her fingertip. “Perfect,” she whispered.

  “What?” Candace asked.

  “You,” Jameson said. “Now. It’s perfect.”

  Candace kissed Jameson reverently. “Such a romantic.”

  “No.” Jameson’s eyes began to mist over. “I know how lucky I am.”

  A smile curled Candace’s lips. “I love you, Jameson.”

  “And, I love you.”

  Jameson pulled Candace into her arms. She wouldn’t seek to fill up the moment with words. As if the universe understood, a faint pitter-patter on the roof drifted to her ears. “Perfect.”

  OCTOBER 16th

  DETROIT MICHIGAN

  “When does Jameson arrive?” Grant Hill asked.

  “Tomorrow morning,” Candace replied.

  “Have you talked to her?”

  “This morning, why?”

  “No reason.”

  Candace lifted her brow.

  “I was just curious how she felt things were going there,” Grant said.

  “There?”

  “She’s been with Jane for the last two days. She must have a pulse on things.”

  Candace nodded. Jameson had been campaigning with Jane Merrow in Arizona and New Mexico while Candace traversed Wisconsin and Michigan. Marianne and Shell had both been covering ground on the east coast at rallies. Nate Ellison was off in the south making the case for Candace. Candace wasn’t leaving any stone unturned. Some of her advisers were frustrated by her insistence on covering broad ground. Grant fell into that category. The argument they presented Candace was that she needed all her assets in the states where she had a realistic chance of winning. With just three weeks remaining before voters would go to the polls, Grant and Glenn had argued passionately that Candace needed to narrow her focus. She maintained a two to three-point advantage in the national polls, nowhere near what anyone deemed a comfortable edge. Candace had listened to all the points they presented. She maintained her determination to campaign broadly albeit through surrogates.

  “The energy is high. You know that.”

  “Candace, I know you don’t want to hear this.”

  “Then don’t say it.”

  Grant sighed. “You’re not going to take Arizona, and New Mexico is a wrap. You have to know that.”

  Candace shrugged. “I wouldn’t rule anything out as possible. Why are you and Glenn spinning over this?” she asked. “Shell was in Pittsburgh yesterday. I’m here in the Midwest. Jameson will be in North Carolina on Thursday and I’ll be in Ohio.”

  “And, you have Nate heading to California which is a lock for you while you insist on heading to Texas on Friday where we both know Wolfe is going to devour you. Three weeks, Candace—three weeks.”

  “I know how much time there is on the clock, Grant.”

  “I don’t understand why you won’t listen.”

  “I am listening. I just don’t agree.”

  “You need to pull those close states into your column.”

  “Grant,” Candace addressed him firmly. “Do you think that my ignoring three-quarters of this country sends the right message?”

  “Yes—to the people who are still sitting on the fence; yes, I do.”

  “Maybe to those people it does. It sends the message that the most important thing to me is getting their votes.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “It’s important.”

  “It’s imperative,” Grant argued.

  “And, the votes in Arizona and Texas aren’t.”

  “Candace, be reasonable here. Those states are not going to land in our column.”

  “Probably not.”

  “Forgive me if I can’t follow your logic.”

  “Grant, you and Glenn keep accusing me of not listening to you. I think I could make that same argument.” She held up a finger. “I don’t want you to simply hear the words I am saying, I want you to listen to them. Can you take a breath and do that?”

  Grant groaned.

  “First, I don’t agree with you about the map. You are convinced that we’ve locked Nevada and lost Arizona. I don’t agree with you on either count. You think that because a state has less electoral votes, I should place it on the backburner. You want to play this the same way it’s been played every four years.”

  “Because it works!”

  “No, it worked. That is the problem in this country, Grant—one of them. Just because something worked yesterday does not mean it will work tomorrow.”

  “I know how you feel about governing. You have to get elected first.”

  “You think this differs?” Candace took a breath and shook her head. “People forget, you don’t know what works today until tomorrow comes.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means that we can’t evaluate the success or failure of something until we’ve reached the other side. You are using pure hindsight to guide your recommendations.”

  “What would you suggest we do?”

  “I think that’s clear. Look at this election,” she said. “No matter how much hopeful chatter there might have been, four years ago most people would not have imagined I would get this far. A woman who is a lesbian running for the highest office in the land? No. That was a pipedream of the aspiring liberal. And, Wolfe? You couldn’t find someone more my opposite. Neither of us fits the mold cast for the model you are following. We have to cast a new one if we want to cross this finish line first.”

  Grant scratched his forehead. “And if you’re wrong?”

  Candace smiled. “Then it’s on me—just as it should be. You know, when I brought you on board a lot of people judged my decision based on your past.”

  “What does that have to do with this?”

  “Nothing directly. It goes to what I am trying to make you understand. What seems obvious is seldom as simple as we want to believe. There’s a reason Bradley Wolfe and I are where we are. You think that is about our campaigns. You might even think it’s about us. It is—to an extent. Beneath it all, it’s because of the people who go to the polls—even the ones who won’t.”

  “The ones who won’t?”

  “Absolutely. You don’t think they’re still talking at the watercooler? Bitching at the bar? Posting on their Facebook pages about us?” Candace covered Grant’s hand with hers. “When the watercooler and the bar were the places people commiserated, your plan might have worked. Stick close to home. Home isn’t just the kitchen table or the office anymore. Media is the watercooler, Grant. Everyone is watching from everywhere. Polls? They sample a small group of likely participants. I’m more concerned about the larger group they’ll never touch.”

  Grant sighed. “It’s your call.”

  “Yes, it is. You need to trust that I don’t make it lightly.”

  “I want this for you,” he said.

  Candace smiled. “I know you do. Do me one favor?”

  “If I can.”

  “Stop thinking you know what’s best for me better than I do.”

  “That’s not what…”

  “It is,” Candace interrupted him gently. “In a few weeks, we’ll know whether what I decided today was the best thing f
or tomorrow.”

  “You’re okay with that?”

  “I have to be. I don’t have the benefit of hindsight and foresight is always an educated guess. Whatever happens, we’ll go forward. There isn’t any other choice.”

  ***

  “Ms. Reid?”

  Jameson turned to the sound of a young voice. She smiled when a pair of wide eyes greeted her. The moment Jameson’s eyes met hers, the young girl blushed. Jameson had to remind herself not to laugh. She imagined the girl to be about sixteen.

  “Hi,” Jameson said.

  “I was wondering if I could get a picture?” The girl’s voice quivered slightly as she made the request.

  “Sure,” Jameson said. She suppressed a chuckle as the girl fumbled with her phone. “How about I take it?”

  “Really?”

  “Sure. I’m pretty sure my arms are longer,” Jameson joked. She snapped a few photos and handed the phone back.

  “Thanks.”

  “What’s your name?” Jameson asked.

  “Sarah.”

  “Thanks for coming out to support Candace.”

  “I wish I could vote for her.” Sarah’s blush deepened.

  “I know that will mean a lot to her. She likes to see young people get involved. Hopefully, you’ll get your chance in another four years.” Jameson winked. “Nice meeting you, Sarah.”

  “Holy shit! You got a picture with her?”

  Jameson laughed at the eruption of squeals behind her.

  “Another fan?” Jane bumped Jameson lightly. “You might be converting more than votes.”

  Jameson rolled her eyes. “Don’t say that too loud. I can just imagine that in Wolfe’s next speech.”

  “Candace better watch her back,” she teased Jameson some more.

  “I’d rather watch hers,” Jameson quipped.

  Jane burst out in laughter. No wonder she loves you so much, JD.

  OCTOBER 17th

  DAY OF THE FINAL DEBATE

  “You’ve said that Governor Reid wants to punish the wealthy to prop up the poor. Do you think that’s fair?”