by Jason Pinter
Remy watched Rawson, but took the time to look around the room. “Make eye contact with as many people as you can,” Costanzo had told him. “Even in a room of thousands, it is your job to make every single person feel special, like they have your complete and undivided attention. Like you’re there for them as much as they are there for you. Make people jealous. You’re a front man. Make them feel special if they get your attention.”
Remy looked over at Table 1, the Griggs table. Alena was beaming at Remy. She mouthed the words good luck. Remy gave her a thumbs up. Alena wore a green, low cut Roland Mouret dress with crystal drop earrings. She shined, and her smile gave Remy confidence.
Paul Bracewell sat next to her. His tie was askew, his hair mussed, and he’d missed a button on his shirt. Paul was gulping down a glass of brown liquor, his hand shaking as he raised it to his lips. He looked like an absolute mess. They didn’t need Paul passing out or barfing at the table. That would dominate the news cycle for days.
Also seated at the Griggs table were Kenneth Murphy, Jerry Kapinski, and Rebecca Blum. Phillips Costanzo was at the Castle doing cable news hits, and Remy knew the former mayor would be talking him up all night.
Rawson continued. “Many of you, I’m sure, have attended fundraisers like these in the past. You’ve paid a lot of money for the quote unquote honor of listening to a boring speech by someone who will then beg you for more money. That is not why you’re here tonight. Every cent from every ticket tonight goes directly help those in need. That is the hallmark of my campaign. We want to enrich the lives of people in need, not line the pockets of the wealthy and powerful.”
A round of applause started up, and Rawson milked it. As it died down, he said, “Now, some people have said that a third party candidate doesn’t stand a chance in a general election. We all know that’s a lie. And the man I’m here to introduce tonight is emblematic of that. He’s a hero because he stood up to evil at great personal peril. He and I are like you. We fight for you.”
The crowd applauded politely.
“Tonight, I’m honored to introduce a young man I’ve gotten to know very well over the last few months. He entered my circle—my family—under some of the worst circumstances imaginable. But the universe works in mysterious ways. He’s a great asset to me, a great asset to my organization, and he will be a great friend to you. He’s a winner through and through. If I was put on earth to lead this great nation, this man was put here to be my apostle. Please help me welcome Mr. Jeremy Stanton.”
The applause grew louder as Remy stood and walked to the podium. His heart thumped. Rawson ceded the podium to Remy with a courteous bow, then took a seat at the table next to Alena. She placed her hand on Rawson’s arm and mouthed good job. Then they both joined in the applause. Remy made his way to the podium, smiling and waving to the guests. He noticed Paul Bracewell raise his glass at an approaching waiter, signaling for another drink.
Remy’s pulse raced. He stood at the podium. Scanned the crowd, making eye contact with as many as he could. He made sure to smile at a few attractive women, because, why not? The microphone was an inch too low for him, but he didn’t dare touch it.
“Thank you,” Remy said. “Thanks everyone. Really. I appreciate it.”
When the room quieted down, Remy continued.
“First of all, I hope you’ll all call me Remy. Rawson insists on calling me Jeremy, but I’m a little less formal than Mr. Griggs. In fact, this is the first tuxedo I’ve ever owned.” The crowd laughed. Rawson laughed. Remy felt himself relax. “All my friends call me Remy. So tonight, please call me Remy.”
A man’s voice called out, “You’re a beast, Remy!”
Remy smiled and replied, “You know, I told Mr. Griggs not to put plants in the audience.” The crowd laughed. Remy felt good.
“As you all know,” Remy said, “it’s kind of a miracle that I’m standing here tonight. I was in the right place at the very, very worst time. But because of that, I met Alena Griggs and Paul Bracewell. I met Rawson Griggs. Three of the finest people I’ve ever known. And I’m here tonight to ask for your help to elect Rawson Griggs the next President of the United States.”
The applause picked up again. Remy looked around the room, his smile wide and authentic. He caught the eye of a cute brunette who smiled back at him. Remy lost focus for a moment, then regrouped.
“Before we go on, I need to talk about what happened at Griggs Tower. A coward decided to carry out a horrific act of violence. This man, if you can call him that, does not speak for anyone. Not a race, creed, religion, or even the human race. Several people lost their lives. Others will need time, love, and support to recover from their wounds, physical and emotional. Our thoughts are with them and their families. I can promise you that Rawson Griggs will do everything possible to prevent those kinds of atrocities from happening again. When tragedy befalls us as a nation, there are no Democrats or Republicans or Mayflower supporters. There are Americans. We are all family. Families can disagree, and things get messy from time to time. But they always have each other’s back.”
Remy saw Rawson pat Alena’s arm and smile at her. She mouthed love you, Dad.
“I want you to know that we will be there for you. Like family. And we will not be frightened, intimidated, or bullied by those who seek to tear us apart. We will not cower in the face of violence. We will not turn shrink. We will fight. We will be the beasts.”
Remy looked out over the crowd. He made eye contact with half a dozen people before speaking again. They were all quiet. He had them.
“As Rawson said, we’re not here tonight to ask you for money. Rawson has plenty of it, trust me. We’d rather you use your money to build your businesses, to donate to worthwhile charities, to raise your families, to buy that bottle of wine to open at the end of a long day.”
Remy waited for the smattering of applause to die down. People enjoy their wine, he thought. He also noticed Alena smiling at him.
“What we are asking for is your support. I’m not going to lie. You were all invited here because you are influencers. Think about that word. Influencers. This means you wield influence among your peers, your colleagues, the public. Your opinions matter to many people. What you say and do over the next year could very well help influence the results of this election, and the future of our country. Everything you say and do matters. What you post on social media. What you talk about over dinner, at bars, at work, among friends and loved ones. We are not asking you to give. We are asking you to add. Add to the discussion. I believe you all can agree that this country deserves better. I’m tired of two stale parties squabbling over who gets to sit at the head of the table every four years. We want to bring new voices to that table. For good. The Mayflower Party is not just Rawson Griggs, but it’s me. It’s you. We want to influence the country. And we need your help to do that. I believe we will earn your trust, and earn your support.”
Remy felt his pulse quickening as he spoke. The applause halted. Every eye was trained on him. He scanned the room as he read from the speech he’d memorized. No teleprompters. Rawson hated them, and told Remy not to use them unless a gun was held to his head. Teleprompters were the enemy of authenticity and creativity. As Costanzo said, connecting with an audience was less what you say, and more how you say it.
Alena was watching him. Rawson was watching him. Some of the wealthiest and most influential young men and women in the country were watching him. For a moment, Remy thought about his old cubicle at Pulaski. He could still smell the musty air, the dirty carpets. He remembered how Andrew Pulaski always called him Jerry. The time he was tasked with flying out to Phoenix on two hours’ notice to help lay off a hundred workers from an app developer than was going under. Pieces of his soul chipping off, day after day.
Here, now, he felt powerful. Important. And he loved every second of it.
“This is the beginning of a new era. For all of us,” Remy said, winding down his speech. “There have been third party candidate
s before. There have been other men and women who have tried to uproot a system stuck in the muck of the last hundred years. But I promise you this: Rawson Griggs is strong enough to upend that system. We speak for you. Everyone in this room, and everyone outside of it, who demands more. Who expects more,” Remy said. “I’m like you. I want my faith rewarded.
“Now, to get Rawson Griggs on the ballot in all fifty states, we need approximately eight hundred and eighty thousand signatures across the country. Each state has different requirements. That may seem like a lot, but when I look around this room, I see at least twenty people who have at least that many followers on Twitter alone. In New York, for example, we only need about fifteen thousand signatures, or less than the capacity of Madison Square Garden. In Florida, we need about a hundred and twenty thousand. If we get everyone in this room to get their grandparents to sign, that’s a good start. We need your help in reaching those people, and more. Help us achieve greatness. There is a beast waiting to be unleashed. With your help, we’ll remove the chains. Thank you.
“Now, please eat, drink, and enjoy yourselves. Just remember what we talked about tonight. Next round is on me!”
Remy stepped from the podium as the entire ballroom stood and applauded. He felt like his heart could burst from his chest. He went over to the Griggs table, where Rawson was waiting with open arms. The massive man engulfed Remy in bear a hug and whispered in his ear, “That was exceptional.”
When he let go, Alena approached him and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck like he was a soldier returning from war.
“You. Are. Amazing,” she said. When she let go, Remy saw Paul Bracewell standing with his hand outstretched. He was wobbling, glassy-eyed and unsteady. Paul’s breath smelled like the inside of a barrel of bourbon. Remy shook Paul’s hand, making sure not to stand too close in case Paul’s insides decided they needed fresh air.
“Nice fuckin’ job,” Paul said.
“Thanks,” Remy said, trying to mask his contempt.
Remy went around the table shaking hands. Murphy, Blum, Kapinski, all welcomed him warmly. He looked around the room. He saw dozens of cell phone cameras out, taking pictures, recording him.
From the corner of his eye, Remy saw Grace Rivas leaning against a wall in the back of the room, typing on a cell phone. She was covering the event for the Gazette and probably live-tweeting his speech. He hoped she was impressed. Grace was wearing a brown pantsuit. With sneakers. That made Remy smile. Grace looked up and caught Remy’s eye. She smiled and went back to her phone.
Alena came over to Remy. She gestured towards the back of the room.
“Grace Rivas, right?”
Remy nodded. “She did a good job on the Gazette profile.”
“My father wavers between loving her and hating her,” Alena replied. “But that’s often the way he thinks. Either you’re on his good side or his shit list.”
“Where am I tonight?” Remy said.
“I think you know the answer to that.”
Remy saw a waiter pass by with a tray of white wine glasses. He snagged one and downed half the glass.
“God, I’ve been waiting for that,” he said.
“You deserve it,” Alena said, “I’ve already had two.”
“I’ll do my best to catch up.”
Then Remy saw Paul teetering by the Griggs table. He attempted to sit down, but missed the chair and spilled onto the floor. His glass shattered and a tumble of ice cubes landed on top of him. Jerry Kapinski came around and helped him up, cursing under his breath. Remy heard Rawson whisper to Kenneth Murphy: “Get him the fuck out of here.”
Alena looked away, either out of embarrassment of disgust.
Kapinski managed to prop Paul onto a chair, but he was rocking back and forth and mumbling to himself. There was a layer of flop sweat on Paul’s brow, his hair was unkempt, and the glass had cut his jacket. Remy looked at Alena with concern. The crowd had noticed Paul’s display. A few cell phones had come out, snapping pictures of the mess.
“We should get him out of here,” Remy said,
Alena nodded. “I don’t know what to do. He’s been a mess all week. I know he’s under a lot of stress. And ever since the attack he’s gotten worse. But this is awful. And I can’t leave him home. It would look terrible.”
“Trust me,” Remy said, “if he can’t control himself, it’ll look a lot worse if he’s around.”
“I know you’re right. But how do you tell your husband that he’s an embarrassment?”
“I don’t know,” Remy said.
“I’d kill to just get out of here, go somewhere quiet and have a drink. Or five. To not have to worry about any of this. You know?”
“You say the word and I’m there.”
Alena looked at her husband mournfully. “If only I could click my heels together. But sometimes you have to take care of the kids.”
She went over to Paul, who now appeared to be singing something unintelligible in a raspy, high-pitched voice. Remy felt terrible for Alena and wished he could do more. Thankfully, Kapinski and Murphy helped Paul to his feet and led him out of the ballroom before things got worse.
The rest of the Griggs contingent stayed at the Hyatt until the very last guest had drunk their fill and the ballroom was empty. Remy had shaken dozens of hands, been introduced to hundreds of people. Memorizing all those names was a fruitless endeavor. At 11:00, Rawson went up to Remy and said, “I’d have to say tonight was an unqualified success. We raised half a million dollars. And more importantly, I think we—you—changed a lot of hearts and minds. Nicely done, Jeremy. Oh, but don’t expect me to call you Remy any time soon.”
“Thank you, sir.” Remy was on a high. He’d never felt such adulation. And from a roomful of people who, not too long ago, wouldn’t have considered him twice. Without a doubt, tonight would go down as one of the best nights of his life.
Murphy and Rebecca Blum huddled in a corner. Murphy was nursing a scotch and Blum held a gin and tonic. Their body language suggested they were upbeat about how the night went. Then Remy saw Blum gently rub the sleeve of Murphy’s coat, and he wondered what else it suggested.
Remy scanned the room; Grace Rivas appeared to have left. He took out his cell phone and texted her.
Thanks for coming. Sorry we didn’t get a chance to talk.
After he pressed send, added:
OTR
Rawson clapped Remy on the back and said, “Get some rest. Tomorrow in the War Room at seven a.m. We have a lot to do.”
“I’ll be there,” Remy said. He was glad he’d cut himself off after two white wines. “You know, I think I’m getting the hang of this.”
“Hold on one second,” Rawson said. “Rebecca, come here.”
When Blum came over, Rawson gave her his cell phone, then put his arm around Remy. “For social media,” Rawson said.
They both smiled and Blum took a picture.
“Put that on all our feeds. Caption: ‘With the man of the hour.’ All appropriate hashtags.”
“You got it.” Rebecca posted the photo using Rawson’s phone, then handed it back to him. “Done.”
Remy took out his phone and opened up his social media apps. The post had been up less than a minute and retweets and comments had already begun to pile up. Two minutes later, he had a thousand new followers.
Rawson watched Remy refresh his feed for a few moments and chuckled.
“It’s a new world,” he said. “We don’t even need the media anymore. I have more people watching my feeds than the cable networks combined. Free media. Saves me millions on advertising.”
Remy laughed, but he also knew Rawson was right. Shaw and Bertrand were week-old bagels and boring as death on television. Rawson was electricity. The networks covered his every word. He was changing the paradigm.
Remy stuck out his hand. Rawson looked at it and gripped it.
“Thank you,” Remy said. “For having faith in me.”
Rawson seemed surprised a
t the sentiment, and unsure of how to react. He shook Remy’s hand and said, “You’re doing well so far. But don’t let sentiment cloud your focus or your judgment.”
“It won’t.”
“In one week, you and Jerry follow up with everyone who attended tonight’s event. Make sure we have their support. Hard support. If they won’t commit to supporting us publicly, let’s get them on our side.”
“What do you mean, ‘get them on our side’?” Remy said.
“There are two ways to persuade people to support you,” Rawson said. “The first is by their own free will. The second is by yours. First you give them a carrot. And if that fails, you give them the stick. Tonight was the carrot. I hope the stick isn’t necessary.”
Rawson walked away before Remy could ask what he meant by that.
They left the Hyatt through the side entrance on Vanderbilt Avenue. Remy said his goodbyes. Rawson got into his car and headed back to the Castle. A crowd waited outside the Hyatt, taxis and Ubers fighting for spots as the scions of the city headed home to their palaces.
He stood there watching them, feeling a stab of jealously, when he heard someone say, “Remy, right?”
Remy turned to see a gorgeous brunette standing on the corner eyeing him. He recognized her from before—she was the girl who all but undressed him with her eyes while he was giving his speech.
He smiled and said, “Hey. I remember you.”
“Is that right?” she said. She walked over to him. Her smile was demure, her eyes flirtatious. She wore an emerald blue, single-shoulder ball gown, diamond earrings, and a pearl necklace. Five ten in her strappy heels. Her eyes were large and green and her red lipstick was freshly applied. Her long brown hair curled down around her bare shoulders.
She’d also applied both perfume and lip gloss very recently.
“You were sitting at table three,” he said. “You smiled at me. Hard not to notice”
“Well, if you remember every girl who smiles at you, then you must have a good memory,” she said. “I’m Donna. Donna White.”