Vote for Larry

by Janet Tashjian

  “Too bad you didn’t grep the situation a little sooner.”

  “You had A1 clearance,” Beth said. “But I suppose you’re the one who entered that information into the MIT system.”

  He tilted the bowl to his mouth to get the last of the milk. When he came up for air, the little white mustache bugged me so much I almost couldn’t concentrate on what he was saying.

  “Why’d you do it?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “I disagreed with almost all of your platform. Except that everyone should vote—that I agreed with.”

  “People disagreed with me every day. That doesn’t mean they wanted to sabotage my campaign.”

  “Yes, but I could. It gave me such a buzz to be in all your top meetings then totally screw you an hour later.”

  “You could have worked for one of the other candidates,” I said. “Done something positive for them instead.”

  “Let’s face it, Larry. Negative sells. Negative works.”

  “Not for me,” I said. “That’s one thing I’ve learned the hard way.”

  I heard footsteps in the room above us.

  “But don’t take it personally.” Tim lowered his voice. “There were other factors too. My aunt is loaded—never too late to get on her good side, you know what I mean?”

  I could hear someone walking down the stairs behind me. I didn’t have to turn around to know who it was.

  “I hope you offered our guests something,” betagold said. “Where are your manners, Timothy?”

  She wore a blue tailored suit and carried a suitcase. She still favored that hand cream my mother used to wear, a smell that threw me off guard more than her measured voice.

  “This was all you,” I said. “Right?”

  Betagold nodded, a pleasant smile on her face. “Well I did have help. But it was fun to be back in business again.”

  I thought Beth might push betagold down the stairs; I unconsciously stepped between them.

  “Back in the business of ruining people’s lives,” Beth said. “Of meddling in places you don’t belong.”

  Betagold’s eyes twinkled. “When I retired, people told me I should take up a hobby. I thought politics might be fun.”

  “No, you thought torturing me might be fun,” I said.

  “Well, I have to admit, tracking you down two years ago did give me a great sense of accomplishment. It’s important to keep busy. After all, how many episodes of Matlock can one person watch?”

  “You’re giving the elderly a bad name,” Beth shot back.

  I plopped onto the corduroy recliner. Part of me realized the newscasters on the wall of televisions were about to broadcast the fate of the country along with that of Yours Truly, but I couldn’t tear myself away from betagold. “It was never Janine, was it?”

  “Good gracious, no. She was just so open, it was easy for Timothy to get whatever information we needed from her.”

  “And the photograph of you two together?”

  “I was asking her for directions—she had no idea it was me. Timothy was kind enough to catch our little meeting on film.”

  “Janine would have cut off her arm for you,” Tim said. “I almost had to leave the room when you yelled at her.” He took his suitcase from the hall and set it on the stairs.

  “I thought linking everything back to Colorado was quite resourceful,” betagold said. “My nephew’s idea. Wish I could take credit.”

  “You both make me sick,” Beth chided. “The hit and run—was that you too?”

  Betagold looked almost sad. “I had nothing to do with that, I assure you. My employers were just a little too impatient. I tried to warn you.”

  “Who was behind this?” I asked. “The Democrats or Republicans?”

  “It was a real bipartisan effort. If both parties worked this closely in Congress, things might actually get accomplished. They only brought me in for my organizational skills.”

  “And let’s not forget your commitment to the cause,” I added.

  “True enough. But you really threw a wrench into things with that voter turnout.”

  “No matter what happens tonight,” I said, “people took their power back.”

  “Talk about setting off the bogometer,” Tim said. “You sound like one of the suits.”

  Betagold reached into her pocket and put on a pair of gloves that matched her outfit. “I want you to know I listened to every one of your speeches and thought you both made several good points. You really did a good job distinguishing yourself from the other parties.”

  “From you, that’s quite the endorsement. I almost appreciate it.”

  “Are you three done with your little Q and A?” Beth asked. “Because I’m calling the police.”

  Betagold looked at me knowingly and smiled.

  “We can’t,” I told Beth. “There isn’t a shred of evidence linking her to sabotaging our computers or funneling that money to the Caribbean, is there?”

  “Of course not, dear,” betagold answered. “You should know me better than that. When the police questioned me after the accident, there wasn’t a trace to be found.” She moved back the curtain and looked outside. “Timothy, our taxi’s here. You two are welcome to stay and watch the returns if you’d like.”

  “Josh!” Beth screamed. “We can’t just let them go!”

  Tim picked up their suitcases and opened the front door.

  Betagold waved her gloved hand. “I do hope to see you again, Larry. It’s always such a pleasure.”

  She closed the door behind her.

  Beth wanted to kill me. “We probably lost the election because of her! She spent months trying to destroy all our hard work! How can you be so calm?”

  It was a good question.

  Why wasn’t I spitting my anger across the room too or throwing betagold’s suitcase into the street? Deep down, I knew what the answer was. I had spent the last week analyzing how I’d spoken to Janine, comparing it to the many times Peter and I had exchanged venomous words throughout the years. Being in a different relationship with him now made me realize I didn’t want to be a part of that kind of negative energy anymore. I thought about the pact I’d made with myself two years ago—to change myself before I changed the world. Betagold may have destroyed my chance at the presidency, but I never wanted to feel the bitter aftertaste of my own bile again. No matter what happened in the election, honoring that personal commitment seemed like victory enough for me.

  Beth grabbed the remote from my hand and hit the mute button. “Do you mind if we find out if we’re going to be in the White House next year?”

  It was a reasonable request.

  She squatted on the arm of the recliner as we watched the faces of Brokaw, Jennings, and Rather tally the results.

  Tom Brokaw reported that 99 percent of the precincts were in and it was time to announce the winner. I had the urge to lock myself in the bathroom and not come out till the broadcast was over.

  “In an historic three-way race, Larry Swensen came in third,” he said.

  I took the remote from the table and hit the power switch, shutting off all the TVs.

  Beth flew out of the chair. “Are you nuts? Put it back on!”

  I shrugged. “Whoever wins, the people decided. We’ll deal with it either way.”

  “Give me that remote!”

  I held it over my head as she tried to grab it, a version of our twelve-year-old selves. She eventually gave in and collapsed on the recliner. She turned to face me. “Are you bummed we didn’t win?”

  “Kind of. Are you?”

  She thought about it for several moments before she answered. “These past few days, I began to fantasize about tackling all those issues we raised at the rallies and really doing something about them.”

  “It would’ve been great to try,” I said. “To be a part of the solution.”

  “Ninety-two percent voter turnout,” she said. “I hate to tell you, but we are part of the solution.”

  I thought of th
e macaques washing their sweet potatoes as if their ancestors always had.

  We had altered our own history. It was almost an honor to be able to make my concession speech.

  I grabbed the keys and headed to the door.

  “Oh my God,” Beth said. “They’re waiting for us at headquarters!”

  I had a winner to congratulate and staffers to thank. Not to mention the millions of voters who had changed the course of history.

  But as much as I wanted to do those things, there was something I wanted to do even more.

  Find Janine.

  The post-party was a blur of balloons, confetti, and popcorn. Anyone looking in the windows of the old theater would have thought we had won, and we had. Thirty-seven Peace Party candidates across the country had been elected. Fifty-six eighteen-year-olds had won seats as state senators or representatives. Environmental groups charted a 500 percent increase in volunteers, as did the watchdog groups policing campaign finance reform. Legislators were drafting laws limiting spending during elections. When all was said and done, 96 percent of all youth ages eighteen to twenty-four had voted. And because we’d garnered more than 5 percent of the vote, the Peace Party would be eligible for matching federal funds next election, guaranteeing several promising candidates a running start. And who knows, an eighteen-year-old might be president some day. The reporters were eager to cover this wave of active democracy that would keep the new Administration in check.

  Me? I called Janine in Boulder, only to find her number disconnected. I flew through my laptop to retrieve my “recently deleted” e-mails. Of the ten or so of hers I’d deleted, only one remained in the file.

  SINCE YOU HAVEN’T ANSWERED MY OTHER E-MAILS, THIS ONE IS MY LAST IF I HAD ONE WISH IN THIS WORLD—EVEN MORE THAN HOPING YOU WIN—IT’S THAT YOU REALIZE I WOULD NEVER DO ANYTHING TO HURT YOU. I LOVE YOU, ALWAYS HAVE, FROM OUR FIRST DATE TO THE HURT IN YOUR EYES AS YOU LASHED OUT AT ME AT THAT MEETING. I’M PULLING A LARRY—SOLD ALL MY STUFF (I’M DOWN TO ONE HUNDRED POSSESSIONS, COULDN’T QUITE WHITTLE IT DOWN TO SEVENTY-FIVE) AND HITTING THE ROAD WITH BRADY DON’T WORRY, YOU’LL NEVER HEAR FROM US AGAIN. GOOD LUCK ON ELECTION DAY LOVE, JANINE. PS: JUST AN IDEA—HAVE YOU CHECKED OUT TIM? I KNOW HIS CREDENTIALS ARE STRONG, BUT I’M NOT SURE I TRUST HIM. HE ASKS A LOT OF QUESTIONS … .

  Beth stood behind the desk, reading the note over my shoulder. “She was good for you.”

  I snapped my laptop closed. “Yes, she was.”

  I had something to tell her but didn’t know how. I played with the laces of my sneakers and tried to gather my courage.

  Thankfully, Beth was more direct. “You can talk to thousands of people about issues of national importance, yet you can’t look me in the eye and tell me something from your heart.”

  I was a loser on so many levels, I couldn’t begin to keep track.

  She dragged her chair next to mine. “You’re leaving again, aren’t you?”

  I nodded and told her I was off to find Janine. I pulled Beth’s chair even closer. “The part of you that’s my best friend—what does she think?”

  She tilted her head and looked at me tenderly “The part of me that’s your best friend? That’s all of me, Josh. Go. I’ll be here when you get back.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’ve been around the two of you for almost a year,” she said. “I never forced the issue with us because I saw how much she loved you.” For once, she couldn’t look me in the eye. “More than I did, I’m sorry to say.”

  As much as I didn’t enjoy hearing those words of rejection, there was relief in hearing them too.

  Beth punched me in the arm, but not as hard as usual. “I’ve got to get back to school anyway If I don’t start matriculating, they’re going to kick me out.”

  We held each other for a long time before I headed home.

  There was one person who was going to be almost as hard to say goodbye to as Beth. At dinnertime, I summoned up the courage to tell Peter my plans.

  He took it well. “You go find Janine. She’s a keeper, that girl.”

  “For someone who glues Barbie shoes to her sunglasses, she’s as solid as you can get.”

  “Anything you want to do before you go? Bloomingdale’s?”

  I shook my head. “I barely heard Mom this time around. I don’t think she’s there anymore.”

  “She’s inside you, always has been. You don’t need Chanel to tell you that.”

  “I thought of her every day on the trail,” I added. “She would’ve had the best ideas.”

  “They’re your ideas now, it’s up to you how you use them.” He picked up our two plates and brought them to the sink.

  It is up to me, I thought. When you ain’t got nothing, you got nothing to lose. But I had something now, several things in fact. A stepfather I loved. A best friend I’d have forever. A girlfriend out there somewhere who deserved an apology

  And a backpack filled with everything I owned waiting by the door.

  “Before you go,” Peter said. “There’s one thing I have to tell you.”

  “What?”

  He looked at me with a crooked smile. “I transferred the offshore money to our account.”

  “What? You forged my name?”

  “Don’t worry, the money’s already gone. Sent half of it to , the other half to . One hundred ninety million dollars from corporate investors going to organizations that fight corporate greed. You’ve got to love it.”

  Although I hadn’t wanted any part of that dirty money, there was satisfaction in putting cash into the hands of enthusiastic activists working their asses off trying to change the world. Kids like me.

  “Stop in and say hi when you’re in town, okay?”

  I picked up my bag and gave Peter a hug. As much as I’d miss him, miss Beth, I couldn’t wait to get on the road. I thanked Peter for his offer of a lift but headed to the bus station alone.

  At the terminal, I spotted a LARRY/BETH bumper sticker on a vending machine. In the three days since the election, we’d done dozens of interviews; the issues we’d raised were now being talked about by every politician as urgent and necessary. I thought about my late afternoon at the Sagamore eleven months ago, when our entire campaign was nothing more than a note scribbled on a napkin. I thought about how different things would have been if I’d taken that napkin and thrown it away instead of acting on it.

  But it wasn’t just our successes I thought about; it was the sense of community, the fun. Maybe slowly, I was learning to connect to more than just one or two people at a time. Maybe now my journey across the country would be less isolating, more open.

  In Springfield, an old man wrapped in several scarves took the seat across the aisle from me. We both nodded our hellos. He reached into one of his bags and pulled out a cribbage board wrapped in a checkered tablecloth.

  “You play?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “Never have.”

  He unwrapped the board and placed it between us. “Are you up for learning something new?”

  The magic words. I put down my book and smiled. “Absolutely.”

  Epilogue

  Josh looked over the manuscript.

  “Wow,” he said. “When you see it in black and white, it seems like a big deal.”

  “Running for president is a big deal,” I answered.

  “It’s not like I won.”

  “What are you talking about? You moved the process miles ahead. Voters realize the enormous power they have.”

  He picked at the cuff of his shirt. “I was kind of wondering—”

  “Of course I voted for you.”

  His face registered surprise.

  “What? You think only young people want change?”

  He shook his head. “That’s what was so cool. We found out everybody wants it.”

  We were in my driveway leaning against my car and eating pistachios. Both of us had pink fingers.

  He wiped the debris off his shirt and put on his bike helmet.
/>   “Where are you going? My editor’s coming at four. You said you’d finally meet her.”

  “Thank her for me, would you?”

  “Are you kidding? You can’t leave.”

  He told me he had a plane to catch.

  “Josh, come on. She’s going to think I made you up!” I could feel my annoyance rise. I’d look like an idiot if he wasn’t here for the meeting. But when I glanced over at him, his smile was so disarming I couldn’t give him grief.

  “Do you mind dedicating the book to Janine?” he asked.

  “Of course not. I’m still hoping they let me put your name on it this time. Or at least a photo.”

  He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter to me either way.”

  When I asked him to e-mail me his sources, he said he would.

  “Speaking of Janine, any leads?”

  He shook his head. “I’m heading out west tonight, but I don’t have a thing to go on. You’d think someone would remember a girl traveling with a collie. She’s better at disappearing than I am.”

  I told him to send me a postcard and he agreed. He climbed on his bike and secured his pack.

  “Am I going to see you again?” I asked.

  That great canary-eating smile. “I don’t know. Are you?”

  I hugged him before he jumped on his bike. When he got to the intersection, he made a left, but not before shooting me a peace sign over his head.

  I raised my arm in the air and gave him one in return.

  Karl, my fifteen-year-old neighbor, walked by on his way to work. He nodded at my still-raised arm in the air. “You’re so sixties sometimes,” he said.

  “I know. It’s a real drawback.”

  I offered him some pistachios and he took them.

  “Was that that Larry guy?”

  I told him it was.

  “Doesn’t he ever sleep? I mean, what fun is it being a teenager if you’re worrying about changing the world all the time? The guy needs a life.”

  I turned to face him. “You know what happens when you try to change the world?”