by Paul Cwalina
She was right. The walk to the hotel was way too long, but I didn’t mind that much. I spent the entire time thinking about Jennifer and Sarah and Chelsea and Pastor Zee and Rick Roman. Mostly, though, I thought about the conversation with Heather. It was far weightier than I expected. It not only shook up the pieces of my life in my head, but helped a few of them begin to fall into place.
I got back to my room and spent the rest of the night desperately trying to get through to Jennifer. She was still ignoring my calls.
Chapter Ten
I woke Tuesday morning and immediately got out of bed. The adrenaline burning in my veins drove me through the morning routine. A healthy dose of pacing helped to dissipate some of the rest. It was election day in South Carolina and it was bigger and more important to me than any election prior to that day, even more important at this point than my own council and mayoral elections. If Roman lost, it would most likely be over for the campaign and my shot at being in DC would be dealt a fatal blow.
I took advantage of Ed’s leniency on attire for the day and put on dress jeans, a button down shirt, and a tweed sport coat. I placed myself in front of the hotel twenty minutes early and checked my phone constantly for the time as I waited for Heather.
Just before she arrived, I received a message through Facebook Messenger. It was from Jennifer. It was a simple ‘Good luck, today’. My heart leapt. I took my laptop case off my shoulder, let it fall to the ground and grabbed the phone with both hands.
‘Thank you’ I replied and then sent another right after that ‘I need to talk to you. Please.’
‘Not now’
‘There’s nothing going on. I swear.’
She didn’t reply. Again, I was left with mixed feelings. I was thrilled to hear from Jennifer and her ‘not now’ response was encouraging. If not now, there must be a ‘then’ at some point, but she also stopped communicating. Maybe she’s just busy...on her way to work....or maybe she just got into the shower...Maybe she was just being courteous and there’s nothing more to come.
When I walked into the office, the electricity in the air was thick and pulsing. People move faster on election day. People move with purpose.
“Quick staff meeting,” Ed shouted. “Let’s go.”
After everyone assembled and settled, Ed took his place at the head of the table, cigarette secured in his fingers, but no trademark one-sheet agenda in hand. “All right. Listen up. My sources are confirming what we’ve expected for a week now. Baron and Coleman will each be dropping out of the race if they finish in the bottom half tonight. We have no shot at an endorsement from Coleman, but Rick’s working his charm on Baron. We’ll see what happens. The smart money is on neither candidate endorsing anyone right away, and that’s fine with us. Nonetheless, know that Rick is pursuing it. Polls opened at seven and close at seven tonight. Everyone is on the phones from nine this morning until six-thirty tonight. No need to thank me. Katie, Cindy, the call lists are on your desks. Divide them evenly among everyone. Cindy, the script is on your chair. Make copies for everyone. Katie, I emailed you a phone log. Print it out and give a few copies each to everybody. Track your calls, people. No excuses,” he said and then paused. He drew on his cigarette, exhaled, and then looked around the table. “Look, I’m not going to sugar-coat this, folks. Your jobs are on the line, today. That’s all there is to it. Do some stretching, get your coffee and dial your first number at exactly nine o’clock. Now, get out of here.”
Ed’s bluntness was effective. We were as motivated as human beings could be. All of us took to the phones without delay and without complaint. It was the worst part of working on a campaign, but certainly a necessary one. Our job was to get likely voters off the couch and out to the polls to pull the lever for Rick. We were acting as a complimentary force to Greg’s staff on the ground in South Carolina. Greg was splitting his day between Columbia, Greenville, and Charleston, cracking the whip on volunteers and coordinating drivers and cars to get the elderly to the polls.
I did my best throughout the day to gauge how the vote was going. People seemed to fall into just two categories. They either loved Rick Roman or they hated him, with one gentleman using the word ‘disembowel,’ which I thought was a little harsh. There was nobody checking the box next to ‘lukewarm’. Unfortunately, when noon and lunch break arrived, the informal results were almost exactly fifty-fifty. A little over three hours of phone calls and the picture was no clearer than when I started. I made my way around the room and asked everyone what they were finding and there was little difference from what I had found. I couldn’t even find any clues in the demographics. It was frustrating. I called Greg to see if he was seeing anything different on the ground. He was. “I think we have this,” he said confidently. “I’m feeling really good.” Those were welcome words and music to my ears. Greg’s instincts were sharp and trustworthy, but we were far from a victory.
Katie and Cindy, who had left the office twenty minutes prior, came through the office doors with arms full of pizzas, strombolis, salads, and drinks. Nobody was shy about making a beeline to the conference room for lunch. We all acted like we had been prisoners of war tasting freedom and food for the first time. We silently and mutually agreed to set aside social graces and grabbed slices of pizza over each other like a pack of hyenas sharing a carcass.
I noticed Cindy sitting down next to the only other empty seat as she began picking at a salad. When I approached, she pulled the empty chair closer to her. I made a statement by pulling the chair away a bit and sitting down, but she just moved her chair closer. As I took my first bite, she said softly, “So, tell me about my competition.”
“What?”
“Your little woman back home...what is she like?”
“None of your business...and there is no competition,” I said curtly.
“Oh, it’s just me now? Sweet.”
“Knock it off.”
“So, how are we going to celebrate tonight?”
“Separately.”
She laughed softly. “Not a chance. You’re going to be on a natural high from the victory tonight. You’ll see. Your passion will be at a fever pitch. You’ll be thinking you’re invincible and that’s right where I want you. I’ll be right there feeding your ego and celebrating with you.”
“Oh, you think so, huh? And if Roman loses?”
“Even better. I’ll be right there to console you. We’ll go to an altered state, leave our inhibitions behind, and shake our fists at God for cheating us.”
“You think I can’t turn you away and find comfort elsewhere?”
“Oh, sweetie, the more you resist the harder I’m coming after you. I’m already in your head. I’m a part of you.”
“What is your deal? I’ve never met a woman who talks like you do.”
She chuckled a bit condescendingly. “No deal, sweetie. Just having some fun. You should try it.”
“I have plenty...without you, which I’m sure comes as a shock to you.”
“You have no idea what fun is until you’ve been with me, but you’ll find out tonight,” she said and, then got up from her chair and walked back to her desk.
I shook my head and continued to eat, completely flummoxed by that woman. What is her deal?
I finished my lunch and went outside for some air and to try to reach Jennifer. I sent her three texts before she finally replied.
‘I can’t take much more. You need to make a decision. I will pick you up Friday night at the airport if you’d like,’ she replied.
My entire body smiled. ‘Yes! That would be great. Thank you.’ I put my phone back into my sport coat pocket and sprinted back into the building, up the stairs and to my desk. I was the happiest campaign telemarketer in the history of politics. Perhaps my joy came through in my conversations with the voters. Who knows? Maybe it motivated them to vote for Rick.
I took another break around two-thirty. Before I could get up from my chair, Cindy appeared at the entrance to my cubicle with a cup
of coffee. “Black, right?” she said.
Surprised, I simply replied, “Yes.”
She dipped her elegant finger into the coffee and stirred a circle or two. “There. I sweetened it for you.”
I shook my head. “Just put it down right there,” I instructed her and walked out right past her. She smiled as I did. I didn’t.
The afternoon call session and the texts from Jennifer were enough to keep my spirits up. There was a little over four hours left of campaigning for the day and I wanted to get in one more good stretch and fill my lungs with fresh air. I called Greg for an update. He was still feeling confident, and that fed me. I stood in the parking lot of the office building and took a look around. I could see the Capitol in the distance and said to myself, “Looks like I’ll be seeing a lot more of you in the near future, my friend.” I stretched out my arms and rolled my neck from side to side to smooth out the knots from being bent over a phone for five hours. It was time to head into the homestretch. I was pumped.
When 6:30 rolled around there was a collective sigh of relief throughout the office. We were beat but upbeat as we stood up and exchanged glances with raised eyebrows and some high-fives. The plans were to meet for dinner, drinks, and a celebration at the bar/restaurant across the street from the office building. I would have preferred to go back to the hotel to freshen up first, but I had no ride, so I just joined the others as we made our way across the road.
Along the way and as we settled into the room we had reserved, we exchanged war stories from the day’s phone calls. I wasn’t interested in those, though. I wanted to hear reactions. How were the voters? Did you get a sense of how the vote was going to go? This was always the worst part of election night. All the work was done. The polls were closed and the only thing you could do was wait. I wasn’t familiar with South Carolina politics, so I didn’t know what to look for as far as returns. Would Columbia be a bellwether or would it be Charleston? How long before the rural districts come in? I couldn’t stand the wait. I couldn’t stand the not-knowing.
We all took seats around the large table that was set in a loft above the bar. Cindy was conspicuously absent. There were two televisions in the room and we immediately turned one to CNN and the other to Fox News. Marcus brought his tablet and was scanning the political sites for any kind of information on the South Carolina returns. Every time he found an exit poll, he would announce it, but I paid no attention. They were unreliable and a waste of time, and I just wished he would shut up. I twitched and paced nervously, while a few of my co-workers urged me to sit and relax. What is wrong with you people? How can you just sit there?
The waitress came into the loft to take drink orders. I ordered two cocktails because I knew I would drink the first as if it was a shot of water. She handed out menus. I looked through mine six times and had no idea what I had read. My mind was fixed on the race. When she returned with the drinks and to take our dinner order I just chose the same thing that Jung ordered only because he ordered immediately prior to me. “Whatever he just said,” I told her.
At 7:15, I was berating the televisions and the news organizations for not having results. “Come on! The polls have been closed for fifteen minutes, already! You must have something!” I said loudly and agitated.
“Patience is a virtue,” Valerie said in a sad attempt to relax me.
“No, it’s not. It’s a mental disorder,” I retorted. I got up from the table again and called Greg. It went straight to voice mail, which wasn’t a surprise as he was most likely making phone calls incessantly trying to get numbers.
I was right about my first drink. I drank it in one gulp. It had no more effect on my nerves or agitation than a glass of milk. “Marcus. Anything?” I asked.
“Nothing yet.”
“It’s going on eight o’clock. What are they doing down there?” I said.
It wasn’t until we were halfway through our meals that the first numbers were being broadcast. Roman was winning by a healthy margin in Columbia and by slightly less in Charleston. The first numbers out of Greenville didn’t look good, but it carried less weight than the other two so we weren’t concerned.
I had just ordered my third cocktail when I got a call from Greg. I didn’t even say ‘hello’. “Greg! Whaddya got? What’s going on?”
He started with a laugh. “Calm down, man,” he said. “Hey, don’t tell anyone because none of this is confirmed, but it looks like we’re going to shock everybody. He might win this by high single digits. Depends on how some of the bigger rural districts come in, but make no mistake, we’re winning South Carolina tonight.”
“Yes! Whoo!” I shouted way too loudly, causing everyone to stop what they were doing and look at me. I was pumped up and raised my two fists in the air in a V and said loudly, again, “Whooo!”
I put the phone back to my ear and Greg said, “Yeah, thanks for keeping that quiet.”
“I won’t tell them the rest. I promise,” I said.
“Yeah, why don’t I believe you?”
“Thanks for the call, man. Keep us posted.”
I looked down the table and said, “According to Greg’s numbers, we won. The only question is by how much.” The room erupted. There were hugs and high-fives. Within a few minutes, CNN put up a graphic that had a check mark next Rick’s face and name. “CNN is now projecting that Senator Rick Roman will win the South Carolina primary tonight,” the anchor said. Almost simultaneously, Fox made the same projection. Again, the room erupted and we immediately ordered a round of victory shots by shouting down from the loft to our waitress down below.
We toasted Rick, the voters of South Carolina and each other. I swallowed it quickly, exuberantly slammed the shot glass down on the table, and sat down. That’s when Cindy finally walked in. She said ‘hello’ to the room and the room said ‘hello’ back. There were no chairs available, so I instinctively stood up to offer her mine. She just smiled and gently pushed me back down. “No, no. You sit. I’ll be fine.”
Then she stood right in front of me and unbuttoned her long wool coat and nearly tore it open to reveal a tiny red spaghetti-strapped cocktail dress that left almost nothing to the imagination. It left ninety percent of her long legs exposed and those legs extended into a pair of black shoes whose heels were high enough to change the altitude at which she would breathe. It was completely inappropriate, not only for a professional gathering but for the weather, as well. We were been enjoying a mild winter, but we weren’t exactly in the Florida Keys.
One thing was obvious. She was through circling her prey and she was determined to go in for the kill tonight.
“Whoa,” I said. “Isn’t that dress a little light for winter?”
She bent down and said, “I don’t dress for weather. I dress for me.” She stood back up straight, put her hand on her hip and asked, ”You like?”
I was still on a high from the victory in the election and just blurted out, “Very nice!”
“I’l be back,” she said. She walked over to talk with Katie and order a drink.
The polite dinner among co-workers was now a party and a celebration. People were moving and mingling, but I stayed put in the chair and had another cocktail. It was around ten o’clock that music started blaring from the overhead sound system. I didn’t know if it was being piped in or if there was a DJ, but the lights turned down just a little lower and people began dancing in their seats.
Within the first few minutes, the INXS song Devil Inside came on. Cindy shrieked. “This is my favorite song! Dance with me!” she demanded and grabbed my hands.
“No,” I said sternly. “That’s not happening.”
“Oh, come on. Why not?” she said.
“A, there’s not even a dance floor and B, just no,” I said