by A. C. Fuller
He scans the audience.
"I see heads shaking and hands going up. I think your objections will be the same ones my students make when I say this sort of thing. That it's easy for me—an upper-middle-class white man—to argue for gradual change because I'm not the one the world needs to change for. But that said, I promised I'd listen more than I talked today, so, let's see...the young lady in red, with the glasses. Yes, you. What's your question?"
The girl starts a complicated question about ideology, but I'm only half listening.
It's an old truism that politicians campaign in poetry and govern in prose. Axum has campaigned in prose all along, and I love it. Better still, he's changing his usual style, proving that he's willing to listen to young people and the non-wonky, which tells me he really wants to win this thing.
He's far behind the leaders, but maybe he believes that in the final vote, America will trust in smarts, experience, and thoughtfulness. I'd really like to believe he's right, but the tepid applause for his response to the ideology question doesn't fill me with confidence.
A man with salt-and-pepper hair stands in the third row and waits as a staffer hurries over with the microphone. When it reaches him, he clears his throat and, in doing so, turns his head slightly.
I stop breathing.
The man wears a dark gray suit and, though his face is partially shadowed, I catch his unmistakable sharp nose—"The English Nose"—my mother once called it.
"Thank you for calling on me," the man says. "My name is Payton Rhodes, former Senator from the state of Connecticut. I have a question, but first let me say that I believe you to be the strongest candidate in the field. When I served the state of Connecticut, I was a Democrat. Still am. But having retired from professional politics myself, I can safely endorse you, which I hereby do. I will be voting for Avery Axum in the Ameritocracy finale."
He pauses like he's expecting applause, but the crowd is silent. Axum looks confused at this hijacking of the proceedings.
I'm speechless. I was supposed to have dinner with my father tonight after the event. And now he's here, endorsing one of my candidates.
"Um, thank you," Axum says at last.
"My question," my father says, "is how will you work with Democrats to break the partisan gridlock in Washington if you become president?"
Axum stares for a moment, but he seems intent on answering.
I'm not listening, though.
My eyes are glued to the back of my father's head.
"It's been a long time," my father says. "Too long."
"Too long? We've never met."
He doesn't reply. Awkwardness permeates the space between us.
We sit at a small table in the corner of a little Thai restaurant near the campus. My hands are folded in my lap. His are on the table. I watch little droplets condense on my water glass and roll down the side, soaking a napkin beneath it.
I didn't catch a word of Axum's town hall after my father's question. I stared at the back of his head, trying to remain calm, trying to put on a happy face. Emotionally, I'd prepared to see my father after the event.
After the event.
His appearance threw me off. I had never been in the same room as him and suddenly, there he was. Not only that, but he was there to endorse my favorite candidate in the political competition I created.
"What's wrong?" he asks at last.
"I don't know," I manage. "I didn't expect…I don't know."
A waiter sets down two glasses of Thai iced tea. I take a long sip of the thick, sweet tea, which cuts through my daze. "I didn't expect you to be at the event. I thought we were meeting afterwards."
"I had no idea you'd be there. I figured you must be busy with arrangements for the final debate."
"Steph handles most of that. We decided I should put in an appearance in support of the final seven."
"Steph is?"
"My best friend. Executive Director."
"Ahh." He takes a small sip and eyes me. "It's good to finally meet you as an adult. Let me say, I'm very proud of you. Who would have thought politics would run in the family? Your brothers and sister never showed any—"
"Brothers and sister? Can you not call them that?"
"I, I'm sorry. That was…insensitive."
I finish my drink in one long pull off the colorful straw, then raise it up in the direction of the waiter, indicating that I'd like another.
It's not that I don't like the idea of having two brothers and a sister. I've known for years that they exist, but his casual reference to them—as though we'd always been a family—doesn't sit right. For now, steering clear of family talk is the safest bet.
"Why'd you endorse Axum?" I ask. "It was a surprise. In fact, I think you're one of the most prominent former officials to formally endorse."
He smiles. "I thought you'd wonder about that. You have a sharp political mind. My office sent a letter to the press right after Axum's town hall, doubling down on the endorsement. Quite a few of your candidates have been angling for endorsements from current and former elected officials. Of course, most are reluctant to endorse. Any prominent Democrat or Republican willing to endorse a third party or unaffiliated challenger would be killing their own career." He shrugs. "But my political career is over."
He stares at the table for a long moment, his face stoic.
"Honestly, Mia, and I know this may sound cheesy, but you inspired me to do what I think is right. I know you'll think I have nothing to lose since I'm no longer a player in the Democratic party, but I do. They invited me to the convention this year, and I've reconciled with some of the party elders."
For three decades after I was born, my father was a political outcast, shunned by the Democrats for losing them an election they should have won easily, and all because "he couldn't keep it in his pants," as one top Democratic strategist put it on Meet the Press.
I guess he thinks I should be happy for him that he's reconciling with the party and discovering his conscience after all these years.
I'm not. "So you made up with the Democratic party, then endorsed Axum as—"
"An exercise of conscience. They wanted me to remain neutral, but I told them I had to speak my mind."
He says this gravely, like he's on the floor of the Senate.
I try not to roll my eyes. Luckily, the food arrives before I say anything sarcastic. I can't tell how much of my animosity toward him is due to years of pent-up frustration, and how much is because he comes off as self-satisfied, like he expects a medal for having a conscience. Not to mention the fact that I don't like him anywhere near Ameritocracy.
I figure the Democratic ticket is a neutral topic, something about which we can make small talk as we eat chicken satay. "What do you think of Cynthia Bell?"
"Excellent woman. Smart, executive experience. She's further left than me, but you have to be to represent Oregon. She'll pivot to wherever the ticket needs her to be if she's chosen."
"If? It sounds like a done deal if the reports are right."
My last bit is an invitation. A request for inside information. My father knows as well as anyone that potential VP names get leaked by all sorts of people for any number of reasons.
He picks up on this. "I assure you I have no inside information. When I ran in '88, we leaked a couple VP names. We leaked one name as a nod to the black and Latino communities, another to see if any scandals came out when the name got floated. I think the Dems are serious about Bell. Good to have a woman on the ticket. Though maybe with Ameritocracy, we'll end up with a woman at the top, right? Morales, Johnson, or Hall?"
"Maybe."
"You think it'll be Colton?"
"I don't know."
I'm still despondent that Peter has Ameritocracy all but won, and I don't want to talk about it.
"Did you know Avery Axum was my favorite candidate?" I blurt, my tone more biting than I intended.
"No. I assumed you weren't supposed to play favorites."
I'
m embarrassed I admitted that to him, embarrassed it came out the way it did. "I don't. We don't. We treat him like any other candidate. Our leader board is diverse enough to prove that. But we have our personal favorites, we just keep them personal. I just…I was surprised you showed up to endorse him." I cock my head, studying him carefully. "I wondered whether you knew I like his style and showed up to endorse him to—I don't know—impress me or something."
He sets down his fork. "You thought that?"
I stare at him, saying nothing.
"That hurts, Mia." He frowns. "I had no idea."
He reaches out like he wants me to take his hand, but I don't move.
He taps gently on the table. "Mia, I'm sorry. I can tell you're upset with me and you have every right to be. I've made terrible mistakes in life. If I could take them back, I would."
"You tried to get mom to abort me. And yet here I am! Mia Rhodes, daughter of the esteemed Payton Rhodes, the short girl with inexplicable red hair." I pause. "I think you regret losing the election."
I hadn't planned on saying it. It left my mouth in slow motion. Then there it was.
"I…Mia, I don't know what to say. That's not something you should have to live with, that knowledge."
"You blame mom for telling me?"
His face is a portrait of hurt. I wince internally because I didn't want to hurt him. I don't think so, anyway.
"Not. At. All," he says. "That's my biggest regret of all, my greatest mistake. If I could go back and do it differently, I would. If I could take back those words, I would. If I could wave a wand that would allow you to live your life not knowing that, I would."
He looks into my eyes, and I feel myself choking up.
"Mia," he continues, "I am truly sorry. After tonight, I won't try to contact you again. I'll be there for you whenever you need, and I'll tell you this: I'd like to have a relationship with you. A chance to know you. But the ball is in your court."
My desire to believe him is out of sync with my anger. I want him to be telling the truth, I want to have a relationship with him, and this softens me. "I'll think about it."
"Also…" he hesitates, like he doesn't want to betray a confidence, "your red hair isn't inexplicable. There's a lot more Irish on the Rhodes side than my mother or my grandfather would have admitted."
I can't help but crack a grin at that—New England WASPs hiding their Irish ancestry. Good for him for owning it.
"You know." He smiles, likely sensing that I've mellowed toward him. "We have met before."
"When?" I ask quietly.
"When you were two, I came by the diner once. You and your mother had moved and some money I tried to send her had been returned. I came in late morning, after the breakfast crowd had thinned out. She was wiping down tables and I tried to offer her the money and she refused. I was on my way out when I heard a child shout, 'I'm here, and I'm running!'" He smiles. "There I am, standing by the diner door, and all of a sudden you emerge from behind the counter, running through the restaurant in little overalls as red as your hair. And you kept repeating it. 'I'm here and I'm running!' I guess you'd recently learned to run because you weren't very good at it yet. Kind of an uneven, wobbly trot. But you tore through the diner like you owned the place, like it was your stage, and you were made to perform. There were only a handful of people there, but they loved it. Loved it! Loved you." He shakes his head wistfully. "I'm here and I'm running."
My throat is tight. Under the table, I squeeze my hands together, trying not to cry. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because seeing you on TV, following your progress over the last year, I see that girl. Despite my mistakes, you became the woman you were meant to become, and I've never been happier about anything. You're doing something important. You're here, and you're running. Running Ameritocracy. And I know I have no right to feel proud, but I do."
Trying to stem the tears, I eat in silence for a few uncomfortable minutes, then check the time on my phone. "I have to get going. Another campaign event..." I sniff and blink rapidly "...to get to."
14
Of all the candidate events, Justine Hall's is the most formal.
Her team somehow secured a massive room at the Kennedy Club, a bipartisan think tank that rarely allows anyone other than current or former politicians to use the meeting rooms.
She also managed to gather some serious Washington firepower. Whereas Axum received one spontaneous and likely unhelpful endorsement from my father, Hall has lined up a half dozen big names. I'm honestly curious about who's been making phone calls for her.
To avoid drawing attention from Hall, I slide into a chair in the back and take in the scene. The room is about a thousand square feet, full of fancy wooden chairs set up theater style. Interestingly, every chair is filled by reporters and invited guests. No Ameritocracy fans are present. I was sent a formal invitation, but the event wasn't open to the public.
Moments after I arrive, a short, stocky man ambles up to the small stage, looking nervous. "Welcome, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Simon Ermintrout, chief of staff for the next president of the United States, Justine Hall."
He holds for applause, his bald head gleaming under the lights.
"Ms. Hall will be out shortly," he continues, "but first we have a few people here this evening who would like to speak on Ms. Hall's behalf." He nods at the front row. "Please welcome the former senator from the great state of Colorado, Maximillian Tide."
Tide takes the stage and raises the microphone to accommodate his height, over six feet despite his perpetual slouch. He must be close to eighty, having served six terms as Republican senator from Colorado and retired nearly a decade ago.
He smiles and nods at a few individuals he seems to know. "I'm not a man to waste words, so I'll make this short and sweet. I worked side by side with Ronald Reagan and George Bush. The first one, that is. I thought his son was a dope. I'm an old man now, so I can say what I want." He winks conspiratorially. "Back to what I was saying. I fought Bill Clinton's immorality and…well…you don't need my résumé. I can't sleep at night because of what's happened to the party I served for forty years. They've sold every conservative principle I used to stand for, sold 'em off to billionaires. And the lousy Democrats are just as bad.
"Now, it's easy for a bunch of passers-by to criticize a building and say it looks terrible. Give them the reins and ask them to build their own and see what happens. People don't know what a job is until they do it. Governing is something that requires expertise, regardless of what side you're on. You want to do a job, you have to know how to do that job.
"I don't agree with everything Justine Hall says and does, but she's been an effective mayor for the largest city in the state I love. The only person in the Ameritocracy race with executive political experience. I may hate half of what she does when she's president, but by God, I want to watch her do it."
He pauses as though he might say more, then walks back to the front row to the sound of polite applause.
Next, Ermintrout introduces Hannah Horowitz, CEO of Blue Enchantment Entertainment, a Hollywood studio known for fantasy and sci-fi films. She'd look like the kindly mother in a cookie commercial, except that her hair is dyed bright blue. "I'll make this even shorter and sweeter than Senator Tide, with whom I disagree about everything other than Justine Hall."
She laughs and tosses back her electric hair.
"And really, what more do you need than the fact that a conservative old Colorado cattle rancher and a feminist studio exec from California agree on a candidate?"
She smiles at Tide, who's taken his seat in the front row.
"Here's my statement," Horowitz continues. "Justine Hall is our best shot at breaking the two-party big-business duopoly that runs this country. I've never known a president who wasn't paid for by corporate donors. For once, I'd like to. If she's also a proven leader with a rock-solid track record, so much the better. End of endorsement."
She bangs her fist on the podi
um once, then returns to the audience.
As Ermintrout calls up retired Supreme Court Justice Parker Harrison, I'm struck by the genius of this event. No fans, no debate, no Q&A. Just a small army of bipartisan endorsers fed up with the current system for different reasons, all of whom believe Justine Hall is the woman to fix it. What most impresses me is that she and her team convinced these dignitaries to give endorsements in front of the cameras.
I look from reporter to reporter and notice at least one cameraman is on Justine Hall's own staff. My guess is that they're going to take the endorsements and post them online between now and the final vote. Each endorsement can be used in a different market to sway a different kind of voter.
Ameritocracy has given voters unprecedented access to their favorite candidates through our forums, live chats, Facebook live videos, and public appearances. This event does the opposite. Assuming Justine Hall comes out at the end and does what I think she'll do—a quick speech thanking the endorsers and humbly accepting their praise—she'll have gone a long way to making herself look presidential.
As the other candidates talk to voters and serve up paper plates of fake barbecue, Hall is stepping back, letting others do the talking for her. Maybe she's counting on the fact that, when it comes time to vote, that's what people will be looking for.
As Hall wraps up her speech—a graceful and grateful acknowledgement of the endorsements—I ease out of the room before the crowd disperses, hoping to avoid questions and hand-shaking.
I have a new text.
Bird: Not sure why it matters, but I checked Ameritocracy. The actual site. Colton supports gay marriage. Fully. Dude actually makes sense on a lot of issues. If he hadn't cheated on you I might consider voting for him.
As I requested, Bird attached a screenshot. The issue page is identical to the one I saw when I checked. Marriage equality is settled law and a step forward for LGBTQ rights.
Peter's position is clear, unequivocal, and the exact opposite of the position in the photo Uncle Hippon texted me earlier.