Page 109 of Notorious

I straighten my spine, trying to look more intimidating—or at least confident—than I feel. Because this isn’t my thing. I like debating issues, sure, but not as a performance. I like it to be real.

This isn’t going to be real at all. The layers of makeup I’m wearing tell me that.

Johnny sits off to the side, but in my sight line, wearing a western-style suit and a bolo tie, his white hat in his lap. Whispers broke out when he walked in. Now he gives me a small smile as the bright lights make sweat bead up on my hairline.

“The first question comes from Lori in Camarillo: ‘What are you going to do about the traffic on the 101?’” The moderator chuckles. “Quite a Southern California question. Mr. Delmont?”

I hadn’t planned on answering questions about traffic. I figured it was a given, like the weather.

“Traffic and Los Angeles have gone hand in hand for decades,” I say, trying to come up with something. “The traffic engineers are working on the issue, and I trust them. But I do think that better public transit will help ease congestion and get people to where they need to go.”

“Thank you,” the moderator says. “Mr. Santangelo?”

“My opponent wants to take away your cars,” Santangelo begins, and I seethe. Because no, I fucking don’t want to take away anyone’s car. But this is politics. Take what a person says and twist it to rile people up. Aim for the jugular.

I can’t help it. I roll my eyes. I know I’m not supposed to react to his pettiness, but I can’t let the audience think I agree with what he’s saying.

I glance at Johnny, who gives me a supportive thumbs-up.

More questions are asked, and I answer them as best as I can. Santangelo takes a few potshots, including pointing out that my “adult entertainer” husband is here.

It’s time for me to publicly stick up for Johnny. “My husband is well-versed in the issues affecting the citizens of this state, and he brings common-sense support to my life. I couldn’t ask for a better partner.”

Johnny beams, and that unreserved smile makes this entire circus worth it.

While Santangelo gets in more digs wherever he can, it feels like the audience is actually listening to me when I speak. Or maybe they’re simply being polite, I don’t know. At any rate, I make it through each question without needing to change my shorts, and I figure that’s a win.

“What is your number one goal should you be elected—or reelected?” the moderator asks.

“I will continue my efforts on the Energy and National Resources Committee to ensure Californians have access to affordable fuel to power their vehicles. I will also work with my colleagues across the aisle to rein in the excesses of extremists within our parties,” Santangelo says with a pointed look at me, and I almost roll my eyes again. Because that’s just code for supporting oil companies and opposing progress on civil rights. As he blathers on, it’s hard for me to believe we’re in the same political party.

When it’s my turn, I say, “I have a three-part plan to ensure that every American has the rights that are basic to society and won’t get hit in the pocketbook.” I talk briefly about ensuring basic rights, enhancing access to health care, and improving education. It’s a miracle, but I manage to get out all my talking points within the allotted time.

After the moderator wraps things up, I hurry to the green room, and Johnny’s there. He opens his arms and enfolds me in a hug. “Great job, darlin’. You sounded so confident, and you made a lot of points that will resonate with the voters.”

“I hope so,” I say.

When we get home, though, I’ve seen the exit polls, and I’m grumpy.

“Why the fuck don’t people want to protect civil rights?” I grouse, kicking off my shoes and yanking at my tie. Lady whines from her crate, and I smile at her. “We’ll let you out in a second, girl.” Then I turn back to Johnny. “Why do they buy into all that traditional bullshit? It’s just doublespeak for oppressing minorities and fucking over the poor.”

“People do a lot of things because they’re scared or sad,” Johnny says. “They don’t think through the issues the way you have. And we don’t all value the same things. All I know is you did good up there.” He sets his beat-up boots by the front door next to my shiny shoes, which sums us up perfectly.

“I should’ve prepared more. Wowed them. Attacked him. Made it so everyone watching knew that I was the only possible candidate. That they’d be fools to vote for anyone other than me.”

Johnny pulls me to him by the waist and kisses me so deep it takes my breath away. I relax into him immediately, loving the taste of him, the warm, wet intimacy of his tongue in my mouth. “I was really proud of you, precious,” he whispers when we break apart.

“Thank you. I just wish things were different. I want to make them different. Better.” He holds me as I go back to bitching at him about American voters and the political process.

When I wind down, he grins at me, raising an eyebrow. “You done?”

I nod.

“Darlin’, you need to remember that you gotta take people for who they are, not who they ought to be,” my brilliant husband says, then kisses me again.

I sigh. “I know. It’s hard, when I want so badly to improve things. I’m sorry I’m being a grouch to you. You don’t deserve it.”

“You can be a sourpuss. I can take it.”

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