Page 1 of The Senator: Raphael

“Why aren’t you married yet?” Sandra, the president of the women’s association I’m having lunch with, asks me with a knowing smile.

She seems confident of the answer to her question, but she’s trying to put me on the spot in front of the other members of the association and the few journalists invited to this event. It’s sort of her job. I asked to meet with them for lunch as part of my campaign strategy, now I have to try to convince them to vote for me and not one of my opponents.

It should be easy, considering I’m running for senator against misogynist pricks, but I’m also running as an independent, a third party. There’s no big party having my back when it comes to scrapping a few votes. We’re running really close right now.

I sweep my gaze over the thirty or so faces waiting for my answer, seated at the table in this Malibu villa facing the ocean.

“Because I haven’t found my better half yet,” is the publicist-approved answer. Apparently,Marriage is a farce and every woman I’ve known disappeared from my lifedoesn’t sound so good when you’re running for senator of California.

She nods, curves her lips in a composed smile, looks down at the hors d’oeuvres laid out on the fine China in front of her, then looks back at me with a renewed challenge. She represents Los Angeles high society well, with her conservative pantsuit, pearl necklace, and modest makeup. She’s playing her part, and right now she has to challenge me to determine if I’m worth the vote.

“You haven’t found heryet, or you found someone of the wrong gender for a candidate aiming at the White House?” A few small gasps pierce the silence. It’s considered borderline offensive asking these kinds of questions to a virtual stranger during a public lunch. But then again, there’s no privacy for me. Not if I want to run the country. I’ll always be under public scrutiny.

I smile. If she only knew how many times someone’s asked if I was gay, she would realize her probing question is not as original or scandalous as she thinks.

“Why would I hide a male partner? It would be a bit hypocritical given it’s an issue I’m fighting for. When I say that everyone should have the right to fall in love and spend their lives with whomever they want, that’s not just campaign jargon.” I let my smile fade a bit to give a serious tone to my reply. I look around the table and see a few heads nod approvingly.

“So, you’re just picky and haven’t found anyone yet?” Her tone seems almost to imply an offer to join me at my side.

I let a calculated laugh escape my lips to lift the heaviness of the conversation. “I’ve never found someone who would willingly jump into this life. I choose this life, I’ve worked for it since I was twenty years old, but I can’t ask someone to give up their life to follow mine. That’s not love, that’s coercion, and last I checked it was illegal.”

Everyone laughs at the table, including Sandra, who seems to relax a bit. I look up at Cindy, the only one of my staff invited to this lunch, and she tilts her head and smiles softly, inviting me to move on. It’s time to steer the conversation in a more useful direction than my personal life. They got their chance to scratch the curiosity itch, now it’s back to business.

“But we’re not here to talk about me. I want to hear what I can do foryou,” I state firmly. I want to be clear that they are the center of this conversation, not me.

“Shouldn’t it be the other way around? You try to win our favor with big promises and your winning smile?” Bridget, one of the older women seated at this table, gets straight to the point. I like her.

“Sure, I can come here with a fancy speech to win you over, big smiles for the camera,” I wave at the woman taking pictures of this event, and she blushes but keeps doing her job, “eat a good meal and then go home. But that won’t solveyourproblems. I’m a white male who’s spent most of my life surrounded by other white males trying to overpower women. They can’t teach me what youreallyneed. I need you to tell me what your struggles are, and let me figure out how to help you.” And I really mean it. Unlike my other opponents, I choose my fights based on what I believe, not what’s most convenient for my career.

Bridget arches her black eyebrows in surprise and a few murmurs arise from the table. I’m not always this straightforward when I meet someone who could support my career, but these women deserve my respect and my honesty. They are a small representation of this association that helps thousands of women struggling in this country. When I say I want to help them, it’s because I genuinely want to. I’m not running for senator because I want power, I’m running because I want to change things.

I look at Cindy and she nods in response with a discrete smile on her face. I broke the ice. Now I can relax a bit and maybe enjoy this hundreds-of-dollars-a-plate meal, and try not to throw up the caviar waiting on my plate. Ireallyhate caviar.

***

I wave at Sandra and the other women as my driver opens the car door for me, and I ease into the black leather seat. When I close the door with its tinted windows, I finally relax.

“Cindy tells me it was a success!” Matthew’s smiling face greets me.

He’s my campaign manager and best friend since college. I would have wanted him with me today, but we agreed that Cindy was a better fit, giving the women the freedom to share their thoughts without a man there taking notes.

“I’m quite confident they will support us. Did Cindy give you some insight about what we have to work on?”

His blue eyes seem to light up at my question. “Even better. She told me Sandra will email her a detailed list of their concerns,” he says nodding. Some unruly brown curls fall over his forehead.

“Good. Make sure we have consultants addressing specific topics. I want to work on a program that solves their problems.”

He nods. “Already on it.”

“Good. So why are you in this car, if you have everything running smoothly?” I pin him with my gaze on his, sitting across from me.

I take off my tie, fold it, and put it next to my computer on the seat next to me. I watch the smile fade from his face and brace for the bad news while we navigate the slow Los Angeles traffic.

“You’ve dropped another point five percent since last week,” he states without beating around the bush.

Shit. I was already in trouble fifteen days ago, now I’m basically drowning. There’s still a long run until midterms, but now is the time to consolidate my pace and get ready for the final push. Losing too many voters now means I can’t even think about competing for the final leg of the campaign.

“You know why, right?” he asks without hesitation. I chose Matthew as my campaign manager because he doesn’t hold back when it comes to telling me the truth.

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