Page 9 of Primary Season
“Don’t forget the signs. We have hundreds of those, too.” She picked up one of the buttons and fiddled with the back of it as she spoke. “Did you have a nice flight?”
“I did. How was the rest of the bus ride?”
“I have a crick in my neck.” She rubbed at her nape and one side of her mouth turned upward. “But I guess that’s to be expected.”
“Hate to hear that.” Heather brushed past us, so I lowered my voice. “I’ve been thinking a lot about our conversation the other night.”
“I haven’t told anyone what you said.” Her attention darted around the room. “So you don’t have to worry about that.”
“I’m not worried.” I paused. “I’m just glad I can trust you.Reallytrust you.”
“Of course you can, Patrick.”
“That means a lot. And when this campaign is over, I—” I broke off and swallowed, trying to keep my mouth from going dry. “I hope…”
“What?” One side of her red-lipsticked mouth turned upward, and she cocked her head. “You hope what?”
“That things will be different. That they might be…more.”
“More what?” She grinned.
“More you…and me.” I gestured between us. “More of this.”
Her eyes widened. “Meaning?”
“Whatever you want it to mean.”
Heather stood behind Alex, holding a stack of memos. When she said my name, both of us jumped. “Sorry to interrupt, but Alex, I really need to go over the rest of today’s schedule with you before we start.”
Alex nodded at Heather, shot me a knowing look, and moved away. I didn’t have time to be disappointed because at about that time, a handful of Charleston’s most ardent Democrats filed into the room. I turned on my game face and greeted every one, making sure this felt like an informal breakfast with a neighbor and not a stilted, plastic, rehearsed campaign event. It came easily for me, and it was also how I’d won Ohio voters during my senate race. I held more small events than my opponent, and I concentrated on individual connections. Once the room filled up with coffee-drinking and donut-eating voters, I strode to the small podium for a question-and-answer session. By then, a few photographers and reporters from the local news had also arrived. Not bad for our first major event in the area.
“Mr. Blanco has about fifteen minutes,” Alex said as she introduced me. “Feel free to ask him anything, but he is not taking official questions from the media.”
A white-haired, balding man raised his hand, and Alex called on him. “Mr. Blanco,” he said in a gruff, skeptical voice. “You’re only thirty-eight years old. Barely old enough to have any kind of life experience. What makes you think you’ll be able to speak for someone like me?”
I took a few steps toward him. “Well, sir, Mr…”
“Harrison. James Harrison.”
“Mr. Harrison, I don’t speak for you, and I don’t pretend to. That’s not the kind of candidate that I am. If you’re looking for someone who will pander to you, or promise to vote exactly the way that you want every single time, then I’m not right for you. Few people will admit that, but I will. Instead of being the candidate who makes false promises, I’m the candidate who will listen. I listen to people on many sides of an issue before I make a decision, and that’s what separates me from the rest of my opponents.”
James Harrison seemed satisfied, or at least he didn’t press me further. Alex called on a woman in the back row who identified herself as Eula Ewing. As Alex repeated her name, I stole a glance at her and allowed myself to admire the soft curves of her body and the way her suede skirt hugged her hips. She was hot. No other word for it. Thank god we had moved on to South Carolina. Long woolen coats, puffer jackets, and snow boots did nothing for her. This woman should always be wearing tight pencil skirts and cocktail sheaths.
“Mr. Blanco, what do you think of equal pay for women?” Eula asked.
I turned my attention back to the voters. “I support it. Women make up more than fifty percent of the workforce, but they make less money than their male counterparts. Other nations have surpassed us on this issue, and it is time the United States catches up.”
Eula nodded, along with a few others in the room. Good sign. I had more charm than the other candidates in the race, and I knew it. If people would listen to me, if they would give me a chance, I’d make it to the nomination, and I might even be able to do that without the assistance of Gordon Van der Loon.
Truth be told, Gordon made me nervous. Something about the way he spoke told me that he expected to own me after the election. He lived life as if he considered himself to be King Midas incarnate. If only he hadn’t been my first major supporter in an election cycle expected to cost over a billion dollars.
“Let me see here…” Alex shifted through a few more cards with voter information. “Nancy Schaffer? Are you here?”
Nancy Schaffer raised her hand, and Alex instructed her to ask a question. “Mr. Blanco, you’re not married. Thirty-eight and no wife. It has been a long time since we’ve had an unmarried president and—”
“Oh, no. I’m very much taken, Mrs. Schaffer.” I grinned at Nancy and a few people in the audience chuckled. “Off the market, and have been for a while.”
On cue, I motioned to Kathryn and she glided through the room as everyone turned to look at her. The three local news photographers followed her with their video cameras, and a few shutters went off from the cameras of various print media who had decided to attend my rally. I had to hand it to her. Kathryn knew how to make lasting impressions. When she met me at the podium, I kissed her on the cheek.
