Chapter 41
FORTY-ONE
BARRETT
The crowd is buzzing behind the closed door.
A few people stand in the wings with me, ensuring the main television stations are present and that the journalists that will run the story on me are here.
They may as well get the word straight from the jackass’s mouth.
Me. That’s how I feel over this situation. It’s time to make things right.
I'm in a black suit, customary red tie and flag pin, and have a bullet-point list of things to say in front of me that I scribbled out in the Rover on the way over here. From now on, I’m going with my gut, speaking from the heart, instead of relying on someone else’s script.
I’ve found some peace since talking to Huxley last night, not as much as if I’d spoken with Ali, but more than I had.
"Are you sure you want to do this? Absolutely sure?" Graham eyes me carefully, sipping on a cup of coffee. He's wearing a suit like mine, blue tie, and a lot more worry lines. He knows what I'm doing, and while I think he disagrees, he's done what I knew he would do —he shut up and got behind me.
"Do I look sure?"
He blows out a breath and slips his phone from his pocket. His face shows a few more lines when he hands it to me. "It's Dad. I'll just step away while you take this."
"Pussy," I grumble, taking the phone and watching him walk away. I scan the immediate area and duck inside a small room to my right. "Hey, Dad."
"Barrett, what in the hell are you doing? I'm on my way over there now after getting a call from Graham. What is this press conference about?"
"I'm taking matters into my own hands."
He sighs, the sound rattling through the phone. "Son, don't go out there and ruin what we've worked for. You are so close, and you can still do this. I don't know what's going on, if you’re cracking under the pressure, but we got this. Just—"
"Hey, Dad?"
"What?"
"Just stop it, all right?"
"Barrett."
"No, seriously. Stop. You know I love you. You know I want to make you proud and do all the things you want me to do."
"Things you want to do."
"Things I want to do," I say, rolling my eyes. "But I also want to do those things my way."
"This can't wait for another couple of days? My Lord, Barrett! Have some sense about you. We’ve already lost Nolan and now you want to go out there and sink the rest of it? Why, son? Why? The election is today!"
I laugh at the fact that I don't feel like I'm letting him down. I don't feel like I'm dropping the line or failing at life. Because I know, without a doubt, that what I'm about to do is the right thing for me. "This is the most sensible thing I've ever done. Trust me."
He doesn't answer, and I know he's trying to wrap his head around the fact that I'm laying down the law. But it was time—we both know it.
Graham waves through the window in the door, and I heave a breath. "Dad, I gotta go."
"I want to talk to you about this later."
"That's fine, but I have a speech to give."
I click the phone off and open the door.
Graham and I exchange a look, one I can't explain, but one that I know like the back of my hand. Looking at him and seeing it, feeling it, let's me know that even if my father hates me over this, even if Nolan blasts me all over the place, my decision today was worth it. For the first time in a long time, I can be proud of what I’m doing, who I am, what I’m working for—and it has nothing to do with politics or careers or family vendettas.
"You have about ten minutes," Graham says, stepping inside. "They're making sure the microphones and shit work. Do you need anything?"
I shake my head, pulling my phone out of my pocket. "Let's turn this fucking thing off. Fuck it." I glance down and see Monroe's number flashing on the screen. "It's Monroe. Do I take it?"
Graham leans against the wall. "Hey, you're playing hardball today. Let's go big or go home."
I click the button and raise my brows at Graham. "What's going on, Monroe?"
"What the fuck do you think you're doing, Landry?"
"Oh, I don't know, taking my campaign back, maybe. That's what it feels like anyway."
"I got a call last night that you are losing your shit. That I should be worried about endorsing you.”
I laugh, for the first time completely uncaring of what he thinks of me. “Maybe you should be. I am kind of reassessing my choices today."
"You know you won't win this election if I recant my support. I have enough time to change my mind on you publicly and I will. Don’t test me.”
"Tell you what, Monroe," I say, noticing a woman waving at us on the other side of the door. Graham slips out to deal with her. "Tune in to the news in a few minutes and you'll find out exactly what I've decided. Then you can feel free to blackmail me, torch me all you want in the press."
“It's time,” Graham mouths through the glass.
"Talk to ya later." I click the phone completely off and open the door. "It's show time."
***
BARRETT
The room is much fuller than I expected.
Chairs take up most of the center of the room, each one with a journalist awaiting my arrival.
Camera crews line the floor in front of the makeshift podium, as well as the walls lining the sides and the back of the room.
Lights are lit for better recording, and that, coupled with all the bodies crammed into such a small space, makes the air heated, the energy in the room boiling.
Graham goes ahead of me and announces that I'll be on in a few moments. I'm standing in a hallway to the side. The crowd buzz quiets as Graham finishes his remarks and exits the stage. Before I know it, he's in front of me.
"Last chance," he says.
"I got this." I start towards the room, but twist back around. "Hey, Graham?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you."
"For what?"
I shrug. "For being there for me. This world I live in can feel pretty fucking lonely sometimes."
"You got this," he promises. "Go out there and set the bastards straight."
Popping open the door, I laugh. I'm strangely not nervous. My hands are completely calm as I glance down at the paper with my notes. I take the steps to the podium, feeling the anticipation in the air. I give myself a second to reassess my decision. Do I want to do this?
I know the ramifications might be ugly. A part of me even believes this will tank my career. If that happens, I have no plan B. I don't know what I'll do afterwards. And I find it very fucking strange that none of that changes my mind.
I stand behind the podium and adjust the microphone.
Gazing across the crowd, there are a ton of familiar faces.
Journalists I've been interviewed by over and over again.
Reporters that have written pieces good and bad, some that have offered services that extend beyond the professional level.
A couple of people I've fucked. Memories from my time as Mayor flash before my eyes, and I smile, knowing I've done the best job I could.
Even if this is the end of my career, the stopping point of my political adventure, I'm fine with that.
Opening my mouth to speak, I notice the back door opening. My father and Lincoln walk in and lean against the back wall. I study my father’s face, waiting for some indication as to what he's thinking, but it's blank. Our gazes break and I clear my throat, pasting on the mask for the cameras.
"Thank you all for coming on such short notice." I look up and smile, giving them a photo op. The cameras flash, taking advantage of me posed behind the podium. I look back down at my notes, take a deep breath, and go for it.
"It's been my honor to work for the people of Savannah.
I'm humbled at the trust placed in me to make decisions on behalf of the people of this city.
It's been a challenging, fulfilling, successful journey.
Together, we have made our city one of the best cities in the country, and I'm proud to have had a hand in that.
“As you well know, there’s an election today.”
That earns a chuckle from the people in front of me and I pause to give them another photo op that they eat up.
“When I made the decision to run for Governor, I thought, 'What if we could take the lessons learned from Savannah and apply them over the entire state?
' 'What if we take the Landry formula and turn Georgia into the gem it should and deserves to be?' So I tossed my name in the hat. Looking back, it’s not a decision I regret, but one I wish I would’ve handled somewhat differently.”
The clicks of the cameras along with murmuring fill the air, and I look up at Lincoln. The smile on his face gives me the courage I need to speak again, to bare my soul to these vultures and, quite possibly, end my career.
“Politics has a way of eating people up. So many good men have been sidelined and silenced because of pressures put on them by others in this world. It’s a part of the game, a part of the industry, but I think that’s common knowledge.
The part that most don’t realize, I know I didn’t, is how it sneaks up on you.
One day you know exactly what you want and the next,” I shrug, “you aren’t sure who you are anymore. ”
I look down, crumple my notes, and take a deep breath.
“It’s hard to find people in life that will tell you the truth. That will look you in the eye when things get hard and tell you what you need to hear, not what everyone is saying and not what you want them to say. The truth—it’s a rarity these days.
“Today, I want to make it absolutely clear who and what I am. Because if I am lucky enough to be chosen by the constituents of Georgia to be their Governor, I want you to know what I stand for and what I’ll do on your behalf.”
Cameras click away as I go through the Land Bill, letting them know I will support it and I will lose my endorsement from Monroe by saying as much. I let them know the platforms that mean the most to me—our economy and education—and what I intend to do to make them stronger if I’m in office.
“Some of this is new information, some of this is not,” I say, taking a deep breath. “But at the end of the day, it was important to me that we get on the same page, so, if I’m elected, I know it’s because you want me to do the things I think are best, not what I’m told to do.”
Questions begin to be shouted towards me as they sense I’m finished and a mic is held in front of a woman I’ve been interviewed by a few times.
“Mayor, a lot is being said in the last few days about your stability. We’ve been hearing that you’re in a relationship, that you’re having a baby with another woman, and then you were with Ms. Monroe last night.
Since you’re talking so off-the-cuff, would you mind addressing this for us? ”
I lower the microphone to my mouth and look at Lincoln. He winks.
“Absolutely. I don’t feel I should waste my time or yours with these baby rumors because they’re just that—rumors.
As for the third part of your question, Ms. Monroe is a friend from way back and she was with me last night because Ms. Baker wasn’t available,” I say, figuring it’s the truth in a round-about way.
“And since we’re having to address my love life, I’d like to ask you to respect my privacy and Ms. Baker’s, as I respect yours.
I realize I work for the people and my activities that deal with public policy are fair game.
But who I love, where she works, and what we have for dinner isn’t anyone else’s business. ”
“So you are still in a relationship?” someone shouts from the back.
“I am. Absolutely,” I say, hoping to God it’s the truth. “Alison Baker is, quite frankly, the love of my life. Let there be no question about that. And she has a little boy that I think the world of and I hope you can understand why he deserves to be left alone.”
More questions are shouted, but my throat is squeezed tight. Saying her name throws me off my game, my stomach rumbling with worry. Graham picks up on my wobble and comes on stage and takes charge, letting them know I have work to do for the election.
I exit through the door off the side and look around. The hallway is empty. I’m not sure why, but I feel incredibly lonely.
Like I just struck out.