Chapter 2
Three years later
Salditch for Congress—Columbus, Ohio
by Patrick Mates, posted on
Text message transcript: Walt, Judy, and Anya Katz
Judy [6:23am]: GOOD MORNING, BIRTHDAY GIRL!!!!!
Judy [6:23am]: How’s the packing going?
Judy [6:24am]: Are you sure you don’t want us to meet you in Columbus? The drive’s only six hours
Walt [6:24am]: I can make it in five hours flat
Judy [6:24am]: The hell you can
Walt [6:25am]: It’s 350 miles, if we miss the traffic downtown, I can average 75 the whole drive
Judy [6:25am]: And not stop for gas? Or the bathroom? Or that diner I found in Stockwell?
Walt [6:26am]: You mean Thornhill
Judy [6:26am]: The one in Indiana, you know which one I mean, the one with the home fries
Walt [6:26am]: Cottage fries
Judy [6:27am]: You and your goyesha potatoes
Judy [6:27am]: Anyway look at your watch, it’s already rush hour, we’re too late to miss the traffic
Judy [6:27am]: So Anya, do you want us to come down? We can be there in six hours
Anya [6:49am]: Oh my god you guys I was asleep, my flight isn’t until 2
Judy [6:49am]: Good, so we’ll pick you up from the airport at what, 3:15?
Walt [6:50am]: Are you checking a bag? Maybe 3:30
Anya [6:50am]: You’re so sweet, but I’m only going to Columbus for two weeks!
Walt [6:51am]: So you’re not checking a bag
Anya [6:52am]: I’ll see you for Thanksgiving, okay? Three weeks after the election!
Judy [6:52am]: Are you sure you don’t want us to come today? You shouldn’t be alone on your birthday
Anya [6:52am]: I won’t be alone, my boss will be there too. I’m fine!
Judy [6:53am]: Why don’t we come down this weekend? We can knock doors
Walt [6:53am]: Your mother’s great on doors
Anya [6:56am]: Inarguably the best, but I really don’t know if I’ll have time to see you!! You should volunteer closer to home, there’s a tight race in IL-17
Anya [6:56am]: Anyway I have to get on a conference call in four minutes. Love you so much!!!
Walt [6:56am]: Love you too, Anya. Happy birthday
Judy [6:57am]: See you this weekend!
——Forwarded Message——
FROM: Lev Chlebek
TO: Anya Katz
SENT: October 23, 2:41 pm
SUBJECT: You get in ok?
Call me when you land
“I think something might really happen with Lev tonight,” Anya whispered into her phone, a gleaming red BlackBerry Pearl that her office paid for, which made her feel like the fanciest lady on planet Earth.
She was in the back of a cab on her way from the Columbus airport to her hotel room for the next two weeks.
On the other end of the line, Anya’s best friend Simone let out a weary sigh. “Anya, it’s a bad idea.”
Anya knew how ridiculous she sounded. She felt ridiculous, having spent the last two years with an all-consuming crush on her boss.
There were moments when she caught him gazing at her, or when they made eye contact during a meeting, when she was so sure he felt the same way.
But they were always around co-workers, at the office or at after-work happy hours or holiday parties, so there was never a time when anything could really come of it—until now.
Far from the office, a cozy dive bar, two glasses of whiskey.
Him wishing her happy birthday in his low, dusky voice, them leaning closer together as they clinked glasses…
“Babe, I obviously want you to have an amazing birthday,” Simone said. “But aren’t you ready to be over Lev? And sleeping with your boss is so messy, especially when he’s been talking about promoting you.”
“Ugh,” Anya sighed. She knew Simone was right, as always—that was the best and most annoying thing about her.
Simone and Anya had become fast friends working for Mike Beihl in Manchester.
When Senator Beihl dropped out of the race after Super Tuesday, Simone had gone to work for another candidate, but Anya was out of money, so she went home to Chicago and applied for every political gig she could find.
Eventually, a friend of her dad’s got her an interview at Progress Wins, and when Anya got the job, she packed up and moved to Washington.
She felt incredibly lucky to have a good-paying job that enabled her to learn the ropes of all different campaign departments.
And if she didn’t exactly love living in DC, wearing scratchy skirt suits and sitting in a cubicle every day, going to cheap happy hours with deludedly power-hungry twentysomethings, and feeling far from the action of the campaign trail, well…
she couldn’t deny that she’d always dreamed of a mentor like Lev.
She’d already learned so much from him, and he’d invested so much in her.
Anya’s phone buzzed against her ear—call waiting. She felt a squeeze in her chest when she saw it was Lev.
“Lev’s on the other line. Call you later?”
“NO PHONE SEX WITH YOUR BOSS!” Simone shouted jokingly into the phone—loud enough that Anya’s cab driver raised his eyebrows in the rearview mirror (but mercifully didn’t comment). Anya hit the button for call waiting, her voice instantly dropping into a lower, more professional register.
“Hey, Lev.”
“Kid! You on the ground?”
Anya’s face warmed. Lev was only six years older, but she loved when he called her kid.
“In the cab right now. Dropping off my stuff and then I’ll head to HQ.”
“Good, good.” Anya heard Lev suck in a breath and let it out slowly; she knew he was smoking. “Listen, I’m not in Ohio—had to fly to Minnesota, shit really hitting the fan with the open seats up here.”
“Oh.” Anya frowned. “Should I come too? I can head right back to the airport, I’m sure there’s a flight to Minneapolis—”
“Noooo, no no no,” Lev emphasized. “Salditch camp paid us top dollar to have a man on the ground. You’re our man.”
Anya’s stomach clenched. To say she was bummed Lev wasn’t coming was an understatement, never mind the fact that she’d now be spending her birthday alone. On the other hand…
“You want me to run this on my own?”
“You’ll be great.” Lev sounded like he really believed it, and Anya felt a rush of pleasure. “This could be big for you. If you bring this race home, you’ll have that promotion in the bag.”
“Wow,” Anya breathed. “And the Salditch campaign won’t be disappointed it’s just me? They’re not expecting you?”
“The fuck do they know which of us is which!” Lev inhaled—another drag on his cigarette. “You walk in there like you own the room, tell them the plan, then execute it. They’re paying for your expertise. Don’t forget that.”
“Okay.” Anya tried to sound more confident than she felt. “I can do that.”
“Good. And hey, can you get me that report on all our races in the Midwest? Latest polling, ad buys, money, everything. Boss wants it ASAP, need it by tomorrow.”
“Copy, no problem.” Anya’s brain sprang into organizational mode, already dividing out which tasks she’d need to accomplish and when.
“Anya, my Anya, what would I do without you?” Lev’s voice was gruff, and Anya felt a pull of wanting him, wishing he were there to shine his particular light on her face.
But then she thought of walking into Salditch headquarters, head held high, presenting the plan she’d spent the last week laboring over, finally having the chance to execute her own ideas. That feeling was even better.
“Would you say this is your best birthday ever?”
Gabe liked everything about Dawn Toback.
He liked that she was ten years older, that she knew exactly what she was doing.
He liked her dirty blond hair and her dirtier mouth, her voice raspy from her pack-a-day habit when she told crude jokes and cracked up jaded beat reporters.
He liked that her drink of choice was whiskey rocks, that she never wore makeup, that she pulled him into her office to make out on his birthday even though they were both supposed to be in some waste-of-time meeting.
And he liked that she had absolutely no interest in a serious relationship with Gabe—possibly, he liked that best of all.
“Mm, top five birthdays, definitely.” Gabe pushed Dawn’s hair back from her face, weaving it through his fingers and tugging slightly, the way he knew she liked it.
“Only top five?” She gave him a wicked smile and unzipped his fly. “What do I have to do to make the podium?”
“That’s a good start,” Gabe breathed. “A very good start.”
But then both their BlackBerrys started buzzing with the exact same message from their boss, Toby, the campaign manager: WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?
“Damn it,” Gabe swore.
“We’d better get in there,” Dawn said.
“So some suit from DC can tell us how to run this race? Let’s skip it.”
“Extremely unbiased opinion given your current situation, but I’d like to keep my job, so.” Dawn zipped him up a little too fast—he gasped in surprise.
She sauntered out of the office, and he followed in her wake, glancing at his phone to see if he’d missed any other messages.
There was one from his organizer out in Piqua letting him know the afternoon phone bank was up and running and asking him to grab more donuts—he fired off a response that he couldn’t be there until closer to five so he’d bring pizza instead.
A slew of notifications about birthday messages on his Facebook wall, nothing from his parents (big surprise).
Maybe they’d call later—not that he’d have time to talk even if they did.