Chapter 15 #2
At least the suits made Wheeler’s army of media consultants take him slightly more seriously—though not much.
They all made easily six times Gabe’s salary, and most were ten or twenty years his senior; they treated him with attendant disregard.
It made Gabe think of that first day Anya showed up in Ohio, the way he’d snickered at her, like he was so much cooler than some DC suit.
Now Gabe was that suit—and despite the happy face he always wore on television, he was miserable.
“You’re late. The media team is already in the conference room.” Gabe’s assistant, Hannah, was waiting for him the second the elevator doors slid open.
“Again?” Gabe gave her a pained look. “Didn’t I already see them today?”
“You did, but they have new ads to screen. Don’t be cranky, I got you a boba.”
She held out a bubble tea, and Gabe gratefully took it and drank. “You’re an angel sent from heaven and I’ve done nothing to deserve you. What did I miss while I was on TV?”
“The state directors are freaking out because our best field organizers are quitting in droves to go work for Sessego. Did you hear she’s giving them healthcare?”
“It was on the front page of the Des Moines Register,” Gabe grumbled. “Shouldn’t my field director be handling problems with field organizers?”
Gabe’s field director—like all his senior staff—was inherited from the previous campaign manager, and he was none too happy to have Gabe as his new boss.
Gabe had lobbied hard to clean house and bring in his own people, but the consultants thought that would make the campaign look too unstable.
Gabe’s predecessor was the sacrificial lamb; the rest of the team needed to remain in place.
“Your field director says he doesn’t control the budget, you do.”
“Set a meeting with the budget team,” he said. “What else?”
“Vetting and finance are fighting about that Silicon Valley fundraiser—someone on the host committee is getting indicted.”
“Tough day in Palo Alto.”
“Finance says they can’t pull the guy off the invite without offending the entire host committee, but vetting says it’s way too big a risk to have his name on an invitation on Wheeler letterhead.”
“What’s the guy indicted for?” Gabe asked. “Tax evasion or something?”
Hannah cringed. “Vehicular manslaughter.”
“Nope! Shut it down.” Gabe’s eyes bugged out. “If the host committee won’t move forward without him, tell finance to cancel the event. How much were we supposed to raise?”
“Three hundred fifty thousand.”
“Fuck me.” Gabe grimaced—that was worse than he’d thought.
“Bet that’s gonna help with your budget meeting,” Hannah quipped. “Last question: Comms wants to know if you’ll play Sessego for debate prep next week?”
“If I—” Gabe shook his head in confusion. “Excuse me?”
“You know her the best of anyone on staff and you’ll be in prep anyway, so they thought it made sense for you to do it.”
“Sure,” Gabe sighed. The debate was coming up fast, and he knew how much the Sessego campaign had riding on it.
He thought of how much fun Anya would have in debate prep, hanging out with their closest friends, crafting the clearest arguments and sharpest sound bites.
He still couldn’t get over how uncomfortable he felt to be on the opposing team.
Gabe finished his drink and handed Hannah the empty cup.
“See you in five to seven hours,” he grumbled. “Unless my chair gets sucked into a wormhole at the center of the universe and I never have to go to a meeting again?”
“Keep hope alive,” Hannah joked. Gabe took a deep breath and walked into his meeting.
Text message transcript: Anya Katz and Gabe Hunt
October 22
Anya [3:19am]: Are you awake?
Anya [3:19am]: I just woke up completely sure I was in Charleston so I opened a window
Anya [3:19am]: Turns out I’m in Concord and they’re having a cold snap. It’s 28 degrees
Gabe [3:22am]: How’s the foliage up in Concord?
Anya [3:22am]: Must not be that great if I thought I was in Charleston
Anya [3:22am]: Any good colors where you are?
Gabe [3:22am]: The inside of debate prep? Not many
Anya [3:23am]: Omg that’s right, today was Sessego cosplay!! How’d it go? Did you wear a wig? Did you do her voice?
Gabe [3:23am]: Would it turn you on if I said yes
Anya [3:23am]: Honestly I’m having a lot of reactions, not all of them negative
Anya [3:24am]: Definitely into the idea of you standing at a podium arguing for single-payer healthcare
Gabe [3:24am]: “Billionaires are all for government services if their homes catch on fire, just not when working people need to see a doctor.”
Anya [3:24am]: Did you really say that? I’m taking my pants off
Gabe [3:25am]: Are you actually
Anya [3:25am]: No I’m too tired to reach that far
Gabe [3:25am]: Why aren’t you sleeping?
Anya [3:25am]: I’m nervous
Gabe [3:25am]: About the debate?
Anya [3:26am]: Yeah
Anya [3:26am]: We shouldn’t talk about it
Gabe [3:26am]: She’ll be ready
Gabe [3:26am]: And you guys have so much upside, we have nowhere to go but down
Anya [3:27am]: From your lips to god’s ears (KIDDING) (sorta)
Anya [3:27am]: Why aren’t you asleep? Still working?
Gabe [3:27am]: As ever
Gabe [3:27am]: I can’t believe I get to see you tonight
Gabe [3:27am]: Thank god the media team bought that crap about me needing to be onsite to do spin
Anya [3:27am]: It was only decent of them to let us kiss the night before our birthday
Anya [3:28am]: I’m bringing your present btw
Gabe [3:28am]: To the presidential debate?
Anya [3:28am]: No, to the Concord 4H Annual Pancake Breakfast
Anya [3:29am]: Which starts in four hours and thirty-two minutes
Gabe [3:30am]: You’re wonderful
Gabe [3:30am]: I wish I was there to protect you from the cold snap
Anya [3:31am]: I wish you were here to keep me awake all the way until breakfast
Gabe tended to keep a cool head no matter what crises he faced on a campaign.
Every problem had a solution, and getting rattled wouldn’t help him find it.
But tonight was a nationally televised debate in a presidential race where he was managing the front-runner’s campaign, and Gabe’s nerves were jangling (though he suspected that was due at least in part to how impatient he was to see Anya).
Wheeler’s debate prep had gone well, but one of the media consultants, an aggressive guy named Lev, kept telling the senator to go negative.
Gabe had been able to stave him off so far, but now the debate was starting in just over two hours, they were all gathered in Senator Wheeler’s hotel suite, and Lev was still pressing his argument.
“All the other candidates are gonna take shots at you, sir,” Lev asserted. “You don’t want to look weak.”
“Senator, getting into a dogfight with a bunch of no-name candidates is what will make you look weak,” Gabe countered.
“You’re leading the field by double digits, and the podiums are arranged based on polling, so you’ll be right at the center of the stage.
You don’t want to be swiveling your head back and forth like you’re fending off invaders.
You’re calm and steady, the eye of the storm. ”
“And you’re not worried I’ll seem like I’m incapable of leading?
Like I’m ignoring the problems right in front of me?
” Senator Wheeler asked Gabe. He was tall and trim, with perfectly coiffed dark hair, a complexion that was tan enough to seem healthy but not vain, and the sort of strong jaw Americans always liked to vote for.
The outfit they’d focus-grouped for tonight’s debate—a navy suit with a white shirt and deep red tie—was hanging from a coatrack in plastic draping.
“Not at all,” Gabe said confidently. “Your opponent won’t be on that stage tonight—he’s watching this debate from the Oval Office.
I promise you, every other Democrat wants to drag you down to their level, but your job is not to let them.
You’re the presumptive nominee, and they’re none of your concern. ”
Gabe’s phone chimed with a calendar notification.
“I need to get down to the stage for the walk-through,” he told them. “Are we good here?”
—
The auditorium was buzzing with activity: lights, cameras, dozens of people adjusting the podiums and moderator seating and microphones onstage.
It was all deeply exciting, but Gabe was only focused on finding one person, and his breath caught when he did.
Anya was onstage chatting and laughing with a circle of people, some of whom Gabe recognized as operatives from the other campaigns.
She was wearing wide black slacks with tall heels and a chunky black wrap sweater belted at her waist. Her hair was down in loose waves; he’d only ever seen her wear it that way at Chandelier Bar, back in Vegas.
It sent a chill down his spine, remembering how badly he’d wanted her that night. Now, three years later, she was his.
“Hey, everyone.” Gabe locked eyes with Anya as he walked onstage. He watched her suck in a small breath at the sight of him, which made him wish they were literally anywhere without other people.
“Gabe, good, you’re here,” said a reedy woman from the Democratic National Committee named Carolyn—or maybe Cassandra? No, he was almost sure it was Carolyn. “We have a rule change to go over.”
“Rule change? This close to the debate?” Gabe frowned.
“It’s nothing substantive, just podium order,” Carolyn explained. “The Sessego campaign proposed a change, and seven of the other eight campaigns have ratified it.”
“This is the first I’m hearing of it.” Gabe shot Anya a look. She smiled knowingly.
“Instead of arranging candidate placement by polling data, we’ll do it alphabetically,” Carolyn said. “So tonight we’ll start with Adams on the left and end with Wheeler on the right, with each candidate moving one slot to the left at every subsequent debate. Make sense?”
“Absolutely not. We don’t agree to this.” Gabe’s ears felt warm, but he kept his voice even. He was keenly aware of the smug looks the other campaign representatives were giving him.