changed between your initial intentions and when Callisto found you slinking through my ditch like a water moccasin?”
“You had someone over.” Bijal looked evasively at the floor.
“My campaign manager, Max.”
“Well, I couldn’t tell it was a man from my car. And I suppose I wanted to make sure you’d been completely honest with me the other night.”
“When I told you I was single?”
“You two hugged right in front of the window,” Bijal explained. “I became…mildly curious. I wasn’t actually filming you.”
“I know,” Colleen said, the edge no longer in her voice.
“You looked at the DVD?”
“Uh-huh, while you were changing. The last thing you successfully recorded was a menu board at a Taco Rojo drive-thru.”
“I stopped and got a quesadilla.”
“You’re a terrible undercover operative.”
Bijal nodded and held her mug in both hands. “You’re not the first to tell me that tonight. This wasn’t exactly how I pictured my future in politics, you know? I envisioned being in energetic strategy sessions, traveling to candidate appearances, writing press statements.”
Colleen rubbed her lower lip lightly with her thumb. “And instead you’re shimmying up drain pipes for a quick peek at someone on the toilet.”
“Just to be clear, there was absolutely no toilet surveillance,” Bijal replied adamantly. “Or anything of you in the shower.”
“How long have you been spending your work shift watching me?”
“Just a few days.”
“Did it, at any point, occur to you to decline this particular assignment?”
“I’m not sure where you think I fall within the hierarchy of the campaign team, but it’s slightly below a houseplant. I don’t really have that kind of relationship with my boss. It’s more like she barks at me and threatens my job, and then I thank her.”
“That sounds really fulfilling.”
“Yeah. Can I ask you something?”
Colleen seemed to think about it before finally nodding. “Okay.”
“Is professional politics this utterly shitty all the time? I mean, will it always involve people lying and cheating and treating everyone else like crap? Is it nothing more than a gaggle of strutting, competitive, cannibalistic bastards? Does it at any point get better?”
“It does. There are brief bursts of time that don’t suck, surrounded by long periods of partisanship, shouting, deception, and shameless self-aggrandizement.”
“But that sounds horrible.” Bijal felt tired.
“There’s that potential, sure. But in those fleeting moments where you do something substantial and really think you make a difference, you suddenly remember why you ran for office. It feels good.”
“I guess this just isn’t what I’d envisioned.”
Colleen nodded quickly. “Unfortunately most politicians aren’t as interested in effecting change or contributing, as much as they are in gaining power and notoriety. Those types will always be the lowest common denominator.”
“Lowest common denominator?”
“Sure, those people—the ones who grandstand the loudest and point fingers at the opposition for everything that’s wrong in the world—they bring down the caliber of the rhetoric. They go negative, and then everyone feels like they’re forced to. They stop talking about the measurable merits of a piece of legislation and spew out a few buzzwords like ‘socialism’ or ‘tax increase,’ and it drags everything constructive to a screeching halt. It’s like trying to have a discussion about tax reform with a rabid wolverine.”
Bijal wondered if Donna was one of those rabid wolverines. She’d certainly seemed on occasion to froth a bit at the mouth—particularly when she was shouting. Perhaps her presence in the campaign was infecting everyone else with hydrophobia.
Colleen seemed now to be studying Bijal close enough to make her feel even more uncomfortable. “Colleen, look, I’m really sorry.”
“So how’s your jaw?”
Bijal’s hand flew to
“You had someone over.” Bijal looked evasively at the floor.
“My campaign manager, Max.”
“Well, I couldn’t tell it was a man from my car. And I suppose I wanted to make sure you’d been completely honest with me the other night.”
“When I told you I was single?”
“You two hugged right in front of the window,” Bijal explained. “I became…mildly curious. I wasn’t actually filming you.”
“I know,” Colleen said, the edge no longer in her voice.
“You looked at the DVD?”
“Uh-huh, while you were changing. The last thing you successfully recorded was a menu board at a Taco Rojo drive-thru.”
“I stopped and got a quesadilla.”
“You’re a terrible undercover operative.”
Bijal nodded and held her mug in both hands. “You’re not the first to tell me that tonight. This wasn’t exactly how I pictured my future in politics, you know? I envisioned being in energetic strategy sessions, traveling to candidate appearances, writing press statements.”
Colleen rubbed her lower lip lightly with her thumb. “And instead you’re shimmying up drain pipes for a quick peek at someone on the toilet.”
“Just to be clear, there was absolutely no toilet surveillance,” Bijal replied adamantly. “Or anything of you in the shower.”
“How long have you been spending your work shift watching me?”
“Just a few days.”
“Did it, at any point, occur to you to decline this particular assignment?”
“I’m not sure where you think I fall within the hierarchy of the campaign team, but it’s slightly below a houseplant. I don’t really have that kind of relationship with my boss. It’s more like she barks at me and threatens my job, and then I thank her.”
“That sounds really fulfilling.”
“Yeah. Can I ask you something?”
Colleen seemed to think about it before finally nodding. “Okay.”
“Is professional politics this utterly shitty all the time? I mean, will it always involve people lying and cheating and treating everyone else like crap? Is it nothing more than a gaggle of strutting, competitive, cannibalistic bastards? Does it at any point get better?”
“It does. There are brief bursts of time that don’t suck, surrounded by long periods of partisanship, shouting, deception, and shameless self-aggrandizement.”
“But that sounds horrible.” Bijal felt tired.
“There’s that potential, sure. But in those fleeting moments where you do something substantial and really think you make a difference, you suddenly remember why you ran for office. It feels good.”
“I guess this just isn’t what I’d envisioned.”
Colleen nodded quickly. “Unfortunately most politicians aren’t as interested in effecting change or contributing, as much as they are in gaining power and notoriety. Those types will always be the lowest common denominator.”
“Lowest common denominator?”
“Sure, those people—the ones who grandstand the loudest and point fingers at the opposition for everything that’s wrong in the world—they bring down the caliber of the rhetoric. They go negative, and then everyone feels like they’re forced to. They stop talking about the measurable merits of a piece of legislation and spew out a few buzzwords like ‘socialism’ or ‘tax increase,’ and it drags everything constructive to a screeching halt. It’s like trying to have a discussion about tax reform with a rabid wolverine.”
Bijal wondered if Donna was one of those rabid wolverines. She’d certainly seemed on occasion to froth a bit at the mouth—particularly when she was shouting. Perhaps her presence in the campaign was infecting everyone else with hydrophobia.
Colleen seemed now to be studying Bijal close enough to make her feel even more uncomfortable. “Colleen, look, I’m really sorry.”
“So how’s your jaw?”
Bijal’s hand flew to
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