Chapter 3

It’s a funny thing about campaign headquarters for the Briarwood staff: the heads of it where hardly there for the day-to-day operations. They kept offices in a building that Charles Sample was good enough to lend them, but rarely did they all gather there at the same time. Their work was done outside the office – in hotel ballrooms, or in the crowds that flocked to Briarwood’s stump speeches, or at the press conferences and meetings with the. That’s a lot of what campaigning’s about: meeting people and explaining the position of the candidate. The polls favored Briarwood all the way, and the master plan was to run a traditional campaign and not spend on political specialists, media consultants, and air time for attack ads. Just as long as Briarwood had a wide margin of victory, they could do the bare-boned minimum and save money for the next campaign. The bloodier the battle, the more expensive. Better to save for that bloody battle down the road than to spend on an easy win. For now, though, it was a routine day, and the numbers looked good. No one would vote for the liberal Hispanic guy, and that had been the attitude since the start of the campaign.

Simon got in a little earlier than Stewart did. Simon was the fundraiser, and a woman up from named Sarah French dealt with the media. She was one of the best media people in the State. Stewart oversaw everything, from the phone bank and the volunteers, to the consultants, speechwriters, and office staff.

Simon didn’t get along too well with Sarah French. She had an attitude problem – always trying to run the show and make herself look good in front of Stewart, who was their boss. She wore black and gray business suits that reminded him of the Wall Street characters he occasionally hung out with. Simon resented her for sleeping with Stewart. He couldn’t deny her talent and her good looks – a blue-eyed brunette who would mow down anyone in her path to get what she wanted. She cozied up to Stewart, not only as an ass-kisser, but as a constant promoter of herself. She flaunted her accomplishments like a ticker-tape parade for all the staff to see, and on occasion she even bad-mouthed Simon, because she couldn’t get all she wanted for a huge publicity campaign to out do all other New York State publicity campaigns. She was the type of woman Simon disliked. For her, the job was life’s epicenter. Having a guyfriend was more for getting further up the ladder. Sure, a bit hypocritical of Simon, since he did the same thing with Caitlin. Caitlin’s family had plenty of wealth, and the two of them could do just about anything they wanted, but at least Caitlin didn’t bulldoze her way through every achievement. Caitlin was more of a refined woman compared to this monster, although monsters these days tended to look pretty damn good. Plus, Simon hated Harvard grads. They always thought they were better than everyone else.

On that day Simon’s email didn’t work properly, so Manny, the computer guy, took a look at it. He was a soft-spoken Latino guy about Simon’s age. Simon always thought him much younger. He had an innocence about him that manhood should have confiscated by now. Simon was all-thumbs with email and other computer mishaps, more the case that he didn’t have the patience to fix computer problems himself. Instead the staff called on Manny, and most people liked him – always kind and sweet to the ladies, always obsequious to the gentlemen.

As Manny sat in Simon’s chair trying to fix an email problem, Stewart suddenly barged in as red as a cherry, suspenders and all.

“Manny! What the hell is going on with the fucking email?”

“I’m fixing it now. It should only take a few minutes.”

“A few minutes my ass. You said that last week and the week before. What in God’s name is wrong with it?”

“I’m checking the default settings on the network now. They must have changed overnight. It’s probably a problem with the service provider. It should be fixed momentarily.”

“Oh, don’t give me that horse-shit. You fix this problem, and fix it for good, or the only thing you’ll be fixing is a barrito in.”

“Okay, Stewart,” said Manny, biting his lip.

He took these things personally.

“Mr. Briarwood, when you’re in this office!”

Simon didn’t say anything, but he wanted to tell Stu to ease up on him a bit. He liked Manny. He always did his job without getting frustrated. He always did what was asked of him, never said no to anyone. But Stu had the kind of temper you wanted to step away from until it cooled off. Simon let this one go. He gave Manny a pat on the back. Manny was on the verge of tears. One needed a thick skin to work with Stu.

Simon visited Stu in his office.

“Well, I see we got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.”

“With what we pay him, you bet I did.”

Stewart had the largest office on the floor. The pictures on the walls were of him shaking hands with all sorts of politicians – city councilmen, mayors past and present, state assemblymen, lobbyists, senators and House reps, bureaucrats, and even an entertainer or two. He kept his office neat and clean. Simon liked the cigar- and-bourbon feel of it.

Soon Sarah French walked in, followed by a couple of pollsters, the campaign lawyer, a treasurer, and a speechwriter. They sat at a long table and picked on lox and bagels left out by Stu’s assistant.

Sarah French, by the look of her, was anxious to speak. Stu usually picked her first.

“We’ve been contacted by the White House Press Secretary,” she said.

“And?”

“And, the President has decided to visit on his next fundraising swing.”

“And this happens before the elections?”

“It’s a bit of a surprise, but it happens two weeks before. Stewart, if I may, this is an important opportunity here. We can’t just go as guests.”

“What can you arrange?”

“Well, if we front the costs with help from the National, Briarwood can get a lot of time, and when I mean a lot of time, I mean every news organization in this city and a spot or two at the national level. It would bring in a lot of publicity. It would mean a lot of name recognition for the undecideds, which is what the campaign needs.”

“And now the bad news.”

“We’d have to split it with the National. Thirty-seventy.”

The rest of the table groaned.

“Look,” said Sarah, “I know that’s a lot, but I think we can take the risk.”

“And who gets the dough at the end of the night?”

“That we don’t know. The flak wouldn’t say.”