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Scott harumphed. “I mean, it was a pretty revealing bikini...”

My eyes were on Vanessa. She was applying lipstick, now. She glanced at me, and pouted her lips, but otherwise just kept going. She liked a bold lipstick; this one was a deep, earthy red that popped against her skin tone.

I shifted, uncomfortably. Having her in front of me just served to underscore Scott’s concerns. He was right: she was pretty. And young, for a candidate for Senate.

And it had been a revealing bikini.

She knew she looked good. Whether that was trading on looks too much was a matter of perspective.

I was silent for a moment, eyes on Vanessa, before I collected my thoughts for a reply.

“Look, I know there was some pearl-clutching from the religious types. Vanessa is provocative. You know that, Scott.”

“Yeah...”

Now we were on more familiar ground. I’d addressed this point enough times over the last month that my fielding of it felt automatic. “And it was a Texas flag bathing suit. The woman bleeds red white and blue. The opposition is basically just doing our job for us if that’s the best they’ve got. And we’re deep enough in the campaign that I think that is the best they’ve got.”

“Alright. Look, I had to ask.”

I wasn’t going to let the call end on that note. “But hey, I didn’t answer your question. You wanted to know if I thought she was gonna win?”

Scott laughed. “C’mon, I know you think she will. You work for her.”

Hook, line, and sinker. I’d been hoping he’d say that. “No, Scott, she might not win.” I was emphatic. “I hope she will. But it is absolutely not guaranteed. There are a bunch of people asking themselves the same questions you’re asking yourself right now. And most of those people don’t have my phone number. So I’m hoping you’ll stick with us; we can’t afford to lose the folks like you in this moment.”

“Mm. Yeah.” He sounded cowed, thoughtful. “Okay. I take your point. I told her I’d talk to Maggie first, but you can just tell Vanessa we’re in for the fundraiser. She can pick the date. Have your people shoot me an email and we’ll figure it all out.”

“Thanks, Scott.” I hung up.

Vanessa was giving me a slow clap. “Wow. I’m impressed. Maybe you should run for Senate.”

“Hah. No thanks.” I realized I was sweating; that was, probably, the single most important call I’d field this entire campaign cycle, and two minutes ago I hadn’t even known it was coming. Mostly I was behind-the-scenes, focused on strategy, and didn’t have to handle calls like that. I breathed out a sigh of relief. “But I appreciate the sentiment.”

She gave me an appreciative smile. “Thanks, Larry. There were a lotta kind words in there for me.”

I shrugged, gave her a much shakier smile. “Eh. It’s what I think. If you do have some skeleton I don’t know about, keep it under wraps until after the campaign, so Scott doesn’t kill me, alright?”

“Okay.” Soberly, she said, “I’ll make sure nobody knows about my secret lesbian lover until December. Or my secret Russian children. Or the Indian marriage I’ve kept hidden all these years. Or my torrid liaison with the President -- or was it the billionaire? It would be nice if I could have a torrid liaison with someone under the age of 60, but I’ll try to wait until December for that, too.”

I started laughing halfway through the list. She was quoting tabloid headlines from the last few months, each more ridiculous than the last.

Say nothing else about Vanessa Rao, she had a sense of humor.

She gave me a gratified smile, and stood up. “Anyway. Thanks. I’m lucky to have you on the team, Larry.” She stepped around the desk and hugged me.

God, she really was gorgeous. The positive attention from her, the closeness, was intoxicating.

I pulled away before the way I was feeling about the hug got too inappropriate. “No problem, Vanessa.”

Vanessa clapped her hands briskly. “Now. We’re both heading to that fundraiser, yeah? You can ride with me, Abby will drive us. I just need to review the ad our TV guys just sent along.”

She pulled up the final version of the ad I’d looked at earlier in the day. I watched over her shoulder.

It was the same, with the exception of the final image I’d offered feedback on. They’d replaced it with an image of her at a church she’d been at a week or two ago, looking sober, hands folded in front of her, listening to a sermon.

She wrinkled her nose. “Ugh. That closing shot looks like I’m at a funeral. They should replace it with something else.”

It was so predictable that I laughed, before I could stop myself. She looked up at me, surprised.

“I had them change it,” I admitted. “Their first try was a great photo of you, but you looked like a magazine model, not a Senator. We need to show you’ve got gravitas.”

She frowned. “I’ve got gravitas, but we talked about having ads that showcase who I am. I’ve got drive, passion. That I’ll work hard for the state. Can’t we go with something more... provocative?” She smirked, re-using the word I’d used on the phone with Scott.

I flushed, but tried to marshal my arguments. “Look, Vanessa. Voters know who you are. They’ve been hearing about you for months. The closing argument -- for the next three weeks -- has to be that you’re Senate material. The incumbent’s really focused on showing you’re not.”

Thinking quickly, I added, “Scott’s question about those bathing suit pictures is exactly what we want to avoid more of. They know you’ve got plenty of Texas attitude and energy. We want to make sure they know you can be sober and authoritative in the spotlight, too.”

I could see her waver; she could be stubborn, when she wanted. But then her expression relaxed, and she laughed, the sound easygoing. “Well, this is why you’re advising me. We’ll do it your way, Larry. See you at the car in a minute.”

She brushed past me on her way out, the soft skin of her arm sliding along my hand.

I shivered.

---

Two weeks went by in the blink of an eye. Takeout food, long nights, busy days, endless calls and emails and conversations. I began to hear the phrase ‘can we count on your support this November?’ in my sleep.

But hey, Scott’s fundraiser had broken records for Vanessa.

Vanessa was appearing on one of the more popular podcasts based out of Austin. I arrived a few minutes late -- I’d been talking to a journalist and it had run over. They’d already started filming when I arrived. Vanessa glanced at me, and surreptitiously gave me a thumbs-up -- she thought it was off to a strong start. Good.

I settled in next to one of the show’s producers to listen in and intervene if needed. Vanessa’s scheduler and driver, Abby -- an intense, nervous young woman who’d been her assistant prior to the campaign beginning -- was her only other staffer present. But even she looked reasonably relaxed.

She leaned over to me. “He’s been flirting with her,” she murmured.

“Shit,” I muttered back.

Abby gave me a concerned glance. “What? He’s lobbing her nothing but softballs. I figured it’d be a good thing.”

I leaned close to whisper the reply. “She’s running to be a fucking Senator, not a youtuber or wellness influencer. An interview where everybody thinks she was handled with kid gloves because some podcaster has a crush on her is just going to confirm that she’s just a pretty face.”

Abby nodded, thoughtful. She was green, but smart -- it reminded me of myself at the start of my career, actually.

The host was a generically handsome, well-built man in his late 30s -- Eli, I recalled. He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt that said LIFT HEAVY. BUY CRYPTO. on it. Personally, I thought he seemed detestable. But there was no denying that his show was a big platform.

He’d made his money picking a number of winning meme coins before starting an investing advice podcast. Over time, it had morphed into a commentary/current events podcast that topped the charts, with a variety of guests; he’d interview anybody in the public spotlight.

He’d already interviewed Vanessa’s opponent last week.

As we were talking, Vanessa and Eli resumed whatever exchange they’d been having. It seemed like pretty typical interview stuff. Their conversation meandered through her background, her policy platform, why she was running, and so on. Lots of focus on crypto, on AI -- all the favorite hobbyhorses of the podcasting circuit.

It was going well, I had to admit. Yeah, a little flirty. But Vanessa had the kind of engaging presence that was infectious in this one-on-one setting, so I wasn’t exactly surprised. I could see the host was pleased, enjoying himself on two fronts: he was enjoying the conversation, and he knew this was certainly going to generate views.

Especially video views, I suspected, watching as their camera guy dialed in the shot they had on Vanessa, making sure that enough of her upper body was in focus and looked good.

I imagined what Scott and his friends would say if they watched the video feed. Well, so what? We couldn’t change how she looked, and she did look good. No way around that.

And then we came to the part of the interview we’d spent dedicated time prepping for. The tricky part.

“So. It’s really refreshing to see someone running for office who’s so young.” He favored her with a smile. “But lots of folks seem concerned about whether or not you’ve got enough relevant experience.”

“To be frank, I think a lot of those folks are having their worries stoked by my opponent: an old guard, political bureaucrat, who doesn’t wanna admit that a young woman is running circles around him. No, I haven’t been hanging around the Texas statehouse and Washington D.C. for fifty years, I’ll give you that. But I’ve got lots of experience.”

She leaned forward, earnestly, as she spoke. Vanessa was in what had become her unofficial ‘campaign-casual’ uniform: jeans, a branded scoop neck campaign t-shirt, and a blazer. The shift in the posture made the blazer and scoop neck fall away from her chest.

Eli’s eyes flicked down, taking in the lush skin of her upper chest. “Yeah?” I could see that his brain was operating on autopilot with the view in front of him.

“Oh yeah.” Vanessa’s drawl elongated the first word just enough to make the implication about her experience suggestive. I wasn’t sure if she’d done it on purpose or not.

But then she continued, “The right kind of experience. I served overseas. Started my own successful small business, sold it to a much bigger firm. I’m running because I know exactly what it’s like to be a small business owner struggling to succeed...”

Vanessa rattled off our standard answers. I smiled tightly, with satisfaction. She’d gotten good at them.

“ ... And hey, I can say with confidence that all this gives me more insight into how to help help American businesses and families thrive than my opponent, I’ll tell you that much. The last time he had to work for a living was in the 1980s. He’s out of touch, and it shows. I mean, just look at his voting record.” She finished, giving Eli a coy smile.

Eli laughed. “Ha! Well. Speaking of your opponent, I want to play you a clip from my interview with him last week, and give you the chance to respond.”

They both looked at a screen off to one side. I knew what clip it would be; we’d prepared for this, too.

Eli on screen, this time sporting a GOD, GUNS, AND BITCOIN t-shirt. Across from him was Vanessa’s opponent.

A jowly, grey-haired, political lifer of a Texan, stiff in a navy suit he’d worn to a media appearance he probably didn’t understand. No doubt some communications intern had needed to explain to him that this millennial’s podcast had more subscribers than the Wall Street Journal.

I took in the visual contrast. He looked positively fossilized. With Vanessa, in the same seat, the choice between age and energy could not have been more pronounced. I broke into a smile. Maybe this would go okay.

“So, tell me what you think of your opponent,” Eli said, affably, on the video clip.

“Well, she’s a spirited kid, I’ll give her that,” he responded. God, her opponent sounded just like he looked: tired. “But this is a serious job. I know it pretty well; I’ve been doing it a little while now.”

On the clip, Eli laughed politely at the understatement.

The man continued. “And I can tell you that I’m not sure she’s got the presence you want in someone who’s going to be in high-stakes decisionmaking. She’s passionate, sure. But for this job, you want reliability. Steadiness. Leadership. Not some feisty firebrand, no matter how pretty she is. For example, in last year’s appropriations package, we had to decide whether to prioritize...”

Eli cut the clip there. “A spirited kid,” he repeated. “Feisty. Pretty. What do you say to all that?”

Vanessa snorted, derisively. “Well, for starters, I’m not sure I want advice on what it takes to be a Senator for someone who’s been warming the same seat for more than two decades, doing things the same way that entire time. Eli, neither of us were even born the first time that man ran for office. Just think about that for a minute. The entire time you’ve been alive, he’s just been sitting in our Statehouse or the Capitol. Don’t you think we need someone in that seat who’s a little more in touch with what life is like for somebody who’s held a regular job in the last thirty years?”

Nice. She’d nailed our agreed upon line. Eli laughed in spite of himself. Good time to pivot.

“And, beyond that, I’ll be honest with you, Eli. I don’t especially like some of the implications behind his language.” Vanessa paused, ran a hand through her mane of dark hair.

I frowned. This was not the thing to pivot to. I tried to catch her eye. Gave her a slight shake of the head.

She did return my look, briefly. Gave me a level gaze.

Then she shrugged out of her blazer, like a boxer taking off their robe before hopping in the ring for a prize fight. “I mean, look. Texas is a state full of spirited firebrands. The idea that he thinks it’s a bad thing tells me he’s been in Washington way too long.”