Chapter 7: Exciting Times

After the Primaries and the Party caucus confirmed Maria Jeslyn Suarez as the official candidate for President of the United States, Sharon had a telephone call from someone she had never heard of, one Brett Aspinall, asking her first if she was a registered member of Maria's Party.

"No, I'm not registered with any political party," she answered, "And I'm not giving money to any politicians. I never have and I don't intend to start now."

"I don't want money, at least not from you," he replied, "I don't even want your promise to vote for Maria, but she did say you might be willing to help. I believe you were friends once, close friends?"

"We were students together, if that's what you mean. What does she want this time?"

Brett sounded less confident when he said, "She suggested you might be willing to help us by translating some campaign literature into Arabic, and maybe talking to some immigrant audiences?" then he hastened to add, "We would pay your expenses, of course."

"Well ... I suppose I could translate for you. Email them over and I'll do what I can."

"I thought you were an expert?" he queried, "What would be the problem translating?"

"Nobody is ever a real expert in any language they learned after the age of five," she answered tartly, "But I expect I am as good as most. I am, however, rather busy as Professor of Classical and Modern Arabic here at the university."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply..." his voice tailed off.

'Score one for the academics versus the politicians, ' she thought, smiling to herself.

After a short silence which she felt no compulsion to break, he continued, "Could you come to Washington to talk about it? ... Please?"

The "please" had all the hallmarks of a rarely used afterthought.

"I suppose I could be there Saturday afternoon," she said cautiously, "if you email me directions. Directions to your office I mean; I do actually know where Washington is."

Arriving at the campaign headquarters, she found the expected controlled chaos as the building almost shook from the combined activity of what seemed like hundreds of students, mostly male she noticed. More surprisingly, she was expected, and was immediately escorted to an office hidden away at the back of the building, guarded by heavily armed police.

"Good. I'm glad you could come," said Maria as Sharon was ushered in, "Meet Brett Aspinall, my campaign head of communications. Hands off, by the way, he's all mine."

"Good afternoon to you too, Senator Maria. You haven't changed a bit, except the hair, of course."

The badly dyed student blonde had been replaced by perfectly coiffured fair hair in a shade calculated to combine the sexual attraction of a blonde without the connotation of empty-headed ignorance that blondes seem to encourage. It contrasted oddly with the tight blond curls and almost orange skin that Brett exhibited.

"What do you want me to do?" asked Sharon.

"Translate these," said Brett, pushing a pile of leaflets over to her.

She picked the first one up and glanced over it.

"I can't," she said.

Maria silenced Bret with a wave of the hand and asked, "Sharon, why ever not? That one is about our policies on farming. Whatever is controversial about that? We even say broadly the same thing as my opponent, though don't quote me on that."

"It doesn't say anything, that's why not," said Sharon, "Look at this sentence: 'Federal Subvention will be used to maximise the utility of support in the best interests of society'. It means absolutely nothing at all."

Brett could not contain himself, "Yes. I wrote that. I think it's one of the best things I ever wrote."

"Get out, Brett. Go address some envelopes or something," said Maria, adding after a moment, "And keep your hands off the girl helpers. I want you awake and hard tonight."

To Sharon's amazement he mumbled, "Sorry, Maria," and went away.

"I always thought of you as submissive, rather than dominant, Maria," observed Sharon.

"Oh, I am with a man who can dominate me. Poor Brett is so much in love with himself that he has no strength left over to dominate anyone. I think his huge prick saps his strength, but it is nice to use from time to time. I just don't want him using it on any of the kids out there."

"Jealous?"

"No. Afraid of bad publicity if she screams," said the cynical candidate, "Now, can you do anything with these to make them appeal to the immigrant minority? They don't have to mean anything; just sending them leaflets in their own language will be impressive enough."

And so Sharon found herself caught up in the election fever which grips the United States every four years. It cost her a good deal of effort, some money and the best part of six lost months on her own research work.