Political Science 101

Chapter Fourteen

"I MADE YOU!" Lenore Sable spoke win her signature way that enabled her to seemingly yell and whisper simultaneously. However, several people at Starbucks heard her, so she dialed-down the intensity of her tone to the socially-appropriate level for a mid-morning meeting over coffee in Washington DC. Congressman Arnold Jenkins allowed his facial expression to convey his disdain for her statement as he sipped his cappuccino across the table. But deep-down, he knew she was right.

"Listen, Lenore," Congressman Jenkins said, trying to grasp control of the conversation, "I do appreciate all that you have done to get me elected, and even more-so that you've helped get me re-elected twice. And I have been happy to reciprocate by being sympathetic to your needs when it came time to vote on legislation." He paused, momentarily wondering if he could ever be re-elected without her expensive campaign funding. He took a deep but quiet breath, then continued. "The State House election the other night was a fluke." He subtly held his hand up. "And before you say anything, yes, I know all about Mitch Bradley and I know he's a brilliant political strategist. I read his book and thought he was paranoid and insane. But when I was elected to office, I can really see how brilliant he is. I have no idea why he chooses to teach college, seeing as how he got a nobody elected to the State House out-of-the-blue." He paused again, waiting for an interjection that never came. "But I don't see how you fear him so much. You need to—"

"I need to do what, Arnie?" The amount of sarcasm emanating from her words made Congressman Jenkins very uncomfortable, like the smoke from a lit cigarette, burning his eyes and nostrils.

"I think you," Jenkins paused, choosing his words meticulously, "I think you we need to all just relax about Ray Doyle and Mitch Bradley." He paused for her reaction; she exhibited none. "So," he continued, "they got their district to elect a Democrat. Big deal. I'm sure my neighborhood likes me too. But do you know how many state districts are in one U.S. House of Representatives district? Dozens. Literally dozens. He won't have the money, the resources, or the time to make that happen." Lenore's silence seemed to Jenkins with a sense of empowerment. "So when I tell you—" Jenkins stopped talking as his eyes widened cartoonishly; he suddenly realized that Lenore had subtly and quietly reached under the table and grasped his left knee with her right hand, squeezing a pressure point with the compassion of a rabid Pitbull.

"You tell me nothing," Lenore whispered. Her voice almost sounded seductive, but her grip only tightened as they locked eye-contact. "Your votes in the House and your persuasion of other House members to vote my way — I appreciate these things, but I'm also paying for these things. And I will get what I pay for."

She squeezed tighter.

Jenkins quietly grunted in pain.

"But," she continued, pausing for effect, "if you think for a single solitary second that you're not every bit as disposable to me as the nigger that mows my lawn, then perhaps you should re-evaluate your place in this world." She paused again. "Pretty face Republican congressmen like you can be cycled through politics like a shark's teeth - row after row after row, forever." She looked deep into his eyes, looking for a deep understanding of her point. She found it.

Congressman Arnold Jenkins looked as though he was holding his breath. His face was cherry-red; beads of sweat were quietly accumulating on his upper-lip and forehead. His dark brown hair seemed mildly-ruffled, though no one had touched it.

Lenore leaned forward; Jenkins didn't. Lenore squeezed harder; Jenkins leaned forward. Their eyes remained locked.

"Have I gotten my point across?" she whispered in a tone reserved for preschool teachers. "Let me be clear: I hate Liberals, I hate Democrats, and even though you're a Republican, I'm starting to hate you too. But if I wanted to, I could turn one of these Liberals toward my cause. Everyone can be bought. So if I need to make Ray Doyle my new congressman, I can do that - I will do that." She paused; she liked dramatic pauses. "When you think about it, Ray Doyle would be even easier to turn than you were - he's just the puppet of Mitch Bradley. That is why I'm concerned about Bradley. Understand now? If Ray Doyle gets elected to your seat in the House with Mitch Bradley at the helm, my swing votes and influence will be completely screwed. And I will blame you. Understand?"

Jenkins closed his eyes and nodded subtly, then leaned back with a strong exhale as the Kraken released him from captivity. His pulse had sped and his breathing was rapid, though he tried to appear calm, unsuccessfully.

Lenore stood and put on her fur coat. "The coffee's on me next time," she said happily and politely. Jenkins looked down at his knee, feeling it throb in pain. And when he looked up again, Lenore Sable had already exited the coffee shop.

As a member of the United States House of Representatives, Arnold Jenkins knew all-too-well that he didn't owe his job - his election - to the voters; he didn't owe his job to his campaign manager or the election volunteers; he didn't owe his job to his abilities as a legislator. He owed his job to his donors because money buys advertising and advertising buys votes, and contemporary voters don't vote for candidates, they vote against candidates - they vote against candidates they fear and hate. And in the Midwest, it's easy to get elected as a Republican; all he had to do was make the voters afraid of blacks, Mexicans, and Muslims. Kansas, Oklahoma, Missouri, Nebraska - that's just how it's done; it's just that easy. So his campaign donors funded his commercials and advertisements subtly making this point, and of course, he won. Funny, Arnie thought, even he wasn't old enough to remember when people voted for the candidate they liked, rather than against the candidate and people they hated (or were told to hate). But oh well; such was the state of contemporary American politics.

Jenkins looked around, finished his coffee, straightened the left leg of his trousers, and casually left the coffee shop.

Just another day in Washington D.C.