A Referendum on Conscience: Chapters 11-12 (work in progress)

Links to previous chapters available here.

Stumbling Forward, the first book in this series, can be downloaded for half price at Smashwords by entering code ZN98U.

Chapter 11

Monday, Dec. 9

Clarissa Rogers had planned on leaving Washington the next morning, but after the movers took her television and all of her furniture to storage at 11 a.m. she decided there was no sense in waiting around any longer. She quickly loaded her clothes, laptop and two cats into her Saturn and set out for Minnesota a few minutes before noon. By 9 p.m. on Monday, Dec. 9, she was cruising west on Interstate 80, about 20 miles from Ohio’s border with Indiana.

There was so much that needed doing and the McElroy campaign was months behind Todd Owen and Tara Gunderson Hansen. She spent most of the drive through Pennsylvania worrying about how to get a field operation in place to compete with Owen for the Democratic-Farmer-Labor Party’s endorsement, which would be awarded at the state convention in May. From Cleveland to Toledo her focus was money. Owen was spectacularly wealthy and would spend anything to win. Hansen, the Republican candidate, had raised about $7.1 million as of Sept. 30 and would probably have at least $11 million by the Dec. 31 reporting deadline. McElroy, meanwhile, hadn’t done any fundraising since her last election and had just $402,686 in her campaign account.

There were other logistical hurdles to worry about, as well. They would need to rent an office somewhere on University Avenue in St. Paul, where most statewide campaigns set up headquarters. There was staff that needed hiring. An announcement tour needed to be planned. To top things off, everything had to be fully up and running by Monday, Jan. 6.

While Clarissa’s Saturn clipped along at 80 miles per hour, and her mind raced much faster, her BlackBerry rang. She didn’t recognize the number, but the call was from the 651 area code—St. Paul.

“Hello?”

“Clarissa?”

“Yes, this is Clarissa.”

“It’s Matt Gibson with the Todd Owen campaign. Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“Not at all. I’m just in my car. No big deal.” She didn’t mention that by this time tomorrow she’d be in Minnesota and plotting his demise.

“Clarissa, I’ve been talking to people all over St. Paul as we look to fill out our team and everyone speaks really well of you.”

“Don’t believe any of it. I’ve been paying people to spread those rumors—”

“Right,” he said, laughing. “Anyway, I was calling to see what your plans are for the election.”

She wasn’t sure what to say and was trying to decide whether to drive all the way to Chicago tonight. It was another three hours to the west, but she wasn’t tired after four big cups of coffee since crossing into Pennsylvania from Maryland.

“Wow, Matt, I’m not sure how to answer that—”

“Well, if you’re available, I’d like to bring you on in a communications director-slash-deputy campaign manager role.”

“That’s very nice, but I can’t do that.”

“Really? We don’t even need to negotiate salary. I’m authorized to offer you up to ten-grand a month, so let’s just make that the offer.”

Clarissa almost laughed. She was only paying herself $6,500 a month to run McElroy’s campaign.

“That is a lot of money, but I can’t take it,” she said. “It’s just, well, it’s not something I want to do.”

“It’s Hogan, isn’t it? He’s just been helping a little, but you won’t have to deal with him.”

“No, Matt, it’s not Hogan. It really isn’t.”

“Why not then? We have a lot of good will from the activists and now we need to pull things together so we can catch fire. Come on board and help us get there.”

“You seem nice, so I’ll be honest because I don’t want to waste your time. My problem isn’t with Hogan. He’s just one guy out of 435 in the House, no big deal. My issue is that I don’t think your guy is good enough to be one of 100 people in the Senate.”

Matt was sick of listening to people tell him how crappy Owen was, but he managed to keep his cool.

“Then help him do better,” he said. “You’ve been there. Help make him a senator.”

“Honestly, some of being a good senator is learned and you get better over time. But at the end of the day you’re either born with the quality or you’re not and your guy just doesn’t have it. I watched that speech in Duluth and thought Tara Gunderson Hansen seemed more senatorial than Todd Owen.”

She hadn’t intended to snap at him, now realizing she probably crossed all kinds of lines with someone she had never met in person.

“I’m sorry, Matt. It’s just been one of those days.”

“Don’t worry about it. Think it over and if you’re interested in a few days, give me a call.”

“Thanks so much,” she said, eager to get off the phone. “I’ll do that.”

After hanging up with Gibson she had a phone call of her own to make. It was time to start getting her team in place.

*****

TransPacific Air Flight #2 landed in Los Angeles without incident, but after 29 hours of travel time from the west coast of Australia to the United States, Carter Jennings fully understood what it meant to be on the verge of a nervous breakdown. He didn’t have time to lose it, though. He had to clear customs and catch a Central Airlines flight to Memphis, where he’d finally connect on to Minneapolis. In the future, he told himself, no more booking at the last minute. Plan ahead like a grown-up.

He rummaged through his backpack, looking for his passport, as he stood in line with Americans and Australians and tried to keep his iPhone tucked between his shoulder and ear. There were countless messages and e-mails that needed to be dealt with, but the first order of business was a phone call to Hank Wright, his private detective friend back in Minnesota. Hank had dug up the dirt that helped propel Alex Hogan to a primary election victory over another Democrat 18 months ago. Now he wanted to see what there was to use on Owen.

“Hank, it’s Carter Jennings.”

“I was wondering when I’d hear from you.”

Hank was a decorated fighter pilot during the Persian Gulf War, but after leaving the military he became a committed pacifist and was a huge fan of Sen. McElroy.

“Yep,” Carter said, still looking for his passport. “How are you?”

“I’m doing great. Better now that you’re calling.”

“When did you know?”

“I don’t know anything,” Hank said. “I just figured that after November 18 you’d start cooking up something.”

“Yeah, I thought it’d be fun to come home and pick a fight. Just landed in L.A. from Australia about 30 minutes ago. You know why I’m calling.”

“I imagine you want some research on Mr. Owen so you know how best to help him.” Hank managed to get that line out with a straight face.

“You’re half right,” Carter said, laughing. “What’s the paper trail on this guy look like?”

“For the general election, he’s clean. Successful businessman, upstanding citizen, mainstream. No problems at all.”

“For the endorsement convention and the primary? The shit that will piss off Democrats—”

“Offices & More is a terrible place to work, especially if you want to unionize.”

“Touchdown.” Carter was thrilled. Labor unions are the backbone of Minnesota’s Democratic-Farmer-Labor Party and they were just tentatively onboard with the only DFL candidate in the field. That would change once Owen started catching heat in public over his record. The real stuff sounded bad enough, but that wouldn’t stop Carter from creating new details—just to make sure Owen’s campaign died and stayed dead.

“I’m working on a report for you,” Hank said. “I’ll send it your way first thing in the morning.”

“I don’t even know what morning is anymore,” Carter said as he yawned. It was 6 p.m. in California, 8 p.m. in Minneapolis and 9 a.m. tomorrow morning in Perth, Australia.

“Well, whenever you get your head straight in the next 12 hours, check your e-mail. It’s pretty good stuff.”

“Thanks.”

Carter hung up just as he found his passport in the bottom of his backpack, crushed under his laptop. He handed it over to the customs agent who shuffled through a few pages and stamped it without ever looking at the photo. So much for post-11/18 security measures.

*****

Holly Schaffer only agreed to go out with Wes Mattke to get her mother off her back. Her two older sisters, ages 28 and 31, were both married. Now mom viewed it as her personal mission to find a suitable husband for her final daughter. Mattke was perfect in Mrs. Schaffer’s eyes. He was a mildly handsome lawyer specializing in insurance defense, had no ex-wives or children to complicate things and was the son of friends from the country club in Minnetonka, a wealthy suburb southwest of Minneapolis.

After an hour at Mike’s Steakhouse in Minneapolis, Holly was quite ready to never see Mattke again.

“The guy was only making like 32-grand a year and now he thinks his life is worth a half-million. Go figure.”

The lawyer hadn’t stopped talking about his latest case, in which a school bus driver slipped and fell in a suburban department store and hit his head. He hadn’t been able to work for the past year and was now trying to save his home from foreclosure. His wife was doing her best to support their two children on her salary as a gas station attendant, but it didn’t go far and didn’t come with the medical benefits they desperately needed.

“Seriously,” Holly said. “Why don’t the poor just go away? They’re always so depressing—I need health care; I need a job; I need school.”

Mattke was three-sheets-to-the-wind drunk and missed the sarcasm as he continued.

“So we’re going to bleed this fuck and his ambulance-chasing lawyer dry. I just filed for another continuance this afternoon. They’ll end up settling, but not before I bill out a few more hours at $375 a pop.”

As Mattke blabbered on, Holly flagged down a waitress and ordered a $400 bottle of chardonnay. She preferred beer, but wanted to run up a big tab.

“Is it just me, or are we really connecting here?” Mattke said. “I’m getting the feeling this could really be something.”

Holly hadn’t noticed that Mattke was done talking about his job.

“Excuse me?”

“I think there’s a connection between us. Don’t you agree? This could really be something here.” He belched a little. The fifth martini was starting to hit him hard.

“Wow,” she said, stalling.

“You should come up to my cabin this weekend. I’ll probably have a couple conference calls to deal with, but it’s a nice place near Bemidji. It’s right by the Olsons’ place. Do you know the Olsons?”

“Who?”

“Arthur and Julie. I think your parents known them. They’re from Minnetonka, too. Art’s the CFO at Wakota Equipment. We play handball together a couple times a month.”

“Sure, good ol’ Art.” Holly had no idea what he was talking about and was glad to see the waitress return with the wine. Before she could reach for her glass, though, her cell phone rang. It was Clarissa, so she answered right away.

“Clarissa! How are you, girl?”

“Is it a good time to talk? I’m driving back there now. In Indiana now.”

“Sure. I’m on a date, but nothing’s going to come of it.”

“Are you still sitting at the table with him?” Clarissa was always amazed by how blunt Holly could be. For his part, Mattke didn’t seem to notice as he stared at a waitress’ ass.

“Hold on real quick.” Holly pretended to cover the mouthpiece as she prepared to infuriate her mother, who was certain to get a report on this disaster of a date within 24 hours. “Wes, it was great meeting you, but I have to take this call and I’ll get myself a cab. Good luck with your case. I hope the plaintiff dies, but not until you make some more money by increasing his suffering. I’m sure he deserves it.”

She got up, retrieved her coat and walked outside. Mattke had no idea what hit him.

“I take it you won’t be seeing him again,” Clarissa said. She wasn’t sure whether to be mortified or amused.

“My mom’s idea. Don’t ask. Why are you coming back here? It’s 10-below and windy. Makes D.C. seem like Fiji.”

“Senator McElroy is running again and I’m managing the campaign—”

“Really?” Holly was a big fan of the senator, one of the few politicians she still liked.

“Yes and I need you. We need to do an announcement and I’m thinking something at the state Capitol on the first Monday after the first of the year.”

“No, not there. Bloomington City Hall. That’s where her career started and it’s where we’ll launch her biggest campaign. And we’ll do a tour the same day, so we’ll have to figure out where we can get a plane and pilot cheap—”

“OK,” Clarissa could barely get a word in edgewise.

“I’m thinking Twin Cities, Rochester, Mankato, Moorhead, International Falls and Duluth.”

In a matter of seconds it was as though Holly had never left politics.

“This is going to be so fun,” she continued. “Who else do we have?”

Chapter 12

Tuesday, Dec. 10-Wednesday, Dec. 11

“You all are lucky. Next year you’ll be voting in one of the most important elections in American history and the choice is clear. One candidate will not hesitate to defend our country and the other candidate will go to almost any length to avoid stating a clear position on where he stands.”

Tara Gunderson Hansen was glad to be at the University of Minnesota’s Humphrey Institute on Tuesday, Dec. 10. In her last congressional campaign she turned down the invitation from her alma mater. Her Washington handlers said college kids were a bad audience for Republicans. She blamed herself for listening. This time around she was doing things 100-percent her way and the duck-and-cover strategy wasn’t in the Hansen playbook.

She wrapped up an abbreviated version of her stump speech and opened the floor to questions. Even though it was the middle of final exams week, nearly 90 students turned out to get a glimpse of the only Republican candidate in the field for next year’s election.

“Congresswoman, how do you come back from a loss? You were right last time, but voters said ‘no thanks.’ How can you put yourself out there again?” It was a sympathetic question from a preppy-looking freshman.

“Thank you for that question. I do think I was right last time, but I was the victim of circumstance and my own errors. My opponent, Congressman Hogan, ran commercials about me that were outright lies and I didn’t fight back hard enough and I listened to some bad advice. That won’t happen again. That’s what motivates me, but this isn’t about me at the end of the day. It’s about our country and that’s what keeps me going.”

In private, Hansen didn’t give Hogan any credit for his victory. She knew Carter Jennings made the commercials and believed there was a special place in hell for him. Despite the $2 million in negative ads thrown at her, she still came within 5 percentage points of winning. She was determined to never come up short again.

Another student raised her hand and Hansen quickly called on her even though she thought the girl looked like a hippie.

“Why is Senator McElroy wrong about Azizistan? I think she makes pretty good sense. We have to start doing things differently if we’re going to really defeat terrorism, right?”

About half the audience applauded, but Hansen never stopped smiling.

“Good question. I really like the senator because you know where she stands. We may disagree, but I can respect her courage. That said, I think she sees a world where evil people can be reasoned with and convinced to change their ways. That’s not the way things work. I hate war, but sometimes a great people must be moved to defend a great nation and this is one of those times.”

She could tell the student wasn’t buying it, but she continued anyway.

“I don’t think you can reason with people who believe you or I should be killed simply for being Americans. I’ll do almost anything to make peace, but I won’t surrender for it. That’s slavery, not peace.”

The night before, Hansen read her first polling report. She had a 2-to-1 name recognition advantage over Todd Owen and if the election were held now she’d get nearly 60 percent of the vote. Her favorability rating was 55 percent, an impressive number for a conservative Republican in a liberal state. Voters listed the war as the most important issue facing the country and most could correctly identify Hansen as a strong supporter of President Wayne Fisher’s popular policies.

She took a few more questions from students wanting her to discuss the war and then called on a young man in a wheelchair.

“In one sentence how would you sum up this race between you and Mr. Owen?”

“I believe America is a force for good and we shouldn’t hesitate to defend it. I don’t know what Mr. Owen believes.”

Hansen paused for a moment.

“I think that’s two sentences,” she said. “Throw a semicolon in there somewhere. That should do it.”

The students laughed and she thanked them for their time and left. She was thrilled as she walked to her car alone. In an hour, at the University of Minnesota of all places, the only thing people were talking about was the war. It was exactly what she wanted.

*****

Pre-Christmas dinner in Spotsylvania County had become a much-enjoyed tradition for the McElroys, Sam Jenkins and his wife, Ashley Rice. The senator hated the Washington party circuit and wasn’t a welcome face these days, anyway, making her even more grateful to have the company of her closest friends outside Minnesota.

Sam was still serving as a trusted and much-needed adviser on all things related to Azizistan during the morning train rides into D.C. He was a steady presence in a city that was coming apart from within. Each Christmas he always got Zach fishing tackle and then something related to the big issue of the day for the senator. This year he presented her with a copy of the Army field manual and inscribed it: “There will be a test on this. Trust me.”

Ashley, who at 37 was 20 years younger than her husband and 25 years younger than the McElroys, was always a breath of fresh air—a free spirit in an ultra-stuffy metro area. She taught kindergarten in nearby King George County, but was able to travel the world each summer with the money she had inherited from her father and grandfather. They had both invested profits from their North Carolina hog farm early and heavily in companies like Wal-Mart and Microsoft.

As they sat down to eat in the McElroy’s dining room, Rebecca tried to figure out how to say she was seeking another term. Giving a speech in Minnesota would be easy, but breaking the news to friends was always awkward. She didn’t want it to come off like she was trying to soak up all the attention. She hadn’t even told Alan Desmond, the Senate minority leader, but that was because she knew he was already strongly behind Owen’s self-funded campaign.

“Once again you’ve outdone yourself!” Zach was a great cook and Sam was always the most enthusiastic dinner guest. There was enough food—turkey, stuffing, blueberry muffins, steamed vegetables, mashed potatoes and Yorkshire pudding—to feed a dozen.

“This is only the beginning,” Zach said. “We have some big news to report and wanted you all to be the first to know.”

“You’re getting a puppy!” Ashley had a habit of saying the first thing that came into her mind and for years had tried to sell the McElroys on the virtue of golden doodles—a cross between poodles and golden retrievers.

“Actually, I think I’d rather get the dog and leave it at that,” Rebecca said, laughing. “But, no, we’re doing something crazier.”

All eyes were on her. There was no avoiding it now. She was officially the center of attention.

“I have decided, and I may come to regret this, but I have decided to seek re-election.” She hoped Clarissa Rogers would write a far more eloquent announcement speech for the people of Minnesota.

Sam would’ve jumped for joy if it was in his nature. He thought the Senate needed at least one person with guts. Ashley sprung up from the table and rushed off to find her purse.

“Ultimately, we decided there was no way around it,” Rebecca said. “I’m going to make my opposition to this damn war the central issue and I’ll take anything they want to throw at me.”

“I can’t imagine what those people are going to do,” Sam said, “but I’m so glad you’re doing this. You know I’ll always help as I can.”

A few seconds later Ashley was back with her checkbook.

“I want to be the first contributor—”

“We have no shame,” Rebecca said, half serious. “The other Democrat in the race is worth about a quarter-of-a-billion dollars, so checks for our little effort can be written out to ‘McElroy for Senate.’”

*****

Despite the 1,000-mile drive, and just a few hours of sleep over the previous two nights, Clarissa was off and running early Wednesday morning, her first full day back in Minnesota. Her top priority was touching base with Ken Tolbert of the Minnesota Federation of Labor, the state’s biggest union and the only major Democrat-friendly organization that hadn’t already thrown at least tentative support to Todd Owen’s campaign.

“I don’t give a fuck about what your campaign staff says,” Tolbert grumbled into the phone as he noticed Clarissa standing in the lobby of the tiny MFL headquarters building in north Minneapolis. He waved her into his office and continued trying to help a freshman member of the state Legislature find his backbone. “Steve, you won by a lousy 206 votes in a Democratic district—in Mankato!—and we were there for you from the very first day. We carried you. Now it’s time for you to honor your end of the deal.”

Clarissa took a seat and watched Tolbert work. A quarter-century ago he was a star defensive lineman at the University of Minnesota and nearly made the NFL’s Houston Oilers. At 6-foot-4 and 250 pounds, he was still intimidating—even over the phone.

“Don’t give me that crap. You came into my office and made a pledge to my executive board. I was there. Don’t talk to me like I’m some idiot at a town hall meeting because I’m about to become your worst nightmare.”

Tolbert wheeled his leather chair around and grabbed two Diet Cokes from the tiny refrigerator in the corner. He turned back and slid one across his desk to Clarissa. She preferred coffee, but was glad for any form of caffeine and quickly opened the can.

“Fine, Steve. You cover your ass and I’m going to keep my options open. I really like that high school teacher on the City Council down there. She seems to have her priorities in order. Maybe I’ll call her.”

Tolbert slammed down the phone.

“Pussy! We have 126 Democrats in the Legislature and at least half are complete fucking neuters.”

Clarissa didn’t even cringe. She was one of maybe three people in Minnesota politics who didn’t fear the massive man. Meanwhile, Tolbert was one of her biggest fans. She was brilliant and tough as hell. That more than made up for the fact she got Alex Hogan, a traitor to the labor movement, elected to Congress.

“For the record,” Clarissa said, “I think 68 of your Democrats are women.”

“We’re having a tough run of it,” he said as leaned his chair back and stared at the ceiling. “Nobody wants to stand up to the governor with an election year coming up and don’t get me started on the Senate race—that fucking Senate race.”

“That’s why I’m here.”

“You want to run for the Legislature? Name your district. In fact, I think Mankato just opened up for you.”

“That’s not why I’m here,” she said. “Let’s talk about the Senate race. Excuse me, that fucking Senate race.”

He snapped to attention.

“She’s seeking a third term, isn’t she?” Tolbert loved McElroy. She never got squeamish and he appreciated that, even though he worried her position on Azizistan was way outside the mainstream.

“Yes and I’m here today as her campaign manager.”

“Close the door, Clarissa. Let’s talk business.”

Links to previous chapters available here.

Stumbling Forward, the first book in this series, can be downloaded for half price at Smashwords by entering code ZN98U.