Faster on My Own: Chapter 17
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Six months later, Steven was, yet again, speaking in front of a camera. Crowds didn’t come out strong for congressional campaigns, even when they were riding a wave of publicity like Steven was. His final show gave him the reputation as someone who was willing to tell the hard truths, even in the face of rampant political correctness. After the show, in the twilight between action and consequence, Steven thought he was finished. When his director burst into the dressing room and showed him the enormous reaction to his show, Steven was planning to leave town and abandon his identity. Instead, he became a sensation, getting interviews, speeches, invitations onto all the other shows on Fox News. Robertson even offered to bring back his show, but another offer found its way to him and asked if he’d run for Congress. A congressman in upstate New York had been caught feeding an obscene number of hot dogs to a woman who was not his wife. The congressman would have been fine if he hadn’t purchased the hot dogs with public money, and the voice on the phone cautioned Steven to avoid the same mistake.
Over the next few months, a team of Republican campaign strategists reconstructed Steven. He spoke in a deeper voice, he wore looser suits, and he gave more thumbs-ups in a month than he had in his entire life. Though Steven’s expectations for such a campaign– roaring crowds and hard-fought debates– went unmet, the pressure of the campaign excited him. After over a year in service of The Plan, it felt good to have a tangible goal to work toward. That goal led him in front of a camera, where he intended to record a “genuine” type of political ad to undercut his opponent, who had a reputation as a very polished political operator.
“You need someone in Congress who will let you solve your problems, instead of giving away handouts to the people that cause them.” In the ad, that line would go after two minutes of Steven shaking exclusively white hands in ten different scenarios to remind voters that he’s a businessman. The lights shut off and Steven got up from the thin desk fascimile that the campaign built for the commercial at greater cost than purchasing a full desk. Steven called over his campaign manager, a man who looked a little bit like a snake, though Steven couldn’t tell if it was because he was bald or because he sometimes wiggled his shoulders while he talked. Maybe both. After the campaign manager slithered over, Steven held the printed line of dialogue in front of him.
“Rick, does this seem a little too race-war to you? Or is it me?”
“It’s you. That’s what the voters of this district are going to respond to. They think someone, they’d never say who, but it’s someone, is causing problems in this nation and they want someone who will prioritize them without saying exactly who it is that they’re not prioritizing.”
“Sure. Okay.” Steven felt the urge to argue, but the strength of his cover personality had grown so strong since the beginning that it wrestled down Steven’s desire to not appear racist without much contest. They recorded the ad, and Steven sounded just sinister enough to get the message across without attracting national outrage, which had been his least favorite part of the fervor around his last show.
As he walked backstage, with Rick close behind him, Steven saw his brother leaning against a wall, staring at him. Steven plastered a smile all over his face. “Ben! How’s it going? What are you doing here?”
“I’m fine. Just thought I’d come check out the show.” Ben returned the smile, even less sincere than Steven’s.
“Rick, could you excuse us for a second?” Steven waved him off without looking at him. “I need a moment to catch up with my brother.” Rick obliged, and the two Williams brothers stood alone in the hallway.
Ben didn’t wait for Steven to prompt him. “I noticed you didn’t want to say that line at first. Interesting.”
“Not really.” Even though they were standing still, Steven felt like Ben was pacing in a circle around him.
“I’d say it is. What about that line could have given you pause? It seems reasonable to me. Many blacks are taking handouts while causing problems for the more upstanding section of society, including many of their own race.”
“Blacks? Come on. And I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t pushing the issue too hard. When a politician is openly racist…” Steven thought for a moment and said, “in a certain way, in this state anyway, it alienates voters. They want a signal that I know what’s going on, but they don’t want to vote for the guy who everyone has to claim they hate, you know? I have to balance it.”
“Racist? It’s not racist to acknowledge certain facts. It’s not like the problem is inborn to the, African-American if you prefer it, people. It’s a cultural problem that can’t be solved by more free money. That’s what you need to be saying. But you won’t.”
“You’re right. I won’t. That’s not the kind of campaign I want to run. It’ll do me more harm than good. Bye Ben” Steven walked away. Ben said, “This is how I know you’re faking. You’re willing to say just enough to benefit you, but when it’s time to take a stand for the ideas themselves, you won’t do it.”
Steven could have kept walking. He knew that would be the safest decision, rather than antagonizing his brother further and giving him even more reason to suspect that Steven was not really a conservative. But why then, could he not bring himself to leave? Why was he turning around, and marching back to Ben, why was he sticking a finger in his face? Why was he pushing Ben back into the wall and shouting? Steven didn’t have any answers for these questions. Instead, he had the satisfaction of the dog biting the hand that rubbed its fur the wrong way again and again and again. “You piece of shit.” He pushed Ben again, who grabbed his shoulder in mock pain. “I have given up everything for these fucking ideas. My friends. My girlfriend. My apartment. My show. You think you’re doing it right? Preaching your ideas to everyone who already agrees with you? You’ve never suffered a fucking instant.” Intermingled in his general anger towards his brother, Steven found that he wasn’t lying as he shouted this into Ben’s face as his brother tried to shrink away from him.
“You’re a fake. You always have been.” His brother ducked under Steven’s arm and scampered down the hallway. “Your anarchy shit was just to seem cool to the girls you liked at college, and this is just for money. I know it, and I’m going to prove it, and you’ll have to crawl back to your shithole in Brooklyn.” Ben’s tie came loose as he stumbled away– a red pendulum swinging as spit flew from Ben’s mouth.
Steven feinted like he was going to charge at Ben. Just the one step and a fake lean forward. Ben fell for it, and ran down the hall until he looked back a hundred feet later. “I knew you weren’t going to do it. I’m just leaving now.”
“Fuck off before I have security throw you out.” With that, Ben ran off for good. Steven wondered what the fallout would be. Certainly he’d hear about it from his mother in short order, but his father’s reaction nagged at him the most. Anything in the range of annoyance to outrage to disowning him wouldn’t surprise Steven. He followed his campaign manager to the car and waited for a phone call which would rain paternal fury on him.