Faster on My Own: Chapter 24
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“Isn’t San Antonio beautiful this time of year?” Steven said as he shook the hand of some ancient man. “A hundred and ten degrees isn’t enough for me!” They laughed and parted ways.
As Steven proceeded through the crowd of onlookers, many clamoring for his attention or snapping photos, he scowled at Rick. “Is there any way to get us out of this mess? No chance that guy,” he jerked his thumb in the direction of the old man, “has a vote.”
“We just need to appear in the crowd, get some pictures taken. So that’s happening now.” Rick tapped at his phone. Steven wondered if he was following a script. “Then we can duck back into the restricted areas and get a handle on who’s voting for who.”
“I don’t like this.” They turned down a hallway, low-orange lit and quiet enough that Steven’s footsteps echoed. “The party’s going to throw their weight behind Armstrong and we haven’t made any progress on his delegates. They love him.”
Rick showed a badge to a security guard who stood at the least distinct point in the hallway. With a turn around the corner, the hallway became the world. As they progressed further into the orange-tinted tomb, Rick said, “All we can do is try to swing a deal today. We’re not going to get the delegates. That’s fine, it’s normal. We expected that. Armstrong’s not getting ours unless we give them to him.”
“So we need to get Armstrong to give it up.”
“Depending on how the delegates of the other guys swing, yeah. If they all go with Armstrong, we don’t have much of a chance. If they go to us, we’re probably going to win.” “So it’s that middle ground we have to worry about.” After yet another turn, they emerged into a room full of men in suits, all in constant motion. “Let’s get to work.”
After a full day of wrangling delegates, with no significant gains made, the middle ground loomed larger than ever. As Steven discovered upon finding a note in his hotel room, Armstrong agreed. The message suggested that Steven come meet Armstrong, to work things out and prevent the fight from spilling out onto the convention floor.
When Steven entered the room, Armstrong stood to greet him. Despite the way Armstrong always seemed to be the tallest person in the room, as Steven approached for a handshake, he noticed that Armstrong was a few inches shorter than him. Something about his loose confidence and graceful stride communicated the experience of a taller man. “How are you liking the convention so far?”
Armstrong returned to his seat. Steven looked around for another chair, but couldn’t find one. He sat on the edge of the bed, an undignified and subservient position. But also an intimate one. Armstrong clearly intended to demonstrate how he was on top of Steven. “You know, spending every waking second talking to people who won’t give me what I want. I’m sure you can relate.”
Armstrong gazed into the middle distance and swirled his glass of brown liquor. He was deeply convinced of his own handsomeness, of the strength of his jawline and surprising pout in his lips, and posed himself to make use of it. He said, “Yes. It’s been a frustrating day. Did you have any luck with Reule’s people?”
Steven was slouching, but didn’t want to correct himself immediately for fear of revealing an over-awareness of his own body. Instead he deepened the slouch: imagine, Armstrong, a man confident enough in his body to curl it up into a mass of folds and wrinkles. “No. Last I heard, they might abandon Reule and protest vote for Barcow.”
“Barcow. Christ. What’s the point of that?”
“No idea. And let’s see. Stannic will get to choose who some of Aaronson’s delegates go to. That’ll be you. Then if I get Reule and Barcow’s people, that puts us even again. After that, it’s just whoever gets the bigger split of the rest of Aaronson’s delegates, right?”Armstrong looked like he was trying to solve an equation in his head. “Why would Stannic send Aaronson’s delegates to me?”
“No use keeping it quiet anymore, I guess.” Steven ran a hand down his face, hoping to signal more exhaustion than he really felt. A good way to feign weakness, to keep the highest potential use of his strength. “Stannic threatened to destroy my career if I stayed in the race. Told me I was a guaranteed loss in the general. So he’ll definitely try everything he can to sink me.”
“He told me the same thing.”
Now, Steven shot up from his slouch. Back straight, off the bed, pacing before he hit the ground. “Shit. Shit shit shit.”
“What’s the big deal?”
“So you are actually that dumb. I need to go.” Steven rushed out the door and ran down the hallway. He found Rick’s room and pounded on the door until a confused mother opened the door, fear fighting through the sleep in her eyes to make itself known. A couple doors down, Steven found Rick’s actual room and woke him up. Rick, unlike Armstrong, panicked immediately and made calls waking up all of his staffers. Their goal for the night: figure out who Stannic was trying to make president. Rick’s and Steven’s, on the other hand, how to stop it.
#
Finding Stannic was harder than Steven expected. The head of the RNC could be anywhere in the convention, and anywhere was wherever Steven wasn’t looking at the time. Meeting rooms, hallways, bathrooms, nothing. After checking every janitor’s closet, Steven sat on the ground and rested his head against the wall and looked up. Maybe Stannic would appear in the rafters above. The people who walked by, the same ones who yesterday were giddy to meet Steven, now ignored him. He closed his eyes and wondered if he might vanish. No friends, no power, all he had left was his family, which was enough reason to flee the country on its own. Maybe he could work his way in with the anarchists in Greece. He didn’t speak the language, but he could fill up potholes with the best of them.
His phone buzzed. Steven ignored it. Then it buzzed again. And again and again, and Steven had to respond just to give himself a second’s peace. It was Rick. “Steven, where the hell are you?”
“Yeah, hell sounds right.”
“Get the fuck out of there, then. I’ve got eyes on Stannic. More important, I’ve got some rumors about who he’s propping up.”
“Ugh, who?”
“Tellman.”
Steven lifted himself off the floor. His knees felt like they were made of paper. “Tellman? The name sounds familiar, but I don’t know…”
“He’s an old general. Got fired a few years ago for saying every American citizen should get a gun and hunt Muslims. The base will love him.”
“Yeah, but he’s going to lose bad in the general. What’s Stannic doing?” Steven asked the question, but knew the answer. Given a choice between losing the general election and being stuck with Steven as the face of the Republican Party, and losing the general anyway, but being able to cut Steven out of politics forever, Stannic would obviously choose the latter.
“I think he’s doing it because-“
“Yeah Rick, I already figured it out. How do we stop it?” He mashed the up button and waited for an elevator to arrive.
“When the delegates are unbound after the first ballot, they can go anywhere. So if we convince Armstrong’s delegates to go for us, we’d win. But I don’t know how we’re going to do that, when Armstrong is going to be trying just as hard for our guys.”
“Let’s do the tranny thing again. Or, I don’t know, what about the thing Bush did to McCain? The black baby thing. That worked.”
“Love your energy kid. But there’s no time.” Rick was right. There was no time for tricks or strategy, only luck could save them now.