Voice of the Nation

Chapter 16

G | C

August 22nd, 2014

7:29 pm

Two months and ten days and I had made zero progress in reintroducing the bill to the House or the Senate.

Whatever voodoo Walter had done on the bill had stuck—no one wanted to touch it with a ten foot pole. And my social pariah status hadn't exactly helped matters either.

Hal had insisted I attend the senior staff briefing every morning, but aside from that my days tended to be solitary in nature with me at my desk pouring over government memos, policy papers, and polling data or me stomping across the Hill knocking down congressman's doors.

All except Jackson's.

My first few weeks working at the White House I spent running an autopsy so to speak, trying to find out exactly what happened to thwart the bill's success. I scoured call logs and interviewed congressional and White House staff—none of which helped my popularity.

In the end, my report said what we all expected it to conclude—Walter had back alley dealed to get Representatives to pledge one way and vote another.

It was the 'why' that was more surprising to the senior staff when Jenson asked me to provide an update at one of their morning meetings.

"So all this is to say it's your fault," Derek—a senior advisor to the President—had drolled.

I ground my teeth. "No, it's Walter's."

"But you're on the same team—"

"Were," I corrected. "And at the time the team was for the bill."

Before Derek could utter another moronic word, I redirected my attention to the person in the room who mattered. 

"He orchestrated this," I'd explained then to Jenson. "He spun a web around you so intricate you couldn't even see it right in front of your nose," I added to Hal for good measure. "You want to get this bill through? You'll have to deal with the spider first."

"C-Could we please stop with the m-metaphors," whimpered a female aide from a corner of the room.

"Rebecca has arachnophobia," Hal explained for my benefit with a patient smile.

Derek groaned. "Phobia's aren't real. They're just mental."

"Tell that to my shoes!" Sandy—a particularly frosty speech writer—inexplicably exclaimed.

"Rebecca threw up on Sandy's shoes last year when she thought she saw a spider in the office," Hal helpfully supplied.

I opened and closed my mouth again. "Right—well—"

"Could we please stop using the s-word?" Rebecca, who now looked rather clammy and pale, begged.

Sandy tucked her feet under her. "It was a wad of lint, by the way. On her desk, it wasn't even a—"

"What's next?" Jenson asked from his perch on the edge of his desk.

I hesitated to speak until I was sure the question had been directed towards me.

"I'm culling through polling data looking for any weak points or popular measures we can manipulate to write a new bill. In the meantime, I'll continue to look for vulnerabilities in Walter's political armor."