Page 22 of The Senator's Rival

After welcoming the audience, he turned to the camera and addressed the viewers at home, outlining the current state of affairs before quickly reminding everyone of the election date and their duty to register to vote in time. Finally, he welcomed the two women to the stage, giving each a brief introduction and summary of their accomplishments before offering a succinct overview of the major issues they would be discussing.

It was all needlessly long-winded, Francesca thought. The moderator at the last debate had been much more charismatic. This one looked and sounded bored, and it was obvious to anyone that he was reading off the teleprompter. He was one of the board members on the debate commission, clearly very proud of the commission’s work—and deservedly so—but not much of a TV personality. Maybe he was nervous. It didn't matter much either way, though. No one tuned in to a presidential debate for the moderator, and soon enough, they would be diving into the meat of it. The championship round.

Finally, it was time for their opening remarks. This time, Margot was the first to speak, so Francesca leaned back slightly to watch her opponent. She awaited the inevitable full-out violent offense that had become her signature style in a debate.

Instead, there was something unusually subdued in Margot’s mannerisms. The customary confident aura that surrounded her like an impenetrable forcefield was missing, and that sense of exhaustion from earlier was almost palpable now. As Margot straightened up in her seat, her usually unwavering eyes locked on the camera lens before her, a hint of trepidation crossed her otherwise refined, practiced expression.

“Good evening,” she began, in a remarkably gentle tone compared to her previous performances. The customary smile fell into place, but it seemed to lack some of its usual sparkle. “First of all, I’d like to extend my thanks to the Commission for hosting this debate, to the engaged voters in attendance here today, and to countless others tuning in at home. It's an honor to be here tonight representing my fellow Americans.”

She paused briefly, collecting herself before continuing, her eyes flickering between the moderator, the teleprompter, and the camera lens, but never settling on any of them with confidence. Francesca studied her curiously, leaning forward in her chair to rest her chin in one hand as she listened to her opponent.

The speech itself was standard fare—the expected platitudes, lofty ambitions, and a few empty promises designed to appeal to certain demographics without alienating others. It was much more subdued than usual, though. No sharp, pointed digs or jabs aimed directly at Francesca and her party. This was surprising, considering Margot had scored some significant damage points with the allegations against the campaign finances. Francesca’s team had been expecting that to be the main thrust of Margot's debate performance tonight, riling up the angry mass who subscribed to online conspiracy theories.

Tonight's performance was flat, somehow. Emotionless. Nothing like the passionate, firework-display oration that had so captivated audiences before. There was nothing objectively wrong with it—it touched on the most important aspects of Margot's platform and it was eloquent and polished—but it lacked any sort of vibrancy. Margot seemed, for lack of a better word, off.

Francesca's first reaction was worry. That had to mean that she had something up her sleeve for later, some kind of bombshell or shock tactic she would spring on her at the last moment. That would explain Margot’s unexpected meekness. On the other hand, that would be a strange strategy. Not at all what Margot's supporters would want or expect. Bold, flashy moves were what had gotten her where she was, and the polls reflected that it still worked well. This was very odd.

There was no time to linger on that, though, because soon enough, it was Francesca's turn to speak. She straightened her shoulders and took a deep breath, clearing her mind and steeling herself for battle, then flashed a warm, genuine smile and said hello to the cameras in front of her. The sight of familiar faces in the crowd and Juliet waving encouragingly from the sidelines centered her, and Francesca launched into her spiel with ease.

It was like riding a bike, this whole speaking-in-front-of-a-crowd thing, and there was nothing she enjoyed more than talking about her values and issues. Francesca spoke passionately about healthcare reform and education funding, making jokes where appropriate that made the audience laugh as she referenced relevant anecdotes from her years of experience. The people’s energy buzzed around her, responding easily to Francesca’s enthusiasm and charm, and she played off it expertly. This was why she ran, because she loved seeing people motivated and excited by ideas. When they listened and believed in her message, everything felt worth it.

The debate progressed in a similar fashion. The candidates were asked questions, some from the moderation team and some from the audience. Francesca was on fire, answering with confidence, poise, and humor. She effortlessly fielded questions about marriage equality, gun control, and immigration reform, while easily dismissing those that expressed concern about the alleged financial scandal by assuring the voters that her campaign finances were entirely transparent, and that her team was looking into Claire's claims. Francesca didn't miss a beat, hitting all her marks flawlessly, and she could feel the impact she had on her audience. It was easy. Like breathing.

Meanwhile, Margot seemed distracted. Several times, it became painfully apparent that she hadn't fully processed what she had been asked. At one point, it took Margot a full five seconds to realize that she had been asked a question, staring blankly at the audience member who had asked it as if he had just spoken Greek to her. It wasn't a hard question, either. Entirely in her ballpark: an easy question about labor unions and international trade deals that was practically designed so Margot could go off on a tirade about how damaging Francesca's tax plans would supposedly be to business owners and the American economy.

Instead, Margot remained silent, blue eyes blinking owlishly. Eventually, the question was repeated and a look of realization came over Margot's face. Even then, her reply was dull and stilted, rattling off the exact points that would be expected, without any of the usual passion or conviction. It was like Margot was present only physically, while her mind was miles away. If Francesca didn't know better, she would think Margot was drunk. She seemed completely detached from her surroundings, which couldn't have been further from her usual methodical, ruthless approach to these kinds of discussions.

In short, it was strange. Downright surreal. And more than a little worrying. As much as Francesca did genuinely want to win the election, and that there could be no doubt by the time they left the stage that this debate had gone in her favor, she felt unsettled. Something was seriously wrong. The Margot Smith she knew and had spent most of her adult life watching professionally was not the person who had sat across from her tonight. Where was the relentless, indomitable spirit that had always distinguished this formidable politician? Where were the biting retorts, the sly comebacks, and the laser focus?

“You killed it, Frankie,” said her brother Marcus, wrapping an arm amiably around her shoulder as they walked offstage at the conclusion of the debate. He grinned widely at her. Francesca’s younger siblings had flown out for the evening's big event to cheer her on. They were all gathering around her now, smiling and hugging her. “This is a landslide victory for you! That last bit about police brutality and racial profiling really hit home.”

“Taking it straight to the White House with that,” Samuel agreed, clapping enthusiastically in spite of himself as he reached out to take his older sister's hand warmly.

“Grandpa says he's so proud,” Eleanor added with a grin, holding her phone to her ear, apparently talking to the man himself.

Francesca let the praise wash over her, feeling warmth spreading from the tips of her fingers and toes into her chest. Her family's support meant the world to her, and all the advice and encouragement they provided along the way had been invaluable. These people were her roots, her foundation, and they kept her grounded during the campaign trail when everything felt crazy.

Still, she couldn't stop thinking about Margot as her family and staff chattered excitedly on the way back to the hotel. Throughout the debate, Margot had barely looked at her, a sharp contrast to her usual habit of sneering confidently or smirking condescendingly at every response. All Francesca could recall was a distinct sense of weariness emanating from the woman. Margot's typically impeccable posture had slumped slightly throughout the evening and her responses had been slow and lethargic, rattling off talking points without even an attempt at acting like she believed them.

The media had noticed, too. On their way up to the meeting room that they had rented for a quick get-together to celebrate, Juliet gave a recap of the social media reactions and headlines already coming in, reading them off of her tablet.

“They're saying you smashed it out of the park and showed real leadership, whereas Senator Smith seemed lost, unfocused, and off-guard,” she reported with a wide grin. “Even right-wing media is struggling to spin this. They're making an effort to paint you as aggressive and volatile, obviously, but they're not even mentioning Smith's performance. Uncontested home run, Frankie. This went better than we could have imagined.”

“But, that was weird, wasn't it?” Francesca mused, her brows furrowing. “That was an entirely different person from the Margot Smith I know. Do you think she's all right?”

Juliet shrugged dismissively. “Who cares?” she laughed. “After all the hell they've put us through, I'm calling it karma. This is just God telling us you deserve this win for all your hard work. Now, let's have a drink and celebrate this incredible day.”

Spirits were high in the meeting room, with a few bottles of champagne cracked open and people celebrating and chattering among themselves. Francesca couldn't shake the lingering concern she felt in her gut, however. She watched as people raised their glasses to her and made speeches, laughing and drinking happily, but she couldn't bring herself to fully join in the revelry.

For one thing, it didn't feel like a real victory. It wasn't a real match when her opponent hadn't shown up to play. More importantly, though, Francesca was worried. She kept thinking back to that brief look of hurt before they parted ways at the White House--that flicker of confusion and uncertainty in Margot's normally cold, steely blue eyes. A real moment of vulnerability. An unsettling glimpse behind the immaculate mask of professionalism to something raw, unpracticed, and human. Something unexpected and unknown, which was perhaps even more compelling than all the glitz and glamour. Despite everything, her heart ached for Margot.

Francesca stepped outside briefly for some air, and as she looked out over the dreary Seattle skyline, the rain clouds thickened overhead. Leaning on the railing, she picked up her phone and typed out a text message without giving herself a chance to second-guess herself.

Francesca: Hope you're okay, Margot. We should talk sometime. Please reach out when you can.

14

MARGOT

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