Page 10 of Where There's Smoke

I swallowed. “Gay rights, mostly. He quietly supported Prop 8. I vocally opposed it.”

Some tension left Anthony’s posture, but he didn’t say anything.

I absently drew lines with my thumb in the condensation on my drink. “I’m also pushing for legislation to provide more rights and protection for victims of spousal abuse.”

For the first time, surprise flickered across Anthony’s face. His posture stiffened slightly, and he cocked his head like he didn’t know what to make of my comment. “Go on.”

I had his interest and attention, and I wasn’t quite sure if I liked that. Leaning on one armrest, trying to look relaxed, I said, “There isn’t nearly enough protection for the victims. I’d like to see more intervention by law enforcement, better resources and facilities, financial assistance for victims who can’t otherwise leave abusive partners.”

“So more protection for battered women, then,” he said, more to himself than me.

“And men.”

“And men,” he murmured with the slightest nod of acknowledgment. He was quiet for a long moment, rubbing his middle and index fingertips back and forth along his jaw. Finally he looked at me, and his chin dipped with a hint of a nod. “All right. I can work with that.”

Something fluttered in my chest, as if his subtle approval suddenly negated his arrogant abrasiveness.

“One other question, though.” He shifted in his chair. “Why exactly are you running on an independent ticket?”

I regarded him silently for a moment. “I’m assuming you’re going to tell me that’s a mistake and I should get on the Democratic ticket.”

Anthony laughed. “You catch on quick, don’t you?”

I scowled.

“Look.” His expression shifted from amused to stern, almost annoyed, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and steepling his fingers over his glass. “You’re an unknown, Jesse. You’re a risk for the people of California. Ahugerisk. They see your name, they’re going to associate you with your uncle, which is good. The people like your uncle. They see anInext to your name? They’re going to get nervous, and nervous voters won’t elect you.”

“So you suggest I run as a Democrat, even if I don’t think like a Democrat?”

“Do you think like a Republican?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Then you think like a Democrat.” There was an edge to his voice, one that suggested he wasn’t interested in debating the subject. “And therefore, yourunas a Democrat.”

I exhaled and shifted my gaze to the lazily rippling swimming pool beside us. So this was politics. Pretending to be one thing so everyone wasdamncertain I wasn’t another. Games. Charades. Mirrors. Smoke. And here I thought I might have a shot at being an honest politician.

Anthony thumped his knuckle on the table, startling me and drawing my attention back to him. “Listen, you want to win this election? Do things my way. You need a party’s endorsement to be taken seriously and get votes. Fuck doing shit just on principle, fuck antibipartisanship. Face it, kid. You’re not getting elected without a campaign manager, and this campaign manager says put aDnext to your name and let’s quit fucking around.”

I was already a happily married straight man. Why not be a Democrat while I was at it?

“All right. Democrat it is.”

“Excellent,” he said. “Now, with that out of the way, people are probably going to be divided when it comes to you. You’ll be a breath of fresh air for people who are sick of the bullshit, but to others, you’ll be another celebrity pretending to be a politician. The challenge is keeping the first group on the hook while convincing the rest that you’re a competent candidate.”

“Which is where you come in?”

“Yes.” He smiled. “Lucky for you, I like a challenge.”

“Yeah.” I reached for my glass and wished I’d opted for something very, very alcoholic, “lucky me.”

Chapter 3

Anthony

The next afternoonfound us at Roger’s place to sort out the specifics of Jesse’s campaign. Roger and Jesse took seats in armchairs in the cavernous living room while I sat on the couch on the opposite side of the massive coffee table. They both watched me silently, Roger with his hands folded in his lap and Jesse idly thumbing the stem of his iced tea glass while I spread a planner and seven hundred other papers in front of me.

Once I had everything arranged and knew where everything was, I picked up my own iced tea off a leather coaster and took a drink. As I set it back down, I said, “The debates are a week after the press conference. Jesse, I would suggest you focus all your energy and concentration on preparing for those.”

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