Page 71 of Power Play

Instead, several in the front lurch forward, propped up by the people behind them, closing the distance between me and them. Trey, T, and the rest of the agents rush forward, shoving the circling vultures back to their original distance.

A full-body tremble bolts down my spine, my hands twitching nervously at my side. This isn't my normal stage, the typical monitored debate. This is real, ugly, and terrifying.

“Everyone calm the hell down,” T bellows.

The shouts quiet to murmurs. Seems no one can disobey a direct order from the big guy.

Locking his kind, dark eyes with mine, T nods. An indication for me to get this show on the road.

I clear my throat, widen my stance, and clasp both hands behind my back. Straightening my back, I smile into the crowd.

Here goes… everything.

“I know everyone has questions they want to ask regarding the details of my life which were released early this morning, but I won't be answering them.” A chaotic shout of protests answers in response. “What I will do, however, is give you the true story. My story. The truth. All of it. But first I'd like to address the people whom I've misled these past several months.” I pause, letting the crowd quiet down. Nostrils flaring, I inhale deeply and continue.

“To my fellow Americans, I'm sorry.” I swallow thickly and wet my lips. “I'm not apologizing for the story you were led to believe early on but for being ashamed enough about my past that I felt the need to. I'm here to set the story straight, for you to see the real Randi Sawyer. The good, the bad, and the nitty gritty—and believe me, there's a lot of that. I was born to a teen mother who had no business raising a child but still did. She supported us through welfare and social security fraud and lived in a run-down trailer in the worst trailer park in town, where she went through a new boyfriend every other week.

“I knew early in my childhood that I didn't want her life for my own. I wanted to succeed, to be someone I could be proud of becoming. Most days after school were filled with my closest friends, Blanche, Sophia, Dorothy, and of course the hilarious Rose. There were days when she forgot to buy food, so I learned to depend on myself for everything. Homework, bathing, clothes—everything fell on me from about kindergarten on.”

I tighten my hands into fists. Tears threaten as the memories flood through, a heart-shredding tidal wave of knives slamming into my chest.

“I was bullied, made fun of, teased, ignored, all of it. All because of whose daughter I am, of things I couldn't control at such a young age. I tell you this not to make you feel sorry for me or for you to pity my childhood. As neglectful as my mother was, I still had it better than some. I'm telling you this to explain why I did it. My entire life, I've been judged, overlooked, forgotten, and, worst of all, told repeatedly that I'm nothing, a loser, and that I will never, ever break the cycle my mother birthed me into.

“At fifteen, I proved everyone right. I got pregnant by my boyfriend in the back of his parents’ van. I thought up to that point the harassment was bad, but oh no, it could get worse. It did get worse. I decided then, after my daughter was born, that I would do everything in my power to make sure my life didn't bleed over into hers. I wanted her to have it all, to be the pretty, popular girl in school that I had never been and would never be.

“Things got a little hairy after she was born. My mom kicked me out to the shed to raise my daughter, the schoolwork was piling on, and I was out of options. CPS was called in, and”—I swipe a lone tear dripping down my cold cheek—“I was devastated. Absolutely devastated. Only weeks old and I was already failing her. The justice system deemed me an unfit mother, giving my child—my daughter who I would've sacrificed my life for—to her biological father’s parents. I had to fight to see her, and when I did, the hateful words, shaming, and disgust filled the house from the moment I stepped through the door until I left. It ripped me to shreds.

“Those following weeks changed me. My determination to change my life, to be more than a trailer trash teen mom, strengthened. The parts about me going to UT Austin and then on to Harvard are all true. You can ask any of my professors; I'm certain they haven't forgotten the student who asked for more work every class to stay one step ahead of everyone else.”

My gaze floats up to the gray sky.

“How I got to this spot, well, that’s another long story, but I'll keep it short. I knew Kyle Birmingham at Harvard, and we hated each other.” An uncomfortable chuckle vibrates through the crowd. “After law school I went back to Boone, started my own family law practice to be the voice for the underprivileged, and became mayor to help implement some much-needed changes. One day last year, Kyle walked into my office declaring he wanted to run for office but wanted someone with a 'normal' life to help him see things from the people's perspective.” Slight lie, but this is my spin on the truth. “He helped me pay off some of the student loans and other debt that hung around my neck like a boat anchor, got me to DC, and here I am. Here I am pleading for you to understand.

“It had nothing to do with you and everything to do with my fears. I was scared I wouldn't get a chance in this town, a chance to win your vote, if you knew the truth about my background. I've heard too many times the hateful words, the snap judgments people make when they know the truth, and I couldn't risk it.

“So, that's my story. That's the truth. All of it. And I'll tell you one more truth: I want this job. I want to represent you here in Washington. This town is full of people who don't understand the daily struggles of living paycheck to paycheck and the frustration when taxes go up again and less of your hard-earned money comes home. I will be your voice, the slap of reality to this town. If you'll have me.”

Two seconds of shocked quiet pulses before the crowd erupts in shouts.

I smile, give a quick wave, and turn to head back into the safety of the lobby.

“What about the cheating rumors?” someone shouts above all the other voices. “A liar and a cheater. Sounds like the same old politician to me.”

My steps pause. I suck in a breath and turn back to the cameras.

“Right, forgot about that one. First of all, let’s get the thing cleared up about me and Kyle.” I have to tread lightly here. The people might forgive me for being ashamed of my past, but admitting to lying about the relationship part might push them over the edge. “What's going on between us is our business. However, I can tell you we've decided we're best as political partners, nothing else. As far as a relationship with a certain agent, that's a load of fiction. I have made a few friends with the men who are at my side day in and day out the past few months. They've had my back and provided me with some great counsel, seeing as this whole political power game is new to me. I had no one to confide in until they arrived. Now I'm happy to say I have friends here—they just to happen to get paid to hang out with me.”

I smile at the rumble of laughter.

“Early voting starts today. Go out to the polls, vote. Vote for me, vote for another candidate, but please, please vote. It's your voice, your chance to tell the people in DC who you want representing you. Change can happen, but it won't if you expect others to pull the load. Thank you.”

Smiling, I wiggle two fingers in the air like a motherfucking idiot. Turning on my heels, I speed-walk back to the lobby doors, throwing them open and rushing inside, heat blazing across my face. I press the traitorous fingers to my cheeks, attempting to cool my flush.

“Was that a poor imitation of Nixon?”

I groan and throw my hands into the air in exasperation. “What the hell is wrong with me? I give the best speech of my life and then go do that shit.”

“That was pretty bad, Mess.” Trey chuckles, his signature smirk pulling at his lips. “Other than that though, I'd say you nailed it. Great job.”

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