Parties in Congress (23 page)

“Sure, provided I can ask you a question about it first. Then we’ll never speak of it again.”

Bijal began to rinse out the mop head with tap water. “Deal, because I’m already starting to block out the details. So you’d better hurry before I mentally replace it with all the lyrics from
West Side Story
.”

“How shall I phrase this? Um…how about, what the fuck is up with your candidate?”

“I’m sorry, can you be more specific?” Bijal asked as she washed her hands.

“Denton,” Colleen replied. “Does she have a chemical-dependence problem?”

Bijal tore off a paper towel. “No, she has a much more…multi-faceted issue. It involves the NRCC, a mean case of pinkeye, and the ill-advised consumption of someone else’s prescription tranquilizers.”

“Wow,” Colleen breathed. “I’m not sure if that’s better or worse than what I assumed, which, frankly, included snorting veterinary-strength narcotics off the ass of a male prostitute.”

Bijal whistled in appreciation as she presumably imagined that scenario. “I’m not sure either. Right now, I’m just trying to focus on how to keep our campaign staff coming back to work every morning.”

“How’s that going?”

“It’s hard when your candidate isn’t allowed to hold the views that drew you to her in the first place, let me tell you.”

Colleen rinsed out her sponge and began to wash up. “That’s understandable.”

“So when it stops being about the issues, all you have left is a series of public appearances so horrific that we might as well be running a squirrel monkey in a diaper.”

“At least the diaper would keep it from flinging poo,” Colleen replied, removing the food from the refrigerator.

“You’re making an argument for the squirrel monkey?”

“Well, I’m assuming the monkey’s not on tranquilizers, right?”

“Ouch,” Bijal said, her expression one of amused surprise.

“Sorry, we’ll strike that from the record too.”

“Then while you’re at it, go ahead and strike me flipping you off.”

Colleen laughed as she watched Bijal dramatically extend her middle finger. “Done. What would you like to drink with dinner?”

“What are my options?”

Colleen scanned the fridge. “I have diet soda, orange juice, red wine, bottled water, iced tea, and my personal favorite with sushi—cold sake.”

“That’s all? Just those nineteen choices?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“I’ll have a smattering of sake, please.”

“A smattering?” Colleen asked suspiciously.

“With a glass of water,” Bijal added. “I need to make sure I’m able to drive home later.”

“I’ll let you sleep on my couch if you agree to do my ironing in the morning,” Colleen said glibly as she unpacked everything from the take-out bag and arranged it on a serving platter.

“Is this another chore you’d like me to perform in a business suit?”

“No, for the ironing you’d just wear nylons, garters, and a crisp linen apron.”

“Is now a bad time to mention that I’m wearing a wire?” Bijal asked.

“Really? Let me know how your diaper-wearing squirrel monkey responds.”

“Touché.”

Colleen closed the distance between them and her body responded to the energy. She tapped lightly on Bijal’s top blouse button. “Is this thing on?”

“God, yes! Oh, you mean a microphone. Nope, sorry. I made that part up. But you can search me if you like.”

Colleen had never been so tempted to take someone up on an offer. Bijal’s flirty playfulness was beyond distracting—it was utterly entrancing. “I’m afraid that would violate our agreement.”

“Oh yeah…damn.”

“Come on, let’s eat.” Colleen set all the sushi and drinks on the dining-room table and motioned for Bijal to take a seat.

“This looks amazing,” Bijal said, picking up a set of chopsticks and surveying the spread.

Colleen sat down and poured them both a cup of sake. “To our pact of sobriety and decency,” she toasted.

“May it rest in peace—in the plot right next to our restraint.”

“And apparently also our dignity,” Colleen added before they both took swigs.

“I don’t know where to start. It all looks delicious.”

“Try this one.” Colleen pointed with her chopsticks to an elaborate roll with tuna on the outside. “It’s called a Red Dragon roll.”

Bijal followed Colleen’s suggestion and popped the large piece completely into her mouth. “Oh, my God!” she struggled to say, her eyes rolling back in her head.

“Mmm-hmm, I told you.”

“Please don’t take it personally if I stop speaking entirely and just unhinge my jaw to devour this like a python.”

“I’m not letting you off the hook that easily,” Colleen said. “Sorry.”

“Do you think we could give polite conversation a try?”

“I know it may feel awkward without bringing up politics, fisting, or dry-humping,” Colleen said. “But I suppose some might consider us noble for making the effort.”

“I’m game, as long as you agree to stop right away if it starts to sting.”

“You mean if one of us gets a rash from all the clean talk?”

“Exactly,” Bijal replied. “What are these with the avocado on top?”

“Hmm…I don’t remember.”

“Just make up a name, then.”

Colleen paused for a moment. “Fine, that’s the Surly Fellatrix roll.”

“So much for keeping it clean,” Bijal replied, popping one into her mouth.

“I thought it might be better if we sort of eased into the chastity.”

“Good thinking. And I have to admit, this is the best Surly Fellatrix I’ve ever had.”

“Glad to hear it. Try this one with the tempura shrimp in it.”

“And that’s called?”

“That’s the…Frisky Weasel roll,” Colleen lied.

“You really know how to sell them, don’t you?”

Colleen grinned. “That’s why I’m not in marketing. Why don’t you tell me a little about yourself? That should be a relatively safe topic, right?”

Bijal cleared her throat, but didn’t balk at the request. “Well, let’s see. I’m originally from Philadelphia. I got my poli-sci degree at UVA, which is where I met Fran.”

“Ah, the roommate with no filter.”

“That’s the one, yes. Um, my parents met in India and immigrated to the U.S. to pursue their tree-hugging, hand-clapping, sunshine-and-moonbeam dream of American liberalism.”

“They sound like
wonderful
people,” Colleen said.

“I’m not terribly surprised that you think so. I’m sure they would absolutely adore you.”

“You think so?”

Bijal nodded. “Sure, the three of you can bond over entitlement programs and deficit spending and just eat granola and high-five all night long. As you might imagine, the evenings I spend with my parents don’t go quite as smoothly.”

“Is being conservative your personal form of rebellion? Because that’s kind of unusual. Well, except on
Family Ties
.”

“I threw them a bone by being a lesbian. Why couldn’t that have been enough?”

Colleen grinned at how adorable her dinner companion was. It was official now—she was thoroughly besotted. “Some people are just never satisfied, I guess.”

“Exactly,” Bijal replied adamantly. “Maybe if I’d had a sibling. You know how in some families one child takes one for the team and becomes a doctor, or goes into the priesthood? Maybe a brother or sister could have realized Mom and Dad’s liberal dreams and run off to, I don’t know, become a tambourine-playing fanatic who renounces all worldly possessions. Periodically, the folks could go to the airport and shout encouraging things as they watched their offspring hand out daisies to strangers.”

“It’s nice that you think so highly of progressives,” Colleen said, putting another Frisky Weasel on her plate.

“No offense.”

“Oh, none taken. I can see why you’d equate flower-peddling, panhandling zealots with a social ideology based on caring for the old, impoverished, and infirm.”

“Isn’t that charity, not government?”

“‘With malice toward none, with charity for all.’ Abraham Lincoln, Republican.” Colleen added ridiculous emphasis to the final word and rested her chin on her hand expectantly.

Bijal shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s kind of a bleeding heart in the vast pantheon of Republicans.”

“Which is what makes him one of the best you guys ever had so, naturally, you don’t want to claim him. He only ended the Civil War, emancipated the slaves, and made it onto the penny, dollar bill,
and
Mt. Rushmore.”

“Hold on, I never said I didn’t want to claim him. You see how you politicians twist things? You’re vipers, all of you,” Bijal said, pointing mockingly with her chopsticks.

“Sorry, but coming from a campaign staffer, that’s a bit like having a scrotum call you ugly.”

Bijal’s eyes narrowed playfully. “I’ll overlook that you just likened me to a ballsack, because that was a very nice segue to genitalia.”

“Thanks.”

“Though, next time, can it please not be male? I
am
eating, after all.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“So what about you?” Bijal took another sip of sake.

“You mean my genitals?”

Bijal choked as the liquid went down the wrong way. She coughed and inhaled deeply. “I meant for you to share a little about yourself, like I just did. But if that’s where you want to start…”

Colleen sat back in her chair and laced her fingers together. “Since you were an undercover spy, why don’t you just tell me what you already know? That way I don’t waste any time repeating things.”

“Okay, but stop me if I get anything wrong.”

“Deal.”

“Let’s see, your family owns the Arc of Orion distillery, and has since shortly after the repeal of prohibition. You ran the company before running for Congress, then passed it to your brother.”

“All true.”

“You went to UCLA, presumably so you could burn patchouli, dance barefoot in the streets, and mingle with people named River and Rainbow.”

Colleen chuckled. “I love that you equate liberals with hippies. You know that hippies haven’t existed in any real numbers for several decades, right?”

“You haven’t met my parents. Anyway, you were elected to the House of Representatives to represent a relatively conservative district, yet in spite of that, you’re still very outspoken about liberal issues that are unpopular with the majority of your constituents. Candidly, I find that dead sexy, but unfortunately for you, it leaves you rather vulnerable for reelection.”

“Wait, can we go back to the sexy part for a moment?”

“Of course,” Bijal replied coyly before having another piece of sushi.

“Can you elaborate, please?”

Bijal swallowed. “Well, I’ve scoured your voting record, campaign website, promises, interviews, and ads, and I’ve yet to find an instance of backpedaling, flip-flopping, or pandering. You don’t seem to do the partisan dance of opportunism that’s standard for your contemporaries. You actually put it all out there unabashedly.”

“Well—”

“For instance, you support gun control in a state full of hunters. You’re pro-choice in a region that leans pro-life.”

“Anti-choice.”

“Ah, yes. Sorry.”

“Tell me, Bijal. Did your research uncover exactly why reproductive rights are so important to me?”

Bijal quickly became serious. “Yes.”

“I’m in Congress partly to continue Lisa’s work now that she’s gone.”

“That’s admirable.”

“So here’s my take on what you refer to as the ‘partisan dance.’”

“Okay.”

“It’s total horseshit. And I’d appreciate it if you can explain to me how it’s somehow not only acceptable for politicians, based on who they’re addressing, to change their opinions like soiled underpants—”

“Ooh, good metaphor.”

“—but it’s actually
expected
of us. That, coupled with the practice of selling votes to the highest bidder—what I refer to as graft, but what most call campaign donations—is why the American people despise politicians. And in a cruel example of self-fulfilling prophecy, they turn away from politics in disgust, don’t educate themselves about their representatives, and don’t vote. Therefore lying, crooked assholes without souls get reelected time and again.”

Bijal stared at her and said nothing, a tiny crinkle forming between her eyebrows.

“What?” Colleen asked.

“A couple of things, really. Number one, I consider myself, as well as most people in politics, fairly cynical. So when you get all spun up about why things aren’t more open, honest, and bipartisan when it pertains to the public’s best interest, it reminds me that…well, those aren’t things that Janet is saying. Those aren’t things that
anyone
in office is saying, to my knowledge, because they’re too afraid to actually say what they think. So, in that way, you continue to impress me.”