The Kingmaker

It’s spring in the States. Flowers and sunshine and lengthening days. For some reason, I think of the map I sketched in Lennix’s hands. In the span of her palms, we were separated by only inches. On the scale of real life, we’re separated by thousands of miles, by epochs. And with the austral winter swallowing up all the light, I’m not sure how or if I can find my way back to her.

26

Lennix

“These numbers look good,” Jim says, tracking the columns of data with one finger. “Your plan’s working, Lennix.”

“Well instead of trying to get all the people we can’t convince to vote for you,” I say with a broad smile, “we’re building a coalition of all the people who have every reason to vote for you. We need every black and brown vote, the woman vote, the gay vote. If they’re marginalized in any way, they need to know you’ll be their voice, but they have to put you in power before you can speak for them. That’s our message and we just keep saying it.”

“Nice,” Mena says from the couch, her long legs folded under her. “Are you the speechwriter now, too?”

I shake my head, smiling and poking at the cold pizza boxed on Jim’s desk. The team often teases me about all the hats I wear on the campaign team. Truth is, turns out I’m damn good at politics. I feel like one of those infants people toss in the water, and they just start swimming. It all feels intuitive; people and their needs make sense to me, and politics should be about meeting the needs of people.

“Hey,” Portia, the campaign finance director, says from the doorway to Jim’s office. “The sheriff’s out here and needs to speak with you, Jim.”

“Maybe he’s interested in that town hall on the MMIW issue we proposed,” Mena says, eyes alert.

“You may be right.” Jim re-knots the tie he loosened hours ago and drops a tender kiss on top of Mena’s head when he passes on his way out of the office.

Well alright now!

I wait until the door closes behind him before springing into squealing action.

“Oh, my God!” I throw myself onto the sofa beside her. “What was that all about?”

She presses her lips together, fighting a smile. She’s not fooling me.

“Auntie, out with it. You and Jim? Tell me everything.”

“Lenn, don’t be silly. We’re just friends.”

“Yeah, he and I are ‘friends,’ too, but he’s never kissed my head like that. I haven’t seen him kiss anyone’s head like that.”

An irrepressible light enters Mena’s eyes and her smile isn’t far behind. “Okay. We’ve gone out a few times.”

“How have you managed to keep it a secret? This campaign is so tightly knit, I gain five pounds when anybody eats ice cream.”

“We’ve been discreet, but I think it could lead to something serious.” She pauses, giving me a speculative look. “Speaking of something serious, have you heard from that guy you met in Amsterdam?”

I swallow the knot thickening in my throat. “Who? Maxim?”

“Right, him.” Mena studies my face. “He seemed like a great guy from what Kimba said.”

I make a mental note to keep my auntie and best friend apart in the future. “You can’t believe a word she says.”

“So he isn’t handsome, thoughtful, sexy and a PhD?”

“Oh, yeah. He actually is all those things.” And more.

“And?” she persists.

“And . . . he’s in the wilds of Antarctica and I’m here.” I shrug and stretch out on the couch, laying my head in my godmother’s lap. “He told me from the beginning it would be just that week.”

“But he left you a voice mail that kind of propped the door open, right?” she asks, brushing through my hair with her fingers.

“Wow. Kimba is more thorough than I thought. Yeah. He said when he gets back, he’d like to talk and see where things could go. I’m not getting my hopes up.”

“We need to talk about you and hope, young lady.”