Page 9 of See You Next Tuesday

Lev [3:53pm]: Keep kicking ass, I’m proud of you

“Anya, can you get in here for a sec?”

Anya put down the report she was working on for Lev and went into Toby’s office. It was more of a storage space than anything else, since Toby always preferred to be on the move: staffing the candidate, talking to the media, personally thanking volunteers, going anywhere he was needed, always bringing joy and pep along with him. He was a great leader, but a little tough to pin down; Anya had quickly found her place as his de facto deputy, providing steady, even-keeled support for Toby’s staff whenever he wasn’t around. It was a rush unlike anything Anya had ever felt, knowing her ideas were helping, that she was both needed and appreciated for work she genuinely loved. The staff was so smart, and they moved so quickly; Anya felt more of a kinship with them in two weeks than she had with most of the people at the firm in DC after two years.

Except, obviously, for Gabe.

It was infuriating enough that he didn’t remember her. Okay, so they’d only ever spoken once, and maybe he was a more memorable person than she was. Still, they’d had a real conversation when they met in New Hampshire—a fairly heated one! She’d been thunderstruck when he walked into her presentation that first day in the office; like, come on, it was a pretty amazing coincidence. But he was annoyed. And suspicious. And didn’t even have the decency to admit that her women-only canvasses were a great idea, even though they’d racked up over a thousand voter contacts last Saturday.

Whatever. He was almost never in the office, so at least she rarely had to see him. When she did, he was usually on the phone or running to a meeting or sneaking out back to “have a cigarette,” as if the entire office didn’t know he didn’t smoke and was actually going to make out with Dawn.

At least he had good taste in women. Dawn was terrific: smart and no-nonsense and great at her job. Anya really liked working with her—and was immediately concerned when she walked into Toby’s office and saw that Dawn was there too, arms folded, looking like something was really wrong.

“What happened?” Anya braced for bad news.

“Push poll.” Toby’s tone was grave. “Voters are getting calls asking if it would change their opinion of a candidate if her husband had cheated on her.”

Anya’s eyes widened. “Who’s making the calls? The other side?”

Dawn shook her head. “No campaign identification on the calls, so it’s probably a PAC. But they’re definitely targeting our people.”

“And…” Anya looked at Toby. “Do we have reason to think we’re vulnerable there?”

Toby nodded tightly. “It was twenty years ago. They were going through a rough patch, and Jim slept with an old friend from college a couple of times.”

“Apparently, the old friend wants her fifteen minutes of fame,” Dawn said. “I got a call from Steve Murphy at the Dispatch. He’s running the story tomorrow.”

“Are you kidding me?” Anya’s voice was tight; she felt panic building in her chest. “Five days before the election?”

The door banged open. They all jumped as Gabe rushed into the room, looking just as alarmed as they were.

“We are so screwed,” he said.

“Do you really think so?” Toby wrung his hands. “Do voters care that much about an affair that happened twenty years ago?”

“How did you even hear about it?” Dawn asked.

Gabe frowned. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“The candidate’s husband cheated on her twenty years ago and the Dispatch is running a story tomorrow,” Anya said quickly.

“Holy shit.” Gabe shook his head in disbelief. “Let’s not touch that with a ten-foot pole.”

“You don’t think we should comment?” Toby asked.

“Definitely not,” Gabe said confidently. Anya bit her lip—she wasn’t sure she agreed. “We’re leading in the polls by one point. We need to stay focused on our strategy: Talk about the war and the economy, turn out voters. We can’t get distracted.”

“We have to say something,” Anya argued. “It’s a bullshit sexist attack that has nothing to do with the race. We can’t just let it stand.”

“I agree with Anya,” Dawn chimed in. “We have a town hall tomorrow. She’s gonna get asked about this, and we need an answer.”

“The answer is that it’s a personal matter, it was a long time ago, and it’s nobody’s business,” Gabe said. “Then we pivot back to the economy.”

“I think that’s missing an opportunity,” Anya countered. “This isn’t an attack on our candidate’s views or experience, it’s an attack on her as a woman. ‘Her man was unfaithful.’ Who cares? What does that have to do with whether she’d be a good congresswoman?”

“That angle could work with the press,” Dawn added. “We make it a process story: Jenna Salditch is surging in the polls, the other side is slinging mud in a last-ditch attempt to win. Makes them look desperate.”

“That’s great. And I think we can make an even deeper point,” Anya said. “This isn’t only an attack on Salditch, it’s a warning shot for all women. Don’t run for office, don’t go up for that promotion. Don’t be too ambitious, or we’ll put you in your place.”