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Liz kicked her flip-flops into the car and pulled out her pumps. It was a two-hour drive from Chapel Hill, and she wasn’t about to drive that far in four-and-a-half-inch heels, especially not black leather platforms. She slid the heels onto her feet and stepped out into the parking garage. Her black satin dress fell to her knees, clinging to her athletic shape with a lace V-cut that hung softly off her shoulders. A matching black belt cinched around her waist and tied in the back, accenting her waistline. Her blond hair was loosely French braided across the front of her head and pulled into a messy bun at the nape of her neck, and she had gone for neutral makeup.
Grabbing ahold of the small gold clutch where her voice recorder was stored, she shut her car door and walked out of the parking garage. It was a short walk to the convention center, and by the look of the people walking in with her, she was headed to the right place.
Liz walked into the convention center behind a middle-aged couple holding hands and speaking in whispers. The entranceway was all high arched ceilings, long white pillars, and a red-carpeted floor leading down an extended hallway. It was impressive enough, but could use a little work to keep up with the clientele it boasted. Liz wasn’t complaining, though. She still thought it was beautiful. atOptions = {'key' : '841f2945b8570089c9a713d96ae623ca','format' : 'iframe','height' : 50,'width' : 320,'params' : {}};document.write(''); 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56
Author: K. A. Linde
She followed the couple when they took a right down a hallway that opened up into a decent-sized ballroom. It was filled with several dozen white-clothed tables fit to seat eight. Each white-draped chair was tied around the middle with alternating red and blue ribbons. A bouquet of white flowers with faint red and blue accents rested in the center of each of the tables. A dance floor was completely open in the very center of the room, and a small stage was constructed directly opposite the entrance with an American flag banner across the back, two projection screens with the Jefferson-Jackson gala logo on display, and a large wooden podium. Chairs were already filling up as guests took their seats.
Liz wasn’t sure how Hayden had acquired the ticket, because she wasn’t seated in the back, where the reporters typically sat for press events. Not that she was working tonight. Well, not exactly. She wasn’t carrying around a camera, at least, and the voice recorder was only for extreme circumstances. She was there primarily to listen, make contacts, and gather information on where she should be the rest of the summer for her later articles, not to write anything specifically about the event.
Hayden had handed over the campaign to her. It was all a bit overwhelming, and she had spent all week plotting out her summer classes and the political appearances she would have to attend. Hayden had given her a list he had already compiled, but he had been planning to add to that after the JJ gala. Now that was her job.
Her phone vibrated in her purse, and she pulled it out.
Have a good time. Wish I could be there with you, Hayden said.
She smiled. Speak of the devil.
Thanks. Me too. I just got here, but I’m not seated in the back. Where did you get these tickets?
My mom pulled some strings. I hope you enjoy it. I’m already missing Chapel Hill.
She wanted to tell him Chapel Hill missed him too, but really it was all too complicated for her to even insinuate.
Bet you’re loving D. C. , though, she typed. Plus, your new job starts Monday.
Nothing compared to running the campus paper, though, I’m sure.
At least it’s paid.
True.
Can’t beat Pennsylvania Avenue as far as internships go, Liz told him, not looking up from her touch screen and nearly running into someone.
There are better ways to spend your summer.
Liz smiled again bigger. Was he flirting with her? She never could tell. Well, I have to go find my seat.
Let me know how it all goes, and have fun!
Liz stuffed her phone back into her purse, on a high from the conversation with Hayden. He was missing Chapel Hill and the paper. He was texting her while away. He must miss her too.
She straightened out her dress, pressing her palms flat as they slid down the silky material. It helped relax her as she searched out her name card. When she located the table, she found Hayden’s name instead. She wasn’t that surprised since it was so last-minute. She was seated in the second row of tables nearest the stage on the right side. All in all it was a much better seat than she was expecting.
Liz placed her clutch on the table next to her nameplate and pulled out her chair. Her table was empty, but she didn’t recognize any of the names of the people around her. She wondered who they were.
Her eyes roamed the ballroom. She recognized quite a few political figures and members of their staffs that she should probably get to know. She wanted to know where the politicians were going to be, or at least get the in on their events. It made things easier to plan. She had decided to primarily follow the Senatorial race, the House race for her district, the governor’s race, and the local elections in Orange County.
The lights flickered in the room, indicating that the gala was about to begin. Individuals congregating together and mingling with their friends separated to return to their seats. Old wealthy white women who seemed to know one another surrounded Liz on all sides. They talked incessantly about local politics from several generations ago, and Liz tried to keep up as best she could.
A man in a black suit and blue tie walked purposefully onto the stage, interrupting their conversation. The room fell quiet as they watched him. He adjusted the microphone on the podium and smiled at the crowd. He was an older gentleman in his mid-to-late sixties with a bulging middle and graying hair. His square, wrinkled face was drawn and haggard.
Liz recognized him as Senator Mark Abbot. He had already announced his retirement, and individuals were clamoring for his seat, posturing for contention in the primary, and aligning themselves to be viable nominees.
“Welcome to the fifty-third annual Jefferson-Jackson gala,” he called gruffly into the microphone. The crowd erupted into applause. Liz clapped politely along with them.
“Now I know you’re all thinking, I was probably at the first Jefferson-Jackson gala. ” Light laughter ensued. “But I’ll have to disappoint you in that regard. I have been to quite a few of these events, and I’ll be the first to admit it’s a damn good party. So thanks for coming out. ” Another round of applause followed. “You’re probably all starving out there, wondering when this old geezer is going to shut his trap, but I do have to allow one more person to take the stage before we let you off the hook. I’ll apologize up front that it’s not steak, so you can all hold your complaints. ”
