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The Political Advisor

Carolyn Geduld

    “How many more mass killings will there be in America before something stops them?” Sally moaned to Ann over morning coffee in their kitchen.
    She was telling Ann about the shooting in the nursing home the night before. The maintenance man on the staff had murdered ten residents before a swat team killed him. Right in their own southern Indiana town. Thank God it wasn’t a school. She had accompanied the mayor to the crime scene a half hour after the killings occurred and had stayed past dawn.
    “I’m still wired. It was chaos! There were emergency responders, grieving relatives, traumatized staff, the media, and the usual attention-grabbing bullshit from the usual suspects.”
    She specifically meant Tony, the emergency coordinator, who angled to be the next mayor. The president of the city council was another one, always trying to needle his way into more power. The police chief, a classic scene stealer, had tried to hog the cameras. And the mayor might have let them, if Sally had not been there to supply the necessary back bone.
    “You’d think politics would take a back seat during a tragedy like this. But behind the scenes, it was the same old idiocies.”
    “You’ve been up all night,” Ann said. “Can you get some sleep?”
    “I’ll grab a couple of hours. I asked Maureen to call me when the mayor wakes up. Connie is arranging a press conference—probably at noon. I bet the mayor will have to barf five times before I can get him in front of a mic.”
    “Good God!”
    “Yeah.”
    Two hours later, Ann was shaking Sally awake in their bedroom, holding out the phone.
    “It’s Maureen.”
    “Okay,” she blinked, taking it from Ann, ready to speak to the mayor’s wife.
    “Well?” Ann asked when Sally hung up.
    “Maureen is preparing him. I’m meeting them both at 11:45 for the press conference. I better grab a shower.”
    Sally, who had lost her mother at an early age and had been raised by her ambitious father, had won an internship with the mayor’s office while in college. After graduation, she started working for the mayor’s campaign organization. He was the ideal candidate. The problems were not apparent until he took office and actually had to govern. Then he froze up when a decision was needed. In truth, he was a follower, not a leader. Sally was chosen as his advisor in part because he was more comfortable with women than men and in part because, like his wife Maureen, she was willing to take control.
    “There’s a fax coming in,” Ann shouted from her basement home-office. Ann was a freelance event planner, working from home. She brought the fax up to Sally.
    “Oh! Thank God. Someone from Party headquarters in Indianapolis sent a speech. I was worried about him ad-libbing. Okay. Let’s see. Yes. This is good. It’s a ‘we all stand together in the face of tragedy’ speech. Perfect.”
    Quickly, she grabbed clothing from her political outfits closet. She chose a black blazer, black pants, and charcoal blouse that suited her tall, angular frame. The first funerals for the four Jewish victims, whose tradition it was to be interred no more than forty-eight hours after death, started right after the news conference, two today and two tomorrow morning. The remaining six Christian funerals were spread through the following days. The mayor was obligated to attend each one. It would be bad PR for him to miss any.
    While she was gelling her hair into dark spikes, she realized that Ann was hanging around. This was unlike Ann, who was always, like Sally, on the phone, doing something on her laptop, or running to a meeting. They often talked about needing to slow down and spend more time together. And Ann was still in her bathrobe, another oddity. She was an early riser and almost always dressed right after breakfast.
    But now, she was just standing there, biting one of the blond strands of hair that hung limply over her face.
    “Annie? Is something up?”
    “No. No. Well, yes. We have to talk later.”
    Not good, Sally thought, turning to face her.
    “Annie. You’re not breaking up with me, are you?”
    Sally always brought the worst possibility out into the open as fast as she could. If it was bad news, she needed to know right away.
    “It’s not that. I’m not breaking up with you. It’s something else. It can wait.”
    “Right.” Anything else could be discussed when she came home that night. First, she had to get herself and the mayor through the next ten hours.
    The command center had been relocated from the nursing home to the town hall, and the press conference would be held on the front steps. Connie, the communications officer, was organizing the speakers—first the chaplin, who would get things going with a prayer, then the police chief followed by the nursing home manager. After that, the mayor.
    When Sally arrived, Connie was dabbing make-up on him in an attempt to reduce the puffiness of his eyes and greenish complexion.
    “I’m going for the ‘stayed-up-all-night-to-ensure-the-safety-of-us-all’ look,” Connie smirked to Sally.
    The media people were milling about, adjusting their equipment. Right behind them, sixty to seventy members of the public stood waiting. Precisely at noon, the chaplin walked up to the microphones and bowed his head.
    “Heavenly Father, we ask that you transform the evil that has visited our community into love for one another.....”
    Next, the police chief stepped forward to give his update. The shooter had acted alone. His motive was unknown. The FBI would be conducting its own investigation. Meanwhile, new information had led to the discovery of an eleventh victim. It was the shooter’s mother, age eighty-five, who had been found dead in her backyard, shot in the head.
    What! Sally thought. Son of a bitch! The chief didn’t tell us about the mother!
    Disgusted by the chief’s underhandedness, she decided to take a break inside the town hall during the nursing home manager’s report. It was fortunate that the speech that had come from headquarters was generic enough not to give away the lack of coordination between the chief and the mayor’s staff. She knew what the chief’s excuse would be—he did not want to disturb her or the mayor when they might have just fallen asleep. As if.
    She just needed to vent to Ann. That would make her would feel better. Then she remembered their conversation that morning.
    Oh my God, she thought. She wants to break up with me. She had said “No,” but what if that was just to spare my feelings until the day is over?
    She and Ann had only been together for four months. It was the longest Sally had ever been with anyone. Before Ann, her life had been one long string of hook-ups, mostly with others in political circles. She met Ann when the Party event planner had the flu, and a local substitute had to be hired. They had been together since that day. She was sure that Ann was the love of her life. She began texting.
    Today. 12:20. You’re not leaving me, right?
    Delivered. Read. I’m not leaving you.
    Read. Freaking out here. Just tell me what the subject is that you want to talk about.
    Read. Don’t freak out. It’s about Sandy.
    Read. Sandy! Your Ex? Are you going back to Sandy?
    Read. No. I’m not. No.
    Still unsure, Sally reluctantly went back outside to hear the end of the mayor’s speech.
    “Our hearts may be filled with sorrow today, but we stand strong and we stand together. United, we say ‘no’ to those who spread hatred.” He looked up at the audience. “Now I will take a few questions.”
    Sally was anticipating what would happen when she went home.
    “What did you want to talk about?” She imagined asking.
    “I’m so, so sorry. I’ve made a mistake. It’s not about you. It’s about me. I didn’t know myself. But I’ve been talking to Sandy again, and now I know that it is her I love.”

    A pain shot through Sally’s head. If the nursing home shooter were not dead, she might have thought she was his next victim. She actually put her hand through her hair, feeling for the wetness of blood. There was none. It was just a headache.
    “What’s the matter?” Connie whispered.
    “Nothing. How’s he been doing with the questions?”
    “Fine. I’ve signaled him to wind it up. The first funeral is in forty-five and we’ve got to get some food into him.”
    “Maureen can take him to a drive-thru. I’m going to run home for a few minutes. Meet you at the cemetery. Can you locate a yammukah and a Jewish prayer shawl for him?”
    “Will do. I’ll run by the synagogue.”
     Sally’s head continued to throb. She drove home, went inside, and called to Ann.
    “I only have a few minutes. Please, Annie, don’t make me wait. Tell me if you are leaving me for Sandy.”
    “I already told you it wasn’t anything like that,” Ann said, coming down the stairs and standing in the foyer with Sally. “Look. The mass killing last night? That’s not the only thing that happened. There was a fire in Sandy’s apartment. Everything Sandy owns was either consumed by fire or smoke-polluted. The fire marshal won’t let anyone return, even to look for things that might still be undamaged. The building will have to be demolished. Sandy has no where to go.”
    “That happened last night? Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
    “The thing is, you know how guilty I feel about Sandy. She is a good, sweet person who never did anything wrong. I left her for you. It wasn’t her fault that I fell in love with you.”
    “And?”
    “And she can’t go live with her family. They disowned her when she came out—and I’m the one who urged that. She has no place she can afford to go.”
    “Not true, Annie. She can rent something else.”
    “It’s not so easy. She can’t do stairs, which eliminates ninety percent of the rentals. And her disability check is too small for anything around here. She can’t afford a motel, either.”
    “It’s not our problem.”
    “It’s my problem. If she and I had been married, I would be paying her maintenance.”
    “But you weren’t even engaged.”
    Ann turned to walk into the kitchen. Sally followed. At the sink, Ann filled a glass with water. The clock on the wall could be heard ticking. The refrigerator hummed.
    With her back to Sally, she said “There’s something else.”
    Sally’s stomach knotted. “What?”
    “Don’t get mad.”
    “What is it?”
    “You won’t get mad, will you?”
    “Christ, just tell me.”
    “She’s upstairs.”
    “Who.”
    “Sandy.”
    “What?”
    “She’s in the spare bedroom.”
    “No, Annie! No! Don’t do this to me!” Sally dropped onto a kitchen chair.
    Ann banged down the glass and faced Sally. “There was nothing else I could do.”
    “Without talking to me first? That’s fucked.”
    “I told you not to get mad.”
    “Oh my God—what time is it?” She looked at her phone. “I’ve got to go. I can’t do this now.”
    “We’ll work it out. You’ll see.”
    Just before slamming out the door, Sally said, “I thought you said she can’t do stairs.”
    “She can’t.”
    “Well, somehow she got herself upstairs, didn’t she?”
    Sally ran out to her car and sped to the cemetery. When she arrived, the funeral was underway. There was chanting in Hebrew. Then the casket was lowered, and everyone lined up in front of a large pile of loose soil next to the grave. The Rabbi handed the shovel to the first person, an elderly woman who seemed to be the widow of the victim. She scooped a bit of soil onto the tip of the shovel and threw it on top of the casket. For a moment, she stood there looking down. Then, she moved away, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. Meanwhile, the second person in line picked up the shovel. Maureen and the mayor stood in the back, waiting their turns.
    A small group of people standing around the apparent widow caught Sally’s eye. The older woman and two younger women were weeping, hanging onto each other. Two men hovered over them, wiping their eyes on their sleeves. The Rabbi had given shovel duty to one of the elders. He went to the widow and folded her in his arms.
    For the first time, it hit Sally. Real people were really suffering. The shooter had shed real blood. He even killed his own mother. That really appalled Sally. His mother! She had been so caught up in her job of making the mayor look good that she had done what she always did—not looked beyond her own nose. And now this situation with Ann’s Ex. Sally wondered if she was about to weep, too.
    Ann had been coming down the stairs earlier, when Sally came in the door. Of course! She had been upstairs with Sandy. They had probably been planning how to tell Sally. Probably in stages. First, Ann would say that Sandy had no where to go because of a fire. Was that even true? Did the police chief not mention it because it never happened? Then, she would be told that Sandy had already moved in upstairs. Even though she was said to not be able to climb stairs. Next, when Sally went home after the second funeral, in the later afternoon, Ann would tell her she was back together with Sandy. In Sally’s own house!
    Sally paced back and forth in the cemetery parking lot. Most of the crowd would be returning to the synagogue for the start of the second funeral, then accompanying the second casket back out to the cemetery. Maureen and the mayor would wait for therm in their car. Sally guessed the mayor would use the time to nap. She knocked on Maureen’s side. Maureen rolled down the window.
    “You guys need anything?”
    “No, we’re fine. Hey! Are you okay? You look like you’ve been crying.”
    Sally looked over at the mayor. He was already dozing.
    “Ann is being weird. I don’t know.”
    “Weird how?”
    “She’s let Sandy move into our spare bedroom.”
    “What!” Maureen rolled the window down further and grabbed Sally’s forearm.
    “Yeah. She says she’s not breaking up with me, but I don’t know.”
    “Her Ex? In your house?”
    “I don’t know what to do, Maureen.”
    “Just don’t do anything hasty. Talk to them. Get some clarity. Okay?”
    “Yeah. You’re right. I may be freaking out over nothing.”
    Sally resumed her pacing, trying to work off her anxiety. Eventually, the line of vehicles returned to the cemetery, with two limousines in the lead. The casket was borne to the gravesite on the shoulders of six people. This time, it was a man—probably the son of the deceased—who seemed to be the principal mourner. He was openly weeping. But what got to Sally was a girl of about seven who had her arms around him and was burying her face in his jacket. Sally sniffled into a tissue, then quickly shook her head.
    While the crowd was lining up to shovel dirt onto the second casket, she ducked into her car to text Ann.
    3:32. If Sandy can’t stairs, how did you get her up there?
    Delivered. Read. It took forever. She had to stop every second step to catch her breath.
    Read. How are you thinking this will work, if I ever agree to it.
    Read. Sandy will stay upstairs. I will bring her what she needs. You never have to see her, if you don’t want to.
    Read. But Annie! I will know she’s there. I won’t be able to get it out of my mind. It won’t be the same. It won’t be just the two of us.
    Read. If you don’t let her stay, I will wind up feeling even guiltier and resent you.
    Read. You’re saying either way it won’t be the same. That’s just great!
    Read. Don’t be mad.
    Media trucks were pulling up. Connie’s car was among them. Sally went to meet her.
    “Show time,” Connie said. “If you get His Highness up here, he may get to say a few words on camera about the funerals.”
    Sally walked over to Maureen and whispered to her. Maureen took the Mayor’s arm and guided him to the road. Sally figured there was nothing more she could do. As long as Connie was on media duty, she could slip away. She was anxious to get home.
    While driving, she reflected. The shooter had changed everything. The mass killing was putting the town in the national spotlight. The FBI investigation would instigate rumors of second shooters funded by outside organizations. The mayor would be propped up and re-elected, while those behind the scenes and his wife held him together with twine.
    During the funerals, Sally had moments of empathy for the victims and their families. But then a much deeper sorrow, secretly present since her mother’s death when she was a young child, frightened her into covering it up again with chilly ambition.
    What Sally feared was that she, Ann, and Sandy would be living together in a shifting pattern of couplings and uncouplings. That, and the mayor’s upcoming campaign, would keep her from dwelling on the personal tragedy that had happened to her twenty years before. That terrible loss had shaped her into her the kind of cynical opportunist who, having gradually forsaken every shred of idealism, would even use a calamity like the murder of eleven people as a stepping stone to political success.



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