Ed stood at the front door, as nervous as a kid picking up his prom date. He folded and unfolded his hands what seemed like a hundred times in the interval between ringing the bell and watching the door open on Rebecca in an ASU Sun Devils sweatshirt, shorts, and tube socks.
"Well, I have missed your . . . uh, athleticism," he said, smiling.
Rebecca wasn't in a smiling mood. "What do you want?" she asked, when she'd gotten over her surprise.
"Can I come in?"
"What for?"
"I just want to talk."
Rebecca folded her arms over the Sun Devil logo and stared at him fiercely. "That's too bad," she said. "Because you're full of talk, Ed. About plans and dreams and values. It all sounds good, whether it's at a rally or across my bed, but in the end it doesn't amount to anything except you're a good talker. And I've had my fill."
"But there's something I need to talk ab -- Rebecca, can I please come in?"
"If I say no, will you go away?"
"I can't say that I will, no."
She started to formulate a comeback then relented, stepping back and ushering him into the living room. "Sit down," she said. "I'll get us a drink. I know I need one." He took a seat in a side chair, passing up his familiar spot on the left side of the loveseat, and looked around. Although it had been a couple of months, he could tell that something was different, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Then he noticed a few spaces on the walls, now white, where pictures used to hang, and this sparked a chain of other small recognitions: some empty shelves on the far side of the room, photographs and mementos gone from the end tables, a roll of strapping tape on the windowsill. . . .
"I was packing when you showed up," said Rebecca, entering the room behind him.
"So I see," he murmured, trying to comprehend it all. "Where -- where are you going?"
"I don't even have my next gig lined up yet. I just know it's not going to be here."
"You could work for me again. There doesn't have to be anything personal, let alone anything physical, attached."
"Ed, Ed," she said, shaking her head. "You just don't get it, do you? I'm not some naive little thing you used for sex -- the sex was great, it was genuine. You used me for politics. And that's ultimately much worse, considering that politics is your life."
"Politics is a means to an end, Rebecca. You can't do much good in office if you can't hold onto office, as they say."
"And that's another thing. This sort of disembodied wisdom you're always referring to without naming, it's like living in a house with ghosts. Forget about 'them.' What do you say?"
"What do I say . . . I say I'm in big trouble. I came to you for advice."
"You? Asking me for advice? Asking anyone for advice?"
"Please, Rebecca. I just never saw it coming to this. Spencer's about eight points ahead, even after Mike Turner's defection."
"Pity, that."
"The debate's tonight; the election's next week; this is my last chance to stop him. I've got to find a way to trip him up."
"He seems pretty steady to me."
He frowned. "Wait a minute. Whose side are you on here?"
"I am on the side of doing things the right way. I am on the side of having faith in people. Didn't you learn anything from that meeting, for God's sake?"
"I learned not to maneuver behind people's backs. This is different; this is all out in the open, a battle for survival. The park looks like a done deal, whereas I still have a fighting chance. I'm not pulling any fast ones, Rebecca, I'm just going on fighting."
"But what are you fighting for, Ed? Your view from the corner office?"
Ed winced; more than anything, he liked to stand at the window and look down over the center of town, and while he'd have liked to think it was because he loved Johnston, the view was outstanding. "I'm fighting for this town," he said, but he couldn't look her in the eye [as he said it].
"Then stop shading your views. The best thing for this town, and just maybe your own fortunes too, although that's not the point, would be if you showed there were something you were willing to lose an election for."
Ed sank into his seat, tipped his head back, and shut his eyes: every instinct he'd developed over the past fifteen years told him no, don't listen; but something in him wanted to, wanted to bind up all he'd done (or hadn't done) in the name of expediency into a single package and make an offering of it, to cleanse himself of . . . of what? What had he done that was so wrong? And what had he done to chase her, the one person he'd thought really understood, away?
"Ed?" he heard her call, as if from far away.
"Mm." He opened his eyes and faced her. She looked as impossibly beautiful, as soulful and serene, as the day she'd first walked into his office. "Here's to better times ahead," he said, raising his glass and draining it, hoping she'd hear it as a wish for her (as it was) and not himself.
The debate took place in the same auditorium as the ill-fated hearing, before a packed house and a forest of microphones and a trio of cameras. The proceedings would be broadcast live on several radio stations and the local cable channel, and the highlights would make the eleven o'clock news across the state. It would be the most-watched moment of an increasingly watched campaign.
It would be Ed's last chance, as he'd said himself.
The butterflies began in earnest toward five o'clock, about an hour after he'd left Rebecca's; it'd been that long until he was able to return his attention to the task ahead. He'd called home and told Janet he wouldn't be there for dinner, gotten a clipped "Just be ready tonight" in response, and settled in at his desk with a stackful of briefing papers and a bowl of instant noodles. But the more he sifted through the data on Spencer's real estate deals, and the rundown on allegations (never proven) of links to the holding company buying all that ranchland, and the analyses of podium weaknesses, the more pointless it all seemed. He left things as they were on the desk and crossed to the window, where the high desert sky was beginning to fill with color, orange and red light from the setting sun and purple lining the edges of distant clouds. He looked out at that spectacle, and down to the intersection where a slow trickle of cars buzzed by -- just another day gone by, another tick mark on the fever chart of a dying town -- and felt an overwhelming sense of grief. The park is not the right answer, he thought. But it has been the only answer going, I never did come up with anything beyond "vote for me." And that is why I'm going to lose. And with that thought, the butterflies left him, and he felt an odd sense of elation. Rebecca was right: this was his chance to do something. His last chance, but maybe the best he'd ever had.
He finished his dinner without another look at the sprawl of documents, washed it down with a glass of plain water, and sat looking out at the sky as afternoon gave way to twilight and then darkness. For some time, he was uncertain of what would happen next, as if this were a dream he'd surely wake from at any moment; then he eased himself back into the framework of the day and checked his watch. Five minutes to eight.
"It's showtime," he said, to the empty office and the empty streets below. He slipped on his suit jacket and began the long walk downstairs.
"Ed," he heard at the foot of the stairs, "we were getting worried." It was Kyle Miller, who'd slipped away from the pack at the front doors to check out the road less traveled. "Got a quote before the big event?" Normally, Ed would have obliged, but this time he just smiled, patted Miller on the shoulder, and pushed past toward the backstage door.
Spencer was waiting offstage, his suit fitted perfectly, his hair swept back as if permanently windblown. He flashed Ed a perfect ten-kilowatt smile, they shook hands, and before Ed knew it they were emerging on stage and to a wave of applause. He took his place at the far podium and surveyed the front sections: there was Janet, sitting with her hands folded and her best serene look on her face; Mike, looking on with the impassive face of a judge; his brother-in-law Roy, waving to his kid Dave who'd landed a spot in the press gallery, camera round his neck; the young woman from NOH-WAI, looking nervously back and forth between Dave and the stage; Iris Spencer (had Janet been talking to her?), managing a brittle smile while allowing old Tom Campbell, outfitted for the evening in a ten-gallon hat and sequined bolo tie, to kiss her hand; Monroe, the guy from UAE, twitching his way through what promised to be a two-hour nicotine fit; and, way off toward the far aisle, as far from Janet as she could manage, Rebecca. That was a surprise.
Spencer had drawn the opening slot, and he began the evening with a restatement of his "vision of the future," a vision that cast him in a sort of CEO role and the townspeople as virtual stockholders whose investment, in the form of "a vote for progress," would be repaid manyfold. Ed listened attentively as the statement -- no great surprise to followers of the campaign -- unfolded, and stood by as the audience reacted with polite but sustained applause. Then he heard his cue and took the microphone.
"Ladies and gentlemen; citizens and friends of Johnston," he began. "I think it's fair to say that none of us could have anticipated this spirited, or this widely followed, a campaign just a few short months ago. I know I couldn't have. Which might explain why I've done so little to make it a good campaign." There was an audible gasp from the audience, who swiveled around, checking with each other to make sure they'd heard correctly. "Mr. Spencer talks about the need to face the future. I've scoffed at the lack of specifics in that message, beyond his support for SouthWestWorld; I've regarded it as thin cover for a real-estate feeding frenzy." Spencer began to sputter a protest, but the moderator cut him off, noting that he'd have a chance to rebut. Ed went on: "And I've regarded SouthWestWorld as a case of thinking we have to destroy the town in order to save it. But what I haven't done -- to my discredit -- is state my feelings as forthrightly as I might, or offer an alternative besides more of the same. It's called shading your views, trying not to alienate anyone, and it's been known to work. Which doesn't make it right." He drew a deep breath, and looked straight at Rebecca; she was looking back, nodding slowly, as if to say go on, go on.
"And so I say to you tonight: I know I've come up short, and I'm sorry. But there's still time before the election. Let's make this last week -- this evening especially -- about just what we mean when we talk about the future. Because that's the really important question we're going to have to face, whoever's sitting in the mayor's office come January."
Ed stepped back, caught his breath, and waited; and, after a moment's silence, came the response: little ripples of applause, growing and building into a full-blown wave that swept through the auditorium. He let out the breath, slowly, knowing that he hadn't won any hearts yet, that he'd won nothing more than the chance to battle on higher ground. But, as he'd come to know, this was everything. He looked over at Spencer, who seemed utterly unsure of whether something good or bad had happened, and again into the crowd, where the mood of surprise had shifted to one of anticipation, and caught Rebecca's eye long enough to give her -- in full view of Janet, the crowd, the cluster of cameras -- a clasped-hands sign, a thank-you. She gave him a smile -- the smile of an admirer, not a lover, but it was enough -- and he turned back to the stage, ready to go to work.