I have to admit, I missed her when she was gone, though.
On paper, I’m renting a room from Casey. Again, it’s not even a scandal, because we’re old friends and I stayed with her before.
In reality, I’m living at George’s, and I suspect I’m never moving out, if he gets his way. I drive in or ride with Casey many days, since we usually leave earlier than George. That gives us time together we hadn’t had for a while. She tries to spend at least one night a week with us. Some evenings I go to her house first, then she shoos me on home to George after she’s had her fill of me.
I’ll take it, though. I love getting all this time with them.
I find I don’t miss jogging by the river now. Wading in floodwaters tends to chill a guy’s ardor for something like that.
I did retrieve my gun from my closet once the flood waters subsided, and I was able to salvage some things like pots and pans and dishes, but I didn’t bother trying to save anything else, and filed for insurance.
The flood was a massive blow to the area, but George and lawmakers immediately went to work to get emergency assistance from the federal government flowing into the region.
The rainfall was the main problem, with already saturated land, and a stalled tropical system on top of the region, it added up to more rain than what triggered the 2010 floods. A near-Biblical deluge.
Now, we’ve reached the day of the August primary election. We made it this far without a scandal, and without our secret leaking. All we have to do is have a decent showing with tonight’s results, and then make it until the general election in November without blowing our campaign out of the water by doing something fucking stupid.
Like getting caught on camera kissing or something.
The small storefront we’d been renting for use as a campaign headquarters in the city was flooded out. We rented a new location, larger, which actually works out better for us, anyway. We were planning on getting a larger headquarters for the push for the final run up to the general, but the flood made that a necessity. The smaller location had been a money-saver, because we’d wanted to use every available dollar for ads in the last weeks.
Our war chest increased after the story about Petula went viral. We also used that leverage to help highlight local animal shelters and rescue groups, and funnel donations their way.
Both Casey and I voted early. Today, we want the focus on George and not either of us. We need to rouse him early and get moving so we’re at his polling place first thing.
From there, we’ll make another stop here in Nashville, then circle the state—Murfreesboro, Knoxville—where Ryder and Logan will meet up with us for a few minutes—then Chattanooga and Memphis. Then back here, to Nashville, to await the results.
Since we have open primaries in our state, there’s a good chance Democrats might defect and vote for George, but we won’t receive those breakdowns until late tonight or early tomorrow. Exit poll numbers have too much margin of error for my liking. I’ll be too tired tonight to crunch numbers, anyway. Bottom line is, if a lot of Dems defect in the primary and cross the aisle to vote for George, it means George probably has a lock on the win in the general election, and it’ll tell me how and where I need to focus our ad dollars for him.
Which is why the lap around the state today. Because the more votes he gets, the more the media will talk about him as the presumptive winner for the general, and that’s a narrative we want. Not to look like jerks, but to press the fact that George appeals across the aisle. That he is GOP 2.0 and interested in governingallour state’s residents, not just the ones who voted for him. That he’s not a racist, misogynistic asshole.
We could easily prove he’s not homophobic, except, ironically, he’d probably lose the race if we did that.
I’ll be very careful today to literally stay out of the picture, to hang back while George works the rope lines with Casey more visible in the frame. It’s okay if people misinterpret his relationship with her—that’s barely a blip on the scandal meter. A widower two years on, possibly involved with the wife’s single and eligible best friend?
The public would lap that up. They’d probably excuse the fact that she’s his chief of staff.
If my relationship with him came to light, however, they’d be screaming it was nepotism, or something along those lines, and demand I be terminated, and that George resign in disgrace. They’d call us perverts, and all the zealot preachers would shriek that we’re going to hell and damning our state. Probably blame the flood on us, too.
Yeeeah. Suuuurre. Because a consensual relationship between two adults is far worse than, say, past Tennessee political Republican scandals, like when the Speaker of the State House’s male chief of staff hit on female interns and on married female lobbyists.
Riiiight.
It’s the smell of coffee brewing that awakens me even before the alarm on my phone can go off. I turn off the alarm, so it doesn’t sound, and I roll over to nuzzle George’s cheek. Morning stubble rasps against my lips as I nibble on his earlobe.
“Time to make the donuts, Sir. It’s election day.”
He grumbles and rolls toward me, pulling me into his arms and draping a leg over me. “I resign,” he mumbles. “Let someone else do this shit. I want to stay in bed with you.”
I know he’s kidding, because we’ve gone through a version of this countless times over the past several weeks. “Ma’am’s going to be calling here in a few minutes if I don’t text her we’re up and moving.”
“Goddammit,” he mutters. Then he lets out a put-upon sigh. “Whose idea was it for me to run for governor, again?”
I hate myself but I play dirty because of the long game.
“Ellen, Sir,” I gently say.
His eyes pop open and he finally lets out another sigh, this one sounding haggard and shaky. “Yeah. Okay.” His gaze meets and holds mine for a long moment before he kisses me. “Love you.”
