I remembered the way Logan had looked at me when we were sprawled out on the floor of Happy Homes—the way his eyes had shone when he told me I smiled with my whole face. “I do want that,” I said softly. Maybe I wouldn’t have believed I was worth it a few months ago, but now that I’d had a taste of what it could feel like—even if it was only for show—I wanted it. Finding truth in fiction, like Logan said.
She squeezed my shoulder and headed for the door. “Then you’re going to love Will. Oh, and hey.” Lee turned back. “Tell Logan to break a leg at the debate tomorrow. I don’t usually get nervous, but if I were him, going up against Mane, I’d be quaking in my boots.”
25
The First Debate
If the general seating area of the Lady Bird Johnson Auditoriumwas chaotic—ushers directing audience members, staffers running to fill last-minute requests, crews adjusting cameras on fifteen-foot mounts, top brass from the DNC and RNC settling into opposite sides of the auditorium—backstage managed to be busier. It was tight quarters back here, and production assistants rushed everywhere on holy missions with zero concern for boundaries, which is why I’d almost been mowed over three separate times. What’s more, a solid half of the people backstage seemed to belong to the governor. I hadn’t realized how big his team was until I was standing in the hallway outside Logan’s dressing room and Grover Mane himself strode by, followed by a sea of staff.
Mane gave me the same impression he always did: he was an enormous man, undoubtedly a former linebacker, a well-coiffed bear stuffed into an expensive suit. He didn’t give me the time of day, but his staff eyed me and whispered as they passed. If anyone on the internet was spreading rumors about me, I felt certain I was looking at them. When the parade finally passed, all I could think was:Holy hell. Logan wasn’t just challenging some image on a poster or a floating head on TV. He was battling a man who was essentially an institution, with an army at his beck and call. Logan versus Mane suddenly felt like David versus Goliath.
These were thoughts I kept to myself as I helped Logan prep in his dressing room. “Mr. Arthur,” I said, using my best no-nonsense reporter voice. “What would you say to voters worried about the cost of their prescription drugs?”
He paced in front of me. “I would say, first and foremost, that I hear you. What good is an innovative pharmaceutical industry if people can’t afford drugs that are supposed to save their lives? If elected, I would enact my ten-point health care plan, the center of which is getting Medicaid expanded in the state, going to battle with pharma companies blocking sales of cheaper generics, and increasing health care support for the elderly, who are our most needs-intensive citizens.”
“Rebuttal: Mane says your plan costs too much and is unrealistic.”
Logan hit the wall with his palm and spun back. “I would tell him to shove his head up his ass for valuing corporations over people’s lives.”
“Now what you’ll really say.”
He grimaced. “I would agree with the governor that keeping a balanced budget is important, which is why my plan has been vetted by a team of economists who’ve found ways to cut down on insurance company profiteering to account for any increased costs.”
“Great,” I said, flipping to the next postcard. “Next up—”
The door to the dressing room burst open and Nora strode in, wearing a headset. She was looking slick in a royal blue sheath dress and movie star red lips. “Logan, you’re up in two.”
Butterflies whirled in my stomach. Even though it wasn’t me in the hot seat, just being close to someone under this much pressure was enough to crack me. But Logan nodded smoothly. “All right. I think we’ve prepped all we can.”
Cary, Anita, Gail, and a throng of other staffers crowded the doorway.
“Remember,” Nora said, “be strong but not combative. No cursing. The voter is always right. And what are Mane’s weaknesses?”
“Economy. Poor follow-through. Disingenuous.”
“Exactly. Hit ’em all.”
“Excellent suit choice,” Cary said. “You look like you mean business, like Matt Bomer inWhite Collar.” Logan was in a formal midnight blue suit tonight. It was all about downplaying his youth, making him seem as qualified and capable as Mane. His hair was carefully brushed back—no soft curls this evening—and his beard was precisely trimmed, a darker version of a five-o’clock shadow. He looked razor-sharp.
“He’s ready,” Nora said. “Team, clear out. Alexis.”
I snapped to attention, hopping out of my chair.
“Fix his pin, straighten his tie, then send him out.”
I nodded as the rest of the campaign filtered out, honored to have a job.
“Not combative, not combative,” Logan murmured. His eyes were fixed on the middle distance. Mentally, he was already on the debate stage.
I righted his flag pin. “You’ve got this. You’re a million times the politician Mane is.”
He rocked on his heels and shook his arms out, tilting his head from left to right like a boxer prepping for a match. “I’ve got this.”
I straightened his tie and brushed his arms free of wrinkles. “You’re going to get out there and crush it.”
He nodded, still rocking. “Going to crush it.”
“Good. Now go. Good luck.”
