“That’s great, really great. I have just one small request.”
Tim gritted his teeth. “Sure, Lionel, name it.”
“Well, as you know, Ambley’s never uses inmates to manufacture our store brand goods, but we do stock a lot of brands that do. Since we started talking about this, I’ve been pushing them to stop doing it, but it’s going to take time and I need to get other retailers on board. This goes national of course, because most of the brands we stock aren’t manufactured in Virginia.”
“I understand that, Lionel, but I want Virginia to be a leader here. If we pass this bill, I’m sure other states will follow our lead.”
“Indeed, indeed, and that’s what I want to happen too. But it’s taking time, and I want the brands we stock to understand that this is the way forward before there are laws on the books forcing them to comply. So what I’m asking for, Tim, is for you to slow it down a bit. I never for one moment thought you’d make so much progress so fast, and I think we need to put the brakes on just a bit.”
Tim put down his drink. “With respect, Lionel, now is the time. We need to follow the Feds on this. Other states are moving in the same direction and I don’t want Virginia left behind.”
Granger held up a hand. “Of course, of course. I’m not asking for a big delay. Just a few months, until I’ve made some more headway. Is that all right with you?”
Tim tried to keep his voice level. Momentum was everything. Stalling now could mean all his work so far on this issue would have to start again from scratch as legislator’s minds drifted to other topics. But he smiled back and said, “Of course, Lionel. Shouldn’t be a problem. We want to get this right, after all.”
“Good man. Now, onto voting rights for former felons.”
Tim sighed without showing it externally. Granger was going to move through all three of the campaign promises that had gotten him elected and he was going to meddle with all of them. After tackling reinstatement of voting rights for former felons he would start on police reform. Tim might as well be the same man as his predecessor. He distantly wondered if Granger gave two shits which senator he was talking to as long as he got his way.
The conversation continued for another half hour, and by the end of it Granger had asked Tim to stall or gut the vast majority of the policies he promised to pursue when he ran. It wasn’t hard to understand how state and federal politics achieved so little, with so much money on the line and so many big name donors providing opinions.
Granger stood up.
“Well thanks for coming, Tim. I really appreciate you taking the time to come here.”
Tim stood also and shook Granger’s proffered hand.
“Of course, any time.”
“You will take on board my, er, suggestions, right?”
Tim shuffled awkwardly. “Well it is rather a lot to process. I can’t make any promises.”
Granger’s smile didn’t move. It was so fixed it was almost creepy. He still had hold of Tim’s hand, his grip firm.
“Oh I think you should do more than consider what I’ve said. I mean, you’ve kept yourself remarkably scandal-free thus far. It would be a shame if such a spotless record became tarnished.”
Tim blinked.
“Are you threatening me?”
Granger’s expression was one of shock. “Goodness me, no, I wouldn’t dream of such a thing. I just want to be sure we have an understanding.”
Tim nodded. His hand was finally released.
“Right, well I’ll pay your suggestions as much mind as I think they deserve. Have a good day, Lionel.”
Tim left the office. He didn’t stop to talk to anyone, and he barely breathed before he was outside on the street. He had to lean against a wall for a moment until his head stopped swimming.
Shit! What was he going to do? Could he rely on persuading fellow senators to support his bills without having to spend money on advertising to drum up public support? He’d just have to try, given that the alternative was none of his bills reaching the senate floor at all. Tim wondered how many of his predecessors, heck, how many members of the current Senate, received similar suggestions from Granger in exchange for financial support.
Well, dammit, he wasn’t going to be one of them. Enough Virginian’s knew who Tim was now that he could fundraise from other wealthy folks, perhaps even a grassroots funding campaign, if he needed money. The next election was a long way off – the last thing he wanted to do was stall all his plans until that time, or even indefinitely. He also had the uneasy feeling that his next meeting with Granger would be less about stalling what Tim wanted to do, and more about pushing what Granger wanted to achieve. Tim couldn’t crumble at the first hurdle. He had to stand tall and send the message that he wasn’t going to be intimidated. He might spend his entire political career in the pockets of lobbyists and donors if he didn’t make clear now he was incorruptible.
Screw Granger and his agenda. Tim didn’t need his money.
As he headed towards his car, Tim felt an aching in his gut. This kind of bullshit wasn’t the reason for his getting into politics. He wasn’t naïve enough to be surprised by it, but he hoped to have a few years doing what he loved before the inevitable outside corruption started to seep in. Such a pessimistic view, he mused.
These thoughts made him more determined to resist as long as he still had fight in him. And he would start by ignoring Granger’s suggestions and doing what he damn well intended to do in the first place.
It had been an exhausting day. Scratch that, Melissa thought, the worst day of her life.
Melissa kicked off her shoes and rubbed her aching feet. She was bone tired and her bruises throbbed. She popped the lid from a bottle of painkillers she’d bought from the little store in the lobby, and swallowed two pills with a bottle of water.
There was no pill she could take to ease the deep loneliness gnawing at her. At least, no pill she could buy legally without a prescription. Going to bed without Howie lying next to her was nothing new because they lived in different countries and spent far too much time apart. It was easy to convince herself, for a short time, that he was just somewhere else tonight, that he was thinking about her and sending her sexy text messages. She picked up her phone to divert her attention from the cavernous hole in her heart. She saw dozens of texts and voicemails, thousands of Instagram messages and more tweets than any sane person could ever read. She resisted the urge to turn off her phone and try to sleep. She doubted she’d get much rest anyway, and people she cared about were worried about her.
So she worked her way through her texts, given that they came from people who knew her best. She answered the one from Shania, her best friend and technical guru who ran her channel, wrote her apps and managed all her accounts. Shania was a genius and a friend for the ages. Melissa’s mom had texted her too, so Melissa replied that she was safe, feeling sad but okay, and would be home tomorrow. She didn’t mention her bruises. What could her mom do about those? She had enough to worry about.
The reply came back almost immediately. Why had she not responded sooner? Her mom was sick, perhaps terminally so, and it ate at Melissa that she might be the cause of extra stress. Melissa briefly explained that she’d been at the police station since the incident and couldn’t reply until now.
Shania