Roger for Congress

Lydia was quite satisfied with the way the house looked as she left for work. Roger indicated he would be a few minutes late for dinner but, lately, that seemed to be the norm. Stopping by the market on the way home shouldn't be a problem.

Lydia and Roger have been a 'couple' for nearly three years. Somehow she's allowed the relationship to fall into a bit of a rut. At least, Lydia thinks it's her fault. Her Dad told her that moving in with an ambitious guy like Roger might be a mistake; could he take her for granted? Lydia didn't really understand what he meant by that – well, at the time she didn't. Now she believes her Dad was absolutely right. Roger knew she'd always be there. Dinner on the table by seven – the hour he preferred to eat. No problem if he brought someone home unannounced – for dinner or drinks and conversation. Lydia kept the home fires burning brightly and he truly appreciated that. He's said so often.

Recently Lydia has realized that Roger hasn't said he appreciates her. He appreciates her flexibility, her routine of keeping a neat house, her ability to cook and all that domestic stuff. The commuter train was not as crowded as usual this morning, unfortunately. Without being jostled and trying to shut out the noise, Lydia had too much time to think.

There was a lot to think about – and it seemed like a sudden surge. Roger decided he wants to run for the open congressional seat in their district. It was vacated by the death of a fairly new congressman – he was only in his second term. Early in his second term. Roger explained to her that if it had been a long held congressional seat he wouldn't consider it. But this guy was still 'new' and his record wasn't anything yet set in stone. Anyone could look good if compared.

The decision was made just a week ago. Roger will be late for dinner tonight as he has a four o'clock meeting with people who want to be his campaign committee. He's been spouting slogans and inanities all week – trying them out for effect on her. Roger wants to make a good impression on this small group. He had considered asking them to dinner but decided this first meeting should be a somber gathering. Let them know he's serious. They were meeting in the conference room of Roger's employer – at the employer's suggestion. actually. From all Lydia could decipher, the employer was one of the proposed committee. He agreed with Roger that this formation meeting, as he calls it, should be disciplined and in an environment conducive to 'thinking'. He offered the conference room.

Lydia has met Roger's boss several times. He's a real jerk. A real jerk with money but few brains. At least that's Lydia's observation.

Roger rather staggered in at nine. Lydia gave up waiting for him and ate earlier. After the meeting he and two of the 'committee' stopped by Barry's Bar, a local watering hole, for a few to mull over what had been discussed. He completely forgot to call her. Lydia indicated dinner wasn't ruined and she would be happy to serve him if he was hungry. Of course, he wasn't.

As the month moved on, Roger was home for dinner less and less often. Sometimes he had calendared a meeting so Lydia knew where he was. Other times, he just didn't show up. Never an excuse – other than being elected congressman is not an easy, one-shot, job. And as for calling her? Well, he didn't want his committee to think he was henpecked. He wants to show a strong, solid, face. Lydia wondered if Roger was the only one who neglected his family to attend these meetings. But, she didn't ask.

Now came advertising, and with advertising, campaigning, fundraising. Weekends were spent talking to four or five different groups which should/could have influence when the election came. Roger spent less and less time at home. Lydia was never invited. She thought that strange as it seemed to her that a candidate's family had impact on some voters. When she mentioned that to Roger, he reminded her that they weren't a 'real' family. They just lived together.

Lydia moved all of her belongings into the guest room the day after that conversation. It was more than a week before Roger realized it. Yes. Ridiculous, wouldn't you say? He mentioned it one evening when he got home fairly early – not early enough for dinner but before bed time.

“Why did you move out of the bedroom? Is the guest room that comfortable?”

“Roger, you've been coming in quite late. I'm still working, remember? I feel that with my move to the guest room, we can both get the uninterrupted sleep we need to function.”

He nodded. While that made perfect sense, it didn't. But he couldn't quite nail down a good objection so let the remark pass. Nor did he try to convince her otherwise.

One evening Lydia found a note from the bank in the day's mail. Roger was behind in his mortgage payment. He owned the house when she met him and he had never discussed money with her. At least, not for major expenditures. She bought all the groceries; he paid the mortgage. That was more or less the only monetary agreement they had.

She stayed up until he came in that evening. Roger was surprised. “Whoa, aren't you working tomorrow?”

“I am, Roger. But I wanted to make sure you read your mail. I notice you've been setting it aside lately. This is important. I apologize for opening it but thought it was my bank statement.” She handed him the delinquent notice. Roger has always insisted that the bills were his concern. After all, it is his house. And he strongly suggested that when bills came in regarding his house, she should put them on his desk and not worry about them.

“Oh, well, I guess I forgot to send the payment in.”

“You can pay online. I thought that was how you've always handled your accounts. Online.”

“Right. It is. I've just been busy and forgot.” He went to his computer and turned it on. Lydia left the room. He has always been pretty closed mouth about money. Lydia's Dad told her once to not get involved with a man who wants to marry you but doesn't want you to know how much money he has. Lydia realized that it's been several months since Roger has mentioned getting married. Ever since this campaign began. She went back into the den. Roger had just closed the computer.

“Have you eaten?” Lydia felt guilty about coming back to check on him.

“Not really. This campaign stops seldom have much in the way of food available. Can you whip up a little something for me before you go to bed?”

He followed her into the kitchen. She made him a roast beef sandwich and put a salad on the plate before handing it to him. No thank you. He just took it and sat at the breakfast bar to eat. He began telling her about the evening's whirlwind of campaigning. Sitting across from him, she could see makeup, or something, on his shirt front. Not his collar, but the shirt front, as though someone wearing makeup laid their head on his chest. When he came to a stopping point she asked what kind of audience he encountered each evening. Most men, women, mixture? Were they all interested in his ideas or were they just checking him out? Lydia wanted to ask flat out how he got makeup on his shirt – in that spot. But didn't.

“Oh, mostly men but some women. Women don't belong in politics but they certainly have opinions about how things should be run. Most of the questions after my speeches come from women who want to know if I am going to back certain things the old congressman backed. Men seem to pay attention and know what kind of man I am.” He continued bashing women interested in the state of their state. The more he talked, the more Lydia saw of the true Roger. She didn't like it.

Calls began coming to the house phone. Roger expected Lydia to handle them for him. “Keep a record. I may need to call someone back.” She kept a notebook by the phone. Whether or not he ever looked at ti, Lydia didn't know.

And, she realized, she didn't care.

Election was in three weeks when Lydia decided she was moving out. Things had eroded to the point Roger never spoke to her except to ask if anyone important had called. He never made an effort to come home for dinner. He ignored everything except the campaign. Increasingly, there was makeup on his clothing. He had no explanation. After all, he had to be cordial at these fundraisers. The topper came when he didn't make it home one night. Not late, or very late, but not at all.

Lydia didn't have a great deal to move. It was his house. She found a small apartment near her work and moved one weekend. She hadn't seen Roger for three nights. It was more than a week later that he called her at work. Her secretary came in and said, “Roger's on the phone.” Lydia smiled.

“Tell him I'm in conference. I can't take his call right now.”

It was another few days before he called again. Angry. Ranting. Insistent that she immediately return 'home'. When he came up for air, she replied, “Roger, I've been gone from your house for more than two weeks. I'm rather enjoying the truly single life. I'll vote for you next Tuesday. But I won't come back to your house.” She hung up.

That afternoon a large bouquet of roses were delivered to her office. Two days after that, a courier brought a box tied with a red ribbon. She refused it. He called and asked her secretary where Lydia was living now. Her secretary answered that she had no idea. That wasn't any of her business. The phone calls continued. Lydia refused to take them.

On Tuesday, election day, Roger called and asked that she please join him at his waiting party at the Hilton. “Everyone expects you to be there. Please come.”

“Why would anyone expect me to be there? I don't understand. Sorry. I'm busy. But good luck.”

He was still sputtering when she hung up the phone.

Lydia did watch the election returns that evening. At 11:30 the media declared that Roger's opponent would win the position. All his campaigning and he garnered less than thirty-three percent of the vote. She had not been invited to any of his fundraisers. People saw him as a lone man – who evidently did a bit of womanizing while campaigning. Is that what shot him down?

No. Roger was a loser from the very beginning.

Lydia turned off the television and went to bed. Poor Roger. Hahahahaha,