Priorities

Priorities

My footsteps echoed in the rotunda chamber of the capitol. I looked around and then at my feet. Footsteps. Footsteps of great democratic leaders walked here: Henry Clay, John C. Calhoun, and. John F. Kennedy. Here I am, a democrat representative, hoping to follow in the footsteps of those great leaders. I imagined great hopes at that time.

Footsteps, echoing as mine had, made it impossible to sneak up on me. It was my frenemy Republican Representative James Beckett.

“Well, Representative. Keven Montigo,” he said. “How does it feel to start your second term?”

“You should know, Representative. James E. Beckett. You have been in office twice as long as me.”

We embraced only long enough to show we remembered being high school friends.

“Are you hungry enough to go to the Goldenrod Restaurant?” I said.

“I love the food there. Let’s go.”

Our footsteps sounded great together.

We loved the Goldenrod Restaurant, not only for the tempting smell of saffron duck, but also for being pampered. World class cuisine, cloth napkins and pure white china felt good after listening to angry, complaining constituents.  

 “You could be the swing vote on the veteran bill,” said the experienced representative.   “I’m with you on the housing and medical benefits. But we need more of the money spent on the men on the ground.”  

“Then let’s include more money.  You would receive money for your ground forces. And the country could build tiny houses for vets.”

“Tiny houses? Those granny pods? I don’t think so. Decorated vets are more valuable than to squash them into 100 square foot houses.”

I didn’t want to argue at dinner. “Then we will discuss tomorrow the use of the money as I convince you to come to my side.”

“Or you to mine.” James looked down as he shook his head. “Never been easy. Never been quick.” James looked up. “I’ve made a lot of compromises over a meal just like now.” He grinned, then added. “I’ve been encouraging my colleagues to increase the amount of money too.”

James and I laughed at the pleasure of concurring on an issue.

           James said, “My colleagues would not like to be seen here with a democrat.”

           “Same here, except with a republican. Maybe we will start a trend.”

           “How is your family?”

           “Maggie is graduating high school this year. Her grades are good enough to be valedictorian,” I said.

           “Is that the little redhead who wanted to crawl on my lap to have me read a book?”

           “That’s her.”

           “And Keven Jr.? He must be a sophomore in high school. Have you taught him any of my quarterback moves?”

           No, I almost said. Being a popular quarterback, why did James befriend me? “Junior is more of a guard than a quarterback.”

           “Built like you, huh? Well someone needs to protect the quarterback.”

           Fortunately, the waiter came with the menus.

           “That duck smells good,” I said. “I’ll have it. James, what are you ordering?”

He rolled his eyes and said, “Anything, but hamburgers.” Looking at the waiter, he said, “I’ll have the same.”

When the waiter left, James added, “My children and the grandchildren love fast food, and I am so tired of it.”

Maybe if I talked about his wife, the conversation would be more enjoyable. “You could take Melissa to this restaurant.”

“No,” said James. “She would rather talk grandkids than spend any time talking about me or my job. In this place or anywhere.”

I tried to move the conversation to happier times. “How many years have you been married?” I asked.

           “Thirty years but, I don’t know if I’ll make it to thirty-one. Melissa complains about the campaign trail. She also claims I would rather be in the office than at my grandchildren’s birthday parties. What does she think? This is my job. The office and campaign trail are part of it.”

           Megan and Melissa keep in touch with each other using Facebook and the occasional phone call. Megan shared many of those conversations with me, but not one had been about his troubled home life. I dreaded hearing the end of this. “You don’t have to tell me anymore.”

           “My secretary, Karen, listens to me more than my wife does. She doesn’t complain about staying late. I think Melissa and I are growing apart.”

I barely believed it worth saying, but I had to make an attempt to warn him. “Does Melissa know you are staying late with her? Are you thinking of her feelings at all, James?”

“No, she doesn’t know Karen stays late. I enjoy her too much to quit the affair. I love Melissa too much to hurt her.”

           I closed my eyes and said, “Don’t. Tell. Me. Anymore.”

           James said, “Our wives are friends. Maybe you can explain it to Megan and she can explain it to Melissa. Even though I’m having an affair, I can’t stop my love for Melissa.”

           “That makes me the bad guy.” I stood to leave. I left payment for the food and a $50 tip for the waiter.

           “Where are you going? Your meal hasn’t even come.”

           I said, “James, I like Melissa too much to watch her be hurt by you. I lost my appetite wondering how she will survive without you.”

           In the afternoon, I proceeded to the office of the Jonathan Goetz, Spokesperson for the Democratic National Committee. The room was plastered with posters of elected democrats and those running for office. Awards and degrees were placed on his desk like trophies, but no family photos.

           “Ah, there you are Mr. Montigo. There is business to discuss with you.”

           I scarcely encounter the man, so it confused me why I should come to see him. “What can I do for you?”

           “I need to talk to you about James Beckett. He’s a republican . . .and an opponent  detrimental to our causes.”

           “Yes, I know he is a republican.” My reaction to consider republicans as the enemy, did not agree with me.

           “James Beckett is up in the polls. We want him out of the way as soon as possible.”

           “You do?”

           “Republicans want to take money away from our agenda, like social services and to keep illegal immigrants in the country.”

           “James is just one person.”

           “One republican. We are starting early to dislodge republicans from their offices. He has been in office long enough to form allies in Congress. We will pinch that off below the bud.   Plenty of scandals—to spring on him before the election—will drop his poll numbers. The private eye we hired believes Mr. Beckett is having an affair. Our photographer took pictures of Mr. Beckett and you at the Goldenrod Restaurant. Did he confide in you about an affair . . . or better yet, money from big business?” The man pulled out his cell phone, ready to take notes of what I would say.

Silent and stunned that democrats would spend money on spying, my mind went blank. After a few seconds, I weighed my options. Telling the truth would ruin James’ career and family. I could protect my career by telling a lie how he sold his vote for campaign money. Or I could put my integrity first.

“What did you talk about?” said Mr. Goetz.

My voice filled with anger. “That’s none of your business.” I certainly did not want to be friends with Democratic National Committee Spokesperson Mr. Jonathan Goetz.

“You are a good party member, aren’t you?” said Mr. Goetz and smirked. “It would be a shame if we can’t find enough time for strategy planning or money for your campaign.”

Blackmail. “I don’t like this. I’ll have to think about it. The Democrat Party used to be an organization with a free exchange of ideas. I guess not now.” I hoped Mr. Goetz’s anger was as strong as mine. I kept my rage in check as I quietly closed the door as I left.

Two weeks later, I stalled at Mr. Goetz’ office door. Choosing between deciding to disappoint my constituents or reveal a friend‘s trusted secret, that would change my life forever.

I walked in and handed him papers without saying anything.

Mr. Goetz said, “So you came around.” He eagerly snatched the papers. “Are these the notes from--.” He stood to shake the papers in my face. “What are these? Membership withdrawal? You need our help with strategy and finance to win. You will ruin your career and the efforts we spent on you.”

“I withdraw my membership from the Democratic National Committee. For the sake of my voters, I’ll finish out the term. If you treat me like Mr. Beckett, that will be no surprise. I won’t be running again anyway. You will find someone else to lie about a good politician. Betraying my friend’s trust is not worth it. I’m going to see James Beckett at lunch. The doors of my ears will be open to him. Maybe I can even give him courage to face the future.”