Part I: The Staffers

Part II: The Candidate

Part III: The Wife

She grinned at her reflection in the floor length mirror just brought into her hotel suite by the awestruck young bellhop. It widened into a smile as she ran her hands down the red wool jacket that curved just so over her bust leading down to meet the black skirt that fit her in a way that turned heads. Damn, she didn’t know quality like this, sumptuousness like this, existed in clothing. It made her feel more important just getting dressed. No wonder that skinny blonde barely tolerated her at their first meeting; the wife was enclosed in the powerful armor of the privileged and she was obviously off-the-sale-rack and ill-fitting. Something about a silk lining and obscenely expensive boots that elevated you in ways not obvious to the eye, but sensed by the most insecure part of those glancing upon you.

Like hell they were getting these back. In a month, who would even remember. She would need them later, as her new plans took shape. The old fool had been so easy to manipulate. God… she knew she had them by the balls when the entire party rushed to defend her daughter, tossing aside long-held disdain for moral imperfections that had defined them for the past 40 years. It still amazed her, how quickly they jumped off their high horses and fell over themselves to get television time after her every appearance, twisting reality into pretzels to turn every mistake she made into a charming ‘personal story’ that average Joe’s could relate to. How low could they sink? How much of their integrity would they shed at her alter?

Her ego had already outgrown her running mate. The power he represented that held her spellbound mere weeks ago had faded into looming failure. His physical flaws, which once seemed ingrained in his heroic story, now slightly repulsed her. It was impossible to find personal time for her planning meetings anymore. He was always showing up unexpectedly, stalking her like some fictitious Chester the Molester – leering at her when he thought she wasn’t looking or rushing to catch her alone. His creepy smile was often inches away from her face as he made excuses to touch her in public, when she couldn’t pull away, when she was forced to smile and lean into him. And her husband was happy to step back and let him. Some use he was. There was plenty of dead skin to shed next month. Oh, she was going rogue all right… those two desert critters were headed back underground and her base – her base would be waiting to be shaped into a fighting force that would topple those tired old conservatives. God’s Party was headed back to its rightful place in our nation. How sweet it would be, and what a great, gorgeous leader she would be for it.

She stepped back to catch a better angle of the back of her complex updo. Oh yes, it was coming, and she was riding the wave where it led. The thought of the bits of broken shell and sea creatures that ended up dead and discarded on the beach as the waters crested, washed ashore and receded never entered her mind…

Eight. Days. Left…