Page 16 of The Senator's Rival
“You really need to stop that, Grandpa,” she said affectionately, gesturing to the tobacco-filled pipe perched between his lips. “Those things are going to kill you one day.”
“Let an old man enjoy the little pleasures left in life,” he scolded gently, patting her arm with an indulgent grin. “Come now, child. You look exhausted. I've seen the headlines these last few days. Always someone out to cut us down in this line of work, no?”
“Yeah, unfortunately,” she sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “I wish this campaign didn't involve such a deep vein of nastiness. Why can't politics ever be about ideals and principles anymore? I feel like I'm wading through a swamp half the time, dodging landmines and toxic sludge. Sometimes I wonder why I keep doing this.”
“Because it is about ideals and principles, Frankie,” her grandfather said firmly, clasping both her hands in his with an encouraging smile. “At least for some of us. Always was for me, just like it is for you. That's why we endure the slime of politics. Because if people like us give up, the only ones left will be the crooks and the charlatans. The world needs people who believe in something greater than themselves to change things.”
“Sometimes it's really hard to see the big picture with all this,” she admitted quietly, running a hand over her tired eyes. “Every time I get knocked off course and pulled off track by some random scandal or a nasty rumor, it feels like maybe I should just accept it and get out while I can.”
“Oh no,” he shook his head, raising a wrinkled finger. “Don't let them do that to you, kid. Don't you give up on the world, Francesca, and don't let the world give up on you either. Some years it seems like we're marching backward, but humanity is ultimately moving forward toward a better future. You can't lose sight of that bigger vision. We're on a journey, and we need to be the ones paving the way. Now more than ever.”
Even though his voice wasn't nearly as firm and booming as it had been when Francesca was a child, there was still a passion and gravitas in every word that was captivating. When she looked at her grandfather, a sense of purpose seemed to radiate from his worn, weathered body. He had spent his whole life fighting for justice and equality, despite countless setbacks, heartbreaking losses, and crushing disappointments. Through it all, he had never lost that fierce flame inside that burned for what was right. As Francesca watched her grandfather gaze out thoughtfully at the green fields and clear blue sky with that same defiant fire in his eyes, she felt her own strength start to return to her. She drew herself up straighter, pulling her shoulders back and taking a deep, cleansing breath.
“Thanks for reminding me of that, Grandpa,” Francesca told him earnestly, leaning forward to rest a grateful hand on his frail wrist. “I'm lucky to have you on my side.”
He reached forward and squeezed her cheek playfully, smiling with tender amusement in his eyes. “Now, tell me what has gotten into this damn election this year. What's this business about those bogus rumors? Those are ridiculous accusations!” he said.
For the next hour, they chatted comfortably about the election and the developing scandal. He expressed frustration at seeing someone with promise beset by such adversity, but maintained his unfailing faith that Francesca would rise above this mess. Over lunch, she continued to vent her frustrations at the entire fiasco and the futility of it all, complaining about the duplicitous and deceitful nature of the wolf in sheep's clothing that was Margot Smith.
It was liberating to get all this venom out of her system and onto the table. With each passing moment, she felt lighter and happier. By the time she returned to her waiting vehicle, she was brimming with energy and motivation, rejuvenated by a chance to refocus herself. She had stood in storms and faced down lies and slander before, and so had countless good, honest men and women before her. This was just a bump in the road. Margot might be ruthless, but there was no substance in the false accusations being thrown around. They couldn't hold water for long.
In truth, as she sat in the car, Francesca found herself almost feeling sorry for her opponent. At the heart of all the deception and manipulation, the woman had become a victim of her own orchestrations. Margot was trapped in the golden cage she had built for herself, forced to destroy both others and her true self in pursuit of success and power. It was a damn shame, really, that such a brilliant and beautiful woman had sacrificed everything truly valuable on the altar of ambition.
In another life, maybe, they could have made one hell of a team. Maybe even something else entirely. It was a stupid thought, Francesca knew, but there had been a moment in both the elevator and that hotel room when Margot had been vulnerable and raw. Real. For just a little while, her perfect mask had slipped off, revealing a beating heart beneath that intrigued Francesca more than she liked to admit. A fascinating, complicated human being that she might have liked to explore deeper.
Maybe. In another life. Right now, Francesca had a battle to win.
10
MARGOT
Everything was going exactly according to plan. By now, every mainstream news outlet in the country was covering the story with zealous enthusiasm. Rumors and theories flew back and forth at a rapid-fire rate, spreading through social media at the speed of light. A frenzied mob had been stirred up into a feverish frenzy of emotion. The populace was incensed at the very idea of their beloved candidate stealing campaign donations. It was scandalous, shameless, and unforgivable.
It should have felt good. It was a victory, after all--precisely what Margot had intended. Yet, as she stood in the dressing room and looked at herself in the mirror, the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach refused to leave. This felt hollow, somehow. Unsatisfying. Like a heavy weight was dragging her down, pressing the oxygen out of her lungs. Margot tugged at the collar of her blouse, trying to loosen it. Her perfectly fitted designer suit suddenly felt constricting. What was happening to her? What was wrong?
Had she ever experienced it before, she likely would have recognized the feeling as guilt. A lifetime of unchecked ambition had shaped Margot into a creature whose prime instincts were for survival and dominance. Like any beast acting on impulse, feelings such as remorse and shame were foreign to her. This unfamiliar sensation was therefore deeply disconcerting. It made Margot angry and irrational. It made her want to break something. Destroy it. Wreck it like it had wrecked her.
Fortunately, the rally presented the perfect outlet for her overwhelming fury. Even before Margot began speaking, the rowdy crowd of enthusiastic supporters had been whipped into a raucous, furious mass of outrage at their enemies. A sea of red filled the cavernous sports arena, with giant flags draped around and rows upon rows of cheering supporters, clapping vigorously as the music played.
Her arrival was met by a thunderous roar of applause. The crowd rose to their feet, a flurry of sound and energy crashing into her as she swept through the throngs. Margot drank it all in greedily, soaking up every drop of validation and admiration. Yes. It was all worth it for this. The pain, the sacrifice, the struggle, all the suffering--all for moments like this. Soon they would be victorious, and she could start to make a real difference in the world, leading millions to a brighter tomorrow. Everything else was a temporary distraction. A tiny hiccup in her trajectory to the top.
Margot marched onto the stage with purpose in her strides, waving and smiling at the crowd. Their response was deafening, drowning out the orchestra music with their roaring cheers. Cameras flashed and lights flickered, creating an electrifying atmosphere. Her pulse raced as adrenaline pumped through her body, making her feel invincible once more. These people loved her. They believed in her. Margot’s success meant the world to them. How could anything possibly be wrong with the world, when they could make such miracles happen?
As she approached the microphone, her smile broadened into a genuine expression of warmth. Margot was energized, thrilled, and overflowing with exhilaration as she started to address her supporters.
“Georgia, I'm so happy to be here with you today,” she announced in ringing tones, wrapping her hands around either side of the podium. “This beautiful state has always had a special place in my heart, ever since I was little girl and spent summers with my grandparents in Atlanta.”
Her southern twang was a little stronger tonight than usual. Just for effect, to help establish a connection to her audience. As she spoke, she transported them back to those warm childhood summers, watching her grandfather tilling his garden, sewing seeds in rich soil. This was a tale of small-town folks, honest, salt-of-the-earth folks growing up and working hard to achieve their dreams. A narrative of humble beginnings and simple values that resonated with the everyday American family. Just a small-town southern girl, full of hopes and ambitions, now on the doorstep of history.
And if she could do it, was the message, so could their children—unless corrupt elitists took away their freedom to aspire and thrive.
“Now, I hear y'all about all this sordid business with Senator Thurston,” she drawled out, her tone dropping slightly in sympathy and concern, but with a mischievous glint in her eyes.
The mention of the name was immediately met with an outcry of boos and angry shouts, which Margot allowed to simmer for a beat or two before silencing the noise with a wave of her hand.
“Listen, I know y'all are mighty riled up about all this. So am I. Here we've got a senator who talks about integrity, equality, fairness, community. About putting people ahead of politics and getting done what's right,” Margot continued in a mocking drawl, throwing her hands out in exasperation and earning a laugh from the audience. “My friends, I don't want to stand here and fuel hearsay and speculation, but we all have questions, and rightfully so. How can the people of America trust a woman like that to uphold our highest values, to not abuse her power to line her own pockets, when her campaign finances are rife with misdeeds?”
Another uproar from Margot’s fans, even louder than the first, erupting all around the stadium. There was a savage glee to the howls, a feral edge to their rabid intensity as they echoed off the walls, bouncing wildly around the space.