The entire downstairs of Kurt’s home has been turned into a makeshift campaign headquarters: voter outreach in the living room, envelope stuffing in the dining room, strategy sessions around endless boxes of doughnuts in the kitchen. When he comes downstairs first thing in the morning, the whole operation is already in full swing, dozens of young people, disorganized and passionate, running around and figuring out, just as he is, how to run a campaign.
“Hey, Miranda,” he says as he pours himself cup of coffee.
“Hey yourself,” she tosses back. She is, as much as anyone, his informal campaign manager. At least she has staked that claim for herself, as the one the others defer to and regard as his protégé. “A package came for you.”
“Dunno,” she shrugs, giving him a look that reads not my job. “It’s on your desk.”
He takes his coffee and a doughnut to his office and finds the box waiting there for him, gift-wrapped with a bow, not unlike the package he had delivered to Diane Lockhart. He smirks down at it as he sits at his desk. Truthfully, he had not expected any response at all – if anything, he thought perhaps he might get another flippant 'this is not the way things are done' lecture the next time they met. Certainly he did not expect her to respond in kind.
He pulls the note card from its envelope eagerly, finding only a simple message in her neat script, unsigned: Thank you. He smiles, dropping the card and quickly lifting the lid from the box. Clearing the tissue paper aside, he sees she has given him a book in return: Rules of Civility and Decent Behaviour in Company and Conversation, by George Washington. He flips through it, finding a bizarre list of etiquette rules from before the formation of the republic. He laughs, letting the slim volume fall back into the box.
He turns in his chair to look out the window behind him, sipping his coffee. His campaign is unstructured, informal by design. He threw his hat in the ring because he has something to say, and because people seemed to be listening. And because all those idealistic young people out there wanted to help him say it. What’s funny about Diane Lockhart’s preoccupation with the rules, however lighthearted it may be, is that he never intended to follow them at all.
What’s funny is that he never anticipated this preoccupation with Diane Lockhart. The joke, it seems, is also on him.
He turns around again to see Miranda leaning in his doorway.
“No one,” he says with a forced casualness, replacing the tissue paper and the lid.
“You could just tell me it’s personal, I can take a hint,” she laughs.
“No, it’s nothing, just a little joke. Come on in,” he gestures for her to enter, perhaps a little too broadly. “What’s the news today?”
She raises her eyebrows at his odd behavior, but chooses to ignore it. “Well, you’re starting to make waves. You seem to have riled up tired old Howard Lyman, he’s out there railing about the lunatic fringe and how you’re destroying traditional American values.”
He shakes his head, laughing. “How am I doing that, exactly?”
“It doesn’t have to make sense to those who are listening to Howard Lyman, but don’t worry about it, not many people are listening to Howard Lyman.”
She leans forward, grinning, clearly taking a twisted sort of pleasure from sharing this piece of information. “There’s an investigator sniffing around you. Several of the volunteers got a phone call from some woman trying to pry into your personal life.”
“No, but it’s obvious she’s either with Lockhart or Lyman. Totally obvious what she was trying to do, asking if you ever made a pass at them, whether they saw that kind of activity around the office or at school. Disgusting.”
Kurt frowns, glancing sideways at the package on his desk. “That doesn’t sound like Diane Lockhart.”
“Kurt, far be it from me to stop you from thinking the best of people, that’s why we all like you so much. But trust me, career politicians like her would do anything to win.”
“I don’t know.” He waves his hand as if he’d rather forget about the whole thing.
Miranda is undeterred. “Once we figured out what she was up to, we recorded a couple of the calls. We can expose this kind of tactic to the press, Kurt. Give us a couple days, we can probably figure out who she is. Or better yet, we could spin it as if it could be either campaign – it’ll turn a lot of people against both of them, the establishment trying to blackball the underdog.”
He shakes his head, reminding her sternly, “You know we didn’t get into this race to play that game.”
“Yeah, but if you could win, don’t you want to?”
He sighs. “Let me think about it.”
She accepts this, knowing all too well how stubborn he can be until he’s ready to be pushed. She gets up to go, pausing again in his doorway. “They are coming after you, Kurt. That is the game.”
Kurt sets down the coffee cup, propping up his head on one hand as he considers the situation. This sort of sleazy, personal attack is what kept him on the fringes of politics for so long – and Diane had said as much in an interview the other day; he thought he had recognized some kind of kindred spirit in her. He knows these are the rules of the game. But somehow he thought, with her at least, they could work out a new game.
He glances at her gift again. Part of him doesn’t want to even acknowledge it, but he is not the sort of man who can bury his head in the sand, either. He won’t go to the press, as Miranda suggested. He would rather go straight to the source.
That settled, he picks up the phone, checks his address book and dials.
“Lockhart 2014, this is Paulina, how may I direct your call?”
“Paulina,” he stretches out each syllable of her name, trying to sound familiar and charming. “Hi, sorry, I think I spoke to Gretchen last week.”
“Gretchen is no longer with the campaign. How may I help you? Are you looking for volunteer opportunities, or would you like to make a pledge?”
“Not exactly,” Kurt laughs. “This is Kurt McVeigh.”
He hears Paulina hesitate, probably wondering if she should just hang up on this prank caller.
He pushes on. “Could you put me through to Diane Lockhart?”
Another long silence passes before she says hurriedly, “Let me put you on hold for just one second.”
She leaves for what turns out to be several minutes several minutes, just as Gretchen did before her, and he is beginning to become familiar with the bright Vivaldi hold music now. He had expected something more patriotic the first time, but after meeting her in person this seems somehow more appropriate.
He sits back in his chair, imagining Paulina trying to figure out what to do, conferring with her fellow volunteers, and finally knocking nervously on Diane’s door. If she goes to Diane before she goes to anyone else on her staff, he figures he’ll get through. If not, he might find his number permanently blocked.
“Mr McVeigh?” Paulina comes back, sounding as if she’s trying to keep from laughing. He can picture a group of interns crowded around her, on speakerphone now.
Well, why disappoint them? “It sure is,” he says, playing up the slight twang in his voice.
“I’ll just put you through now.”
The phone rings four or five times before Diane picks up on the other end; he laughs, familiar with this ploy now.
When she does answer, her voice is crisp. “Diane Lockhart, how may I help you?”
“Ms Lockhart, how are you?”
“Mr McVeigh,” she greets him, and he can hear the smile behind her sharp pronunciation.
“I, uh, just wanted to thank you, for schooling me in the art of proper behavior,” he says.
“My pleasure. And thank you for the book; I never would have known a teaspoon of sugar can cure hiccups.”
“Oh, you’ll find lots of helpful hints there – kept a few generations of McVeighs alive, anyway. How’s your jacket?”
“I took it to the dry cleaner’s, it’s as good as new.”
He can hear her teasing him. That’s just fine, he thinks, a crooked smile coming over his face.
“Listen, I’ll just come right out and ask – Ms Lockhart, are you having me investigated?”
“Well, yes, of course I am,” she laughs. “We’re constantly engaged in opposition research, I would think you’d–”
“–find that customary?” he supplies. “Yes, well, it’s come to my attention that this investigation has been rather personal in nature, and I’m not saying it’s your campaign, Ms Lockhart, but I was hoping we could establish a certain… understanding between us.”
“I’m never going to come out and baselessly attack you. I hope you’ll extend me the same courtesy.”
“Have you worked out a similar deal with Mr Lyman?”
He hesitates, seeing where she’s headed. “Not exactly, no.”
“Have you ever even called Mr Lyman this way?”
“No,” he admits, grudgingly. “To be honest, I don’t see him as a serious candidate.”
“He’s polling better than you are,” she points out.
“So your plan is to, what, take him down first, and then come after me?”
He smiles again. “If you like, yes.”
She laughs. “Well, listen, as long as we’re going to keep having these chats, perhaps I should give you my direct number?”
As they exchange numbers, Kurt wonders what could make her take such a leap, but he doesn’t register his astonishment. He figures she is either trying to throw him off guard, or she doesn’t want to explain to a revolving door of assistants that he should be put through, no questions asked.
Diane clears her throat. “As to the investigations into your personal life – I’ll find out, and if it’s us, I’ll put a stop to it.”
“I appreciate that.” He knows he should leave it at that, but he can’t help but add, “Waste of time, anyway, I’m unattached.”
“Oh,” she responds simply, and he winces, not sure if it sounds like relief, confusion, or contempt.
“All right, I’ll let you go. Thanks,” he says, then adds quickly, “I mean for the book, again.”
“Likewise,” she says silkily, and ends the call.
He shakes his head, laughing to himself as he hangs up the phone. That isn’t the way he expected the conversation to go, but he finds he isn’t disappointed.
He can’t figure her out, but he enjoys trying. Perhaps they are working out some new game of their own after all, and she is simply one step ahead.
