25
The First Debate
If the general seating area of the Lady Bird Johnson Auditorium was chaotic—ushers directing audience members, staffers running to fill last-minute requests, crews adjusting cameras on fifteen-foot mounts, top brass from the DNC and RNC settling into opposite sides of the auditorium—backstage managed to be busier. It was tight quarters back here, and production assistants rushed everywhere on holy missions with zero concern for boundaries, which is why I’d almost been mowed over three separate times. What’s more, a solid half of the people backstage seemed to belong to the governor. I hadn’t realized how big his team was until I was standing in the hallway outside Logan’s dressing room and Grover Mane himself strode by, followed by a sea of staff.
Mane gave me the same impression he always did: he was an enormous man, undoubtedly a former linebacker, a well-coiffed bear stuffed into an expensive suit. He didn’t give me the time of day, but his staff eyed me and whispered as they passed. If anyone on the internet was spreading rumors about me, I felt certain I was looking at them. When the parade finally passed, all I could think was: Holy hell. Logan wasn’t just challenging some image on a poster or a floating head on TV. He was battling a man who was essentially an institution, with an army at his beck and call. Logan versus Mane suddenly felt like David versus Goliath.
These were thoughts I kept to myself as I helped Logan prep in his dressing room. “Mr. Arthur,” I said, using my best no-nonsense reporter voice. “What would you say to voters worried about the cost of their prescription drugs?”
He paced in front of me. “I would say, first and foremost, that I hear you. What good is an innovative pharmaceutical industry if people can’t afford drugs that are supposed to save their lives? If elected, I would enact my ten-point health care plan, the center of which is getting Medicaid expanded in the state, going to battle with pharma companies blocking sales of cheaper generics, and increasing health care support for the elderly, who are our most needs-intensive citizens.”
“Rebuttal: Mane says your plan costs too much and is unrealistic.”
Logan hit the wall with his palm and spun back. “I would tell him to shove his head up his ass for valuing corporations over people’s lives.”
“Now what you’ll really say.”
He grimaced. “I would agree with the governor that keeping a balanced budget is important, which is why my plan has been vetted by a team of economists who’ve found ways to cut down on insurance company profiteering to account for any increased costs.”
“Great,” I said, flipping to the next postcard. “Next up—”
The door to the dressing room burst open and Nora strode in, wearing a headset. She was looking slick in a royal blue sheath dress and movie star red lips. “Logan, you’re up in two.”
Butterflies whirled in my stomach. Even though it wasn’t me in the hot seat, just being close to someone under this much pressure was enough to crack me. But Logan nodded smoothly. “All right. I think we’ve prepped all we can.”
Cary, Anita, Gail, and a throng of other staffers crowded the doorway.
“Remember,” Nora said, “be strong but not combative. No cursing. The voter is always right. And what are Mane’s weaknesses?”
“Economy. Poor follow-through. Disingenuous.”
“Exactly. Hit ’em all.”
“Excellent suit choice,” Cary said. “You look like you mean business, like Matt Bomer in White Collar.” Logan was in a formal midnight blue suit tonight. It was all about downplaying his youth, making him seem as qualified and capable as Mane. His hair was carefully brushed back—no soft curls this evening—and his beard was precisely trimmed, a darker version of a five-o’clock shadow. He looked razor-sharp.
“He’s ready,” Nora said. “Team, clear out. Alexis.”
I snapped to attention, hopping out of my chair.
“Fix his pin, straighten his tie, then send him out.”
I nodded as the rest of the campaign filtered out, honored to have a job.
“Not combative, not combative,” Logan murmured. His eyes were fixed on the middle distance. Mentally, he was already on the debate stage.
I righted his flag pin. “You’ve got this. You’re a million times the politician Mane is.”
He rocked on his heels and shook his arms out, tilting his head from left to right like a boxer prepping for a match. “I’ve got this.”
I straightened his tie and brushed his arms free of wrinkles. “You’re going to get out there and crush it.”
He nodded, still rocking. “Going to crush it.”
“Good. Now go. Good luck.”
“Thank you,” he said quickly, then twisted his watch into place, cupped my face, and kissed me. His warm lips pressed to mine for the briefest moment, then he spun for the door.
And froze.
I stood shell-shocked against the high table.
Slowly, Logan turned, face as white as a ghost’s, eyes wide as saucers. “Fuck. I’m so sorry. It was a reflex.”
We stared at each other for a long moment. My heart pounded. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”
“Logan, get out here!” Nora’s head popped in. “Now!”
“Right,” he said dazedly, and walked out the door, eyes still unblinking. Immediately, his staffers caught him by the shoulders and marched him toward the stage.
I watched the back of his head until he disappeared, my fingers tracing my lips. Mistake or not, I needed a minute to remember how to breathe.
The entire row of Logan’s staffers winced as Governor Mane cut in yet again, interrupting Logan’s carefully worded point about immigration. We were seated close to the stage in the large, moodily lit auditorium, but it was still easier to look up at the giant TV monitors hanging on either side of the curtains, which showed Logan’s face closeup. In high-definition, he frowned and gripped the sides of his podium until his knuckles went white. The governor droned on, but he didn’t jump in. Didn’t berate him, call Mane a phony or indulge in a single one of what I knew were his natural instincts. Mane finished making his point and the crowd burst into applause, loudest from the RNC camp in the corner.
Thirty minutes in, and the debate was not going well.
“Why is he being so weak?” Cary hissed. I’d ended up sandwiched between him and Nora, which at least meant that every time I recoiled or cringed watching the governor trample Logan, they’d been right there with me. Shared suffering.
“I don’t know.” Nora shook her head, eyes searching Logan’s image on the screen. “He knows this stuff cold, and Mane isn’t saying anything unexpected. But Logan’s pulling all his punches.”
“I think he’s overcorrecting,” I said quietly, and both Cary and Nora turned.
“What do you mean?” Nora asked.
“I think he’s so worried about coming across as combative that he’s checking himself too much.”
“Maybe,” she murmured, and we all looked back at the stage. One of the moderators was asking Logan the next question.
“Mr. Arthur, rising health care costs are one of Texans’ greatest sources of anxiety, according to a new Texas Tribune poll. What would you say to those worried about the costs of their prescription drugs?”
“He knows this one,” I whispered excitedly. “We practiced.”
Nora shot me a hopeful look—and, to my surprise, grabbed my hand. We gripped each other while we waited for Logan to answer.
“I would say, first and foremost, that I hear them.” Logan’s voice was strong and sure. “It’s unacceptable for medicine to be priced so astronomically that the very people it’s meant to help can’t afford it. No one should have to choose between their rent and their cancer treatment.”
Nora squeezed my hand.
“That’s why one of the first things I’ll do if elected...” Logan’s gaze cast out into the audience. A strange look came over his face, as if he’d just gone somewhere else. He looked down at his podium. A collective pall fell over our row. In front of us, the DNC guys started whispering furiously.
“What is happening right now?” Cary’s face was horrified.
“Where are you, Logan?” Nora whispered. “Get your head back in the game.”
“Is...” Logan’s attention returned to the moderator. “Enact my ten-point health care reform plan, which will expand Medicaid...” Logan wrapped up his answer succinctly and the question was tossed over to Mane, who leaped in immediately and started hammering out his plans. It was hard not to compare their energy.
“He’s distracted,” Nora said. She had an aha light in her eyes. “Something’s throwing him.”
I felt the ghostly pressure of his lips on mine. Then the look of horror on his face that followed. Guilt stabbed through me.
“Logan is never distracted,” Cary whispered. “Not when he’s arguing, not when he’s talking to voters, hell, not even playing soccer. Whatever this is, it has to be big.”
I remembered what Logan told me about his breakup with Tinsley, how it had been so bad he’d all but checked out the last week. Relationships got in his head, which is why he’d stopped dating in the first place. Somehow, our fake relationship was having the same effect.
“Did he tell you anything in the dressing room?” Nora asked me, snapping me out of my thoughts. “Do you have any clue what’s distracting him?”
With Nora’s and Cary’s eyes on me, I dipped in my seat. “No.” My cheeks flamed. “Nothing I can think of.”
I peeked up at Logan’s face on-screen. His mouth was set in a frustrated line as the moderator asked Governor Mane the next question, but his eyes...once again, they cast out into the audience, as if he couldn’t help searching for someone. What if he was looking for me, driven by the compulsion to make sure I knew the kiss was a mistake?
The guilt sank me lower in my seat.