Margaret had dropped a bomb and seemed relieved when it failed to explode. After the laugh my anger left. We hugged. In the end, she was loyal and I appreciated that.
She told me she would remain with the NDP and its Dartmouth-Cole Harbour campaign. She was a political junkie too, and she needed to see it to the end. She seemed sincere. She might not be on my side but when this war turned dirty she maintained a level of human decency others in her camp had given up too quickly.
Maybe she was just alleviating her own burden of guilt, but she did me a favour and for this I was thankful. In politics, a business that prides itself on blindside hits and celebrates sucker punches, this heads up warning is more than I expected. Her act was thoughtful and kind – in its’ own complicated way.
As for a real shit heel, I was shocked Laura Scabber did what she did. I barely knew her and after meeting her once at a library conference and giving her advice on getting a job in a library she makes up this horrible, hateful lie about me. I guessed she bought into the “win at all costs” mentality and wanted to show her campaign bosses that she had the fortitude for the dirty side of the business. The NDP were so hungry for power they believed, like Stalin and Mao, they had to break some eggs to make an omelette. By eggs they mean heads. Mine included.
All the dirty stuff aside, I was flattered the competition considered me the frontrunner. Winning the election was a long shot when this race began so I didn’t think much about it. In the early days, I got so caught up in the enormous task of knocking on every door. One day at a time. Repeat.
I took great satisfaction highlighting with a yellow marker the streets we completed on the black and white map that hung on the wall in Al’s office. Voting day seemed a million doors away then. Time flies. Now, there were only a few doors left.
I spent the last of my coffee time considering how I should react to the NDP’s dirty move. In the end, there was only one option. I would do nothing. I would soldier on like a good Conservative. I would continue be honest about who I am. While there would be more tough times ahead, I was determined to be strong. When others ran for cover, it was my job to run toward the fire. Politics is not for sissies.
Back on the street, Frank and I spent the last hours of the campaign doing what we do best, knock on doors. There was a buzz growing for the vote. It was reassuring to see the growing number of blue and white signs with my name on people’s lawns. Al had always said lawn signs on private property were the best poll. If these signs were a measure of success then we had momentum.
We returned to the campaign headquarters around five pm. I was surprised to see so many people at the office. Cars were parked in every spot on both sides of the street and our small lot was double-stacked. People were gathered on the sidewalk. The energy was high. People were upbeat holding clipboards, pens, and campaign literature. Kids drew Conservative logos with chalk on the walkway in front of the building. I spotted a pizza delivery driver with a stack of ten boxes zigzag his way toward the entrance.
Inside the building, people were everywhere. I looked for Dot but Kathleen intercepted me. The ice queen shot me an angry glare.
“Your hookers are here,” she said.
“Fantastic. I figured we could use some help stroking the last few votes,” I replied.
Kathleen didn’t smile. However, I noticed her perpetually furrowed brow relax momentarily. Maybe I was finally getting through to her.
“They are asking about childcare. They said you promised them a babysitter?” she said.
“Hey, this is a grass roots campaign and we have to help the single moms. Dot already has it arranged,” I said with a wide smile.
“Unbelievable. I have been in this business a long time and this is the first time I am sending sex workers out with the candidate,” she said.
“Don’t forget what the leader says, we need a Big Tent to win…” I replied.
“Looking around at this circus I think you just added a new wing to the tent. Muammar Gaddafi would be jealous,” she responded as she turned to leave.
“Kathleen, there is something else we need to discuss. Do you have a minute?”
“No,” she responded curtly.
“It’s important,” I said.
“How important?” she asked.
“Campaign important,” I replied.
“Alright then, let’s talk. Follow me,” she said.
We marched straight into Al’s office. She didn’t knock before she entered. She knew it was vacant. It was her job to know everything about everyone and she did with the exception of what I was about to tell her.
I closed the door behind me and waited for her to turn around. She stared at me with her steel blue eyes which gave away no concern but I could tell she did not have any idea what was going on.
“So, what is it? I have a campaign to win and hookers to feed,” she said.
“I am gay,” I replied.
“Okay you are gay. So, what? It is a personal thing. Why tell me now?” she said
I could tell by the blank look on her face her methodical brain had trouble computing what this was supposed to mean.
“Because my NDP stooge friend, you remember Margaret?”
“Yes, of course.”
“She told me the NDP brain trust has decided to play dirty. They have someone who claims I made an inappropriate move on her at a conference a couple of years ago,” I said.
“What?”
“They are saying I abused my power and grabbed her ass,” I explained.
“Fucking NDP pricks, what is their plan?” she asked.
Her brief flash of anger switched back to her usual, in control, self.
We sat down and I told her Margaret’s story. She listened intently as I shared every shitty detail. I thought she would be pissed off and blow a gasket. Instead, she was calm, thoughtful, and almost compassionate.
“What should we do now?” I asked.
“We need to tell everyone so there are no surprises when these pricks get dirty, and that is it,” she replied.
“Hey, I can get behind that,” I said with a smile.
“Anything else?” she asked.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Just get out on the street with your hooker friends. I will take care of the rest,” she replied.
With my sexuality a hot topic in the closing days of the campaign, it seemed appropriate I walked the streets with working girls. The girls had the necessary skills for door-to-door canvassing. They could talk to anyone and were not easily offended. They also displayed loads of energy which let us cover a lot of ground. The line between politics and prostitution can be narrow indeed.
As for my now public sexuality, it was mostly a non-issue. People we talked had either not heard or didn’t care. There were a few exceptions: one guy, from a car window, yelled “Fag!” while Maggie and I worked the streets.
“Who the fuck is that idiot talking to?” asked Maggie.
“I think he meant that for me,” I replied.
“Really? You are kidding right?” she asked.
“No,” I said.
“Wow, I never would have guessed. You are a big rugged guy,” She said.
I shrugged my shoulders and smiled.
“You shouldn’t judge a book by its cover,” I replied.
She returned the smile.
“Gay really? Ha! You just haven’t been with a good woman. How about you come to my place tonight and I will show you what a good woman can do for you?” she said.
“Thanks for the generous offer Maggie, but I have been with a good woman, a few of them actually. I am afraid it doesn’t change a thing. We are who we are. It’s bred in the bone,” I replied.
“How about you come over anyway and I will take a good shot at making you change your mind?” she said with a smile.
“I appreciate the offer girl but I should save myself for election day. I may be getting a serious reaming then,” I replied.
Troy Myers 