The Conservative? continued…

It was election day.

With it, came an odd sense of calm. Behind the scenes, a hive of activity was going on as the get-out-the-vote machine tracked our supporters down with the diligence of a hungry bounty hunter. However, there was little for the candidate to do, and this didn’t feel right to me.

After thirty days of running, I didn’t know how to walk anymore. I wanted to feel useful so I asked Al if there was anything I could do. He told me to relax and stay the hell out of everyone’s way.

Speaking of Al, the harsh reaction I anticipated from him hearing the news of my sexuality never came. He was visually upset, his usual red-faced vein popping reaction, with the NDP’s dirty tactics with the Scabber accusation, but not a comment for me one way or the other. I discovered he thought a person’s private life should be just that, private. If anything, it fired up his hyper competitive spirit and made him want to kick the shit out of the competition even more. Once again, the person most surprised by me coming out was myself.

Following Al’s orders, I went for coffee. I chose Tim Horton’s over Starbucks. While I still preferred the taste of the more expensive coffee, I had grown attached to the cast of characters at Tim’s. It had become a safe zone for me. I calmed down as soon as I walked in.

“Hey how is it going?” the counter girls chimed.

“Great, it’s showtime. It’s all over but the crying,” I replied.

“Shouldn’t you be out beating the pavement?” asked the older of the two.

“Girl, the pavement is beaten black and blue. Nothing to do but sit back and let the people do their democratic duty. The boss told me to get out of everyone’s hair so I came here to harass you guys,” I said with a smile.

“Just what we need, another lonely person collecting a government cheque hanging out at Tim Horton’s,” she replied.

“Ha! Always room for one more here,” I said.

“Hey, for what it is worth I voted for you,” she told me.

“I did too,” added her younger coworker with a big smile.

“Wow, that’s great, thank you!” I responded.

This public support was nice to hear. I came to the right place for coffee.

“And, for the record Troy, I didn’t vote Conservative last time,” said the older woman.

“But you earned my vote on Camp Day. You kept up and didn’t complain – even when your leader was being an asshole. Jesus, was that guy ever a dick! And not once did you lose your cool. You made us laugh all day!” she added.

“Thanks. That means a lot to me,” I responded with a flush of emotion.

“I was impressed with your grace under pressure. If you can work here you can work anywhere.”

“Hey, I feel the same way,” added the younger girl.

“Wow, I thought all I did was screw it up…” I replied.

“Not a chance. You were great! And, for me, this is my first time to vote. You get my democratic virginity…” She said with a wink.

“Ha… I don’t know what to say… being your first means a lot to me…” I stammered.

“Excellent. Now, what can we get you today? We gotta keep the line moving!” she said smiling.

“The show must go on,” I replied.

I repeated from memory a complicated coffee list with combinations of milk, cream and sweeteners for ten people. The girls had taught me well.

“Wow, you are good!” said the older woman.

“When it comes to coffee, I was taught by the best,” I said.

“With your sharp memory and your ability to dish shameless flattery like that maybe you will make a good politician,” she joked.

“Thanks.”

“If it doesn’t work out though there will always be a spot for you here,” she added.

The rest of the day was spent anxiously spinning my wheels. After being on a hectic schedule from seven a.m. until ten p.m. seven days a week for the last four weeks, I found it hard to stop and do nothing. My brain and body both buzzed and craved activity. I was still in campaign mode and wanted to walk the streets.

I had been changed by this political work and needed community contact. Being told to sit back, relax, and wait for the results to come in didn’t work for me. Two weeks ago, I wanted badly to take a break and now I didn’t know what to do with myself. This abrupt ending to my marathon journey was hard to take. I guessed this must be what a video lottery addict feels like at closing time when the flashing lights shut off and the door gets locked.

The rest of the day became a blur of faces, conversation, and coffee. I returned to the Tim Horton’s two more times. Al wanted me out of the office and visible so I went for coffee when anyone needed it. I also offered to do the liquor store run, but he said the candidate shouldn’t be seen buying booze on Election Day with Nova Scotia’s long history of trading rum for votes. I promised to avoid the rum section of the store but Al found someone else to purchase booze for the after party.

In case I had to drown my sorrows my personal bar was ready. I don’t recommend throwing alcohol on grief to other people, but it works for me. Especially if it is an eighteen-year-old single malt whiskey. The peaty bliss in a bottle is a true tonic. When we Scots get loaded and sing to the fog covered hills the world seems like a better place. My affection for whiskey is burnt into my DNA from generations that shivered in shit hole sod huts stuck on the side of treeless, wind beaten, hills. I am convinced, without whiskey, my family wouldn’t have made it this far.

Mercifully, the wait was soon over. At exactly eight p.m. polls all over Atlantic Canada shut the doors and the Election Canada deputies got down to counting ballots. All parties had observers to make sure the process was free, fair and no errors occurred. As a candidate I was entitled to watch too. Instead, I stayed in the comfortable clutch of my team. With the speed of the results being posted, there was no real advantage to being physically at the returning office. The tale would be told soon enough.

It didn’t take long for the get-out-the-vote volunteers to return to our Albro Lake Road office. As they came in, Al handed cans of Keith’s beer out of an ice filled blue paper recycling bin. The cans disappeared as quickly as his big hands could pull them out. The long tradition of alcohol offered in reward for political labour continued in our campaign. I watched Dot grab a can and take it outside to compliment the cigarette she held in her lips. Maggie and a few of her friends joined her. Within minutes the place had shifted from all business to party mode. The work was done. The campaign was over.

The core team huddled around the television and waited for the results. By huddled, I mean Al stood in front of the thirty-six-inch screen while the rest of us listened to the CBC commentators and caught glimpses when we could. Kathleen did her best to muscle Al out of position but she soon accepted this was one battle she wouldn’t win with the big man

Dale chose to sit in front of Dot’s computer where it was less crowded. He guessed the Elections Canada website would post the results before the CBC news team announced winners and losers. I agreed with his hunch but stayed at the television. I needed someone to process the information for me. I was too nervous to do the job myself.

We didn’t have to wait long. Dale had been right about the website but not by much. Only seconds after Dale read the results from Dot’s screen, the CBC anchor started to broadcast the numbers. Our group tightened around the television. Al turned the volume up. On cue, Dot and the hookers rushed in holding smokes and beer. Todd and Suzanne handed out more cans of Keith’s.

Poll by poll the numbers came in. The early lead went to the NDP with us in second and the Liberals a distant third. I was discouraged. I feared the NDP’s last-minute smear campaign had been effective and my support had been killed by this negative attack.

After half the polls reported, things got interesting. The race tightened up. The Liberal candidate gathered support and began to make a three-way go of it. The NDP candidate was still winning but her lead had narrowed to seventy-seven votes. The Liberal was in third place but only by one hundred and thirty votes. The tension and excitement in the campaign office grew. We were in a horse race neck and neck down to the wire.

Dot distributed more beer and the hookers offered cigarettes to everyone in the room. The group around the television grew and tightened. There was little space left. Cigarette smoke filled the room. Visibly annoyed, Kathleen asked people to smoke outside. Dot and the hookers ignored her.

When the next batch of polls came in, things got more interesting. We watched as the tally pushed our large blue C logo above the digital orange NDP brand. The Liberal candidate remained in third but only by a bit. I watched in shock as we took the lead by three hundred and twenty votes. Minutes later, we were in the lead by four hundred and eighty! At that moment, the nervous tension in the room shifted to elation. The entire room buzzed with anticipation. Then, it happened. With only ten polls left to report, the CBC talking heads officially declared me the winner. Wow.

The campaign headquarters erupted into loud cheers and people hugged anyone they could get their hands on. Kathleen was the first person to grab me. I witnessed her icy demeanor crack briefly. She threw her arms around me and kissed me on the lips. This shocked me almost as much as the election results. As quickly as it came however, this rare display of humanity was gone. She went back to work thumbing her phone which began to buzz non-stop.

The celebratory mood of the room caught like a dry grass fire. More beer arrived and the physical affection was contagious. Everyone caught the fever. The thrill of this victory was better than any I had experienced in all my years of sport.

“Holy shit! We won!!,” screamed Dale.

“Awesome!” shouted Maggie.

I was speechless. I had a hard time processing what had just happened. A Conservative hasn’t won this riding for more than thirty years. Even after all the hard work and effort we had put into the race I still couldn’t believe it. Slowly, it began to sink in. We had won. I was going to Ottawa to represent the people of Dartmouth and Cole Harbour! Holy shit!!

Dot hugged me harder than ever. I loved her cigarette scent and whiskered cheeks more than ever.

“Good job, Mr. Member of Parliament!!”

“Thanks Dot! Please not so formal… Can you just call me member instead? I like the sound of that…” I replied with a massive smile.

I hugged her again like she was my mother and I had just been released from prison. I held her tightly and gave her a huge kiss on the lips.

“Okay Mr. Member, whatever you say,”

“How about Sir Member?”

“Whatever you want kid. How about Dr. Dick?” she joked.

“Dr. Dick… that works.”

Ha. Promise me one thing…” she said.

“Sure Dot. I couldn’t have done this without you. Shoot.”

“You are a good guy and a hard worker. Don’t ever lose that, and never forget where you came from okay? This party was built by people like that. People like you. Stay humble and stick to the basics. Work hard. Always be the first to show up, the last to leave, and help your host put away the chairs,” she said.

“Yes Dot. I will,” I replied.

“And always take my call. If you don’t, I will kick your ass.”

“For sure. Anytime, anywhere. I am your man,” I said.

“Perfect. Now, go enjoy the party. You earned it kid. Have fun while you can. Tomorrow is when the work really starts. And don’t sweat the gay thing. No one gives a shit about that anymore,” she said with a big smile.

We hugged again. She squeezed me so hard I found it hard to breathe. She only let me go when Al approached.

“May I have a word with the Honourable Member, Dot?”

“Sure boss, I will order up some food for everyone. I am sure his hooker friends are getting hungry after all the political whoring,” she replied.

Al turned and walked to the back of the room. I took this as my cue to follow. The crowd parted for the big man. Once in his office, he gestured for me to sit. He closed the door behind us and sat down. I sat silently and watched him get comfortable. I worried again for the rented chair.

Al reached into the bottom drawer of his desk and pulled out two glasses, fine Nova Scotia crystal Titanic cut, and placed them on the desk. He then pulled out a bottle of whiskey, eighteen-year-old Glen Livet. I smiled in approval.

He filled both glasses half-full and pushed one toward me. Before I could pick it up and warm the whiskey, Al held up a hand like he was stopping traffic.

“Hold on,” said the big man.

“Okay boss. You look like you want to say something,” I said with some trepidation.

“Yes. There is something I need to get off my chest,” he responded.

With my trepidation turned to dread I waited as the whiskey’s smoky aroma wafted in the air.

“Shoot,” I said.

“Can I ask why you didn’t tell me? You must have thought word was going to get out?”

I paused and contemplated a response.

“I don’t know. It’s a tough thing Al. I didn’t think you would take it well. No offence, but you are a pretty intimidating guy,” I said.

“People say that.”

“I was worried you wouldn’t work with us. On top of that, I believe it’s not anyone’s business but my own,” I explained.

“Now that you have won, everything you do and say is public business. The quicker you accept the fact your privacy will no longer be respected the better off you will be. You got that? As for not working with you because you might be gay, what kind of person do you think I am?” said the big man.

“Al don’t take this the wrong way but you are the scariest conservative I know,” I replied.

“Really? From where I sit, you are acting like the scariest Conservative in the room. Let it go kid. Be yourself. At the end of the day, people voted for you because they think you are the best candidate. Most people could care less if you are gay or straight. This vote’s result show that. They supported you because you worked harder than everyone else and they trust you and want to put their faith in you. So, its time you start reciprocating that faith. This game works best when elected people, as well as the people who vote for them, believe in each other. Without that, it breaks down quicker than a hockey team with a lame goalie.”

“You’re right Al. I am sorry. I should have been completely honest with you from the beginning,” I said.

“Yes, you should have. Another thing you should know about me. I knew your grandfather. I met him when I was a sixteen-year old young Tory trolling the halls at the annual meetings at the Westin.”

“Wow Al, I didn’t know that…” I interjected.

“Your grandfather had an electric personality with the persuasive powers of a TV evangelist. He was also incredibly passionate about this party and this province. He inspired a lot of people to feel that same passion. I am one of those people Troy. I am a lifelong Tory because your grandfather inspired me to believe that politics can make a difference. He was a great guy. Practice what he preached and you will be a great MP.”

“I will do my best boss.”

“The Conservative party may be currently stuck too far on the right for my liking. It is currently on a shaky foundation with its pillars of ‘faith, freedom, and family’ and this needs to evolve in my opinion. I believe you are the sort of person who can help it change and bring the party back to the middle where Canadians want it to be.”

“Okay Al. You have my word. As for not telling you the whole truth, I am sorry for that. Will you forgive me?” I asked.

“I suppose so. We are friends. We always have been. We always will be,” he replied, “but there are two conditions, ” he replied.

He paused to pick up his whiskey and gave me the green light to grab mine.

“Sure Al, whatever you want. Just name it.”

“First, I want you to take Frank to Ottawa. He is a hard worker with a lot of talent. I have to admit I was wrong about him,” he said.

“Great idea. He could use a fresh start. Consider it done, and the second?” I asked.

“I want your MP’s spouse pin when you get it. Now that you are out, we might as well have some fun with it. You know my motto?”

“Go big or stay at home?” I responded.

“Exactly.”

He reached across the desk and held his glass in front of me. I clinked it with mine.

“Enjoy the whiskey kid. It may be your last.”

“What? I got elected. I am not going to prison…”

“Drinking and smoking are the new gay on the Hill. You are going to have to hide those bad habits,” he quipped.

“It will be hard but I will do my best,” I said with a smile.

“Of course, you will. If you don’t, I will kick your ass,” he replied.

“I promise you I will be a good Conservative promoting good conservative values. Any drinking and smoking will be done behind closed doors.”

“Perfect. Now let’s go join the party. Your public awaits.”

We finished our whiskey and left the office. No hugs with this guy.

The place was packed with people having a good time. Prince played on a pair of portable Bluetooth speakers which had joined the cases of beer and bottles of wine on the war room table. The maps, lists, pens and clipboards were gone. As we joined the crowd, Dale spotted us and yelled.

“Ladies and Gentlemen! May I introduce the Member of Parliament for Dartmouth and Cole Harbour the Right Honourable Troy Myers!!”

The crowd erupted into loud applause and the party moved into full swing. I finished my whiskey and was on my way to get a beer when I spotted a familiar face. It was my favourite CBC reporter. I made my way over to her to say hello and give her my first official interview. It was the least I could do given she had saved my life. I was surprised to see she was without her trusted selfie stick.

“Hey,” I said as I tapped her shoulder.

“Oh, hey!” she replied.

“You are the hardest working journalist I know. First on the scene. Well done! I didn’t get a chance to thank you for helping me the other night. Without you and your selfie stick, tonight’s result might have been different. The least I can do is give you my first interview,” I said with a smile.

“Thank you for the offer but I don’t work for the CBC anymore,” she replied.

“What? What happened?” I said.

“After the dust settled, I was called into the office Monday morning. The Senior Editor was waiting with a senior manager from HR. I could feel tension in the air. It is true what they say, if you see someone from human resources in the meeting, things are not going well for you. ”

“Oh my god…” I said.

“My editor was critical of my actions. She said I crossed a line and inserted myself in the story. She said my credibility has been compromised. Effective immediately, I was put on unpaid leave for four weeks. When the leave is over, she said I would be re-assigned to a different province.”

“What the hell? Inserted yourself in the story? You did what any decent person would do. How can they give you shit for that? Jesus, that is unbelievable! How did you respond to that bullshit?” I asked.

“Like any decent person would, I quit,” she replied.

“Wow, I am sorry to hear that Colleen. That is shitty! What are you going to do now?”

“No idea. I will find something. I just came tonight to say congratulations. In my opinion, the best person won,” she replied.

“Thank you. Why don’t you stick around? We need people with skills like yours around here.”

“That sounds like a good idea Troy. I think I will. I could use a little fun tonight,” she replied smiling.

Moments later, we were swept up in the happy times which come after winning a political campaign. With the election over, our diverse group of political addicts and odd community characters embraced the campaign party with gusto. The night proved to be a great celebration of our accomplishment, however there was a clear understanding it was more than the end of something. We also knew it was the beginning of something far more significant.

None of us would ever be the same again.