Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Lying in bed, Reagan watched the ceiling fan spin through half-lidded eyes, thoughts of what could have been, like a film, projecting in his mind. It was a construct he had meticulously created over the thousands of times he revisited the ordeal of that horrible day when an evil blue grinning koala first appeared on his tv. It made headlines that republican senate hopeful Reagan Esen Demir had come out as a trans woman. After being told about the deluge of harassment, and the tsunami of threatening phone calls his staffers had to endure in the aftermath, he knew it was all over.

Reagan hadn’t left his lavish apartment since Eva dropped him off. At first, he tried what the old woman at the DMV suggested. Of course that was a dead end, but they got back to him faster than he would typically expect from a bloated government bureaucracy. The bad news was that things were far worse than he could have even imagined. The gender marker on his documents could be adjusted, so long as he brought in a court order from a judge accompanying a letter from the attending physician stating he was undergoing appropriate clinical treatment for his transition to male. The more he tried to explain that he was already male, and had been so his entire life, the more confused the representative got. A transfer to the manager only got him assurances that their system had not been hacked, and when he pushed harder he was only accused of attempted identity theft for his efforts.

His lack of progress, plus the withdrawing campaign donors, and the swarming press, not to mention repeatedly being misgendered on the phone while trying to sort out the mess, knocked the man down as low as he'd ever been. When the deliveries began to arrive he was pretty much done. Done with the stress. Done with the day. Done with everything.

Boxes upon boxes showed up, all within a few days. In the first package he found four different brightly colored bottles of nail polish, and he was beyond pissed. His bank said, if he wanted his money back, he needed to work with Amazon to return the products, and in the meantime they would investigate his fraud claim on the plethora of transactions. It was the singular piece of good news, but the only thing he took away was that it wouldn’t be dealt with any time soon.

Problem after problem piled up. He no longer had a car. It was left in the parking lot of the DMV. That decision, followed by not returning to pick it up meant the car had been towed. Reagan had considered getting a staffer to collect it, but with only a few women sticking around in the office after his great public shaming, he couldn’t bring himself to rely on the fairer sex in that way.

That meant all the boxes that were piling up became just another problem he couldn’t immediately solve. The bank said to work it out with Amazon, and Amazon said that the products would need to be returned first, and without a car, he couldn't return them himself. The amazon representative did offer to have a delivery person come by and pick them up, but in the disheveled throws of deep depression, Reagan couldn’t bear the shame of being seen in such a low state by the working class. With everything mounting, the typically commanding man felt himself begin to crumble. From there it was easy to crawl into a bottle, robbing him further of the physical and mental energy required to take microscopically small bites out of an extremely big problem.

This was the condition Eva found Reagan in when she visited him nearly a month after that fateful morning. Politically, the winds had shifted, and while things hadn’t developed as Reagan would have preferred, she believed she had found a way for him to win. The problem was he stopped answering his phone, nor did he return any calls. After knocking on his apartment door, she waited for about forty seconds, then knocked a second time. Still there was no answer, not even so much as a shout of “Go away!”

Eva sighed, fishing around in her work satchel for the emergency key he’d given her at the start of the campaign. As she slowly swung the door open, the woman wretched, as the stench of the dwelling came wafting out. It was a musky smell, but rotten garbage was doing its fair share as well, leaving her to grimace as she stepped into the unlit entryway. Flipping a light switch, she sighed again, first laying eyes on the mountainous mess. She had always known Reagan to be neat and tidy. He was a type-A personality like herself, and when a task needed done, he did it. Sure, he complained while doing so, but that did nothing to slow the man’s steamroller productivity.

Eva saw two wine bottles on a table, one tipped over, its contents dribbling out. A single decaying slice in an open pizza box sat on the floor, also containing a pair of white men's briefs. She was amazed there were no roaches, or ants, at least that she had yet to see.

“Jesus, Reagan, I didn’t think you’d fall this far. I know you don’t do anything half-assed, but I never thought I would see the day someone could perfect the art of giving up.” Those words were kept quietly to herself, but the next could be heard two counties over.

“Reagan Esen Demir, get your ass out here this instant!”

Sitting up in his bed, Reagan had his laptop resting on a tray, previously used for breakfast in bed on the rare occasion when he would allow a woman to stay all the way through the night. He paused an episode of Good Eats, that day’s distraction, before pulling off his headphones. Moving the tray to the side, he tossed his covers away and stood on wobbly legs. Grabbing a bottle, he took a swig of warm beer before slowly making his way to the living room.

“Eva? What are you… Wait, hold on, I should put on pants.”

Eva stared in disbelief at what she saw before her. The proud confident man she’d always known wasn’t there, instead finding the guy you’d meet on the corner, thirteen quarters short of a fresh bottle.

His blonde hair had grown over the month. Reagan needed a trim when she last saw him, but now it was positively shaggy. His well-groomed beard hadn't grown out nearly as much, but it was more than a little bushy. Dressed in a filthy, stained, tank undershirt, along with what she was sure was a pair of dirty white briefs, his bright blue, captivating eyes wore dark circles underneath, and his movements were sluggish as she watched him spin around, frantically looking for any piece of cloth that could conceal his modesty, clean or otherwise.

"Rey..."

"Yeah?"

Reagan replied without looking, bending down to search under his table. He remembered stripping off a pair of khakis somewhere in the living room. When he found them under the table covered in a smattering of red stains, he remembered why he left them there in the first place. He spilled wine, said, "Fuck it..." and abandoned the garment to rot along with his hopes and dreams.

"Sorry… I haven't done laundry and…" His voice trailed off, unsure of where to go from there.

The auburn-haired woman pitied the man, seemingly disheartened by the sight of a ruined pair of trousers. "Don't worry about the pants, Rey. We’ve got a lot to discuss."

"If it's good news, then I am all ears, but if it's about all the boxes, I don't want to talk about it. I've run out of places to stick them."

Taking another look around the room, Eva took notice of the piling deliveries. "No, this isn't about your shopping addiction..." she began, but stopped short when Reagan started losing focus. She craned her head to make sure the two were locking eyes, then continued, "Reagan, I need you to look at me and tell me what the difference is between us."

"I dunno," he answered, looking the woman over. She was in her late twenties, her hair was perfectly styled, as always. There wasn't so much as a strand out of place. Her makeup was freshly touched. She wore an ivory blouse with a pussybow at the collar, a burgundy leather wrap skirt, with dark hose and matching heels that added just enough height to stand a few inches taller than her greasy-haired friend. "You're wearing more clothes than me?"

Taking another swig of warm beer, his eyes lingered on the swell of her breasts for a pregnant moment, then belched without apology. 'I really should go get some pants,' he thought, though he still stood there, doing nothing to solve the problem.

"Yes, there is that, but there's more to it than that. I'm well-dressed - put together, and you," Eva pressed her finger to his chest, wondering if she should wash her hand after doing so, "not so much. No one is going to vote for you, looking like that."

"Yeah, okay." Reagan groaned, rolling his eyes. "Last I checked, nobody's voting for me anyway. I doubt informing the media I was hacked is going to change that."

With a smile, Eva held one finger up, as she pulled her laptop from her bag. She once thought having the two televisions mounted on the walls facing one another was odd. "Oh, I didn't contact anyone about the hack," she stated matter-of-factly.

"Why didn't you…" Reagan began, raising his voice a little, but it quickly fizzled out. He just didn't have it in him to yell. He hated when people half-assed their jobs. His father always said that only led to mediocrity. The older he got, the more he believed it. Insubordination always had him up in arms, but when that person was Eva, it hit differently. 'Even she doesn't think I'm worth the effort now… and I can't blame her.'

He shook his head slowly from side to side while tapping his tongue to the inside of his cheek. "Never mind, it doesn't matter."

"Well, I wouldn't say that. I planned to come find you when I had something more concrete to say than “blue koala pirate hackers made you a woman in the government's eyes.” That, in and of itself, is a mouthful, and completely useless. We don't know who they really are, not yet at least, but that's neither here nor there.

"I come bearing good news. Ryan found mention of them in some forum, and we have a lead. Someone is willing to part ways with some information, once we can afford to compensate them. Now, before you say, we don't have any money, I know, but I have even better news."

With a keystroke, Eva brought both the televisions to life, as they showed a document containing a list of public donations recently made to the campaign.

Reagan’s tired eyes flicked back and forth between the screens. Both showed the same thing, a massive uptick in small donors, the grand total of which far exceeded what he was raking in before from their corporate counterparts. “You’re saying we’ve raised this much…for real…?” The man was utterly befuddled.

“As you can see, we are no longer broke. No big business, no PACs, but the pledges of two dollars, five dollars, twenty dollars – it really adds up. There’s even quite a few three-hundred-thou maxes in there.”

Blinking a few times, Reagan nodded his head. That all sounded good, too good to be true. It still didn’t make any sense to him. The world now knew him as some sexual predator groomer. The idea that any Republican would donate to him felt as likely as Fidel Castro scoring the party’s presidential nomination on the next go around. The news should have filled him with joy or hope, or anything positive, but instead, he was somehow even more despondent. It only made him think he was dreaming. “Just like that, magically all my problems are solved?” he asked, incredulously.

Bumping his shoulder with her own, Eva shot him a half-hearted glare. She didn’t appreciate being spoken to that way, but also understood where he was at that moment, especially now that she had seen his ‘unkept presentation’ – the politest way she could phrase it in her thoughts.

“No magic, just a lot of hard work. The Reagan I know isn’t afraid of rolling up his sleeves when shit needs to get done.” She didn’t mean that literally. Eva wasn’t sure the privileged man had ever done any real manual labor in his life, but a few all-nighters with a study group back in college showed the campaign manager how much effort he could put in when his back was against the wall. “Reagan, somehow, you’ve become the grassroots candidate, and it’s brought in donations we didn’t even have to canvas or advertise to get. Here, let me show you this!”

Excitement dripping in her voice, she changed slides, the new one displaying their most recent polls. His numbers were up with both Independents and Democrats, though Eve carefully chose to leave out the Republican response. That would have been counterproductive.

His exuberant friend grabbed the bedraggled man by his beard and turned his head to see what was clearly evident. Eva had high hopes for her plan, and if she played it right, got her stalking horse to do what she wished, then they could probably peel enough votes away from the left and the middle. Many people would still vote straight Democrat on the ballot because that's what they always did, but the same was true for the other side. By her best estimations, Reagan would get just as many, if not more votes piling in. Worst-case scenario, if he lost, it could **** the Republican party to move more towards the middle.

The idea that this very thing happened when Teddy Roosevelt ran, how he lost his first election running with the Bull Moose party, but stole so many Republican votes away that they had to move on – had to become more progressive. It was a win-win, except for how Reagan would feel, but if they won, she was sure he would get over it - probably.

"Your approvals are up, Rey! The time to act is now! If you do everything I say, the name Reagan Esen Demir will be counted among this country's leaders!"

Reagan's half-closed eyes snapped open as he took in the information presented to him. 'Grassroots…? Wait…' he thought to himself as his tired mind processed the new information. His baby blues focused on the screen, the pieces coming together. "So, I'm more popular with the left now?"

Clapping her hands together with excitement, Eva nodded vigorously, a tight happy smile spread across her face. “And independents - less than, but the gains are significant. Your message…” She paused briefly, mentally correcting ‘Our message…’ before continuing, “...already resonated with them and the new publicity just pulled a few more. Your predecessors had the backing of the party, but we have something they don’t. We have the blue votes! Now, I asked you before about the difference between us. Do you know what I’m talking about yet?”

Reagan stood there soaking in the good news. He started to feel that familiar rush - the feeling of winning. It was tempered by the struggle of the previous month, but it was there. “Is it your level of enthusiasm? You know these numbers won't hold. If these mooks bought into what the hackers said, it’s going to vanish once we clear things up.”

Despite the splash of cold water, Eva’s smile only grew. “No Rey, the difference between us is that even though we’re both women, legally speaking, I’m the only one who looks like one.”

“What!? I’m not some queer!” Reagan shot back, as he spun to face his longtime friend. He often masked his **** feelings, but that psychological wall was thin in his current malnourished state.

“Queer? No, Rey, you are trans. The news says it, your website says it, no matter what we do people are going to keep saying it. This is a weapon we can wield. All you have to do is pick it up.”

Standing there, still half dressed, Regan looked into Eva’s golden-brown eyes. He didn’t respond, trying to process the sheer audacity of such a suggestion.

“Rey… Reagan,” Eva rested her hand on the blonde man’s forearm, “you once told me that you could spin any news into good news. That’s exactly what we’re doing, but here is the thing - at this point, if you don’t seize this opportunity, you’re out of the race. Is Reagan Esen Demir really going to quit? You're not a quitter. You’re not merely a competitor. You are a winner, and I only work for winners.”

The warm touch of another human being felt nice. The only people he had recently seen were the delivery drivers. Reagan never paid for a woman's company, but if he hadn't just went broke, he would have. He drew energy from others. Standing in front of a crowd as he spoke made him feel more alive than at any other time. Setting his hand over Eva's, he gave it a light squeeze.

"This is insane," he said, shaking his head. Her talk of staying in the race and being a winner was patronizing, and he knew it. She said it to play to his ego, and he hated that it was working. "No one is going to believe I want to be a girl. Heck, look at this beard. It doesn't scream “I’m a girl!” does it?"

Eva had to stop herself from pulling her hand away. Considering the sight and smell of him, she was positive he hadn't washed in some time. "Not a girl, a woman." She almost added that trans women have always been women, and it wasn't a choice, but that wouldn't help her convince him. The opposite was actually true. "Your look, including that beard, we can work on. You spoke of magic before. I'm going to tell you Rey, makeup can be downright magical."

"Eva," Reagan said firmly, "I'm not gay or trans or whatever, and I'm not going to pretend to be for the rest of my life to get a few votes."

"Hey, hey, hey." Eva moved a little closer, leaving her hand where it was, gently touching his neck with the other. She looked into his blue eyes and explained, "I'm on your side. You need to know that. We're still investigating the hackers, and we will find them – we will make them pay. No one said anything about the rest of your life.

"You can use this to get the votes, and once you're in office, just drop it. You'll just say you enjoy being a man more. You can say how others are lying about it not being a choice – that they're just lying about who they are. Some people won't like it, but to others, you could be a hero. Rey, people have always looked up to you. You're good looking. You've almost got it all. Don't you want to be a hero too?"