The Queen

Maddie stands at the entrance of her building, dressed in a light grey blouse with a dark jacket over it, the two hulking bodyguards by her side only accentuating the slimness of her figure. Behind her, I catch the barest glimpse of her staffers—my new colleagues—bustling about, phones glued to ears, papers exchanging hands, quick conversation and coffees the one constant from the silhouette we’re allowed a peek of. From her place at the top of those marble steps leading up to her building, Maddie gives the protesters a hundred-yard stare that could freeze the Sahara.

They notice her presence, and as one, fall silent. For a moment, there’s nothing to be heard but the low rumble of cars driving by on the street.

“Those of us gathered here today wish each other no harm. We all want what’s best for this great state. Please let my friends go,” Maddie says.

Her voice is no louder than that of a mother soothing a bawling baby, and almost reflexively, the protesters stand aside, a clear path appearing between us and Maddie. I stride forwards, knowing that Irene will follow close behind, and I watch as Maddie makes her way down the steps to greet us.

“I thought they were your employees!” somebody calls out from the crowd. “How’re they your friends?”

Maddie glances at the man who yelled the question, and a genuine smile springs to my sister’s lips, her expression softening.

“It’s true that Claude’s one of my new deputy campaign managers, and Irene works for me too,” she says. “It’s their first day on the job, and I haven’t had much of a chance to get to know them yet. But that doesn’t stop them from being my friends. There are better politics than constantly being at each other’s throats.”

Maddie opens her arms, and I take the last few steps to meet her, giving her a brief hug. Well handled, she whispers into my ear. I would have said the same to her, but she breaks away, turning to hug Irene too; I’m still not sure if the two have met before and if there’s real affection on display there, or if this is all just hamming it up for the cameras trained on us.

“That’s all talk unless you can back it up with action! Do you promise to not run any attack ads this coming election cycle?” somebody else yells.

These people. Always ready to jump in with a gotcha.

“I believe in reciprocity. I’ll refrain from any attack ads so long as Representative Vanderbilt acts in kind. Besides, everyone’s tired of that kind of negativity. It’s no good for the soul,” Maddie laughs, that folksy affability that she’s worked so hard on over the years shining through. There are brief murmurs as the protestors on the ground take in the news. “Since y’all gathered here have been so vocal about being heard, I figured I'd take half an hour to answer some questions you may have. Now, my morning briefing was interrupted by the ruckus, so I might not have all the answers just yet, but if there’s anything I’m missing, I’m sure my staff will get you something by the end of the session. So if y’all wouldn’t mind forming a line right down here, I’ll make sure that everybody gets heard.”

And just like that, the unruly crowd is tamed, moulded into a neat line that criss-crosses the length of the front lawn. The first woman to step forward wears the same Democrat blue as the rest of her compatriots, but I see an assortment of green buttons sewn onto the front of her shirt.

“Hi, Eva from the Sierra Club,” she says, her voice unusually high pitched. “Are you going to do anything to stop the strip-mining that’s ravaging our state? Every year we let it continue, we do irreversible damage to the environment! You can’t let it just go on!”

“It’s always painful, having to choose between keeping the lights on and preserving mother nature. But to put a stop to strip-mining would leave all those hardworking parents without the means to feed their children, and it would leave our cities without the means to keep all our appliances running,” Maddie says, sounding apologetic. She sees the sour look on the woman’s face and continues in a brighter voice. “That’s why, last year, I signed onto a bill that helps curb the worst practices that surface miners practice. We might not be able to go without power, Eva, but we sure as heck can do a better job producing it.”

Though the woman at the front doesn’t look completely satisfied with the answer, I catch more people nodding along with Maddie than not. It’s a tough crowd, but she seems to have their pulse. Meanwhile, I’ve just been standing there by her side, feeling somewhat awkward and out of place. I give Maddie a questioning look, wondering what she wants me to do, when the man at the front of the queue steps up.

“Senator Najbreit, thanks for holding this impromptu meeting,” he says, speaking quickly and firmly. “I just had a brief question about the man standing beside you, the one that you introduced as Claude.” Maddie nods, indicating for him to continue. “He looked familiar to me, and then I realised where I'd seen him before.” He turns to look at me, a strange grin on his face. “You’re the one who saved Scarlet Najbreit, aren’t you?”

“I am,” I confirm. Is this going to be a low-ball question, an easy one to knock out of the park? Or will it be an uncomfortable rehashing of what happened that day?

“Thought so,” he says, nodding. “Now, I think I saw on CNN that you were only in Colombia because you’re an artist affiliated with the Najbreit family. No experience as a political operator, or anything like that, just freak luck that you were in the right place at the right time to save Scarlet Najbreit. So my question for you, Senator, is this. Given his lack of credentials, how could you possibly justify hiring Claude Ashworth as a deputy campaign manager?”

Well then, fuck this man and everything he stands for. This was not the question I was expecting, but Maddie only gives him an understanding smile as she launches into her answer.

“I believe that America hosts a huge amount of talent, most of which never gets the chance to flourish, because of a simple unfortunate reality. We haven’t given our people enough of the right opportunities,” she says. “You wouldn’t think of Claude as the ideal candidate for the job: he’s an artist, with no college degree, and, as you mention, no experience in politics. But what he’s got is a good head and big ideas, and I value that.” I see the man opening his mouth to interject, but Maddie turns to me, patting a hand on my shoulder. “Tell them about the plan you shared with me, back when we first met.”

“You mean… the energy plan?” I ask, hesitant, well aware of how this uncertainty might look to the audience.

But maybe this is what Maddie wants. Something that doesn’t look scripted as the rest of her answers, something that looks authentic. Maddie wasn’t in the room when I pitched the energy idea to Father, and I certainly didn’t bring it up with Maddie the first time we met. But it’s the only thing that makes sense, given the context.

“That’s the one,” Maddie says, giving me a warm smile. She glances at the environmentalist whose rejoined the crowd at the back. “I think, Eva, that if you weren’t happy with my answer, you’ll be rather more pleased with Claude’s.”

So that’s it then. How ironic, that this moonshot plan I concocted in the space of a heartbeat is now going to be heard before the local audience. Or maybe… national television, too? More news crews have shown up in the minutes since we first got here, word of Maddies’ impromptu town hall meeting apparently travelling fast. I watch as the cameras swivel to capture me in the centre of their lenses.

“America consumes more and more power with each passing year,” I say, falling naturally into a public speaking voice that’s been drilled into me from my youngest days. “Our economy is built upon the promise of affordable energy, and much as I hate to admit it, we can’t always rely on our allies in the Middle East to supply us with that. That means developing new avenues of energy—clean power and green power, I’m talking solar, wind, hydroelectric, everything that we’ve got in our arsenal. That means new jobs, and that means R&D too, and it means a solution to our energy problem. The demand is there. All we need to do is supply it. Come on, it’s high time we turn West Virginia into the powerhouse of America! Who’s with me?”

There’s scattered applause, and one guy lets out a whoop. Mostly, however, the people in the audience are looking at Maddie, wondering what to make of my statement. They want to know if this is a policy that she endorses. My heart catches in my throat, too, as I wonder at the answer. Have I overstepped my bounds here, overplayed my hand? Turned this situation from a cute political stunt into an outright gaffe?

But then I see the grin on Maddie’s face, and I know that all is well.

“That little speech, sir, is exactly why I hired Claude. I hope he’s cleared up any doubts you had,” Maddie says, mirth dancing in her eyes. “And for those of you wondering—yes, his plan has my full approval, and you can expect to see some version of that bill circulating around town soon.”

There’s an immediate flurry of people shouting questions about the news, and there’s a strange feeling in my chest as the realisation hits me: did I just make policy?

“Let’s keep order in the line, I’ll get to everyone, I promise,” Maddie says, calling up the next person. “And Claude, Irene, why don’t the two of you head inside and get yourselves a proper welcome from the team? We’re glad to have you onboard.”