Party Lines Read online

  Clara Faircloth was a frustrating candidate to run against because – while she had no prior record to run on – or criticize, she’d proven herself a brilliant businesswoman and philanthropist. She’d managed or sat on numerous non-profit boards, was an effective speaker and had a matronly air that prevented anyone from accusing her of using her sexuality as a tool. And although she was a supporter of women’s rights, she had yet to play the gender card.

  No, attacking Clara Faircloth directly might backfire. It had tonight, after all. So if you can’t knock off the queen, what’s the next best thing? Ron Sharp knew the answer to this: Knock off her top general. In this case, the general was a petite, brown-eyed brunette who was about to get a taste of just how cruel politics could get.

  Yes, Lindsay Martin was about to move up to the big leagues, and by the time he was finished with her, she wouldn’t know what hit her. The only thing he had to do now was to find her one weakness.

  Chapter Two

  “He must be kidding. Is this an ad or a Saturday Night Live parody?” Lindsay hit the rewind button, then the stop button and then “Play,” and watched again in disbelief as the ad began to roll.

  “Drugs. Crime. Divorce. An overall decline of respect for religion and the values that made this country great.” A solemn, female voice intoned as images of crack addicts, thugs and arguing couples filled the screen. If you believe these things have negatively impacted your life, your family, your nation then thank a liberal.”

  “Liberalism is behind the exodus of mothers from the home, and into dead end jobs they think they need to take to pay the ever-increasing taxes left-wing politicians demand to pay for programs like sex education curriculum for our children and needle-sharing programs for drug addicts. But hope is on the horizon.”

  The screen faded to black for a moment and then to an image of Bradford Hopkins.

  “Bradford Hopkins,” the voice now said, almost dreamily. “is a husband and a family man. And unlike his unmarried, childless opponent he understands family issues, and is committed to fighting for the rights of families – and children – to be able to afford to have an at-home mom. This ad paid for by the Committee to Elect Bradford Hopkins.”

  “So vote for Bradford Hopkins, and give your child he best care he or she can know. A mother’s care.”

  Lindsay clicked the television off and shook her head. “I cannot believe he called you ‘childless.”

  Beside her, Clara Faircloth shrugged. Although obviously stung and as shocked as her campaign manager, she tried to brush the whole thing off.

  “Maybe I should have married and settled down like my opponent,” she sighed. “It would have given Hopkins one less way to demonize me.”

  Lindsay gave a mirthless laugh.

  “The implication is, of course, that there’s something wrong with me because I’m single,” Clara continued. “He wants the voters to think that I’m possibly a lesbian. Or that I’m a child-hating witch with a candy cottage.”

  “But do you really hate children if you eat them?”

  Now both women were laughing. It was a ridiculous ad, but both also recognized even in this moment of comic relief that there was a serious side to the attack. Not everyone would disagree; the rhetoric was just what the religious right supporters had been clamoring for. This was the no-holds-barred battle cry some fundamentalist supporters had been demanding Hopkins issue before they would marshal their grass roots supporters to his cause.

  And the other effect of the ad? It was so over the top, so controversial that it had already pushed talk of Hopkins’ father’s shady business dealings from the headlines. The news media was fickle, and always went with the sexiest topic. And an ad that looked to venerate stay-at-home moms was certainly bound to generate hours of talk on every network.

  “And now,” Lindsay said, “all that’s left is for us workaholic spinsters to do the opposite of what he’s doing, which is to provide balance.”

  Clara got up and walked over to the hotel bar, where she poured herself a soda water and another for Lindsay. It was one of the things Lindsay liked so much about Clara; she never just thought about herself, whether she was pouring a drink or considering her stance on a political issue.

  “How hard can that be?” Clara asked. “We just put out an ad reminding people that women have fought hard for the right to be in the workplace and ..”

  “..and set up another drawn out fight between homemakers and working women that will further galvanize his supporters?” Lindsay finished for her.

  Clara laughed and wagged a finger at her campaign manager. “Now see, Lindsay. This is exactly why I hired you. I knew you’d push back.” She walked over and sat down on the sofa. “So what do you have in mind?”

  “The high road,” said Lindsay. “Something that acknowledges the hard work of women no matter what they do – be it fulltime moms or wage earners. Something that reminds them that a candidate who seeks to moms against working women isn’t interested in either.”

  “Hmm.” Clara considered this as she took a sip of her drink. For a moment she was quiet. “I like it,” she said, and then spread her and out in front of her as if smoothing words across an invisible screen. “Women’s work comes in many forms. But we’re at our strongest when we work together.”

  “Yes!” said Lindsay, moving forward in her chair and punching the air. “Vote for Clara Faircloth, a woman who appreciates women’s work no matter where it’s done!”

  The two high-fived each other and then Lindsay jumped up to get the pen and notebook she would need to sketch out this latest political counterpunch.

  ***

  Three days later, Lindsay faced Ron Sharp across a table again. This time it was on NewsChat Live, a radio program. Lindsay wished it were television, because her opponent did not look at all comfortable. The host, Hugh Graham, had just aired Hopkins’ attack ad and was now playing Clara’s.

  “Mother. Housewife. Waitress. Cook. Doctor. Nurse. Truck Driver. Executive.” The voice was not an actress’ but Clara Faircloth’s. “Some of us women have done one of these jobs. Those blessed with children have done more than one. But no matter who you are, how hard you work or who depends on you, one thing is true for today’s woman. We deserve the respect we’ve earned, both from our families, our colleagues and from our political systems.”

  “Hi. I’m Clara Faircloth and as we enter another campaign season I’m urging voting women to band together and focus not on our differences but on our common strengths, and the power we have to change our futures. This election promises to give the victor the right to shape policies that will make a real difference in the lives of women in all walks of life – affordable health care, tax breaks that favor workers and families – not big business - and a cleaner environment that will make us all safer. And we can make it happen if we ignore the rhetoric that divides us. Because while women’s work takes many forms, we’re strongest when we work together!”

  As the sound from the ad died away, the host looked from Lindsay to Ron and back again. Hugh Graham was a prominent conservative host, and Lindsay knew that it was risky coming on his show, especially given that counter-ad had worked better that she or Clara could have imagined. In just days her poll number had risen even higher among women, including those who defined themselves as conservative.

  Ron Sharp was clearly not happy; Lindsay had seen that when he’d walked into the studio. He’d shaken her hand harder than he’d ever shaken it, and had physically crowded her as they prepared to take their seats. As always, her heart had thumped in her chest as her body reacted instinctively to the power he was emanating. But she ignored the screams of “Yield” and kept her cool.

  “When this is over,” she thought. “I’m going to give myself an Academy Award.”

  “Both of those are pretty powerful ads,” the host was now saying. “Very powerful. And both elicited quite a bit of reaction. Feminist groups came out right away against that spot, Mr. Sharp, and some accuse
d your candidate of blatant sexism.”

  It was a softball, and Sharp knew it. So did Lindsay, who struggled to keep a poker face as her rival let fly with his reply.

  “That’s because Bradford Hopkins stands as a very real threat to the tyranny they’ve held over women. Women are afraid to stay home these days, to be mothers, because they’ve been told that it’s not good enough.”

  “Excuse me.” Lindsay knew she shouldn’t interrupt, but could not stop herself. “May I ask a question?”

  Hugh Graham waved his hand towards her. “Sure. Take him on.” And then he sat back, obviously pleased to watch the fireworks.

  “Mr. Sharp, just who do you contend is telling women this?”

  “Where do I start?” Sharp laughed. “Betty Friedan?”

  “You mean the dead Betty Friedan?” Lindsay asked. “With respect to Friedan, she’s really not around to defend herself, let alone speak in what you term ‘these days.’”

  Ron Sharp smirked. “As if every feminist who’s come after her hasn’t been a virtual parrot of her Marxist, anti-Christian man-hating…”

  “Careful,” Lindsay said. “Not that I care to help your candidate, but you’re coming very close to painting all women who appreciate the right to vote and compete with men for a decent wage with the same brush. Really, Mr. Sharp. Does you candidate fail to see that being a stay-at-home mom, a working mom or – as many women today are – both is not at all inconsistent with being a feminist?”

  “I…”

  “Because I’d beg to disagree. Women have very diverse takes on issues and I’d have you know that even not all feminists agree. But one thing women do agree on – no matter whether or not they embrace the feminist term – is that they have a right to be respected as individuals and not as a voting bloc there to be manipulated. Or is it you who disrespects conservative moms with an ad that assumes they’re the most easily manipulated of all?

  ”

  Ron started to speak but in front of the host, the phone lights began blinking furiously.

  “Well, we’ve heard from both camps now, so let’s take some calls.”

  As he punched one of the buttons, Ron and Lindsay stared down one another from across the table. Lindsay’s heart was beating even faster now.

  “Hello caller, you’re on the air with Hugh Graham.”

  “Hello Hugh. Love your show.”

  “Thank you,” the host said.

  “I just want to tell Mr. Sharp that I was going to vote for Bradford Hpkins until I saw Clara Faircloth’s ad. And just so you know, I’m a church-going, Bible-believing Independent. That ad he ran struck true at first but then when Clara’s ad came out it made me want to go look at her Web site and I was surprised to see that she isn’t as left-wing as you guys are trying to make her out to be.”

  Ron Sharp fidgeted with his tie and then motioned to the host. “Come on, Hugh,” he said. “This is obviously a plant..”

  “So now you’re assuming that any woman who disagrees with that ad is a liar?” Lindsay rolled her eyes, and the caller on the line gasped in anger.

  “I’d be more than happy to leave my full name with the operator so you can check out who I am. I was actually doing some grassroots work for Hopkins until this whole ad flap happened. And I’ll be happy to verify it. Now I’m really glad I’m not. Mr. Sharp, that’s really insulting by the way. Really insulting. And you and your candidate owe me and every other thinking woman an apology.”

  Hugh thanked the caller quickly and pushed the button that silenced her. Then he turned to Ron, obviously upset over the tone and message of the call.

  “Well, she’s rather upset, but perhaps if you’d elaborate people might get an idea of where Hopkins stands since it appears there’s a rush to put words in his mouth.”

  “Yes,” said Sharp, speaking up quickly before Lindsay could point out that it was Hopkins’ words that had started the firestorm.

  “Bradford Hopkins’ ad was not meant to speak for women, but to give voice to that silent, important group of women out there who live or long to live in a more traditional lifestyle. The truth is that women who value career over family are heading up the opposing party.”

  He shot a mean look at Lindsay. “And heading up Ms. Faircloth’s campaign.”

  Lindsay could not let this go, especially not as a single woman. “So you’re saying that a woman who is single or who chooses to wait for marriage and children for whatever personal reasons she may have is a feminist, or is against family values?”

  Before Ron could answer, the host stepped in. “Maybe he’s saying that those women are drowning out the good women who are doing the most important work in society by staying home and taking care of what matters most – the children. In a day and age where liberalism has taken hold what has it brought us? I think Hopkins’ candidacy is pointing out that there are more important things than the freedom of overused daycare and no-fault divorce.”

  “Exactly,” Sharp said. “Of course, as career women without families it’s hard to relate –“

  “To what?” Lindsay, who rarely allowed herself to fall prey to her own anger and frustration, was dangerously close. “To the importance of strong families? And since my marital status is obviously fair game now, what of yours. And Mr. Hopkins? Aren’t you both divorced? Rather than preaching to women about their perceived lack of family values, perhaps you should stop and assess your own.”

  She hadn’t meant for the debate to turn nasty, but suddenly it had. And Ron Sharp, who wasn’t used to being challenged now faced a rare moment of not knowing what to say.

  The host, eager to cover, went to the phones and for the next ten minutes callers offered their opinions on the matter with women – the group both Hopkins and Faircloth were after – strongly voicing their opposition at being characterized as uncaring if they worked or didn’t have children. One woman tearfully admitted to giving up on motherhood after several failed IVF’s.

  “I’ve put myself into my career as a nurse now,” she said. “And it’s brought me comfort and happiness to help others. Don’t tell me as a caretaker that I cannot relate to what families need, Mr. Sharp. I see it every day.”

  Several men called in too, most hardened conservatives who eagerly sided with Sharp. When the show ended half an hour later it was clear that Hopkins’ strategy had backfired entirely. Once more, the political newcomers had prevailed.

  Then the program ended with a special weather alert warning residents and commuters to exercise caution amid a series of powerful thunderstorms that were moving into the area.

  Lindsay could hear the thunder from outside the building when she left the studio booth, but she imagine the sky was nothing compare to the dark look Ron Sharp was shooting her as he walked up briskly behind her in the hallway. He looked even angrier than he had after the interview on Touchpoint, and she clutched her briefcase tighter as she made for the elevator.

  Relief flooded her when the doors slid open, but dispated when – just as they were about to close – a large hand wedged itself between them and slid them open.

  Ron Sharp said nothing as the elavator began to lift but then, when it was between floors he hit the emergency stop button.

  “Just what do you think you’re doing?” she asked and reached for the control panel, only to have him block it with her body.

  “Having a private word with you,” he said, crossing his arms. “You want to tell me why you felt it necessary to pull that amateurish stunt by injecting my personal life into a debate?”

  Lindsay looked at him, shocked, and when she recovered shook her head in disbelief.

  “You really take the cake,” she said. “I was simply following your lead, but it’s kind of nice to see you finally admit that it’s amateurish to cloud the real issues by making other people’s marital status the topic.”

  “What I did was different,” he said. “I was talking about feminists in general.””

  “You’re a liar,” she said cooll
y. “The voters aren’t stupid. They know the difference between a general reference and a direct slap at your opponent and the people who run it. And I stand by my position. How dare you bring into play our marital status when you couldn’t even hold yours together.”

  “You don’t know anything about my situation,” he said, raising his voice.

  “And you don’t know anything about mine,” she shouted back. “So we’re even. Now get out of the way.”

  Ron had not meant to grab her hand when she reached for the button on the panel, and when she’d struck him she’d not meant to do it, either. The tension and anger were just so high between them at that moment. But it happened, and Ron Sharp experienced a jolt of surprise at the force of the blow.

  “How dare you!” he said, and grabbed her again, shaking his head. “Another of your typical amateurish overreactions.”

  “Yes, and I suppose a seasoned campaigner would just love to teach me a lesson, wouldn’t you?” She was mocking him now, testing him. But she didn’t know why. And neither did he, but he didn’t care. He’d had enough of this presumptive upstart. Sure Lindsay Martin may have been besting him on the campaign trail, but if she thought she could best him in the age-old match between man and woman she had another think coming.

  “That’s actually a good idea,” he said, and jerked her forward. Before Lindsay could comprehend what was happening, Ron Sharp had wrapped one long arm around her waist and was spanking her – hard with his hand.

  Lindsay didn’t have time to process the indignity of the situation. The building pain in her bottom as he applied his punishing hand over and over on the seat of her blue skirt. The fabric was pulled tight against her backside, but it was little protection against the volley of smacks that had her first crying out in pain.

  And no matter how hard she struggled, Lindsay could not escape, and would not until finally after what seemed like an eternity he let her go.