Countdown

“Sunday morning coming down.”

It’s all very wonderful, but Adele has a big problem. What is she going to do? Turn him in and destroy Mercy? That’s what the Democrat would do.

Keep his secret and become part of the subterfuge? That’s what the lover would do. Adele is both.

“If you honestly think gender matters,” Merce says, “then tell your campaign. If you’re post-gender, you won’t think it’s any of their business. I function better as a woman. I should be allowed to be my best.”

“Monday Monday.”

Another of our ladies, sweating a different decision. She could topple the baby-killing bitch, but Danielle can’t forget the look on Brenda Shapiro’s face when she answered “Yes”, to the question of the married man’s baby. She knew at that moment that Brenda knew. Knew it all. And yet, she said yes.

She’s in need of an authority figure, and the closest she’s got is her boss, Clyde Waters.

But first she’ll have to face the dragon in the ante-room. She used to look forward to his being there. Even before they got together. But she doesn’t want him listening now.

When the time comes, she walks up to Jason at his desk, pierces him with the turquoises and says, “Leave.” Jason scrambles out of his chair, grabs his laptop, and gets out.

She doesn’t knock on Clyde’s door. She’s beyond that. She’s distraught. She has nowhere to turn. She barges in as she’s used to doing. He looks up from his worry-work on the desk, and the two stare at each other.

“I’m pregnant,” she says. For a second, Clyde has the distinct feeling she’s going to accuse him of being the father. “I don’t know what to do.” The tears start falling.

Ever the gentleman, Clyde gets up, comes around the side of the desk and helps her into a chair. Kindness often turns tears to sobs, and that’s what happens here.

“It’s…”

“Don’t tell me,” he says. “I know whose it is. Why did you come to me?”

She shrugs, a sight in itself. “I have no place to go, and you were good to me this summer, when I couldn’t arrange decent day-care for my son, and you let me take the mornings off.”

Son! He’d never thought of her as a mother.

Mentioning her other child makes the tears come faster. Clyde, still on her side of the desk, puts a comforting arm on her shoulder. She grabs the arm, holds it tight, and gives in to the sobbing.

Clyde loved his mother, a vulnerable woman. He would do anything for her. And by extension, for this woman, currently vulnerable and, suddenly, a mother.

“I’m sorry,” Danielle says. “I know there’s nothing you can do.”

“But there is,” he says.

Instantly, she lets go of his arm and turns her face up to his. “Oh, no. Please don’t offer me a drug to get rid of the baby.”

“I wouldn’t,” he says, offended. “Even if I had one. And even if I did, you wouldn’t take it.”

“I could bring down Brenda Shapiro’s campaign,” she says. “I could dismantle his marriage.”

“What good would that do?” he asks, alarmed at the possibility.

She shakes her head, but says. “I don’t want to have another child by myself. It’s too hard. It’s not fun. It takes everything. Everything.”

Yes, folks, he’s going to propose. He was going to before the threat. Now he’s doubly anxious that she say yes. And she will. Two people, tired of living alone, coming together. Danielle will have a family and security, and Clyde will have… You know what Clyde will have. Eat your hearts out guys.

Clyde and Brenda will be getting together after all, as will Danielle and Jason. Trust me; this will be an interesting foursome. And more, an interesting extended family. Zeke and Timmy will now be related by more than their love of cars. They’ll soon share a half-sister or brother.

While Clyde and Danielle are buying an engagement ring, Adele and Merce are relaxing in the big bed after a second, long night of talk. And other communication activities.

Tracing his arm muscles, she says, “That’s why you always wear long sleeves.” Her hands travel down to his legs. “And long dresses!” Every moment there was another minor enlightenment.

Mercy lives in the front of the apartment. In the back, Merce creates her. Here’s where he keeps her wigs, her hips, her depilatory cream, and her bosom. The make-up, the clothing, they live up front with Mercy.

“A lot of people would be so disappointed if they knew you weren’t a gay woman,” Adele tells him, taking his leg between hers.

He laughs. “Bigots. This is a congressional election. Mercy’s boobs may not be mine, but her ideas are. Let’s stick to what matters and ignore any historic nature of my election.”

Adele clears out in the early afternoon so Merce can prepare for Mercy’s last speech of the campaign. Dressed in a flag – yes, folks, she did, she wore a long flag. You can make this dress yourself. Simply sew two flags together on the short side, leaving room for your head to fit through. Then sew up the sides leaving holes for your arms, so your hands can peek out. She wore her hair in a cone because Merce had been busy and hadn’t combed her wigs.

Her speech is at the Community College, a Democratic environment. Her audience came to fight, not to cheer. She knows they have mixed feelings about the flag, but it is to mixed feelings that she wants to appeal.

She enters in a blaze of glory, her flag ruffling around her body, the stars on one shoulder, the vertical stripes running down the other. They can’t help clapping. They knew her before she was the Republican candidate for congress.

She gets right to it:

“I am not running against Brenda Shapiro. I am running against Barack Obama.

“The only fault I find with my opponent is that she supports every public position of our president, when I’m sure her heart tells her otherwise.

“Brenda Shapiro is an educator first and a union member second. She would not refuse to allow the poor black children of Washington DC to escape from their rotting, rotten schools.

“Brenda Shapiro is a math teacher. She teaches people to think. She would never have allowed thousand-page bills to be presented to congress, with no time to read them, in the hope that nobody would try.

“Brenda Shapiro is married to a Jew. She would not allow a country that calls for the annihilation of Israel, to achieve nuclear weaponry.

“Brenda Shapiro would not support a medical system that will tell an eighty-year-old woman she can have pain pills but not the treatment that could prolong her life.

“Brenda Shapiro would not feed sectors of America to a federal bureaucracy that will never spit them out again.

“Brenda Shapiro would not stand up for a Honduran would-be dictator.

“Brenda Shapiro probably does not listen to Talk Radio. But she would not take it off the air, because Brenda Shapiro believes in free speech.

“Brenda Shapiro is not considering a national police force.

“Brenda Shapiro would not travel the planet to apologize for America, the country that has done the most good, for the most people, in the history of humanity.

“And why not? Because Brenda Shapiro is an American. Barack Obama is a global citizen. His allegiance to the country over which he presides is diluted by his enthusiasm for world governance.

“And that is why you cannot vote for Brenda Shapiro. This election is being watched all over America and we must let them know that we are unhappy with the heavy-handed reshaping of our country.”

That’s it. With a flourish of her flags, Mercy steps behind the curtains and is gone.

The speech shocks the hell out of everyone. They don’t know what to make of it. Brenda is invited by local TV for an interview. Mary Steele has been invited to lovingly lob the softballs.

Mary gives her every opportunity to clear herself in the eyes of her party. Does she really believe in vouchers? Is she against Obama’s health care plan? Does she think the US is being supportive enough of Israel? All golden opportunities, and Brenda cannot muster the strength to lie.

Everything that Mercy said about her is true. She’s tired of fighting herself. She can only rephrase her ringtone and plead for the world to sing in perfect harmony.

Wagman was very angry. “A Coke commercial,” he says. “That’s your final message. A Coke commercial.” Brenda hadn’t known that’s what it was.

The Day has come.

Chauncey and Nat are making phone calls to push out the vote. They want every single one they can get.

Brenda starts off with a good showing – the stalwart Democrats coming out for the candidate. But by three o’clock, exit polls indicate that Mercy is getting the votes. By seven, it’s obvious. At ten, with a good number of official tallies in, Brenda will call Mercy to concede.

Well, what did you expect, people? I kept telling you it was a Republican district. She was riding Obama’s coattails, and they weren’t wide enough. She fell off. Where are her supporters? Where are the college kids? Did they come out and vote? No. Brenda’s not historic. They don’t get a charge out of voting for Brenda. What happened to the liberal liberals who believe in liberty? Did they come out and vote for Brenda? Did they support the pot candidate? Did you support yours? Or did you have something better to do today. Most people in America did.

She calls on her cell phone, from the steps of the school, her polling place. Clustered around, not even reaching the reseeded lawn, are the people of her neighborhood and other supporters.

“I’ve just called to offer my heartfelt congratulations to Mercy Alexander. She’s been a most gracious opponent. The exit polls and the early tallies indicate that she is the overwhelming choice of the voters.

“She is our congressman. We must give her our support, and we must keep her aware of our concerns.

“Barack Obama is our president. It’s unfortunate that this election has been cast as a referendum. It takes nine months for a woman to give birth. And that’s how long he’s been in office. We now know the look and feel of the newborn administration. Let’s give our support where it is needed, and civilly express our concerns, where we have them.

“I will continue to champion school children. Our public schools must do better, for any vision of our nation to succeed.

“I’ll be very glad to be getting back to my classes. I miss them.”

Tuesday night, Mercy Alexander makes two proposals. Or perhaps we should call them propositions.

One is to Brenda Shapiro, to join her district office as educational advisor, with free run when Mercy is in Washington, and to use Mary Steele as her liaison to the press.

The other is to Adele, to come to Washington, live openly as her gay lover, and secretly as his straight one.

We’ve come a long way baby. “One thing I can tell you is you got to be free.”

The End