Distraction - Bruce Sterling [103]
“It’s honest about everything but you and me.”
Oscar exhaled slowly. He’d been expecting this development. “Well, that’s where we have to pay the price. After tomorrow, you’re on campaign. Even with the best will and intention, we won’t have any time for ourselves anymore. When we had our stolen moments, we could meet in Boston or Louisiana, and that was lovely, and we could get away with that. But we lose that privilege from now on. This is the last time that you and I can meet privately. I won’t even be in the audience when you speak tomorrow. It mustn’t look like I’m prompting you.”
“But people know about us. A lot of people know. I want people to know.”
“All political leaders lead double lives. Public, and private. That’s not hypocrisy. That’s just reality.”
“What if we’re outed?”
“Well, there’s two ways to play that development. We could stonewall. That’s simplest and easiest—just deny everything, and let them try to prove it. Or, we could be very coy and provocative, and say that we’re flattered by their matchmaking. We could lead them on a little, we could be sexy and glamorous. You know, play it the good old Hollywood way. That’s a dangerous game, but I know that game pretty well, and I like that one better, myself.”
She was silent for a moment. “Won’t you miss me?”
“How can I miss you? I’m managing you. You’re the very center of my life now. You’re my candidate.”
Oscar and Yosh Pelicanos were enjoying a healthful stroll around the china tower of the Hot Zone. Pelicanos wore a billed hat, khaki walking shorts, and a sleeveless pullover. Two months inside the dome had caused almost all of Oscar’s krewe to go native. Oscar, by stark contrast, wore his nattiest suit and a sharp new steam-blocked hat. Oscar rarely felt the need of serious exercise, since his metabolic rate was eight percent higher than that of a normal human.
Their walk was a deliberate and public promenade. The Collaboratory’s board was meeting, Greta was about to speak, and Oscar was very conspicuously nowhere near the scene. Oscar was especially hard to miss when publicly trailed by his bodyguard: the spectral Kevin Hamilton, parading in his motorized wheelchair.
“What is it with this Hamilton guy?” Pelicanos grumbled, glancing over his shoulder. “Why on earth did you have to hire some Anglo hustler? His only credential is that he limps even worse than Fontenot.”
“Kevin’s very gifted. He got that netwar program off my back. Besides, he works cheap.”
“He dresses like a loan shark. The guy gets eighteen package deliveries a day. And that headphone and the scanning gear—he’s sleeping in it! He’s getting on our nerves.”
“Kevin will grow on you. I know he’s not the standard team player. Be tolerant.”
“I’m nervous,” Pelicanos admitted.
“No need for that. We’ve laid all the groundwork perfectly,” Oscar said. “I’ve got to hand it to the krewe, you’ve really done me proud here.” Oscar’s mood was radiant. Unbearable personal tension, stress, and agonizing suspense always brought out his boyish, endearing side. “Yosh, you did first-class work on those audits. And the push-polling was superb, you handled that beautifully. A few dozen loaded questions on the Science Committee letterhead, and the locals are hopping like puppets, they’re gun-shy now, they’re ready for anything. It’s been a tour de force all around. Even the hotel’s making money! Especially now that we lured in all those expense-account headhunters from out of state.”
“Yeah, you’ve got us all working like mules—you don’t have to tell me that. The question is, is it enough?”
“Well, nothing’s ever enough.… Politics isn’t precision machinery, it’s a performance art. It’s stage magic. It’s a brand-new year, and now the curtain’s going up. We’ve got our plants primed in the audience, we’ve got scarves and ribbons up our sleeve, we’ve saturated the playing field with extra hats and rabbits.…”
“There’s way too many hats and rabbits.”
“No there aren’t! Can’t have too many! We’ll just use the ones that we need, as we need