First Impression

“Good morning, Pam Parker for Congress. How may I help you? Ugh.”

Mia hung up the phone, cutting off a dial tone.

“Third one this morning,” she mumbled to herself.

Suddenly, Jeff stuck his head around the corner.

“Mia, staff meeting,” he said.

“Be right there,” she said. She glanced nervously at her computer screen, hoping the screensaver had come up to cover her game of Solitaire. With the candidate out of the office, there was very little for her to do, but wait for the phone to ring and polish up her Solitaire game. Still, it wouldn’t do for Jeff to see that. He’d run straight to Ted and they’d make up work for her to do. Nothing important or actually helpful to the campaign, mind you, just work to make her look busy if anyone came into the front office.

By the time Mia arrived, everyone else was seated at the large conference table and Mia took her usual place on a chair around the outside edge of the room, ready with a pen and pad of paper in case anyone needed her.

Ted, Pam Parker’s chief of staff, looked up from his laptop and the room quieted.

“Pam is sick today.” Ted got no further. A general uproar arose from the staff, but Jeff’s voice rose above the others.

“What?! She can’t be sick! We’ve got exactly one month, twelve days, and eighteen hours before the election. How am I going to reschedule all of these meetings?” Jeff tossed a printed agenda on the table and pointed at it with one emphatic finger.

“Okay.” Ted cut off any further protest with one curt word. “Jeff, do your best. The only thing that absolutely cannot be rescheduled is the Billings’ fundraiser. Janice, tell us the numbers. How much did Billings raise for Ed Weathers last year?”

Janice didn’t have the face or the manner to deal with the press like Ted did, but she was excellent at handling the campaign finances.

“Quarter of a fuckin’ million,” she said fervently.

“Please, Janice,” Ted said, “there are ladies present.”

Janice grinned and took a swig of coffee.

“So,” Ted returned to business. “We can’t miss this fundraiser and Pam can’t go. Now the question is, who will go.”

A lengthy and animated discussion followed, each staff-member declaring emphatically how ill-qualified he or she was to go in Pam’s stead.

Mia listened, quietly amused to see staffers who were usually so good at self-promotion suddenly start pointing out faults in themselves she had thought them blind to. She also wondered, though, what was so bad about going to this Billings shindig anyway. She had been to only a few fundraisers since coming to work for Pam, but they mostly seemed to be a lot of hand-shaking, back-slapping, and hard drinking. Kind of like a frat party for old, rich people.

Gradually, the fray subsided.

“Ted,” Jeff said, “you’re the chief of staff. You should be the one.”

Ted shook his head.

“Usually I would, but you know the old man hates me.”

Suddenly, Jeff got a broad smile on his face. He leaned toward Ted.

“Mia. Mia should go.”

Mia’s head snapped up. She deftly flipped the front page of her notebook to hide the scrawls and doodles to which she had resorted in her boredom.

“Hmm?” She had lost track of the conversation and was hoping to remain non-committal long enough to get a clue as to where things had gone.

“No way,” Ted said. “Lamb to the slaughter.”

“No, no, it makes sense.” Jeff was getting excited about his idea. “Fix her hair and put her in a mini-skirt and the old man will love her.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Ted said wryly.

“Sorry to spoil this meeting of the Good Ole’ Boys’ Club, but you can’t do this.” Fran Biddle raised an eyebrow in reproof. “You’re not supposed to use pretty, young staffers to lure rich, old donors. Distinctly frowned on these days. Besides, you know Pam wouldn’t like it.”

Jeff scoffed at this opposition.

“It’s done all the time and no one raises a fuss. You can defend yourself if it comes to that, right, Mia?” He laughed. “And Pam doesn’t have to know.”

Ted looked uncomfortable, but turned and looked at Mia.

“What do you think? It’d be…just this once.”

Mia frantically tried to sort through what was happening. If she went, would she be taking a step forward in her career or a leap backward for women’s rights? Well, anything was better than the constant boredom and sheer uselessness she had felt for far too long. What had her political science major been for, anyway? At least if she went she’d be doing something for the campaign. Maybe, if she went and took whatever this old man dished out, Ted would trust her with something more than answering phones and licking stamps.

She shrugged. “Yeah, I’ll go.”

Ted nodded. Jeff beamed. Janice raised her coffee mug emblazoned with, “Pam Parker stands for Women,” and said,

“Honey, welcome to politics.”
****
Mia stood on the front porch and tugged at the hem of her skirt, trying vainly to make it touch her knees. She knew that if she sat down her entire rear end would be on display. With that eventuality in mind, she had worn her prettiest, lace-edged panties, but still had no intention of sitting down anywhere.

The temptation to sit and rest her feet, though, would be great, she knew. Jeff had insisted on not only the micro-mini, but the two-inch heels and the lowest neckline he could find in her closet.

“Jeez, Mia, no wonder you never have dates. Look at these clothes. Were you raised by Amish or what?”

Finally, he found something he thought might do, but only if the top three buttons were undone.

While Mia put on her makeup, Jeff nitpicked and fussed at her, and Ted coached her on what to say when questions came up about the campaign or about Pam.

He also filled her in on a few details about the Billings fortune. Billings was a self-made man, having worked his way up from construction crew to full owner of the largest concrete business in the state. Apparently, the concrete business was lucrative.

Before she went out the door, her head spinning with information, the necessary jumbled with the useless, Ted gave her a half-hearted smile and said,

“You’ll be fine. You have my cell number, if you need it. For any reason.”

This was hardly the vote of confidence she desired, but it, along with Jeff’s smirk of approval, would have to do.

As soon as she was in her car, Mia did up two of the buttons on her blouse. What Jeff didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

Now, Mia swept her curly, reddish hair back, squared her shoulders, and reached for the doorbell.

A small, white-haired woman, richly dressed and wearing no fewer than three large diamonds on her hands, answered the door.

“Hi. I’m from Pam Parker’s office?” Mia silently berated herself for making that a question. Be assertive, she told herself. Make statements.

“Oh, hello, please come in.” The woman had a pleasant, smooth voice, a voice that could gloss over any little difficulty that money couldn’t handle. “I’m Letitia Billings.”

Mia stepped over the threshold and looked around her at the dimly lit entryway. Here, all was cool marble, soft brown and creamy white. Her heels echoed in the space, the sound bouncing from floor to walls to ceiling. She looked up and saw an enormous blown-glass chandelier, looking like a dimmed ball of fire.

“It’s a Chihouly,” Mrs. Billings said, looking at Mia.

“Oh.” Mia hoped she sounded like that meant something to her.

“Please, come on in, Miss, uh?” The lady raised her elegant brows, waiting.

“Schmuck,” Mia supplied.

“Schmuck,” the lady repeated, the name awkward in her refined mouth.

“Yes,” Mia smiled. “It’s been the curse of my life, believe me.” Mia had learned long ago to smile and make jokes in the face of whatever reaction she got to her name.

“Well, then, Miss, uh, Schmuck, come and meet my husband.”

Mrs. Billings led Mia toward the sounds of glasses chinking and voices laughing and talking.

All around stood white-haired gentlemen in sport coats, young men with glossy hair and glossier blackberries, balding men with large mustaches and trophy wives. The open bar in the corner kept everyone supplied with enough alcohol to make the conversation seem pleasant, and even, after a while, witty.

Mia watched and listened, her nerves drawn tight as she realized that she might be called upon to intelligently discuss Pam’s policies with any one of these people. Little did she know that very little political talk happened at political fundraisers. This was a time for smiles and bluff, hearty handshakes, a time for extricating financial promises with velvet pincers.

“Miss Schmuck, I’d like you to meet Mr. Billings. Bill, she’s from Pam Parker’s office.”

Mia stuck out her hand and pasted on a smile as she faced the largest bulldog of a man she had ever seen. His shirt front strained over an enormous gut, and she wondered if the collar would even button around his sagging neck. His face was heavily wrinkled and half covered by an enormous gray moustache. Despite his size, he looked like a man who could fight anyone who was foolish enough to stand in his way. And beat him.

Mr. Billings shook the proffered hand but glared at Mia.

“Where’s Parker? This whole damn thing is for her. Why isn’t she here?” His voice fit the rest of him, it was like a bullhorn.

Mia recalled Ted’s words and repeated,

“Ms. Parker is under the weather today and regrets that she is unable to attend.”

“Damn woman,” the man pronounced in a matter-of-fact way.

Mia began to stammer out more of an apology. Ted had drummed into her many times the importance of Mr. Billings’ support for the campaign. His money, along with his access to and influence over other money-ed people, were essential to Pam’s election.

Her stammerings were cut off by Mr. Billings.

“Is that idiot Ted Black still her campaign manager?”

Mia hesitated, then tried to answer diplomatically.

“Yes, Ted is still with the campaign.”

“Good!” After this surprising reaction, Mr. Billings drained the drink in his hand and handed the glass to one of the glossy-haired young men standing around. The minion immediately trotted off in the direction of the bar to refill it.

“The man’s an idiot,” he said, continuing the topic of Ted Black, “but he’s the best she’ll get. Tell her that for me.”

“Yes, I…”

“Now, why did they send you instead of Black?” Mr. Billings narrowed his eyes at Mia.

Mia swallowed convulsively. Ted had not coached her on what to say to this and she felt the panic she had thus far kept at bay rising rapidly. Her hard-won confidence was draining away and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

“I, well…”

“’Cause you’re pretty, that’s why, and that wily campaign manager of yours knows I won’t bite your head off.” The man chuckled, his great shirt front bobbing up and down.

Without warning, Mr. Billings looked behind Mia and yelled,

“Hal !”

Mia jumped and fought to control a sudden trembling which threatened to buckle her knees.

A middle-aged man, short, balding, and kindly-looking, answered the call.

“Hal, this here is Miss Schmuck. God damn, what a name. What’s your first name, honey? Mia. That’s better. Hal, Mia is from Pam Parker’s office. Take her around and introduce her to whoever she should meet.” Billings turned to Mia again. “Hal’s worked for me since I bought my first concrete truck. He’s all right.”

Mia knew her smile was shaky at best, but she realized that, somehow, her interview with the great and terrible Mr. Billings had passed off with no major disaster. She shook hands with the man and followed Hal into the crowd, feeling like she was leaving the audience chamber of a sultan.

Mia, drink in hand, followed Hal around the room, smiling and shaking hands, saying appropriate things to appropriate people. Things like, “I hope we can count on your support come November,” and “Pam Parker appreciates your support.” She was relieved to realize that that was all anyone seemed to require of her.

Finally, she knew that she had to escape, even for a few minutes, just long enough to return the circulation to her toes.

She turned to her escort.

“Mr…um…Hal, would you mind terribly if I got a breath of fresh air?”

“No, that’s fine.” He pointed toward a set of French doors. “If you go out there, you’ll find the pool and some benches.”

Grateful for the respite, Mia made her way to the doors and pushed them open.

She stepped out onto a wide patio, empty now of the furniture which probably filled it in the summer. Ahead of her was a large pool, lit from below, and apparently heated, to judge from the steam rising from its surface.
Mia glanced around and hobbled to a bench with a wall of faux stone behind it. She groaned as she eased her shoes off, then stretched her legs in front of her. She knew she must be showing a shocking amount of leg, but it felt so good to stretch and it would only be for a minute. Besides, everyone else was inside schmoozing it up.
Mia rested her head against the wall behind her and took a deep breath. She looked up at the stars and let the black sky soak into her frazzled mind.

She took another deep breath and sat up, reluctantly admitting that she should go back inside.

A sudden movement caught her eye and she gave a startled gasp. A tall shadow from across the pool gradually emerged into the half light to reveal a well-dressed man. Young, she thought, though it was hard to tell in the light.

“Sorry to startle you,” said the mystery man.

Definitely young. But, handsome? Impossible to tell in the half-dark.

“Oh, no, that’s all right. I was just…um…startled.” Ooh, sparkling conversation, Mia thought. That’ll impress him.

He walked slowly around the pool toward her, his body fluid in its movements.

Mia fought down an entirely different kind of panic from the one she had felt earlier. This panic was far nearer pleasure.

“You working tonight?” The tone was conversational, even friendly, not the sexy, underwear model voice she had expected.

“Um, yeah, actually, I am,” Mia said, hoping to match his casual tone. She stood and put out her hand. “I’m Mia.”

Mystery Man shook her hand.

“Nice to meet you, Mia. I’m Nick.”

“Hi, Nick.” Mia smiled into a face which was handsome after all, but, somehow, did not make her nervous as a handsome face usually did.

Nick put his hands in the pockets of his trousers and looked into the pool.

Mia studied him surreptitiously. It was the hair, she realized, which made him look different from the glossy-haired youths in there. His hair was longer and looked like he didn’t spend his spare time and money on its upkeep. But he also had a different air about him. He lacked both the eager puppy and swaggering braggart pose of most of those guys.

“What do you think of it in there?” he said, nodding toward the house.

Mia blew out a small sigh. “Oh, man, I had to get away for a minute. Too many people to meet all at once.”

Nick laughed softly.

“Yeah, I know what you mean.” He paused for a moment, then turned to her and said in a rush, “I’m sorry, but I just have to ask, do you like your…career?”

Mia was surprised by this abrupt question, but thought about it for a minute.

“Yes, in a way. Well, some days I want out.” Now that she’d said it, actually said it out loud, she realized that it was true. “For so long, I thought it was what I wanted, but I'm not so sure anymore.”

“Wow. You wanted this for a long time?” He sounded puzzled.

“Yeah,” Mia said, “I even majored in it in college.”

Nick looked at her in obvious confusion, but then looked back into the pool.

“I don’t know how these things work, really, but, won’t it be hard to leave?”

“Oh, I don’t know. If the right opportunity presented itself, I think I could walk away.”

“Really?” Nick scuffed a toe against the edge of the pool. “Don’t you have to, you know, pay off your madam or something?”

Mia’s head snapped up as though she had been slapped.

“What?” Her voice was a mixture of outrage and disbelief.

Nick looked dismayed.

“I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I just thought you had to pay her a cut or something.”

Mia’s voice was low and dangerous.

“Is that why you were friendly to me? You think I’m a hooker?”

Nick’s consternation would have been laughable if Mia had been able to laugh at anything at that moment.

“Well,…yes. I mean, yes I think you’re a…I mean, I thought you were. But that’s not why I was friendly. You just looked like you needed a friend.”

In one corner of her brain, Mia was charmed by the boyish look of bewilderment on Nick’s face. The rest of her brain was seething with anger: anger at Jeff for dressing her up like some rag doll, anger at herself for letting him do it, anger at the culture of political campaigning for allowing it, and, perhaps less reasonable than all, anger at Nick for failing to see through the clothing and make-up to the witty, charming, intelligent, warm-hearted young woman she was.

Later, Mia realized that this anger may have clouded her judgement, but at the moment, it seemed like the most logical thing to do.

She grabbed Nick by the shirt front and shoved him into the pool. Eyes wide with surprise, Nick grabbed wildly for something to hold onto and found only Mia.

Mia’s shriek and the ensuing splash brought the crowd from inside pouring through the French doors.

Mia was horrified. Her hair was already plastered to her head, but she swiped frantically at her cheeks in a fruitless effort to head off the rivulets of mascara there.

“So, Mia,” said that voice like a bullhorn.

Mia looked up to see Mr. Billings standing at the edge of the pool, a wicked smile lighting up his weather-beaten face.

“I see you’ve met my grandson.”

Speechless, Mia turned to look at Nick who was calmly treading water beside her.

Performing introductions as though they stood at a debutante’s ball, Mr. Billings said,

“Nick, this is Miss Schmuck from Pam Parker’s campaign. Miss Schmuck this is Nicholas Billings, my grandson.”

An impish smile flickered at the corner of Nick’s mouth.

“Miss Schmuck,” he said with as much formality as he could muster. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Mia gave a small sputter of disbelief. She looked at Nick who could barely control his sheepish grin. It was too ridiculous.

Then, she couldn't help but laugh with him.
***
Later, Mia and Nick stood by the open front door of the Billings' house.

Mia had accepted the loan of some dry clothes from Nick's sister and was infinitely more comfortable in her borrowed clothes than she had been in the ones she had worn earlier.

"I'm really sorry about...everything," Nick said quietly.

Mia smiled and fidgeted with her car keys.

"Well, at least the fund-raising was a success."

"Listen, Mia, if you ever decide to look for another job - and it's none of my business, but I think you should - Grandpa likes you. He'd find you a job in a heartbeat."

Mia looked down at the moonlight spilling over the marble tiles. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and shifted the bag of wet clothes on her arm.

"Thanks, Nick, I appreciate it." She looked into his face, then, and took a terrifying leap of faith. "What I'd really like is a second chance to make a first impression with you."

Nick smiled and the tension in Mia's stomach eased a fraction.

"No," he said and Mia's stomach lurched.

He went on. "I'll keep the first impression. I'd be glad for a second impression, though. Tomorrow?"

Mia could only smile and nod and hope she didn't look as idiotically happy as she felt.