The 3rd Woman. Jonathan Freedland

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СКАЧАТЬ viewer would not notice on the first or second airing but would process all the same, if only subliminally. He was glad to see a couple more Latinos and what he guessed was a Jewish man. An older white woman: good. More Chinese. Seated, he turned to the young woman standing by his right shoulder and said only: ‘Blacks.’

      ‘I’m sorry?’

      ‘African-Americans. You’ve only got one.’ He paused the video, frozen now on the image of a beautiful black woman, her long hair in tight spirals, clutching a miniature flag. ‘She’s great, but we need more. That’s ten per cent of our vote, remember.’

      ‘But I thought you said—’

      ‘That’s true. So use a child or an older man. No one’s frightened of them. Doesn’t have to be real old. Just not young. Bit of grey in the sideburns, that’ll do it.’

      He turned back to the screen, playing the rest at normal speed. He sang along to the line: ‘California, You’re My Home’. Then, as the last word faded, he intoned in a voice not quite his own, ‘“I’m Richard Berger – and I approved this message.”’

      He stood up. ‘OK, where’s Susan?’

      A nervous flutter passed through the room as the heads of those people relieved not to be Susan turned and looked for her. She was at the back, her head down, every few seconds swiping the page on her tablet. Leo guessed she was absorbed in poll numbers.

      ‘Hey, Susan. Can we talk slogan?’

      She glanced up, then returned to the illuminated page before her. ‘Sure.’

      ‘Can you remind me what we agreed would be the theme of this spot?’ He was speaking across the room.

      ‘Unity, harmony, all that.’ She didn’t look up.

      ‘Er, yeah. That’s the theme of the campaign. I mean this particular spot.’

      Now at last she lifted her head slowly, as if to say, I am a senior figure in this operation. I will not jump at your command like the rest of these candy girls in their skinny jeans and fitted tops. I will take my time if I want to. The words she spoke out loud were: ‘We can all get along.’

      ‘Correct. We can all get along. No matter who we are. But with one group in mind especially.’ Pausing for a response and not getting it, Leo gave what was meant as a prompt, watched by the rest of the room. There were about a dozen of them, almost all young, including those who were not interns, written off, in the brutal vernacular of the trade, as mere muffins: sugary snacks for the delectation of the older hands. Susan Patinkin, campaign veteran, was the only person present over the age of forty. ‘The clue is on the screen.’ He rewound, freezing on an image which included two Chinese men. Neither were in uniform, but both were of military age.

      Susan looked, then sighed. ‘Your point is?’

      ‘My point is that, yes, this ad is saying we can all get along. Even those guys.’ With his back to the screen, so that he could still face Susan, he gestured towards the Chinese faces. ‘But what’s wrong with this picture?’

      No answer from Susan, so now he looked around. ‘Anybody?’

      A hand went up. Young guy in a T-shirt decorated by a chimp in headphones, doubtless involved with social media. Leo had no idea of his name. He pointed at him instead. ‘You.’

      ‘They’re not singing?’

      Leo hurled his pen at him, forcing him to duck. ‘For fuck’s sake! Am I really the only person who can see the problem here?’ He turned back towards the screen, spooled to the final few seconds, halfway through the final refrain. The choir was in full voice.

      ‘… you’re my home!’

      ‘OK.’ It was Susan, sheepish at the back of the room.

      ‘Thank you!’ Leo said to the ceiling, his hands spread like a preacher at the pulpit. ‘Yes, Governor Richard Berger will bring harmony to the state of California. Yes, he will ensure the people of this state will get along with each other and even with the garrison. Yes, there will be no riots on his watch. But that doesn’t mean he wants these guys to stay forever. He doesn’t want California to be their home.’

      Susan had now abandoned the data logs on her tablet. ‘California, We Love You.’

      ‘Better.’

      She had another go. ‘California, Place of Harmony.’

      ‘Too Chairman Mao.’

      There was silence. Eventually Leo turned to the woman who had been at his shoulder, taking notes during the viewing, and who was, as it happened, wearing a tightly fitted top: knitted, cream-coloured and, Leo clocked, unable to hide a pair of very generously shaped breasts. ‘Collect four suggestions for alternative tag lines to run on this spot. Then focus-group all five.’

      He was already at the door, giving a curt nod to Susan as he passed her, when the assistant called out. ‘Focus-group five? But you said we needed four. What’s the fifth?’

      ‘Richard Berger. Bringing California Together.’

      There would be another year of this, Leo thought. All right, closer to ten months, but it would be like this every day. In fact, days like this would seem like a breeze come the fall. He remembered what Bill Doran used to say, his face cragged and scarred after more than thirty years on the road: ‘Campaigns are never tiring – unless you lose. Then they hurt like hell.’

      As Leo boarded the jet that would take him and Mayor Richard Berger to Sacramento – squaring the Democratic delegation in the state assembly, ensuring they endorsed early and often – he allowed three thoughts to circulate. First, he had no intention of losing. He would sweat from now till the first Tuesday after the first Monday in November to ensure his boss was installed in the Governor’s Mansion. Second, he already regretted his own, populist suggestion that the mayor, as the Democratic candidate, should eschew the private jet offered to him by donors and fly commercial whenever possible. Make no mistake, come Memorial Day, if not earlier, Leo would be invoking that ‘whenever possible’ clause and the wiggle room it very deliberately allowed.

      Third, he was thinking of Bill Doran. He knew that was bad form, or ‘malpractice’, to use Doran’s preferred word. It was a violation of one of Bill’s own commandments: never let them get inside your head. Normally, Leo observed that stricture without effort. But this time was different. His adversary, his opposite number on the rival campaign, was the very man who had taught him the fundamentals of political combat. If Leo were to win in November, he would have to turn his first boss and ongoing, if occasional, mentor into a loser.

      That they would clash one day, he had always known. They were on opposite sides of the aisle. It was only through a freak accident that they had worked together in the first place. It was Leo’s first campaign. He had signed up straight out of college as an unpaid volunteer for a millionaire Democrat-turned-independent, who had hired Bill Doran – the best known Republican consultant in the state – to underline his new, bipartisan credentials. It was a gimmick that had ended in disaster: the candidate was crushed, despite the expensive advice he had hired.

      But it had been the best possible education for Leo. Doran spotted him early, deeming him ‘the brightest of the bunch, no contest’. He let him sit in on strategy meetings way СКАЧАТЬ