The debate had been fierce. My opponent brought everything she had to it, and, honestly, I was afraid that when the dust settled, I'd be "former Mayor Rory O'Grady." The points I had made played to people's legitimate fears about crime, and my opponent's hairbrained scheme to dramatically cut police budgets to fund social programs.
I wasn't exactly a law-and-order candidate. I had been as critical of the police department as anyone, and my term in office had seen significant reforms in police practice. But I wasn't crazy, which on this subject, my opponent seemed to be.
But my opponent, Chantel Blackman-Smith had two advantages in this election that I couldn't hope to match. She was black, as was the majority of my city's population, and she was drop-dead gorgeous. I could lay claim to neither.
My political advisers had urged me to go after her. She had weaknesses -- her family were significant owners of rental properties, for instance. The term "slumlord" had been bandied about in some of our strategy sessions. She had been born with a silver spoon in her mouth. Her family owned what could only be described as a mansion in the Highlands section of the city. She was also utterly devoid of experience.
By contrast, I was a "man of the people" I grew up in a neighborhood that even then was a pretty tough place. My record on the thing that mattered most to our citizens was solid. Violent crime was down by a third at the end of my first term. Property values had stabilized. My resume was chock full of experience -- I had been deputy mayor for years before I ran on my own.
But I would only hint about her inexperience in our debates. I insisted that we run a positive campaign. There was a commercial with me sitting on the stoop at my parents' home -- they still lived there -- where I talked about my roots in the city. There was another campaign ad that showed a great photo of me arm-in-arm with Jesse Jackson at some protest when I was in my 20s. I was passionate about my city and I told my staff that would have to do. We would stay positive until the end.
The truth was more complicated. I counted her mom and dad among my best friends in the world, and, frankly, their friendship meant more to me than being mayor. But I also had a wicked crush on Chantel. It was, to my knowledge, unrequited. I had known her since she was about 14 years old, awkward and coltish. I lost track of her for years -- she went away to college and then worked out of town for a while. When I saw her again just before she announced she was a candidate, I was smitten.
The years away had been kind to her. Gone was the awkwardness, the coltishness. It was replaced by good looks and an ease with people that belied her age. I have to admit, too, that her perfect body, great ass and perfect breasts left me speechless.
"You can't be Leon Blackman's daughter, can you? I remember you in braces," I said when I spotted her ran into her at a charity event.
"I am her, in the flesh", she said, flashing me a huge smile.
"I'm Rory..."
Another smile. "I remember you very well, Mr. Mayor. Of course, you weren't mayor then. I remember you and my father sitting up late in his den, talking and arguing about the issues and drinking bourbon. That's what sparked my interest in politics. And bourbon, for that matter." She had a great laugh. It was just one of the things I found attractive in her.
That was six months ago. Today, we were in the final throes of the campaign. The debate was just six days before the election. I was still ahead in the polls, but my margin was slim.
"Good job tonight, Chantel," I said with a smile, once it was done, shaking hands with her.
"Thank you Mayor O'Grady," she said. "Coming from you, that means a lot."
"Are your folks here tonight?" I asked. "I'd like to say hi to your Dad."
Her father had been a political ally of mine for many years. He was sitting this one out, he told me early on in the election season, for obvious reasons. I respected his position and wanted to say hello and shake his hand.
"They're here," she said. "Right over there."
I started that way, when she said, "He's a big fan of yours' you know."
I turned back to her. "And I'm a big fan of his. You know, we've been friends for a long time."
"I remember you at our house when I was a kid, working with him on campaigns," she said. "I admit to a little hero worship."
I laughed. "Well you seem to have grown out of that, as you should."
She gave me an enigmatic little smile and reached over, putting her hand on my arm. "You might be surprised."
I was slightly taken aback by that comment, but I recovered soon enough.
"Chantel, I hope whatever happens next Tuesday, we can emerge from this as friends."
"Me too."
Chantel's father's Barbadian accent was musical.
"Good evening, Rory. You were kind to my little girl tonight," he said, as he shook my hand.
"Leon, it's not about being kind. I'm committed to running a positive campaign."
Leon raised his eyebrows just a bit to show his skepticism. "Since when, my friend?"
I was saved from answering that question when Chantel's mom -- a stunning woman in her own right -- came over and gave me a big hug.
"Rory, I cannot believe that the day is coming when we'll have to choose between our own daughter and our best friend."
"Lolita, there's no choice to make. Chantel deserves your loyalty," I said.
"She has our loyalty, but will she get our vote? That's the question," she said, with a bit of a laugh.
I could remember visiting their home while Chantel was a teen, remarking even then about her beauty. I will admit to a bit of a sinking feeling when she announced she was a candidate to relieve me of my job. But her folks had been gracious throughout. If I didn't win the election, I'd be fine. I'd figure out what I needed to do to make a living and pick up the pieces of my life. If I won, but in the process trashed the reputation of Chantel, losing her and her parents' friendship, it wouldn't be much of a victory.
Six days later, I emerged victorious. I'd won by a substantial margin of about 6 percentage points. By our city's standards, it was a landslide. Chantel called me on election night to concede.
"Congratulations, Rory. You ran a positive campaign and won by a lot. You deserve a lot of credit."
"Thank you Chantel. I like you and respect you too much to have done anything else. And that doesn't even take into account your father's feelings. His friendship means the world to me."
"You do remember your promise?"
"What's that?"
"That we'd be friends after the election."
"Oh, yes, I do remember that. Are we?"
"Of course we are. But let's get to know each other better. What are you doing for lunch tomorrow?"
"Eating a nice lunch and having a glass of wine with you, I hope."
We named a place where we both were well-known and agreed to meet at noon.
"I'll get a reservation first thing."
"I'll see you there."
