"He'll be ready in five minutes," the secretary said. "Please have a seat."
Sandra took in her surroundings. It was a modest office; almost too modest. In all her years covering the political beat, she's never been to an office so nondescript. But this was par for the course for Congressman Phillip Trask, who seemed to go out of his way to avoid the spotlight. Her deepest sources tell her that he's the guy responsible for pushing through a lot of the most radical legislation that was passed in the last couple of years, but he's never taken any credit.
He's even avoided doing interviews, which made today such a coup. She didn't really expect the Congressman to accept her challenge. She and the publication she worked for were just trying to make some noise, make it seem like he had something to hide. They couldn't really find anything after months of digging into his history. But that was strange in itself: a young black man from a small town in Illinois with no political experience or even any significant time in the public eye suddenly winning a seat in congress held by a seasoned incumbent.
Even his staff looked nondescript: a bunch of frumpy congressional aides, all of them hard at work staring at screens, barely registering to the average person. That is, except for his secretary. She recognized her as Lindsay Majors, daughter of Senator Lawrence Majors. The statuesque blonde stood out in the office, and for the fact that her father would be the last person you'd think of wanting anything to do with this young liberal congressman.
Sandra heard a phone ring. Lindsay walked up to her. "He'll see you now," she said.
***
"Sorry to keep you waiting," the Congressman said. "We've got a vote coming up, and I had to handle some issues."
"What kind of issues?" she asked.
"Well I don't want to get too specific," he replied.
"Yes, that seems to be your style."
He smiled. "Is this really how it's going to be for today?"
"You knew what to expect."
"Yes, I did." He stared off into the distance. "Yes I did."
His private office didn't offer any more detail than the other room. His desk was piled with books and papers, but no personal belongings. The furniture was comfortable, but distinctly plain, as if just chosen out of a catalog. It felt oddly bare, and the emptiness made their voices feel more resonant.
"You aren't known for doing interviews," Sandra said. "You've certainly been asked by other outlets."
"That's true," he said. "Is there a question?"
"Why us?"
"Why not?"
"Well, one would imagine that you would prefer talking to a publication that's been more welcoming of your views."
"Welcoming of my views." His rich baritone felt out those words. "That's an interesting way to put it."
"We've made it no secret that we don't agree with the policies you've put forward."
"Well maybe I have no interest in talking in people who already agree with me. Maybe there's a greater benefit to reaching out to skeptics, to letting them get to know what I really am."
"And what's that?"
"An honest politician."
Sandra perceived a change in tone. He said it with a seriousness that bordered on sinister, as if he were challenging her with the statement. She shifted in her seat, and gathered herself mentally.
"There's no such thing," she said.
"Such cynicism. Now did you believe that before you started working for the Journal, or is that something you came to believe while working there?"
"It's just a fact of politics. The truth is often too inconvenient to be effective."
His mouth formed a weary smile. "That's a sad way to view things. I think the truth is my greatest weapon."
"Then why have been hiding so much? Why not do more interviews? Why not put yourself out more? Why not give us more of your truth?"
"That's clever, Sandra. Do you mind if I call you Sandra?"
She did mind, especially the way he said it, dripping with an unsettling familiarity. But she figured it would better for the interview if she managed to make him let his guard down.
"Not at all. Do you mind if I call you Phillip?"
