GONE TO TEXAS
by T. Benjamin White
An early-chapter excerpt from T. Benjamin White’s novel, Land of Drought and Flood, the story of Robert Brammer, the liberal-crusader mayor of Austin, and his longshot bid to become governor of Texas. It’s a tough fight. To help, Brammer makes a strange decision: He hires a wizard...
Ian Liath had gone to Texas on a fool’s errand: elect Robert Brammer, mayor of Austin, to the governor’s office. That liberal crusader, known across the media and political landscape for his fiery barbs and progressive ideology, had the gall to seek the highest office in the nation’s most conservative state, and Ian went to help them claw their way out of the margin of error and into the realm of real possibility.
Four months earlier, Brammer defeated the other primary candidates easily; a moderate centrist bowed out early, while a left-wing grassroots activist gave him an early and brief run for his money before dropping out, after Brammer agreed to shift left on criminal justice. Brammer became a media darling almost overnight, the unabashed liberal in a cowboy hat who would turn Texas blue. The one who was promised. He appeared on late-night talk shows and podcasts, received donations and endorsements from coastal cities as much as his own constituents. Excitement was in the air. But that was March. Now it was July, and with only four months until Election Day, the polls had not budged.
Brammer’s campaign manager, Jorge Jimenez, made a call to the state Democrats, who reached out to their national partners, who, after a week of meetings and deliberations, put the campaign in touch with Charlie Bengston, Western US Accounts Director for Gray Hat Consulting. Jorge had made countless calls to contractors and consultants before, yet he couldn’t quite contain his nerves; the stakes had never been higher, and the consultant never stranger. But Charlie reassured him. Gray Hat Consulting existed to take on the biggest challenges, support missions with the highest potential leverage for good, and they had the perfect field operative for the job.
Before leaving Gray Hat’s Western Accounts office in Seattle, Ian had met with Charlie to discuss the project.
“This is a big opportunity for the company,” Charlie said. “We had a southern office once, back when I started. Decades ago. But that well dried up. And we haven’t tried for a while. Repeated failures won’t get us any more clients, understand? So, this is our shot, buddy. Yours, too.”
That yours too carried weight. Ian had been passed over for promotion several times, and Charlie didn’t make these hints often. The meeting was brief, and Ian took a car to the airport. Six hours later, he arrived at the Brammer for Texas headquarters.
The lobby walls were adorned with a combination of Texas kitsch and political memorabilia: a preserved longhorn skull, a vintage poster that read “All the Way with LBJ,” and a guitar signed by Willie Nelson. An old map behind a thick wooden frame showed a time when the state stretched northwest, as if the borders had burst and the territory spilled out over New Mexico and into Colorado. It was labeled “The Republic of Texas.” At the center of this gallery was a bright blue, newly minted “Brammer 2014” campaign poster.
The door opened, and a young Latina woman wearing a long black skirt and a gray blazer appeared.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Liath,” she said, “My name is Marisa Lopez, I’m executive assistant to the mayor. Please come with me.”
Marisa led Ian through the doors and into the Brammer for Texas campaign headquarters. He walked steadily, a light thump from his polished, black cane marking each pace. Marisa walked at a quick pace, her arms full of papers, binders, and a small laptop computer. Ian felt himself working to keep up.
“It’s true what they say about you?” she asked.
“What do they say?”
“That you’re a wizard.”
“Well, that’s a bit of an archaic term. These days we prefer ‘consultant.’”
Ian did not prefer “consultant.” He liked being called a wizard. It felt good, and anyways, it was more accurate. But the company had insisted on rebranding as consultants, and Ian was, first and foremost, a company man.
“But, you do…magic? Like, that’s real?”
This was a common line of questioning. Gray Hat was a known entity to the upper echelons of society, even if rarely discussed. Presidents and prime ministers, billionaire philanthropists, and CEOs of the largest corporations knew of its existence, but to most people, even most people with influence, the suggestion of magic and wizards induced eye rolls. Ian’s job always started with convincing senior staff that they were not victims of an elaborate prank.
“Well, again, we don’t like to call it that. But yeah, more or less, we do magic.”
“And how does that work?”
She asked the question with a bit of a laugh, like it was a joke they shared together. But before Ian could answer, they were joined and interrupted by another staff member, a large balding white man who appeared slightly disheveled on his best days. He began walking with them and asked Marisa if she had seen the latest poll numbers — the university, the local public radio, two national-level media conglomerates, and a respected non-profit think tank had all released new data — but before he could finish the request, Marisa pulled a spiral-bound packet from the middle of her stack.
“Donna already shared a copy, thanks,” she said.
“My version?”
Marisa visibly rolled her eyes.
“You have your own version of a public radio poll?”
“I have commentary, notes. Recommendations.”
“Recommendations? For who?”
“For. You know.”
“You’re gonna have to say it.”
The man took a deep breath, as if additional oxygen might bestow courage or good fortune.
“I think the Mayor will want to see this.”
“He’ll see the polls.”
“It’s not just the polls, Marisa. He’s gotta know what to think about them, too.”
“The Mayor’s pretty good at that kind of thing.”
“Ok, fine. Will you take a look?”
Marisa stopped walking and looked him in the eye. She held her hand out, and he gave her a few stapled sheets. Marisa’s eyes flew across the first page, then held it up with two fingers.
“This is shitty work, Jim. I’m not giving that to the Mayor. What is this — quotes from bloggers, social media personalities?”
“They’re political analysts,” he said as his voice raised a notch, “and they have degrees from Harvard.”
Jim continued his protest, but Marisa waved him off and sent him to work on an administrative task.
“He’s helpful.” Ian said, probing the boundaries of their rapport.
“Yeah. Some guys think this is an opportunity to prove themselves, climb the ladder of professional Democratic politics. But most of us are here to win an election, and we know that means doing the work.”
Ian nodded in agreement.
“Guys like Jim think just because both our jobs share the word ‘assistant’ that I’m automatically in his corner, or even that our work is remotely the same.”
As Executive Assistant, Marisa operated as Brammer’s second brain. She was a walking database, holding memories of every person the Mayor had spoken to, where they had left off, and what was next. At one rally, early in the primaries, she had mixed up names, telling Brammer that he was about to speak to Shelly Jackson, president of a local teacher’s association and a likely ally, when the woman in front of them was actually Shelby Jacobs, a local anti-abortion organizer who had come to protest. Marisa had never seen the Mayor so irate at his own staff, and she vowed to make not one more mistake.
“Honestly, a lot of my job is making sure the Mayor doesn’t waste his time, and this report,” Marisa said as she waved it in front of Ian’s face,“total waste of time.”
She tossed it into the trash bin.
“Glad he’s got you watching out for him.”
Marisa smiled, but Ian couldn’t tell whether she sincerely appreciated the comment or thought he was making a joke.
“I’m excited to meet the Mayor,” Ian said. “He’s got quite the reputation.”
“He’s earned it. But we won’t be meeting with him until the afternoon — he’s busy with city things this morning. You’ll get to meet the key staff soon, though. We’ve got a strategy meeting in…”
Marisa checked her watch.
“Ten minutes. This way, I need to make a quick stop.”
Mr. White is a literary critic and novelist. An Austinite from birth, White has deep roots in the State of Texas, including a BA in English Literature and a Master’s in Public Affairs, both from the University of Texas at Austin. He also spent roughly ten years teaching eighth and ninth grade literature in Austin (a much harder task than writing novels). As the founder of The Composted Books Review, White writes about books that enrich our lives, with a special interest in small press and mostly forgotten novels. He currently lives in Portland, Oregon, with his wife and kids.