Hands cupping twinkling wine glasses rise in a synchronized manner as the incumbent Northside candidate raises his martini to toast his successor.
"Here's to democracy. Our nation's greatest source of pride."
Murmurs fill the air as the crowd irrevocably agrees. The silver-haired man in a stuffy three-piece suit, adorned with a small raven pin on his lapel, continues:
"It is a privilege to have been able to participate in it, both as a voter and as a representative. I am immensely grateful for the support I've received throughout my terms. It's been an honour serving each and every one of you. But now, as I've reached my term limit, I hope to pass on the baton to Sara. She's determined to succeed in her goals, dedicated to the people in this district, and a true force of nature. There couldn't be a better candidate."
Sara—the AFD nominee for premier—a prim woman with a movie-star smile, stands next to him on the stage. Once the speeches are over and the soft music resumes, she cuts through the crowd and mingles effortlessly. I can't take my eyes off her. Her practiced laugh, assuring touches to the shoulder, and sudden compliments to the singer of the band. Out of sportsmanship and politeness, the ruling party had invited the opposition candidates as well. The last time I spotted Jeremiah, he was standing close to the bar with a well-known business tycoon. I guess he isn't bad at mingling either.
The night is boastful and exclusive. One of introductions, proposals, and rumours. The candidates move from table to table, bar to bar, armed to impress with their party tricks, quips, and anecdotes. Some couples have taken to the dance floor already; swaying to the music, wrapped in each other, far away from the rest of us.
Wayne has been a difficult date. After several introductions, he left me at a table of contractors, for a private conversation. Seated at the table are an unhappy couple dressed in their finest and a father-daughter duo who aim to dominate the conversation.
The father—whose name I won't pretend to remember—continues to gloat about a plan he's meant to pitch the following week. The conversation dulls into the background when I notice Jeremiah with another opposition candidate, a few tables over, tipping backwards as they roar with laughter.
Sara approaches our table stopping the father's long monologue in an instant. She pushes a stray lock behind her diamond-adorned ear as she modestly introduces herself. Her smooth black hair stops right above her collar bones in a blunt cut.
"And you must be?" Her voice rises when she addresses me.
"London Capell. I'm a senior producer at the Reverent," I say, extending my hand across the round table; she gives a firm shake.
"Are you here alone?"
"No, I came with Wayne—"
"Oh! Of course," She interrupts. "You're...new."
The contractor's daughter takes a large sip from her glass, her eyes flitting between the two of us. It takes a second for me to realise my mistake. Neither had I taken care to learn more about Wayne nor had I been paying attention to the people around this table and their impression of me. From the intrigue in Sara's voice and the subtle condescending tilt of her head, it's easy to tell that Wayne has a pattern, and I'm a plus-one being perceived as his "new" thing.
"How did you both meet?" she smiles.
When I say, 'work', her smile widens.
"Oh! Of course. Well, I hope you have a good time tonight. You can report back that the party was brilliant," She jokes, doing a small shimmy with her shoulders. The table laughs along ostentatiously.
YOU ARE READING
Kingdom Come
Mystery / ThrillerIn the face of climate collapse, life has been trudging on as usual. The rich have gotten richer, countries have fortified their borders, and elections have remained a game of deception. London, a passionate journalist, has clung to the belief that...
