The Special Relationship

Prologue

November 6 2012

The ballroom at the Abraham Lincoln Hotel was full of people, everyone was chatting, eating and most importantly drinking. All around red, white and blue balloons and lights decorated the art deco space. The music played softly considering most people had their eyes affixed to any of the many television screens.

Bum badum dun da dun

The tune has the group turning to the screens. All conversations cease as the announcer addresses the viewers across the nation. ''And we have another important race update, we at CNN are comfortable announcing that North Carolina's electoral votes will go to Senator Bee...''

The assembled group groans, drowning out the rest of the announcement. North Carolina was a state that could have gone either way. Senator Randolph's supporters wanted that victory. Now though they watch the margin between the two candidates shrink even more. The night was getting late, millions of votes had been cast and the United States still didn't have a clear president elect.

Up a few floors three suites were home base for the Randolph campaign team. The mood was much more serious in these rooms. Interns and advisors were on computers, cell phones and tablets trying to determine how the night was going to end. And in the middle of it all sat Senator Alexander Jefferson Randolph V. He was seated, jacket off, bourbon in hand. "Dammit."

"Alex, we predicted this loss in North Carolina. We built the loss into the model." The middle-aged campaign manager, Steven Jenkins chimes in. The rather short man stands in the center of the chaos. His jacket and tie long since discarded. He looks haggard, circles under his eyes, pale face. The man had been working for over a year and a half for this night and he looks like it.

"Sure, but I want to win. I want it to be over." The candidate grumbles, sounding much more like a disgruntled toddler than an Ivy League educated politician.

Even though the same age as his campaign manager Alexander Jefferson Randolph looked a good ten years younger. The presidential candidate had been described as a man with the personality of Teddy Roosevelt, the charisma of John Kennedy and the statesmanship of George Washington. Indeed, looking at Alexander Randolph inspired all sorts of feelings usually awe. He was a tall man with an upright, confident posture, strong jawline and sharp gray eyes that could convey every emotion in his political tool belt. In most men, this combination could be toxic, but Alexander Randolph was a man hell-bent on doing good. He, if the American people chose him tonight, could be one of the great presidents.

"Fox News wants a statement." An intern chimes in.

"Here's one: fuck off." Alexander takes a sip of his bourbon, eyes trained on the television.

Steve swears, glaring at his longtime friend. He raises his voice to address the intern. ''I don't need to tell you not to say that right Amanda?" He pats his friend on the shoulder. ''We're getting close. We're going to win this thing."

The Senator nods, staring into space. ''What's left?"

Steve rattles off states most of them clear victors either way, if the polling stayed true. Alexander nods thoughtfully, ''It will come down to Ohio." The age-old battleground. The state has a 96% success rate in determining the future president. This year would be no different.

"Looks that way."

The door to the bedroom swings open, a young woman steps out in a dark blue dress. The a-line ensemble flatters her small waist while minimizing her generous bust line, before poofing out, the sleeveless look highlighting her toned arms. And her legs looked impossibly long in the nude stilettos. "We knew it was coming down to Ohio." She remarks, not missing a single beat.