“Anything for the cause,” he says. What he means is, I will do whatever it takes to get re-elected. He pulls his phone out of his jacket pocket, presumably to confirm that my information is correct. He should just believe me. I’ve been tracking it all day.

We glide by rows of upscale housing. Uniformed doormen. Lycra-clad, down-vested joggers. SUV strollers, and everyone with a name-brand coffee cup in their hand. Sparkling sidewalks—literally, do they put glitter in them, or something? Stately brick, modern metal, walls and walls of windows. Who are the people behind all that shiny glass? Did they watch us on TV today, or will they tonight? Are they walking on treadmills and reading iPads and watching sitcoms while our world burns? Were they out in Griffith Park with torches? Did they want to be?

“It’s been nice to see you, Kimberly. You look well,” Al says. What he means is, You look pretty, or sexy, or something in that vein.

“I’m good.”

“I’m glad to see you’re still involved in the work.” What he means is, I was right to pluck you from obscurity so you could carry my briefcase.

“It’s become important to me.”

“You’re a natural.” What he means is, I made you from scratch.

“I don’t know about that.” Out the window, the buildings grow shorter, closer together and more worn down. We’re almost home.

“Nonsense, Kimberly. You’re a leader.”

The town car is generously sized, but so are we. It doesn’t take much for his hand to move closer to mine. Too close. His fingers walk and talk at the same time. Maybe I imagine them stroking slow circles over the back of my hand, where it rests on the seat between us. I’m still watching the city go by.

“I still think about that week,” he says. What he means is, I wouldn’t mind getting in your pants this time, if you’ll let me.

“I don’t,” I lie. “So much has happened since then.” I cross my arms over my stomach, even though it presses my boobs together, and I’m sure that is where his eye goes.

“You’re an amazing woman,” he says. What he means is, Who do you think you are? No one says no to Alabaster Sloan.

“I’m doing my best,” I answer.

“I’m proud of you.” There’s something about his voice that I never noticed before. Every word is full of so many things all at once. Layers and layers of meaning. Maybe it’s why people find him so pleasant to listen to. Why he moves them. It sounds like he is speaking with the voice of millions, and what I hear them all saying is, You are small.

ZEKE

I’m kinda wishing I’d taken time to clean up the SCORE office. It looks like a cyclone hit it. An anti-white-supremacist cyclone. This is what organizing looks like, I remind myself. We worked hard today.