That’s because you’re an idiot, he told himself. A blind, stupid idiot.

And, like an idiot, he picked up the phone and called Glynis.

She picked up on the second ring. “Hello, Jake.”

Caller ID, he realized. “Hi, Glyn. Uh, are you doing anything for lunch?”

“I’m driving up to Lignite. Want to have lunch with Tim and me?” She sounded cheerful, not a care in the world.

“I can’t,” he said. “Got a class this afternoon.”

“Maybe some other time,” said Glynis.

“Yeah, sure.” He hesitated a heartbeat, then asked, “Are you coming to Tomlinson’s party tonight?”

“At the Sheridan? Yes, we’ll be there.”

Jake heard the we. “Okay, see you then. Oh, don’t forget to vote!”

“I will, Jake. I promise.”

He hung up the phone, turned his little chair around, and watched the snow falling gently outside his window. I might as well go out and vote, Jake said to himself. I’ve got nothing better to do.

Victory

VICTORY

Jake had to fight his way through the jam-packed lobby of the Sheridan Hotel. Senator Leeds’s supporters were pouring into the ballroom, eagerly anticipating the election results.

Brilliant planning, he thought sourly while he squeezed into an elevator filled with laughing, chattering people. Leeds’s party in the ballroom down on the ground floor, Tomlinson’s in the auditorium on the top floor. In the whole damned city they both have to pick this hotel.

Well, he thought, no matter who loses, the Sheridan wins.

The hotel’s rooftop auditorium was even more jammed. As the elevator doors opened, Jake was hit by a solid wall of bodies and deafening noise. Campaign workers, volunteers wearing garish sashes proclaiming TOMLINSON, news reporters, camera crews, a German brass band in lederhosen um-pahhing up on the stage, dignitaries from all over the state, call girls in low-cut dresses waving plastic glasses of champagne, everyone talking, laughing, tooting on plastic vuvuzelas; the noise was overpowering, the press of bodies crushing.

Wishing he were back at his apartment or off in the middle of the Sahara, Jake forced his way through the crowd. Big television screens hung from every wall, showing the vote tabulation. This close to midnight and the count was still too close to call a winner. He spotted Glynis and Younger, trying to dance in front of the stage to a waltz being played surprisingly gently by the brass band. They could barely move, the dance floor was so crowded, but neither of them seemed to mind. Dr. Cardwell and Alice were there, too, looking happily contented with each other.

Tomlinson’s father stood off in one corner of the big room, talking animatedly with what looked like a pair of reporters. Jake pushed toward him. At least the crowd was hanging a respectful few feet away from the old man. Maybe he could breathe there.