Iris gabs on next to me, talking about some minor policy initiative she’s been assigned to. I like Iris a lot, but she really can talk. Like, a lot, almost to the point where you wonder if she saves it all up throughout the day just to spew all over you.
I’m sulking and I know it, although I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s the atmosphere. We’re in Poor David’s, which is like the quintessential DC insiders’ bar. It’s full of guys with clean haircuts, American flag pins on their lapels, and straight white teeth.
It’s basically like a frat house for political geeks. Everyone in here is some kind of junior aide to this or that senator, and everyone thinks they’re going to be the next big political mover and shaker. It’s all a bunch of glad handing, smiling, laughing, political bullshit.
It’s what I hate most about DC. I started a blog for a reason. I hate being in these places, talking with these slimy people.
There’s probably more than one lobbyist in here too, trying to bribe some of the more ruthless idiots.
I sigh and sip my drink. I need to get it under control.
“Maggie?” Iris cocks her head at me. She’s small, almost petite, with wide brown eyes and frizzy brown hair. She looks like a mouse, almost literally. “Did you hear me?”
“No, I’m sorry,” I admit, forcing a smile. “It’s just loud in here.”
“That’s okay,” she says brightly. “I was just saying, isn’t President Clark hot as hell?”
I sputter while sipping my drink and laugh. I glance around us, wondering who overheard that. I recognize a guy two seats away, he’s the environmental aide to a New York congressman, but otherwise I don’t see any familiar faces.
“I guess so,” I manage to say.
She grins at me. “You guess so? Come on. Everyone’s talking about it.”
“The media, you mean.” I make a dismissive gesture.
“Everyone,” she repeats. “I mean, look at him. Did you know that he got over seventy percent of women? Can you freaking imagine that?”
I shrug. I can totally imagine that. People are super shallow.
Including me, apparently.
“He’s charming,” I say. “He was a good candidate.”
“He was great,” she corrects. “But that wasn’t it.”
“You think people voted for him because he’s handsome?”
“Hot as hell,” she corrects, “and yes, pretty much.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “No way.”
“Way. We have data.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Seriously?”
“I may have slipped an extra question or two into my last round of polling.”
I sigh. “Iris, you’re not supposed to do that.”
She gestures with her wine glass. “I took the initiative, Maggie!”
“But it’s about data integrity.”
She scoffs at that. “Integrity, my butt. Half the people in this town are bought and sold by the bloodsuckers.”
I can’t help but smile at that. Her pet name for lobbyists is pretty accurate.
“Maybe, but still. You should follow the rules.”
“Well, I didn’t. Wanna hear what the data says?”
I hesitate. I should say no. I shouldn’t encourage this sort of stuff.
We’re supposed to stick to the questions we’re given. Asking anything else can mess with the data in unexpected ways. Everything is strictly regulated and controlled so that our data is as accurate as possible.
But I really, really want to know.
“Fine, tell me.”
She grins. “I asked two extra questions at the end. The first question was, ‘Do you find President Clark physically attractive?’ And the second question was, ‘Is that why you voted for him?’”
I snort. “Seriously? Not beating around the bush, huh?”
“Nope,” she says. “Eighty percent of people said yes to the first one. Guess the percent of the second?”
“Ten,” I say.
She raises an eyebrow. “Nope.”
“Twenty.”
“Try again.”
“Thirty? Are you kidding?”
“Forty-two.”
I stare at her. “Shut the fuck up.”
“Forty-two percent of people that said yes to the first said yes to the second.”
I gasp and laugh, unable to help myself. That’s the most insane thing I’ve ever heard.
I mean, voting for the President based on looks…
It doesn’t matter if President Clark is gorgeous. It doesn’t matter if he’s austere and handsome and the sort of man we should have leading us. Nobody should vote for him based on looks.
And yet apparently, lots of people did.
“It was a small sample size,” Iris admits when I get myself under control. “Only a little over a hundred people. But still, that’s pretty crazy, right?”
“Right,” I agree. “Hopefully those numbers don’t scale.”
“Hopefully,” she echoes, and grins some more. “But I wouldn’t be shocked if they did. That’s why I voted for him.”
“Iris!”
“What? He’s really hot.”
I groan and laugh. I sip my drink, hoping nobody overheard that conversation. The wrong ears listening in could lead to some serious repercussions for the both of us.
Iris is absolutely insane. It’s part of why I like her so much. We’re the youngest pollsters on staff, and we’ve sort of gravitated toward each other. I half expected her to be this super serious geeky girl, but instead she’s the total opposite of that.