Perfect Candidate
“I still can’t believe I managed to land an interview with Vivienne Regis,” Martin thought to himself as the woman in question entered. He’d been waiting long enough past their scheduled meeting time he’d begun to think she was deliberately snubbing him. Not that he could blame her, he was one of the few journalists that had been rather critical of her in their articles of late. How was it so many of his colleagues seemed to only be capable of singing her praises anymore? What had happened to unbiased journalism?
Okay, sure, even he could admit that there was very little in the news that didn’t have some kind of slant nowadays but still the positively effusive enthusiasm so many portrayed her with was downright excessive. And more than a little disturbing, really. The woman was a politician. An intelligent and shrewd politician, of course, anyone could see that. But was Martin the only person who could see the manipulation behind that warm smile she gave everyone who met her? No one was that perfect. No one. Never mind the name they gave her. The “Perfect Candidate”. No, Martin thought to himself, thinking of the information he’d dug up on her. No, she wasn’t perfect at all.
And her attempt to put him off balance by making him wait for her was so blatant as to be laughable.
Still, the apologetic expression on her face as she sat down across from him—was her chair ever so slightly higher than his? Did the woman have some sort of superiority complex too?—seemed almost, almost! genuine. “Mr. LaRue,” she said in a smooth tone, “forgive me for keeping you waiting. You’ve been very patient.“
Damn right he’d been patient! If he hadn’t been anticipating the scoop of the century he would have most certainly gotten up and left already. Even if the fact that she was a rather attractive woman helped soothe some of his irritation. Her skin seemed almost—there’s that word again—perfect and he couldn’t help but wonder where she’d gotten the work done because of course she must have. No woman her age could get away without a few wrinkles unless medical intervention was involved. Interesting that she hadn’t bothered to cover up the few gray strands that streaked her dark hair in a few places. But he did seem to remember hearing somewhere that people tended to think it was her way of showing she was “aging gracefully”. Not every woman in the public eye could pull it off but Vivienne Regis had the confident presence to do just that. She seemed to keep in shape, too, as her expertly tailored clothes did quite a good job of demonstrating that without being too obvious about showing off her body. She certainly seemed decorous about how low she allowed her neckline to go and the skirt she wore was long enough to be considered suitable for a woman of her age and stature but still did little to hide how carefully toned her legs were.
The sound of someone delicately clearing their throat brought Martin’s attention back from where it had wandered. Shit. “Get it together, man,” he berated himself. “You can’t get this done if you don’t keep your head in the game.” He wasn’t here to admire her, after all. He was here to expose her!
So Martin straightened his spine, squared his shoulders a little more, and looked straight up at the woman across from him. Was there a hint of something patronizing in that polite smile? Was he reading too much into this? It didn’t matter, he had a job to do here and he was going to do it. “Miss Regis—”
“Ms.” she interrupted him, “Ms. Regis. Miss is for girls, Mr. LaRue, and I think we can both agree I am more than some young ingenue,” Vivienne laughed lightly, softening the correction, “but please, continue.”
Sighing inwardly, Martin began again, “Ms. Regis,” and he tried to ignore how the way she nodded approvingly at him made him feel a small thread of pleasure that he’d gotten it right, “I appreciate you taking the time out of your busy schedule,” he didn’t bother keeping the irony from his tone, “to meet with me for this interview. I admit I was a little surprised you actually agreed to sit down with me.”
Vivienne laughed again, not at him but as if she was including him in a little joke the two of them shared. “Oh, Martin—I can call you Martin?” Somehow it wasn’t exactly a question and she didn’t wait for an answer, “you’re referring to those articles you like to write that are not so complimentary of me as others in your field, yes?“
“I’m merely trying to keep things balanced—” and she was interrupting him again. When had he lost control of this interview?
Had he ever really had it?
Vivienne was smiling at him once more, nodding sympathetically, “of course, of course, I understand. I do. I have to admire someone who does his best to stick by his principles. Besides, it’s somewhat refreshing to read a little criticism from time to time. One certainly can’t improve oneself by only hearing flattery, I’m sure you agree.”
The faintest trace of a frown creased Martin’s expression. That...hadn’t really seemed like a question either. But she wasn’t wrong so he let it pass without comment. “Well,” he said, clearing his throat, and grasping for the reins of the conversation, “that leads in to what I came to talk about.” He retrieved a small sheaf of papers and spread them on the low table between them and didn’t wonder about how or why she didn’t interrupt him this time. “If you’ll look here you’ll see evidence that Vivienne Regis didn’t even exist before about five years ago. Birth certificate, social security, property records, they’re all very good but they’re all very fake. You have spent a lot of time improving yourself, haven’t you?“
Here it was, thought Martin, how was she going to try to squirm out of this? Of course he could have gone to press with the evidence he already had proving her deception and cratering her election bid but somehow he’d just wanted to see her face when he dropped the bombshell. Maybe he’d even get a good quote or two out of it. But she wasn’t really...was she smiling??? Still? Not even a hint of dismay or shock? Was the woman actually some kind of robot?
“Oh my dear Martin,” Vivienne’s tsking sound was soft, “you are quite resourceful aren’t you? You must have spent quite a lot of hours focused solely on me. I’m flattered by your dedication. You’re quite devoted,” and she paused a moment letting that hang in the air. Despite himself, Martin could almost hear her saying to me but she continued, “to the truth. I won’t deny it,” she tucked an invisible hair behind her ear and Martin found his gaze drawn up to her eyes. Had she always looked that intent? He couldn’t quite look away. “My name was not always Vivienne Regis and I was not always in the position of being able to guide this country as it ought to be guided. You came here for a story so I suppose I’ll give you one.“
Somehow she made it sound like she was doing him a favor. Maybe she was, the story behind the facade of the woman everyone knew as the “Perfect Candidate” would certainly be explosive.
“Pay attention,” Vivienne said firmly, “what I want you to understand, first, is that I let you discover this information. I thought you deserved a little reward for your dogged determination. I’m very happy you chose to come see me first before publishing. You made the right choice to do as I wanted you to do.“
“Reward?” Martin wondered silently, “what she wanted? Why would she want that?” That didn’t make any sense.
But while he was wondering what she meant, she’d continued on in an unhurried tone, “you’ve always been very focused on me, on desiring to learn everything you could about me. You’ve spent so much time trying to do just that, dear boy, of course you chose to come here. Of course you want to learn more.”
Yes. Yes he did. She was right again. She’d been right about everything she’d said this whole time, he thought vaguely. But she was talking again, not letting him think for very long.
“I’m going to tell you everything you need to know about me. Everything that, deep down, we both know you’ve always wanted to know. All you have to do is listen carefully to everything I tell you. You’re very good at listening so I know you can do this and I know you can be even better. The best listeners pay close attention to what they’re told, they don’t have to think about it, don’t have to plan how they’ll respond. What’s important is to listen, nothing else. You can do that.”
Yet again, she hadn’t really posed a question but Martin found himself nodding along anyway.
“Good boy,” she praised him and that little bit of pleasure he’d felt earlier at her approval bloomed within him anew as he leaned toward her to make sure he didn’t miss a single word of what she had to say. “My words are important,” she continued, this story may be the most important one you’ll ever hear and I’m sure you’ll shut out everything else in order to listen to it. The time doesn’t matter. Your thoughts don’t matter and you can feel them getting quieter and quieter the more you listen oh-so-carefully. All that truly matters are my words and the sound of my voice as I tell you what you’ve always wanted to hear. It’s very easy to listen to my voice, very relaxing to listen to what I have to say and know that you’re finally getting what you’ve worked so hard for. You don’t have to work hard anymore, dear boy, just let yourself relax and accept your story.”
Somewhere along the way her smooth, unhurried tone had taken on an almost gentle sing-song aspect. Like a lullaby, maybe. Not that Martin was really thinking about that. He had to listen intently, after all. He didn’t want to miss anything of what she had to tell him. It was very important he get the entire story.
“Yes,” Vivienne repeated again, “it’s very important you get the entire story. So you can relax so easily, feeling your muscles loosen as all the tension you’ve been holding on to just flows gently out of you and leaving you so relaxed and feeling so good. It’s so easy to lean back in the chair as you listen to my voice and let my voice guide you. You’re so good at listening you can relax and feel comfortable as you let my words flow over you and fill your mind you’ve let get so quiet.”
The movement is sluggish but it doesn’t take very long for Martin to slump bonelessly back into his chair as his gaze goes out of focus. He doesn’t need to look at her, she tells him, he just needs to listen and listening is something that can be done easily without trying very hard at all. So really, if it felt better to close his heavy eyelids, it was quite alright. His eyes weren’t needed to listen to her voice. She was right, of course, just as she had been all along. Because she was always right his eyelids seemed to close of their own accord. Martin couldn’t even tell when they had gone from open to closed but it didn’t really matter. He just needed to relax and listen as Vivienne told him how good he was being for her and how good it felt to listen to her and let her tell him what he needed to think. His obsession with her story, she explained to him, really just showed how much he’d wanted to get close to her. His choice to come see her today had really been a choice to hear her story and let her tell him what he needed to know.
Gently, she kept talking to him as the words seemed to flow in soft waves over him, smoothing any lingering tension and filling his mind with nothing but her voice. He needed to know, she explained, that she wanted what was best for everyone and as the two of them had already agreed, she was right. It was only right to accept that everything she wanted was right. It felt good to accept her generosity. It felt good to do as he was told. It felt good to be a good boy for her and help her in anything she needed.
Martin had long since lost track of time nor could he tell how long she spoke. He drifted instead on the pleasure his acceptance of her story brought him without concerning himself with anything at all. Slowly, very slowly, awareness of the world around him came back to and Martin found himself looking up at the powerful woman sitting above him on the arm of the chair. When had she gotten there?
Never mind, it didn’t matter, “I fell asleep?”
Vivienne smiled indulgently at him and patted him on the head, “you drifted off a little, dear boy, but I know you were still listening anyway.” Some vague thought in the back of Martin’s mind tried to suggest he ought to be offended at how she was treating him like some kind of subordinate being. But...wasn’t he?
He was, Martin realized as he continued looking up at her and understanding of everything she’d told him, even if he didn’t quite remember all of it, filled his waking mind. “I see now,” he said softly, almost in awe, “what the others see in you. Anything you need. If there’s anything I can do...” a fervent note had entered his tone, “I’ll do it. Devotion,” Martin didn’t even quite realize how quickly he was sliding out of the chair and on his knees at her feet, “you were right, I’m the most devoted. Your cause—and you—matter more than anything. I want nothing more than to see you succeed.”
Vivienne’s hand petted his hair gently again, “my good boy,” she murmured, “I’m so happy you understand now. I knew you would once we had our little talk. I told you everything you needed to know, just as I promised.”
Nodding obediently, Martin stared up at her with an adoring gaze. He’d already begun mentally revamping the story he’d planned to write. He’d been wrong to think he should tell the world they’d been deceived. No, what he needed to show were her virtues. He needed to show that she really did have everyone’s best interests in mind. That at the end of the day, there really was no other choice.
She was, after all, the perfect candidate.