Liberal Entitlement$
Excerpt - A Round of Golf
Jack Murray, the Liberal member for Portage La Prairie, was having a rare day on the golf course compliments of a freebee from his riding president, Steve Lusniak. Jack had lived in the riding for about seven years before deciding to be a candidate for the Liberals. A school teacher from Delta Beach, north of Portage La Prairie, Jack was not well known, but was a good organiser and networker. He won the nomination against huge odds, beating a three term incumbent who was seen by some as tired and uninterested. In spite of the growing dissatisfaction with the Liberal leadership and record the community had been happy enough with Jack's service on their behalf. However, his support of the gay marriage bill had rattled many constituents.
148 pages
ISBN 0-9737390-3-7
The day was a gloriously warm, early October autumn day without a breeze and with a hint of smoke in the air. The afternoon sun bathed the green course, and highlighted the splendour of the golden poplars and the red and orange leaves of the numerous shrubs. Jack was glad he had accepted the offer and glad to be in the constituency and away from the crap flying around in the House.
Steve had talked him into the game some time ago and promised to bring along a couple of supporters who were interested in meeting the MP and who would likely provide good financial support during the expected upcoming election. True to his promise, Steve brought along Tom Brisby, the owner-manager of the troubled Assiniboine Furniture factory and Jeff Meek, the owner of the very successful Plain Foods bakery.
They gathered at the pro-shop and renewed acquaintances from previous times, then sized each other up on the practise range prior to the game. Jack knew about some of the financial problems that the Assiniboine Furniture company was experiencing, and wondered at Steve's reason for bringing Tom. After all, the name of the game was to raise funds for the riding, not to be exposed to resolving the problems of a troubled furniture firm. On the other hand, he knew little about the bakery except that it had developed some very attractive fruitcake lines that were widely distributed to a number of national grocery chains. The bakery was expanding its product lines rapidly and had only recently built a modern facility to accommodate the growth. Yet it surprised him as Jeff had never shown any interest in supporting any political party.
The game started with everyone in good spirits and with the usual kibitzing and pre-emptive excuses. Steve was, as always, in a gregarious frame of mind and his comments bordered on the edge of being exasperating. A successful broker, his lack of tact and inhibition often raised eyebrows in the office where he worked. But success creates its own shield and few dared to take issue with his tactlessness, especially so his superiors who made some good money from his successes.
"Well, boss," he exclaimed on the first tee, "shall we fleece these gentlemen today or shall we let them win and set them up to fleece them when we start collecting the big bucks for the campaign?"
Jack was startled by the seemingly insensitive question, but neither of the guests seemed insulted or put out. Tom particularly took it in stride and shot right back, "Look Steve, you want to play for a few bucks? Good. How about a buck a hole each, with carry-overs and double for birdies? We'll make enough from the two of you to make a contribution to your campaign. And not only that, but we'll get an income tax receipt from your revenue minister on your money. Heck, it'll make it doubly sweet. Takers?".....
....No sooner had they sat down then the refreshment wagon pulled up and the server called out asking if they would like a cold beer or cold drinks. Without hesitation Steve ordered four Labatt Blues, and handed them out.
When Jack hesitated Steve said, "Hey Boss, if you won't have it I'll fight these two guys for the second one."
Jack grinned in spite of himself, and reluctantly took the beer, realising that if he didn't Steve would down them both and heaven knows what would be said. He smiled at himself, a hell of a way to protect my ass, drink a beer whether I want to or not. Oh well, for the good of the Party. They sipped and enjoyed the cold beer in the brilliant autumn sun. A perfect autumn day, thought Jack, beats teaching school in Delta Beach.
Steve's voice brought Jack out of his enjoyable daydream, "You're ahead of us with that beer, Boss, I should have gotten seconds. Can't fly on one wing, my air force buddy always says. Speaking of air force, I have a question that has bugged me Jack. You don't have to answer this, but I was wondering if our military has any kind of a ‘don't ask don't tell' policy?"
"What in the world are you talking about Steve?" Jack asked.
"Well surely you know that the American military has had a ‘don't ask don't tell' policy for some time. It protects the queers that join the forces from getting chucked out when they're discovered. They are not asked to declare themselves as gay or straight when they join and in turn are tolerated if they do not impose themselves, so to speak, do not publicize their gaiety, do not push the authorities. They're not in the closet and they're not out in drag. Seems that everybody is reasonably happy with the arrangement. What about our service boys and girls?"
Jack was completely stumped and had never thought about nor discussed the military's policy towards gays and lesbians. It was trying enough for him in the constituency that gay marriages were now legal in Canada. He did not want to be dragged into this discussion with his redneck president. "Steve, I have not been exposed to any discussions on this and have no wish to get myself involved. Why the hell are you're curious about this? Is there something else that prompted the question?"
"Sorry Jack, but I have a number of former air force pilots as clients, guys who retired here after serving at Southport, and the issue came up the other day. We were having a couple of drinks after the markets closed and one of them asked the question. Actually, they were tearing a strip off me, don't know why poor little old me, because of the gay marriage law that you guys approved. They were thoroughly pissed off, said they would never vote Liberal again.
"But don't feel bad Jack, I asked them if they ever voted Liberal before and they looked at me as if I were off my rocker. And told me so. So I did not lose any votes for you, you never had them. But it sure has pissed off a lot of people. And guys like that Vancouver queer in parliament who wants to mainstream queers and lesbians, and spread his message throughout the schools, would not be very welcome in that crowd. Hey, I'd be friends with him though, if he invested some money through me. I'd even give him a hug now and then. I'm a pretty good Liberal, after all. But I have to admit that having queers marry legally in Canada bothers me as much as it bothers most people in your riding, Jack, most people except other queers, I suppose."
He was not yet finished when Jeff got up, glared at Steve, then at Jack, threw his beer into some shrubs and gripped the handle of his cart. His face was white, his eyes dark and his teeth clenched. "You asshole," he said to Steve "you'll pay for this. You too, Mister Member of Parliament." With that he strode off across the fairways toward the clubhouse.
"Jeff will burn you, Jack." Jack looked shocked and disturbed. "Jeff is gay, and his cousin who owns and publishes the Portage Weekly Times is also gay." Tom's voice had an edge of sadness to it, perhaps anticipating the furor that Jack will likely have to go through.
Excerpt - The Chief of Staff
Lorne leaned back in his recliner, a large glass of scotch in his right hand. He was weary, body and soul weary. He eyed the scotch for a few seconds, anticipating the pleasures in the glass, then swallowed a large mouthful. On an empty stomach the effect was instant. A pleasant warmth developed in his stomach and he felt the glow as the alcohol raced through his blood stream. "Goodbye brains," he muttered and took another big swallow. He smiled in satisfaction and told himself how much he needed that drink.
It had been an extraordinarily trying day. An eventful, if miserable day. A normal day, he thought.
Screw them all and screw the system. The system deserves them, and they the system. The bureaucrats are bad enough, the politicians are a bunch of self-serving ass-coverers. But worst of all the staffers, he thought, who try to put one over everyone. So bloody slick, most of them. Mostly too slick, but often too obvious. And the slickest ones are the most effective in this miserable world, and therefore are in the most important offices. Because they are prized.
Keep the boss happy, keep him in tight with the PM, keep the media satisfied. Until they really screw-up then it's serious cover-your-ass time. Everybody runs for the exits. With paper shredders and files in hand. He should know, he smiled again and took another stiff sip. What a convoluted world, in the service of Canadians. We serve Canada, do we serve Canada, he thought cynically.
They had spent the better part of the day going over lists of names to fill three senate vacancies. As Chief of Staff to the Prime Minister he should have been concentrating on the expected election. Instead, the PM had called for a short list of thirty names to fill the senate vacancies, and wanted a short resume on each. Nine of the names had been submitted directly to Lorne by the PM himself. Party hacks and party bagmen, mostly. Plus four former Liberal MPs. Three of whom had little to offer.
The fourth was personally circled by the PM for special consideration. He had collateral, a pretty wife that the PM was rumoured to have found attractive in the past. The attraction was noticed and the welcome mat apparently had been in place. Would she bring the mat back to Ottawa? Lorne wondered if he'd have to look after that bit of pimping. He'd done it before, he thought grimly, and drank again. Keep your mouth shut Lorne, and serve Canada. And the Liberal Party. And its Leader, the Prime Minister.
He finished his scotch, poured himself another, can't fly on one wing, and plopped himself back in his recliner. The fresh scotch had a good bite and he savoured a large mouthful. He knew it was getting to him and enjoyed the pleasant blurriness and the sensation of drinking alone. With no one to challenge his thinking and no one to harp at him. He could do whatever the hell he wanted, have as many as he wanted and think whatever he wanted....