Free The Candidate by Lis Wiehl, Sebastian Stuart

struggling to raise six children on her salary as a hotel maid.”
    “You’re a lovely young woman, Alicia, and you’re going to do very well here,” Erica says.
    Celeste puts a hand on Alicia’s lower back and says, “Have a nice walk.”
    They head past the kitchen and through several living rooms before coming to a sun porch that offers one of the most spectacular views Erica has ever seen—the city, the bay, the bridge, the boats, Alcatraz. Again, a sense of unreality prevails—it’s almost too beautiful, and to live like this every day seems like an impossible dream. But under it all Erica senses something darker—a drive that knows no bounds, a pitiless hunger.
    “This is breathtaking,” she says.
    “We don’t even notice it anymore,” Celeste says. A rolling cart is topped with a plate of sandwiches, one of cookies, a teapot, a coffee pot, and a pitcher of lemonade. “Would you like some coffee, or a sandwich? We have PB&J.”
    Erica is brought up short—in an interview with Robin Roberts last year she admitted that her favorite midnight snack was a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. This is the part of being a celebrity that she hates—this loss of a private life, this intrusion, right into her kitchen. What do her eating habits have to do with her work as a journalist? She regretted doing the Roberts interview and hasn’t done another since.
    “I’m fine,” she says.
    Mike Ortiz sits on an ottoman and leans forward, elbows on knees—it’s an engaging pose and he seems eager to talk. Celeste sits on a chaise and crosses her ankles, trying her best to look casual.
    Erica was hoping to have some time alone with Mike but sees that’s probably not in the cards. Today anyway. She’s going to insist on a one-on-one tomorrow when the cameras are rolling.
    “I’d love to hear how you two met,” Erica says.
    Mike shoots a glance at his wife, whose expression doesn’t change. “I was a congressman from the East Bay. Celeste was a major Democratic donor. We met at a fundraiser for my 2006 campaign.”
    “You obviously come from very different backgrounds. What was it like for you to adjust to Celeste’s lifestyle?” Erica asks.
    “It was difficult at first. My father worked for Caltrans; my mother was a waitress. I felt uncomfortable around Celeste’s friends and family. As if they were judging me.” Again he looks to his wife, who is smiling in approval. “But we were in love. And we still are. And that’s more important than any differences.”
    “I think our first Thanksgiving was a little rocky,” Celeste says.
    “Yes, my mother cleared the table.”
    “And my mother let her!”
    They both laugh, in a rehearsed kind of way.
    “I’ve always wanted to make a difference with my life, but with Celeste by my side, I feel that anything is possible . ”
    “I find that so touching,” Celeste says. She swings her legs to the floor and perches on the edge of the chaise. “Mike had nothing to prove to me. He was a great congressman, a fighter for those who need a champion. His experiences as a marine in the Iraq War gave him a strength and a perspective that I felt the country needed.”
    “You can’t see death and destruction up close and not be affected by it,” Mike says. “The innocent victims, wounded children, the orphans, seared themselves into my soul. That’s why I led that humanitarian mission back to Iraq as a congressman in 2008. I was determined to secure congressional funding for schools and orphanages.”
    “But you were captured by Al-Qaeda,” Erica says.
    Ortiz nods. He looks down; his voice softens; his tone becomes intimate. “The months I spent as an Al-Qaeda prisoner changed me. Deeply. I went days without food or water. I was tortured. Threatened with beheading. I thought I would never see my family again. There was more than one dark night of the soul. But then I decided to fight, to escape or die trying.” He looks Erica right in the eye and continues.