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Josh hates Arizona.
He’s sure there are some good things about Arizona. After all, they have ten electoral votes, so someone has to like living there. Still, between Barry Goldwater, old people who consistently vote Republican, and the 115 degree heat, Josh can’t say he finds much to recommend in the Grand Canyon State.
Josh has been to all but one of the US states (Hawai’i has, as of yet, eluded him), so he can fairly confidently say that Arizona is a bottom tier state.
And yet it is Arizona that gives him his first victory.
It shouldn’t be surprising. Josh knows the demographics. Knows that the Democratic contingent in Arizona is largely Latino. Knows that Santos plays well in the Southwest. If any state could be counted on to deliver a primary victory, it would probably be Arizona.
They’re gathered in the hotel war room, and when the newscaster calls the Arizona primary for Santos, there are cheers that pierce Josh’s ears. They swirl around him, dancing in victory. Even Helen, who Josh is pretty sure still hates him, gives him an exuberant hug. He manages a smile—perhaps his dimples even manage to pop out—but he can’t find it within himself to express the joy he should be feeling. He can’t even find the joy in the first place.
“You alright, Josh?” Santos asks.
Josh nods, finding another smile somewhere deep within him. When did pulling up the sides of his mouth, something that was once so natural to him, become so hard? “We won Arizona,” he says, as if the fact should imply his feelings. It should.
“We won Arizona!” Santos repeats, to the cheers of the small, rag-tag band of staffers that somehow got him this far. “Listen Josh, I have to thank you for this. I never would have thought… well, when you approached me, I couldn’t even imagine winning a primary, let alone having a chance at…”
It’s suddenly so overwhelming, as if Josh can pick out every sound from the crowded room—the newscaster listing precinct results, Ronna and Ned signing some kind of victory song off-key, the Santos children screaming in delight, the buzz of the air conditioner by the window—except for Santos’ voice. The overhead lights suddenly seem so bright, and he puts a hand to his forehead to feel sweat, even though the room is cold. “I’m sorry, I have to… step out.” At Santos’ concerned look, he once again locates the muscles to affect an apologetic smile. “I need to call my mother. It’s getting late in Florida.”
Santos waves him off, and Josh closes the door of the room behind him, runs down the hall of the hotel, and takes the stairs down two at a time.
The information monitor in the hotel lobby tells him that it’s 80 degrees outside even at this late hour in early spring; after campaigning in places like Iowa and New Hampshire, that seems like an absurdity to him. He pulls his tie loose as he steps out of the hotel lobby through the double doors, the warmth of outside hitting him almost instantly.
He won Arizona.
So why doesn’t it feel like a victory?
The front of the hotel is rather nicely landscaped (although Josh doesn’t want to think about how much water it must take to keep the plants around the little artificial pond set in front of the building green). He takes a few steps towards a bench when he hears a familiar voice behind him. He’s completely frozen.
“I’m sorry, I can’t… no, I thought I was taking the bus to California. Yes, I know we want to focus in New York, but Will, I can’t just… Okay, let me know when you know. Unless you tell me otherwise I’m heading to California in the morning.” She shuts her phone and looks up.
She sees him. Of course she sees him. What cruel god so enjoys messing with him that he keeps running into her? If he wasn’t already overwhelmed (which he is), he would be by the sight of her.
“Hi,” he says, reaching up to loosen his tie again. God, it’s hot out here. Maybe he’s just used to the cold of the northeast and the midwest, but even the dry heat is stifling.
“Hi. No cell service inside,” she replies by way of explanation. Josh doesn’t feel the need to explain; perhaps because he can’t. “You won Arizona.”
“We won Arizona,” he repeats, and he hopes that she understands just how much he wishes the ‘we’ included her.
“Strong second for us,” she says casually. “The candidate hoped we might be able to edge you out, but I guess it wasn’t to be.”
“No,” Josh replies, not sure how to respond to that. It’s strange to hear Donna speaking like this, calling Bingo Bob ‘the candidate’ and talking like a political operative and not like Donna. “We finally won.”
“Sound a little happier about that, why don’t you,” Donna replies sarcastically. “I thought you’d be bouncing off the walls, asking for the finest muffins and bagels in the land.”
Josh shrugs and takes a seat on the bench he originally intended to go to. To his surprise, Donna sits next to him, although she’s about as far on the other side of the bench as she can possibly be. “I’ve changed.”
“Yeah,” Donna says softly. “So have I.”
He looks up at the clear but starless sky and chuckles. “Of all the states, it had to be Arizona,” he says derisively. “I hate it here. It’s hot and dead and full of old Republicans.” It’s the most like himself he’s sounded all night, he thinks. That’s not because of Donna, he rationalizes, it’s because he’s complaining about things.
“I don’t like it either,” Donna replies. “We took the bus here and… I don’t know, it just felt like a weird deja vu. I kept trying to keep a lookout for roadside bombs, and I knew that was stupid, but I… it’s the desert. I don’t know what it is, I’m probably going crazy, but it’s…”
“It’s not stupid,” Josh says softly. “It’s not stupid.” Because he knows how memory can assault you and association can fuck you up and something as innocent as music can drive you to your breaking point.
“Thank you,” she says, giving him a shy smile that he can see in the obnoxiously bright outdoor lights.
He reaches up to loosen his tie, and it ends up being so loose that it comes off. “California next?”
“Or New York, the campaign can’t decide.”
“Must be nice to have options,” Josh mutters. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but it’s California or bust for us.”
“I think I might have been able to figure that out,” Donna replies, and just for a second, her face is lighter, and Josh finds that the muscles he uses to smile are not so hard to locate anymore. “If I’m flying to New York, though, the flight leaves at six, so I probably should…”
“Oh, yeah, of course,” Josh says, standing up. “Don’t let me keep you.”
There’s so much space between, an uncrossable gap that even the Grand Canyon doesn’t compare to. But it’s as if he can still hear her shouting across, no matter how faint the sound. “Am I… think I could ever drive through the desert again?”
“You already have,” Josh replies, “but it gets better.”
She keeps her gaze trained on him in a way that he hasn’t seen in a long time. He misses that. “Congratulations, Josh. Arizona.” She turns and walks back into the hotel.
“Arizona,” he repeats, and then smiling takes no energy at all.