Chapter Text
Chicago, 2004
The Johnson family’s sprawling backyard is filled with journalists and photographers.
“This year’s hottest race isn’t between Bush and Kerry,” reports an NBC 5 Chicago correspondent, speaking on-camera. “It’s over here, at the 9th Illinois congressional district, between incumbent Curtis J. Sterling and his Democratic challenger, Anika Johnson.”
Said candidate, a tall, olive-toned woman in a sharp suit, stands confidently in front of a mic stand.
“You’re looking to become the first Indian-American and first openly gay woman elected to Congress here in your district,” asks a journalist. “What can you say about detractors who claim that you’re riding on your identity and novelty, without a clear platform?”
Anika Johnson smirks. She’s expected this question, and so, has a winning answer.
“To say that I am riding on my identity--my identity as a lifelong public servant--is correct,” says Anika. “To say that I am riding on being a novelty is also correct…the novelty being that I am the only candidate in this campaign with a clear plan to fight for economic justice, better healthcare, more transparency, and for challenging the current administration's plans in Iraq. What isn’t correct is to say that I do not have platform, as I have repeatedly outlined my plans to advocate for our community if elected.”
Anika smiles at the redhaired woman standing by her side.
“And I didn’t bring my partner here just to banner my identity and novelty,” says Anika. “Through our work with underprivileged communities in South America, Vickie and I saw firsthand the impact that public policy and reform can have on countless lives.”
Vickie Dunne smiles proudly at her partner. Vickie Dunne, who has worked happily in the sidelines throughout her life, doing the work that no one celebrates but everyone relies on. Saving lives without fanfare. Now, thrust into the spotlight, simply because her life partner happens to be the progressive lesbian, bi-racial scion of a historically Rockefeller Republican North Shore family.
“So you intend to meddle in congressional affairs,” a reporter asks Vickie pointedly. "Simply because your partner will be in the House."
Vickie takes a deep breath. She glances quickly at Richard, Anika’s campaign manager, who nods at her reassuringly. She was always the nervous and anxious type, but they rehearsed this. And if there’s one thing about Vickie, she always delivers.
“I don’t intend to meddle, as I don’t need to,” Vickie replies confidently. “I already work with marginalized communities every day at our nonprofit, where I believe I can effect more change. I’ll leave the policy-making to Ani.”
She looks back at Richard, who smiles and gives her a thumbs up.
===
Later that evening, in the living room of Anika and Vickie’s apartment, the core campaign team gathers for a post mortem. The apartment is elegantly decorated, filled with art and black-and-white photographs of Anika’s illustrious family. Displayed on the baby grand piano is a framed polaroid of Vickie, 17 years younger, dressed in her candy striper uniform, standing in a hospital hallway, playfully sticking her tongue out at the unknown photographer.
“Vickie…that short for Victoria?” asks one of the campaign volunteers.
Vickie looks up from her laptop. She’s been catching up on emails by a corner of the room.
“No, just Vickie.”
The volunteer nods and jots this down.
“I’m prepping your profile for PR,” explains the volunteer.
“My profile? For what?”
“So after studying Public Policy at UChicago, you took your postgrad at Trinity College Dublin. Do you still have family there?”
“Uh...no...I just wanted to connect with my roots I guess.”
“Got it. Irish princess…”
“Excuse me? What? Don’t write that—"
“So then you and Anika meet as Peace Corps volunteers…yeah, I can definitely whip up a good story with this one.”
Vickie should be used to it by now, but it still bothers her that Richard’s campaign strategy has been to turn Anika and Vickie into some sort of queer celebrity power couple. It undermines the actual work that the two have put into advocating for their community and fighting for just public policies. But as hard as it is to admit, the strategy seems to be working.
Vickie returns to her laptop, just as a new email pops in—a Yahoo Group invite, and Vickie can’t believe what it says.
“Welcome to Hawkins High ’86!”