The Politician's introduction Vol. 2:

Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth.

Oscar Wilde

 

I'm Caden Jacob Carrington V. The truth is most men's salvation, but I am not most men. Politics is my chosen mask.

I've chosen to lie for a living, or massage the truth to suit me... A skill I learned at a young age and perfected over years. The one constant about truth is that it's identical to the theory of relativity: neither uniform nor absolute in the minds of men.

While I dwelt in a sea of lies, I believed I was a seeker of truth, but more accurately, I played the part of the fool. Perception is often shaped by the change in tide caused by seeing oneself more clearly in the comedy of life.

Had the deception been my salvation?

My elusive dream fades in the distance. I run toward smoke in hopes of one last glimpse of a plausible salvation only she can grant me.

These are the confessions of a politician. My confessions.

 

 

 

January 13

As I walked to my car from Des/London's flat, my BlackBerry rang. There were only a handful of people I'd set that permission for.

"Caden, here."

"It's Randolph." The heavyset man heaved through the earpiece. "Can you swing by the office for few moments?"

"Sure." As the announcement that I'd be interim CEO grew near, the panic also increased at Carrington & Buckley. "I'm not far and will be there shortly."

Hong Kong had its appeal. The nuances of the East with influence of the 'empire'. Though I'd fallen in lust with the cityscape there could be no more than a fling between us.

Despite the dismal past I shared with my place of birth, London was home; not only to me but the woman I loved.

Perhaps it was the familiarity that had me longing to return.

For six years, we'd attended the same school but didn't speak. We were cordial, but she avoided me whenever possible. I went off to Oxford and hadn't seen her in three and half years.

I'd been sitting on bench by the path next to the river. When I noticed a young woman approaching dressed in a pretty floral dress, a sociality by her posture and manner. I wondered who she was given the list of black elites could be counted on two hands.

As the city unfolded outside, my mind drifted to simpler times. The ghost of seeing Des by the river Thames for the first since I'd gone to Oxford assaulted me.

As she drew near, I realised it was Des. I hadn't seen her in so long and she looked beautiful with her curls caressing her face. When I last saw her she'd been less developed. Her figure had filled out.

I thought she might not notice me. And if she did, she'd continue on.

But as she drew closer, her eyes shone with recognition.

"Caden?"she asked.

"Hello, Desniah,"I confirmed my identity and waited for her dismissal. The same coldness that had been erected between us the day of my mother's death, but rather she did something I didn't expect.

She smiled. "May, I have seat."

The question surprised me given we were in a public park. "Sure." I held no ownership of the bench. Perhaps her feet were sore or she was waiting for someone.

She sat next to me. "I was sorry to hear about you father."

The sincerity in her voice stirred something in me. "Thank you." I cleared my throat.

"You graduate this year?"

Her question caught me off guard. "In a few weeks." It had been one thing to acknowledge me but another to initiate a dialogue. I should try and keep her talking "Are you in first year?"

"Economic History at University of London. Daddy nearly lost it when I turned down Cambridge, but my academic advisor would have been reaching out from the grave there."

We both chuckled.

"I don't regret my decision." She affirmed.

A buzzing sound came from her purse.

"Pardon me." She removed a cell. "Hello?"

With a nod, her eyes lit up.

"Yes, we're still on."

Pause.

"I'm not far."

Pause.

"I'll be there at noon. See you soon." She flipped the cell closed. "Sorry about that."

"No worries." Of course she'd be seeing someone.

"That was Rhys."

The Stowell kid? Guess it had always been inevitable once she and I drifted apart. Still seeing her and knowing she was with him sent a familiar discomfort through me. Jealousy.

"We don't see each other much since I started University. We're having lunch."

"So you're not involved."

She shook her head. "No. I'm not seeing anyone. You?"

"No." There had been no one to see. I'd dated. I'd been with women, but I'd likely been ruined when I lost her.

She pulled out a paper and pen then scribbled something down. "Here's my number if you need someone to talk to."

"Thank you." I took the sheet and put it in the inside pocket of my jacket.

She got up. "Have good day."

"Des, do you have dinner plans tonight?"

She shook her head.

"I've spent the last week eating hospital food and could really use a solid meal but it feels wrong to eat it alone."

"What time?"

"Seven?" I asked.

She nodded.

"Where should I pick you up from?"

"My father's place."

"Great, see you tonight, Des."

She smiled and turned away.

That was how she reappeared in my life. And only the beginning of how I'd fallen in love with her all over again. Now, those days were a mystery. Vapour.

I entered the car park of Carrington & Buckley, and manoeuvred around to my father's spot. The reasons were all wrong for my being here. One day, I expected to cross this bridge but not under these circumstances. Not when I was fighting to regain the slightest entrance into Des' world.

My footsteps echoed in the hollowness of the cement structure.

I swiped my key card, entered the lift, and pressed the button for the top floor.