Playeress

Chapter 1

Hannah

“What’s the next stop on the agenda?” Congressman Logan Edwards, the hunky young white-boy candidate for governor of Georgia, asks as he gets into the SUV, staring at his emails and polling numbers.

“We’re headed to the Fulton County Fourth of July Parade,” I tell him. “The first of many stops today. Ten in total? Twelve?”

“Never a dull moment,” he says. “Always more babies to kiss.”

It’s only 11 a.m., and Logan’s already shaken more hands this morning than most people do in a year. Welcome to life on the campaign trail. The campaign slogan is Logan Edwards: All In For All of Georgia, but we on staff have our own version. Edwards for Governor Staff: All In At All Hours.

Logan and I begin the day with a coffee hosted by the Cobb County Women’s Circle, followed by a meet-and-greet at Peach Tree Retirement Home, and then a quick drop-by at the Peachtree Road Race, an annual Atlanta.

Now, the parades. “So what do I need to know?” he asks.

“Fulton County is the most populous county in the state, as you probably know. We’re polling well but can use more African American support. It’s a majority-Black county. We have a contingency of marchers in T-shirts, and you’ll be joining them. Then after that, seven more parades just like it.”

“So, we’ll get our steps in today, is what you’re saying?” Logan jokes.

“And you don’t even have to canvass door-to-door,” remarks Dominic, the candidate’s driver and security detail.

“You’ll be speaking for three to five minutes at each parade.”

“Oh good. Do I have talking points?”

“Right here, good to go, seen by Hank this morning.” I have the folder ready in my hand with relevant materials. “It also has your schedule, call list, press statements going today, recent press clips, info for media and donor calls you’re doing.”

He digests the information, nodding, flipping through.

“You’ll see from the packet that voting rights are a big topic here,” I tell him. “So it’ll be big to hammer home at the parades. ‘To protect democracy, we must protect the most vital instrument of democracy, our vote.’ That sort of thing.”

“Oh, that’s a good one.”

“Thanks so much, Congressman,” I say bashfully, trying not to show my elation at the candidate’s praise. “I thought of the phrasing just now.”

“That’s why you’re my policy director.” He gives me a pat on the shoulder. “The best political minds in Georgia, and somehow they’re all on my team.”

On the campaign, I’m a problem-solving, mess-cleaning, hand-holding, ego-stroking, pizza-ordering, errand-running political guru whose job is to convince the people of the eighth most populous state that they should vote for one particular 34-year-old congressman – albeit a very handsome one, with huge brown puppy-dog eyes – to lead them.

There’s a phenomenon in political campaigning called a candidate crush, where you half-believe the superhuman mythology that you create around your candidate, seeing only the good and none of the bad. If you believe the false humility is real, it’s a sign that you’ve fallen. Don’t let the modesty fool you – it’s always a product of ego with a candidate.

The hordes of staff greasing the wheels of the gubernatorial campaign machine have to believe that their candidate is their state’s answer to the Pope. In other words, infallible. The voters need to believe it, so the candidate needs to believe it. And for the candidate to believe it, it requires the army of people on the payroll and volunteer lists to be constantly on call to tell him how special he is.

No one is as unique and as special as this candidate. At least not until the next election. It’s all a lie, of course. The argument that only one anointed individual can make a difference subverts the whole point of democracy.

I have a unique ability to see behind the curtain. I know for a fact the myths are a lie because they built up the same kinds of bullshit myths about me.

Hannah Walker is a real person. Honey Walker, the teen pop sensation of the world-famous trio Daughters of Fortune, isn’t.

She’s a character I played, the girl next door member in one of the most successful girl groups of all time. It’s a costume I put on and took off as a teenage diva, a puppet manipulated to enrich people who already had way too much money.

I wasn’t Honey, but the world adored me for occupying the image of her. It’s the same with politicians, but most aren’t sophisticated enough to realize it – especially not stuffy white milquetoast male candidates. For a Black woman, you never forget that what people see isn’t necessarily what’s real.

Even candidates with admirable policies and boatloads of charisma like Logan Edwards buy their own spin. His opponent Rockwell Snyder, however, is in a class all his own, with his horrible comb over and ubiquitous white spittle in the corners of his mouth. That’s not even including his political stances, which are much more appropriate for 1723 than 2023.

Logan’s a fantastic candidate, who supports issues I believe in and has the brains to get it done. I volunteered on his congressional campaigns before becoming a political operative.

He has the all-American good looks that voters crave and a sweet naive passion for the issues that makes the moms take out their phones and text a $5 donation.

He’s just not irreplaceable. No one is. And there are even better future candidates out there. Like me. As talented as Logan Edwards is, I can do better.

My goal has never been to stay behind the scenes, but to make the world better out in front, especially in Georgia, which is in my blood. My family over the generations went from enslavement to sharecroppers to refugees from lynch mobs to middle-class public servants to leadership roles. My ambition is to move that legacy to real political power.

I just have to get there. I never lose sight of the path, though.

During my interview for the campaign, Hank Harlow, the notoriously intimidating white campaign manager, asked how my experience had prepared me for the role. I still remember his words.

“Compared to other finalists for the position, you’re light on experience. You do bring interesting experiences, though. I’ll be honest. None of the other finalists have been pop stars. What makes you ready on day one versus other applicants who have led multiple campaigns?”

I think Hank asked it to see how I’d handle a difficult question that underestimates my abilities.

“I have solid political experience that stands on its own, including intensive volunteering on the congressman’s campaigns and serving for years as a senior aide to a committee chair in the Georgia State Senate. But to answer the question you’re getting at, in some ways, there was no better preparation for politics than my previous life as a pop star.”

“Hmm. Interesting. How so?”

"Same chaotic environment, same relentless schedule, and ultimately the same goal – to connect with people on an individual level. Also, to be able to participate in the showmanship of politics. If I can connect with people from thousands of miles away who don’t speak the same language and idolize me, I can connect with people from my home state and convince them to fall in love with Logan Edwards.”

“Well, you certainly have good instincts. And you give the best sound bytes of anyone who’s applied for your…for the position.”

He called my references right after. A few hours later he made me the offer. My history with Daughters of Fortune has essentially been treated as an off-limits topic ever since. If people know who I am, they barely mention it.

For people who know me only in this role, it’s probably hard to imagine me doing anything else. I was born to do this, and I’m not alone in that opinion.

“We’re here,” Dominic says from up front.

As soon as we arrive at the parade staging site, in the parking lot of an otherwise empty office park, a ring of supporters closes in on the SUV. Their shirts match the ‘Logan for Georgia’ signs plastered all over the vehicle.

The campaign staff and volunteers are so engrossed in their duties, they barely look up. Some sign people in, others give out T-shirts, and some stand with clipboards directing people where to stand.

The supporters remind me of old footage of Elvis getting mobbed. No, I realize. It reminds me of the days when our tour bus came to town and fans screamed at the sight.

It’s nice to be a normal person now and do work I care about, 16-hour days be damned. I could never live my life according to someone else’s agenda.

In the parking lot, Field Director Maggie Owens spots me and gives me a huge hug, even before saying hello to Logan. Little things like that remind me of the clout I’ve built on this campaign already.

“Congratulations, superstar!”

“You, too! Which accomplishment are we congratulating each other for specifically?”

“The polling. It’s soared since you came on board. The tweaks on our platform, especially the spirit of lifting up all of Georgia, made a huge difference,” Maggie says. “And I’ve worked on a lot of campaigns. I hope you run for office one day. I’ll be the first to join your staff.”

“That means so much, Jana. Thanks. I’m so proud of this work. I learn from you every day.”

“Ditto, pal.”

The parade starts moving, and I throw on my T-shirt. Logan marches right in front of the pack. At the end, he makes his speech, touching on all the talking points I wrote. Then we move on to the seven other parades, all the while taking media interviews, getting photos, and recruiting volunteers.

I’m laser-focused on getting him elected. When it’s my own turn, though, watch out, world. When I take on a cause, I take it seriously. And what I’m most serious about is winning.