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English
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Yuletide 2017
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Published:
2017-11-19
Completed:
2017-11-21
Words:
11,545
Chapters:
8/8
Comments:
16
Kudos:
54
Bookmarks:
12
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738

The Ballad of Jeff and Riss

Chapter 8

Chapter Text

Diz Moore would have sawed off his right arm for a drink. Anything. Even coffee—in fact, he knew that staying up on Election Night without it was going to be murder. No, the doctor said. Not with that ulcer. No booze, no coffee.

But he figured there was no saving his battered old stomach now, anyway. The race had become a real nail-biter, despite DuPlat's obvious unfitness for office. It was either man’s game.

And it ripped Diz up like no other race he’d seen.

Over the past seven years, he’d managed to keep that torch down to a dim flicker. Clarissa had become a different person, after all. Earnest. Causey. Less inclined to sit back and laugh at the world with him. He still cared for her, but for the first time in ages, he’d been able to conjure visions of the future that didn’t revolve around her. And Jeff was a good man. Clarissa loved him. Diz wasn’t about to muck that up.

But then DuPlat came along with his smear campaign, and all the old feelings came rushing back. He hated to see her shrink back from the world, and he found himself tormented by the thought that he could have kept her from experiencing all of that ugliness. If only he could have done it. If only he could’ve convinced her to—

“Forget it, pal,” he interrupted that train of thought out loud. “It don’t work like that.”

He heard the phone. Picked it up mid-ring.

“Mr. Desmond Moore, please, Jackson Cit—”

“SPEAKING!”

The operator connected them.

“Hello, Diz?”

His heart lodged in his throat. “Yeah, kid?”

Her voice was low and hoarse. “Well, that settles it.”

Damn it all to hell, he thought. He’d have that drink. He didn’t care anymore.

“Yes sir, time for another ride on the merry-go-round.”

Diz heard music behind her. And cheering.

He leapt out of his seat.  “Wait a minute, he won?”

“Why, sure! Didn’t it come over the wire yet?”

A secretary brought it over to him: Smith: 52, DuPlat: 48.

He shook his head.

“Shoulda been unanimous.”

“Well, we’ll take what we can get.”

He hesitated.

“Kid—are you all right?”

“Me? Of course!”

“Then why does it sound like you’ve had the waterworks on all night?”

“Oh, that,” she laughed. “Well, come on, Diz. This kind of thing takes it out of you. And you don’t know what it’s like to take on someone who fights that dirty and still come out on top. Quite a feeling, I can tell you.”

“Kid, I”—his voice cracked—“I have some idea.”

This was her moment—hers and Jeff’s, that is. He knew that. Yet he couldn’t help but ask one question:

“I sure hated to see what you went through this year. Tell me the truth: Are you still sure that mug’s worth it?”

“Diz,” she said gently, “even if he wasn’t, this is about more than him. A lot more. You know that, don’t you?”

“I do.” He tried not to sound too defeated.

“Well, I’d better get back. See you in January?”

He detected a spark of eagerness in her voice, which lifted his spirits a little. It was enough. Or at least it’d have to be.

“Sure, kid. See you in January.”

Notes:

This story is downbeat in places—my only defense for that is that Capra, too, usually made it dark before the dawn. It's also meant to be a touch more morally complex than the original. But throughout it all, I've tried to stay true to the characters, and to the idea that people of integrity exist everywhere, in many different forms, and that they have what it takes to prevail.

It isn't as good as it should be. It's also wayyyy too long. But I hope you'll find it entertaining, at-times funny, and in some way meaningful. Happy Yuletide!