novelnext Chapter 77 Under the Spotlight
Chapter 77 Under the Spotlight
Chapter 77 Under the Spotlight (Total 38200 words published)
The Pittsburgh Television Building, backstage of Studio 4.
The door to the dressing room was ajar.
Karen stood in front of Leo, adjusting his tie knot.
"Listen, Leo," Karen said quickly, "the first round of questions is usually about the economy. If he attacks your budget deficit, don't get bogged down in the details, jump straight to the employment rate. Remember the data you memorized yesterday, 7.2 percent unemployment, that's his Achilles' heel."
She stepped back and examined Leo's suit collar, noticing a few almost invisible specks of dust.
She immediately reached out and flicked it away with her fingernail.
Ethan sat on the dressing table next to him, holding a stack of index cards that had been flipped through until the edges were curled.
"And there's the issue of law and order," Ethan added without looking up. "Although Chief Miller has been dismissed, Cartwright will definitely turn around and say that your radical proposals led to low morale within the police force. You must emphasize community policing reform, citing Philadelphia's success story; the data is on card number 42."
In the corner, Frank looked restless, his large face flushed red, his thick fingers constantly rubbing the fabric on his knees.
The cramped room, filled with mirrors and lights, made him feel suffocated, even more so than when he was in front of the steel furnace.
"This place is freezing," Frank muttered. "Did they deliberately turn the air conditioning down this low to freeze us to death?"
"It's to prevent sweating," Karen explained without turning her head. "Under a spotlight of several watts, you'll be oozing oil like a turkey in an oven. The low temperature helps your makeup stay put."
Leo sat in the makeup chair, letting the makeup artist pat powder puffs onto his face.
He looked at himself in the mirror.
The young man who used to be anxious about his debts in the library is gone.
The person in the mirror was wearing a black suit, with his hair neatly combed and his chin clean-shaven.
His eyes were calm, even somewhat indifferent.
This is the face of a politician.
After Karen's hellish training, Leo felt that his body had become a weapon.
His brain was filled with data, and his muscles remembered the force of every gesture.
But he didn't feel nervous.
The pressure that made Frank restless, the anxiety that made Ethan chatter on and on, were completely absent in him.
Because deep within his mind, another soul was sitting in a wheelchair, smoking a cigarette, watching all of this with a relaxed attitude.
"Look at them, son," Roosevelt's voice rang out. "Your team is more nervous than my wartime cabinet. That young man named Ethan, if you don't shut him up, he might short-circuit your brain before the debate even begins."
Leo smiled to himself.
He raised his hand and gently pushed the makeup artist's hand away.
"All done," Leo said, his voice steady. "Thank you."
He stood up and straightened his cuffs.
"Karen, Ethan, stop for a second."
Both of them stopped moving at the same time.
"I've memorized the data, and I understand the strategy," Leo said, looking at them. "Now, I need some quiet. I want to clear my mind before that light comes on."
Karen stared at Leo for a few seconds.
She saw that familiar state of focus and relaxation that belonged to top players.
She closed the folder in her hand.
"Okay," Karen said. "Go on in five minutes. We'll wait for you in the tunnel."
She pulled Frank, who was still in a daze, along and led Ethan out of the dressing room.
The door closed.
Leo was left alone in the room.
He looked at himself in the mirror, took a deep breath, and then slowly exhaled.
"Are you ready, Mr. President?"
"I'm ready at any time," Roosevelt replied. "This is just a small affair, a mere tea party compared to the speech to Congress at Pearl Harbor or the roundtable meeting at Yalda."
There was a knock on the door from a staff member.
"Mr. Wallace, it's time to wait in the wings."
Leo pushed open the door and went out.
The corridor leading to the studio was long and dark, with only a glaring red light shining at the end.
The floor was covered with a thick carpet, which absorbed all the footsteps.
Leo stopped at the corner of the corridor.
Another door opened.
A group of people surrounded a tall figure as he walked out.
Martin Cartwright.
This is the first time the two have faced each other at close range since the "lawn incident".
Cartwright wore an expensive custom-made suit, the cut of which perfectly flattered his slightly overweight physique.
His face was covered with a thick layer of TV foundation, which concealed the wrinkles around his eyes and the dark circles under his eyes that he had developed from anxiety in recent days.
His hair was dyed, jet black and shiny, and neatly combed back.
Upon seeing Leo, Cartwright stopped in his tracks.
His staff automatically stepped back, leaving space in the middle.
This is what is known as "meeting on a narrow path".
In the final moments before officially taking the stage, the two leaders would engage in one last psychological battle backstage.
"Mr. Wallace," Cartwright began, his voice deep and imposing, "this suit is nice. It's obviously rented, but at least it fits."
Leo didn't speak, he just looked at him calmly.
Cartwright took a step forward, closing in on Leo.
"I hope you've memorized your script, young man."
"Tonight isn't your kind of reality show on the lawn. There are no fans here, no mindless cheering. This is an adult world."
"On this stage, every mistake will be magnified ten thousand times. I will peel back your naive theories layer by layer and let all of Pittsburgh see what straw is wrapped inside."
"The adult world is cruel, Leo. I hope you won't be crying as you leave the stage tonight."
This is typical pre-match trash talk.
If it were the old Leo, he might have been enraged by such blatant provocation, or intimidated by the other party's aura.
But now, looking at the seemingly fierce but actually cowardly middle-aged man in front of him, what came to Leo's mind was the story Roosevelt had told him about the dog Farah.
He found it amusing.
The person in front of me is not some arrogant mayor.
He was just an anxious old man, afraid of losing power, his face covered in makeup.
Leo laughed.
Instead, he took a step forward, shortening the distance between them.
This movement startled Cartwright, who instinctively wanted to lean back.
Leo reached out and gently placed his hand on Cartwright's left shoulder.
There might be some cigarette ash there from when I was in the lounge.
Leo patted him on the shoulder.
"Mr. Mayor, you are too." Leo's voice was gentle and polite. "The adult world is indeed cruel, especially for those who have been in this position for too long."
Cartwright froze; he hadn't expected Leo to react this way at all.
Leo withdrew his hand, his gaze shifting downwards until it settled on Cartwright's collar.
"Oh, right."
Leo pointed to Cartwright's neck.
Your tie is crooked.
He said it very casually.
"This is not in the proper manners of an adult, especially for a mayor."
After saying that, Leo nodded to Carterwright, turned aside, and strode past him toward the door leading to the stage.
Cartwright stood there, his facial muscles twitching.
He subconsciously raised his hand and touched his tie.
The tie wasn't actually crooked.
But in that instant, his confidence crumbled.
The intimidating aura he had meticulously cultivated was shattered by Leo's casual remark and simple gesture of brushing off dust.
He originally wanted to overwhelm Leo with his presence, but instead, Leo humiliated him instead.
Damn it.
Cartwright muttered a curse under his breath, frantically adjusting the perfectly fine tie.
His heart was pounding.
The atmosphere underwent a subtle reversal.
Leo walked behind the curtain at the stage entrance.
The noise from outside seeped in through the thick velvet fabric.
The venue was filled with 500 carefully selected audience members, while on the other end of the camera, hundreds of thousands of Pittsburgh residents were glued to their television sets.
The director's voice came through the headphones.
"Attention all units"
"Live stream countdown."
"5".
4.
3.
2.
""
"1".
The moment the curtain was drawn back, spotlights blazed on like an explosion.
In that instant, everything went white before Leo's eyes.
The noise around him, Karen's instructions, Ethan's data, and Cartwright's threats all disappeared at that moment.
The world became incredibly quiet.
Leo felt as if he were in a huge vacuum.
In the absolute silence, Roosevelt's voice rang out.
It carries a weight that transcends time, a fatherly kindness, and a leader's unique steadfastness.
"Go, child."
"Don't treat it like an exam."
"Don't think about those damn data, and ignore those cameras."
"Treat it like a fireside chat."
"Imagine you sitting in front of the fireplace in that prefab office, holding a cup of hot coffee."
"And across from you sits Michael, Joe, Margaret, and everyone else who works hard in this city."
Tell them your thoughts.
Tell them why you're standing here.
"Tell them you love this city and want to make it better."
"Right now, all of Pittsburgh is listening to you."
Leo took a step forward and strode onto the stage.
He didn't deliberately adopt a tough stance as Karen had taught him, nor did he show his standard eight teeth as the body language expert had instructed.
He simply walked naturally, swinging his arms relaxedly.
He walked to his designated podium and stood still.
Cartwright also came up from the podium opposite him.
Cartwright's steps were slightly stiff, and he was still subconsciously touching his tie knot.
Leo turned his head and glanced at Cartwright.
Then, he turned to the camera directly in front of him, to the audience, and smiled.
The host picked up the microphone: "Good evening, Pittsburgh, welcome to the mayoral election televised debate."
The first round of competition is about to begin.
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