I resist the urge to acknowledge it, the slightest Oma glance confirms that I am right to ignore him, to let him search for me in the crowded room.His voice is perfect, calm but having an impatient undertone as he is greeted. He is courteous but not looking for any of the pleasantries which are so necessary in times like these. He wants me, needs to see me, breathe me in, ravish me and I want him to want this, to need this as well.I feel my beautiful boy’s eyes upon me. He is drinking in a vision of me. I hear his footfalls, his clumsy tread from hardwood to carpet… three strides… He is behind my chair. I admit to having to quiet my heart and restrain myself from looking around.“Miss Emily… It’s great to see you!” as I turn, he gives courteous greeting to Oma, but his eyes barely leave me for her. Our eyes meet. I take him in in one glance. The JC Penny white shirt fits him well and the blue blazer does not, bought to be a little too large so that he won’t have to buy another as his. Ad campaigns would start immediately. There was more than enough film to paste and clip to put together a quick TV ad campaign.Ads would start tomorrow on the national channels. As much as I hated face talk and twitter, official sites would be started on them tomorrow. People who could run a national campaign would be on the way to Washington tomorrow, Carl promised.All that posed a set of problems on its own - campaign headquarters - where and how big? How many people would it take? Did it need to be near Washington or could it be on the Eastern Shore?The shore made sense in a way. All the overnight freight companies had terminals at Morton. Posters, handouts, printed material and things to set up offices could be on their way across the nation in minutes.In the meantime I had other problems to deal with, a new government for Iran to work on, a problem with the Philippines to deal with. They were just a few of the issues on my plate.Everybody was on an adrenaline high on the flight.
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