clipped hair
at his temples and tamped down an unruly cowlick.
His ministrations complete, Kip stood back
from the mirror to take in a wider view. As always, his reflection
buoyed him. Even under the harsh fluorescent lights, he thought he
looked pretty damn good for a fifty-three-year-old man. He puffed
with satisfaction. Not one of those reporters would guess that he’d
just upchucked. And every voter at home would think he had the look
of a man destined for bigger and better things.
Privately, Kip wasn’t sure what those things
were. Most often he ricocheted between wanting to be state attorney
general and thinking himself better suited to state comptroller,
but sometimes he got so ambitious he thought, Why not
governor? In his mind rose a vision of patriotic
red-white-and-blue signs with PENROSE FOR GOVERNOR! in convincing
block letters, plastered on trees and billboards and rear bumpers
throughout the Great State of California.
Of course, Kip had a marriage problem. Two
too many marriages, to be exact, and voters didn’t always
understand that sort of thing. His third wife was shaping up pretty
well, but One and Two were driving him nuts, coming to him with
their hands out like he was Midas himself. They both spent money
like there was no tomorrow, and neither one could hold a serious
job. One was an interior decorator and the other a caterer. Those
were hobbies, not jobs!
Kip felt himself getting upset, as always
happened when he thought about One and Two, but he forced himself
to calm down. First things first. The press conference. He stood
still and visualized a spectacular performance, reporters having so
many pithy sound bites to choose from that they’d all be forced to
use more than one. You can do it , he assured his reflection.
Finally, when he could delay it no longer, he exited the men’s room
to find Rocco Messina outside in the corridor cooling his
heels.
He didn’t like Rocco Messina. Rocco Messina
wanted his job. He didn’t like anybody who wanted his job.
Kip gave Rocco a hearty slap on the back and
made his voice boisterous. “How you doing, Rocco?”
“Fine, how are you? Ready for the
circus?”
“Ready to rock ‘n’ roll!” he crowed. That
couldn’t be further from the truth, but Kip never let facts stand
in the way of a good story. He headed back toward his office but
saw Rocco’s face kind of pucker as he walked into the men’s
room.
Uh-oh. Must still smell in there .
Well, maybe Rocco would think somebody else did it.
Kip took long, confident strides down the
corridor, as he knew a man of his position should. “Colleen,” he
boomed to his secretary as he passed her desk, not stopping as if
he were very, very busy, “is Alicia in my office?”
“No,” she called, which he could plainly see
a second later when he arrived there. He paused at the threshold,
his purged stomach roiling. Where in the world was she?
He would never tell her this but he would
not, not, go out to that press conference without Alicia. The
chance of one of those reporters asking him something he couldn’t
answer was extremely high. For all that she was an exceedingly
annoying, full-of-herself women’s libber, she was good on her
feet.
And was she smart or what? It scared him
sometimes. Good-looking, too. Thank God she was a woman, and
Hispanic. Otherwise she could be a real rival. Fortunately, what
with the agricultural and Italian communities, Monterey County was
conservative enough that it was nearly impossible for a candidate
like her. Both times she’d run for a judgeship, she’d lost. Of
course, part of her problem was that she was so combative and
opinionated. But now she’d never get the backing to run again, at
least not for his job.
“You finally ready?”
It was Alicia, standing just outside his
office. Thank God . “You’re late,” he informed her, making
his voice stern, but she just rolled her eyes and headed for the
exit, not even checking to see that he followed.
Which
at his temples and tamped down an unruly cowlick.
His ministrations complete, Kip stood back
from the mirror to take in a wider view. As always, his reflection
buoyed him. Even under the harsh fluorescent lights, he thought he
looked pretty damn good for a fifty-three-year-old man. He puffed
with satisfaction. Not one of those reporters would guess that he’d
just upchucked. And every voter at home would think he had the look
of a man destined for bigger and better things.
Privately, Kip wasn’t sure what those things
were. Most often he ricocheted between wanting to be state attorney
general and thinking himself better suited to state comptroller,
but sometimes he got so ambitious he thought, Why not
governor? In his mind rose a vision of patriotic
red-white-and-blue signs with PENROSE FOR GOVERNOR! in convincing
block letters, plastered on trees and billboards and rear bumpers
throughout the Great State of California.
Of course, Kip had a marriage problem. Two
too many marriages, to be exact, and voters didn’t always
understand that sort of thing. His third wife was shaping up pretty
well, but One and Two were driving him nuts, coming to him with
their hands out like he was Midas himself. They both spent money
like there was no tomorrow, and neither one could hold a serious
job. One was an interior decorator and the other a caterer. Those
were hobbies, not jobs!
Kip felt himself getting upset, as always
happened when he thought about One and Two, but he forced himself
to calm down. First things first. The press conference. He stood
still and visualized a spectacular performance, reporters having so
many pithy sound bites to choose from that they’d all be forced to
use more than one. You can do it , he assured his reflection.
Finally, when he could delay it no longer, he exited the men’s room
to find Rocco Messina outside in the corridor cooling his
heels.
He didn’t like Rocco Messina. Rocco Messina
wanted his job. He didn’t like anybody who wanted his job.
Kip gave Rocco a hearty slap on the back and
made his voice boisterous. “How you doing, Rocco?”
“Fine, how are you? Ready for the
circus?”
“Ready to rock ‘n’ roll!” he crowed. That
couldn’t be further from the truth, but Kip never let facts stand
in the way of a good story. He headed back toward his office but
saw Rocco’s face kind of pucker as he walked into the men’s
room.
Uh-oh. Must still smell in there .
Well, maybe Rocco would think somebody else did it.
Kip took long, confident strides down the
corridor, as he knew a man of his position should. “Colleen,” he
boomed to his secretary as he passed her desk, not stopping as if
he were very, very busy, “is Alicia in my office?”
“No,” she called, which he could plainly see
a second later when he arrived there. He paused at the threshold,
his purged stomach roiling. Where in the world was she?
He would never tell her this but he would
not, not, go out to that press conference without Alicia. The
chance of one of those reporters asking him something he couldn’t
answer was extremely high. For all that she was an exceedingly
annoying, full-of-herself women’s libber, she was good on her
feet.
And was she smart or what? It scared him
sometimes. Good-looking, too. Thank God she was a woman, and
Hispanic. Otherwise she could be a real rival. Fortunately, what
with the agricultural and Italian communities, Monterey County was
conservative enough that it was nearly impossible for a candidate
like her. Both times she’d run for a judgeship, she’d lost. Of
course, part of her problem was that she was so combative and
opinionated. But now she’d never get the backing to run again, at
least not for his job.
“You finally ready?”
It was Alicia, standing just outside his
office. Thank God . “You’re late,” he informed her, making
his voice stern, but she just rolled her eyes and headed for the
exit, not even checking to see that he followed.
Which
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