probably a Bible. It was some sort of religious program. Someone giving a sermon or lecture.
He stood and moved closer to the television. Lee could see some lettering at the bottom of the screen. Superimposed over the picture, it read: “Soldiers of Christ.”
Chapter 17
“See, I told you it wouldn’t be so bad,” said Lorraine Carr as she speared another prawn sautéed with red and yellow cherry tomatoes in butter and pastis, the anise-flavored liqueur.
She was doing nostalgia today. Her hair was pulled back with a clip in the back. She was wearing a simple black, sleeveless dress. A silver necklace and white circular earrings completed the look.
Lee plunged his fork into a small mound of Dungeness crab layered with thinly shaved fennel and seasoned with sweetened Japanese rice vinegar. He thought that if Carr was trying for Aubrey Hepburn, she had it pretty close.
They were celebrating Lee’s first article about the Harper campaign at Fringale, a French bistro in San Francisco’s South of Market district that was his favorite lunch spot, particularly when it was on someone’s expense account. The article had run that morning:
Monday, May 17, 2004
Campaign Playing Like a Bad Movie
By Enzo Lee
If the early days of the Andrew Harper campaign were made into a movie, the competition for titles would boil down to “The Campaign That Couldn’t Shoot Straight” vs “Apocalypse Now: Harper’s Run for Governor.”
In less than 10 days:
-An environmental policy announcement turned into a dramatic rescue at sea of six journalists tossed into the ocean while Harper prattled on about the fate of otters.
-An out-in-the-fields press conference concerning Harper’s immigration stance was dive-bombed by an errant crop duster seemingly intent on delousing a couple dozen reporters and photographers.
-A campaign-changing endorsement turned into an embarrassing ‘oops’ moment when former Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff Arthur Wainwright withdrew his support 90 minutes before its planned announcement.
Journalists covering the campaign are now torn between demanding combat pay and extra protective gear to attend future events and the morbid fascination that comes with witnessing a slow-motion train wreck…
“I’ve got to admit it’s played out a little differently than I expected,” said Lee.
“Me too,” said Carr. She paused while she dipped a small piece of bread in the sauce in front of her and popped it into her mouth. “Why do you think they’re shooting themselves in the feet? Pretty soon there won’t be anything left to hit.”
“I don’t get it either,” said Lee. “I mean the people running the campaign are all experienced pros. I’m sure there’s some bad luck involved. But the solution to bad luck supposedly is good planning. So, something is going wrong.”
The waiter came by with their entrees. For Carr, duck confit on a bed of French lentils soaking in a red wine sauce. Lee had the poached black cod with capers and a light tomato sauce.
“Yum,” said Carr. “This place is great. Why don’t I know about it?”
“Running with the wrong crowd, I guess,” said Lee.
“Hmmm,” said Carr. She licked her finger and made a vertical line in the air. “The man knows food.”
“Uh oh,” said Lee. “The air tally again.”
Carr put her fork down, crossed her arms and arched one eyebrow.
“What does that mean?” she said.
“Oh…well,” said Lee. “You guys – I mean women – don’t like to be graded, right? Someone calling you a seven or an eight. Or in your case, a twelve.”
Carr laughed.
“Are you about to ask me for a raise?” she said.
“Should I?”
“No. And, don’t take
He stood and moved closer to the television. Lee could see some lettering at the bottom of the screen. Superimposed over the picture, it read: “Soldiers of Christ.”
Chapter 17
“See, I told you it wouldn’t be so bad,” said Lorraine Carr as she speared another prawn sautéed with red and yellow cherry tomatoes in butter and pastis, the anise-flavored liqueur.
She was doing nostalgia today. Her hair was pulled back with a clip in the back. She was wearing a simple black, sleeveless dress. A silver necklace and white circular earrings completed the look.
Lee plunged his fork into a small mound of Dungeness crab layered with thinly shaved fennel and seasoned with sweetened Japanese rice vinegar. He thought that if Carr was trying for Aubrey Hepburn, she had it pretty close.
They were celebrating Lee’s first article about the Harper campaign at Fringale, a French bistro in San Francisco’s South of Market district that was his favorite lunch spot, particularly when it was on someone’s expense account. The article had run that morning:
Monday, May 17, 2004
Campaign Playing Like a Bad Movie
By Enzo Lee
If the early days of the Andrew Harper campaign were made into a movie, the competition for titles would boil down to “The Campaign That Couldn’t Shoot Straight” vs “Apocalypse Now: Harper’s Run for Governor.”
In less than 10 days:
-An environmental policy announcement turned into a dramatic rescue at sea of six journalists tossed into the ocean while Harper prattled on about the fate of otters.
-An out-in-the-fields press conference concerning Harper’s immigration stance was dive-bombed by an errant crop duster seemingly intent on delousing a couple dozen reporters and photographers.
-A campaign-changing endorsement turned into an embarrassing ‘oops’ moment when former Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff Arthur Wainwright withdrew his support 90 minutes before its planned announcement.
Journalists covering the campaign are now torn between demanding combat pay and extra protective gear to attend future events and the morbid fascination that comes with witnessing a slow-motion train wreck…
“I’ve got to admit it’s played out a little differently than I expected,” said Lee.
“Me too,” said Carr. She paused while she dipped a small piece of bread in the sauce in front of her and popped it into her mouth. “Why do you think they’re shooting themselves in the feet? Pretty soon there won’t be anything left to hit.”
“I don’t get it either,” said Lee. “I mean the people running the campaign are all experienced pros. I’m sure there’s some bad luck involved. But the solution to bad luck supposedly is good planning. So, something is going wrong.”
The waiter came by with their entrees. For Carr, duck confit on a bed of French lentils soaking in a red wine sauce. Lee had the poached black cod with capers and a light tomato sauce.
“Yum,” said Carr. “This place is great. Why don’t I know about it?”
“Running with the wrong crowd, I guess,” said Lee.
“Hmmm,” said Carr. She licked her finger and made a vertical line in the air. “The man knows food.”
“Uh oh,” said Lee. “The air tally again.”
Carr put her fork down, crossed her arms and arched one eyebrow.
“What does that mean?” she said.
“Oh…well,” said Lee. “You guys – I mean women – don’t like to be graded, right? Someone calling you a seven or an eight. Or in your case, a twelve.”
Carr laughed.
“Are you about to ask me for a raise?” she said.
“Should I?”
“No. And, don’t take
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