Primary Colors by Joe Klein

think it's okay? You think there's something we're not doing?"
    "I can't think of--"
    "Listen, here's what I want," He said, cutting me off. I still wasn't quite used to that. He never really wanted an answer when he asked how he was doing, just reassurance--and he would settle for anything, even Sporken's inevitable, transparent "Great, great, just great, Governor." It was banal, unworthy; I couldn't get used to it. "I want a conference call with the Gang of Five--let's try Wednesday, morning sometime, after whatever breakfasts we have." He began to laugh. "You hear what Richard is calling the Gang? The Elders of Zion? We can't let that out." He laughed again. The Gang were his economic advisers. "But tell them we gotta figure out how far on health. Charlie Martin's gonna hammer us on that. And tell Rosenbaum that I'm still waiting on his tax cut numbers." David Rosenbaum was the policy-staff numbers sherpa. "And listen, tell Annie M. I want the names and home phones of every family involved in that bender on the interstate, right? So what you doin' tonight, Henri?" He was doing the Henri bit now. "Muffin hunting, or just stay at 'home and crack open a bottle of Chablis?"
    "I'll go to the staff parry," I said, affecting a slight pissed-off chill. "You know we opened it up to the public, trying to get the kids in town someplace safe for New Year's."
    "Great idea. Who did that?"
    "Jennifer, Eric. I don't know. They're very good."
    "You, too, my man," he said, picking up on my mood. "Henry, listen careful now. Two things. One, I want you to get your ass out of that office and kick back today, y'hear? Rest. Have some fun. Do something for yourself, y'know? Then you come out and meet me in Manchester on Tuesday. I want to start this thing with you there. The other thing is this. Susan and I were talking: You're the best goddamn thing happened to us this year. Happy New Year, and thank you. I know what you do, and how you feel, and how hard you work. I'm honored by it. Honored. You hear? Now listen, this is very important: Do you think it's at all possible for you to get yourself laid tonight?" He was laughing. "I'm serious. I don't want you too horny to think straight, okay?"
    "Yes sir," I said. "You have a happy New Year too. And thank you." "And tell Annie M. I want those phone numbers, right? And--we're doin' okay, dontchathink?"
    "Just fine," I said.
    I went back into the governor's private office to call Mother in LA, and found Daisy Green was sitting there, tiny, behind Stanton's bi g d esk, oversize horn-rims on, studying Leon's cross-tabs, smoking a Marlboro. "Hey," she said, "this stuff is un-fucking-believable. You see how we're doing with World War Two veterans? They don't give one half of a shit about Vietnam. They love him."
    "You shouldn't smoke in here," I said. "He'll walk in three weeks from now and choke to death."
    Daisy stubbed it out. "You see the focus groups?" she said. "I'm a little worried about the tax cutting. They're onto it. This is going to be a very cool year, I think. They're thinkin', y'know? They're into it. They're ready for us. It's amazing none of the big Dems went, but, then, they're Dems, right?"
    "What are you doing here, anyway?" I asked, but not harshly. "Ice storm," she silt, closing Leon's binder, shoving the horn-rims up her forehead. "We're all still here. I had to get out of the hotel. They're all down pacing the lobby, hating each other--Arlen, Jemmons, Lucille. It's the most awkward fucking thing. Didn't want to babysit any of them. Richard's jiggling around, wanting to get in my pants again. 'Got a wet bar in my suite, Daisy Mae, got movies, it's lahk--pair-ah-dahse.' I told him to go hit on Lucille--'You could save her life,' I said. Richard--" She was laughing now, belly-laughingshe couldn't get it out. "--Richard . . . Richard says, 'Lucille? I could neither achieve nor sustain with that woman.' Never heard that one before. Meanwhile, Arlen's trying to charm the shit out of