and animal urges that ignited his male body. She looked even better from the front. But she wasn't tanned; she was Hispanic.
"You okay, honey?"
She removed one ear bud and gave him a once-over—the fine March day had turned warm so sweat coated his chest and no doubt made him look younger than his forty-seven years—and he saw the recognition come into her eyes. He expanded his chest and tightened his arm muscles and waited for the expected, "Oh, my God—you're Bode Bonner!" But it didn't come. Instead, she pulled away as if he had a poison ivy rash. Her eyes turned dark.
"You're a fucking Nazi!"
She replaced the ear bud, pivoted, and jogged away. Bode watched her tight buns bob down the trail.
After a long moment, Ranger Hank said, "You want I should arrest her?"
"For what?"
"Being a Democrat."
Bode exhaled and felt all the hormones and endorphins drain from his forty-seven-year-old body.
"If only it were a crime, Hank. If only it were a crime."
Ranger Hank drew the Taser from his holster.
"Can I at least Tase her? Fifty thousand volts, she won't speak in complete sentences for a week."
Eleven blocks north, Jim Bob Burnet sat in the Governor's Mansion watching Fox News , which ran 24/7 on the television in his office. He pointed at the screen.
"You want to go national in the Republican Party, that's the ticket."
Eddie Jones slouched on the couch.
"You can't get the boss on?"
"Another governor from Texas is the last thing the party wants at the top of the ballot."
Consequently, Jim Bob did not encourage Bode Bonner in that direction. What was the point? Just as he had wondered when his father had encouraged chubby little Jimmy Bob Burnet to play football at Comfort High.
"So this is it for him?" Eddie said. "Governor of the great State of Mexico?"
"If he were governor of Montana or Colorado or even Okla-fuckin'-homa, he'd be the leading presidential candidate. He's a regular Roy Hobbs."
"Who?"
"From that baseball movie, The Natural . Bode Bonner's a natural. He's got it all. The looks, the style, the voice—the man was born for the White House. But he was also born in Texas. And after George W., that disqualifies a candidate."
"That don't seem fair."
"This is politics, not preschool."
But it wasn't fair. Jim Bob Burnet had long ago accepted the fact that he would live and die in Bode Bonner's considerable shadow. But he could not abide the fact that he would also live and die in Karl Rove's shadow. Rove took his man to the White House; Jim Bob would not. When people spoke of politics and the making of presidents, Rove would always be the man from Texas. It seemed so unjust. Jim Bob had a Ph.D. in politics; Rove had never even graduated college. But Rove had George W. Bush—a candidate with a pedigree—and in politics that was a hell of a lot more important than a college diploma. A political strategist was just a jockey—he was only as good as the horse he was riding. Rove rode George W. from the Governor's Mansion all the way to the White House where they proceeded to make LBJ look good when it came to presidents from Texas, and that was full-time work. When media types asked Jim Bob about Rove's political genius, he always wanted to say, "Well, Rove proved his genius advising one American president—how'd that work out for America?" But Rove still cast a dark shadow over Texas, so Jim Bob kept his mouth shut. And his dreams shuttered.
There would be no White House for Jim Bob Burnet.
So, even though his candidate regularly repeated his desire to jump into the national political waters, Jim Bob talked him down from the ledge every time. Because the only thing worse than not taking your candidate national was taking him national and watching him fail spectacularly. Consequently, Jim Bob had resigned himself to a career of getting the Republican governor of Texas reelected every four years for the rest of his life—not exactly the work of genius—and teaching a class on politics at the LBJ
"You okay, honey?"
She removed one ear bud and gave him a once-over—the fine March day had turned warm so sweat coated his chest and no doubt made him look younger than his forty-seven years—and he saw the recognition come into her eyes. He expanded his chest and tightened his arm muscles and waited for the expected, "Oh, my God—you're Bode Bonner!" But it didn't come. Instead, she pulled away as if he had a poison ivy rash. Her eyes turned dark.
"You're a fucking Nazi!"
She replaced the ear bud, pivoted, and jogged away. Bode watched her tight buns bob down the trail.
After a long moment, Ranger Hank said, "You want I should arrest her?"
"For what?"
"Being a Democrat."
Bode exhaled and felt all the hormones and endorphins drain from his forty-seven-year-old body.
"If only it were a crime, Hank. If only it were a crime."
Ranger Hank drew the Taser from his holster.
"Can I at least Tase her? Fifty thousand volts, she won't speak in complete sentences for a week."
Eleven blocks north, Jim Bob Burnet sat in the Governor's Mansion watching Fox News , which ran 24/7 on the television in his office. He pointed at the screen.
"You want to go national in the Republican Party, that's the ticket."
Eddie Jones slouched on the couch.
"You can't get the boss on?"
"Another governor from Texas is the last thing the party wants at the top of the ballot."
Consequently, Jim Bob did not encourage Bode Bonner in that direction. What was the point? Just as he had wondered when his father had encouraged chubby little Jimmy Bob Burnet to play football at Comfort High.
"So this is it for him?" Eddie said. "Governor of the great State of Mexico?"
"If he were governor of Montana or Colorado or even Okla-fuckin'-homa, he'd be the leading presidential candidate. He's a regular Roy Hobbs."
"Who?"
"From that baseball movie, The Natural . Bode Bonner's a natural. He's got it all. The looks, the style, the voice—the man was born for the White House. But he was also born in Texas. And after George W., that disqualifies a candidate."
"That don't seem fair."
"This is politics, not preschool."
But it wasn't fair. Jim Bob Burnet had long ago accepted the fact that he would live and die in Bode Bonner's considerable shadow. But he could not abide the fact that he would also live and die in Karl Rove's shadow. Rove took his man to the White House; Jim Bob would not. When people spoke of politics and the making of presidents, Rove would always be the man from Texas. It seemed so unjust. Jim Bob had a Ph.D. in politics; Rove had never even graduated college. But Rove had George W. Bush—a candidate with a pedigree—and in politics that was a hell of a lot more important than a college diploma. A political strategist was just a jockey—he was only as good as the horse he was riding. Rove rode George W. from the Governor's Mansion all the way to the White House where they proceeded to make LBJ look good when it came to presidents from Texas, and that was full-time work. When media types asked Jim Bob about Rove's political genius, he always wanted to say, "Well, Rove proved his genius advising one American president—how'd that work out for America?" But Rove still cast a dark shadow over Texas, so Jim Bob kept his mouth shut. And his dreams shuttered.
There would be no White House for Jim Bob Burnet.
So, even though his candidate regularly repeated his desire to jump into the national political waters, Jim Bob talked him down from the ledge every time. Because the only thing worse than not taking your candidate national was taking him national and watching him fail spectacularly. Consequently, Jim Bob had resigned himself to a career of getting the Republican governor of Texas reelected every four years for the rest of his life—not exactly the work of genius—and teaching a class on politics at the LBJ
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