All else was no more than a shrug.
28
The lobbyist’s name was Corinna Skye. She was a drop-dead gorgeous natural blonde who looked five years younger than her thirty-five years. She was tall, slim, busty, and was a six-handicap golfer. She wore a charcoal-gray power suit, the skirt cut just short enough to show she had great legs without being titillating, a white silk blouse, and a dark red scarf. Her shoes were dark gray handmade Italian leather, one-inch heels, five hundred dollars a pair. She was smart, funny, and while many in political circles considered all lobbyists high-priced whores, she had never slept with a senator or congressman, though many of them had tried to make that happen. She had graduated first in her class at Columbia in political science, and was considered the best lobbyist on Internet issues in the country.
Chance sat across the table from Skye in the booth at Umberto’s. The salad had been perfect, and the handmade fresh pasta was outstanding — Chance had gotten the bay shrimp in heavy cream and would have to pay for it on the stairclimber later, but it had been worth it.
“With Wayne DeWitt’s unfortunate accident — a terrible tragedy — things’ll be easier on the senatorial side,” Skye said. She didn’t know that DeWitt’s injuries had been on Chance’s orders; she wasn’t in that loop.
She continued: “We’ve gone to a full-press in the House. Congressman Kinsey Walker — he’saDfrom California — will offer his bill on Monday. We have the votes to get it out of committee, though we’re still eight shy for passage in the House — but we’ll get those.”
“Assuming it passes in the House and Senate,” Chance said, “what are the chances of a presidential veto?”
“Ordinarily, I’d say it would be nailed, at the very least pocketed. But the administration has a couple of pet projects on the table, the National Parks bill and the new medicare thing, and they’d sell their wives and mothers to a Turkish dope dealer to get either of those passed. We have some votes to trade. More than enough.”
“Good.”
The waiter came by. Would the ladies care for dessert and coffee?
Just coffee, they both said.
“You do realize that this bill is not what we’d hoped for,” Skye said. “It’s about half-strength.”
Chance nodded. “Yes. But it’s a start. Once this is established, then it’s like new taxes, it won’t go away, and we can strengthen it next session. The first part of making an omelet is to collect some eggs.”
Both of them smiled, women of the world.
As they sipped their coffee, Chance reflected that in another life, she might have been friends with Skye. She preferred the company of men most of the time, men were so much easier to manipulate, but there were occasions when sitting somewhere and talking to a bright woman was more relaxing. True, there was always a certain amount of competition, even with women, but as long as there were no men around to control, girl talk could be a breath of fresh air. Testosterone did get overwhelming at times.
Take ’Berto, for instance. He was a man’s man, willing to buy a drink and slap a back in fellowship, or, at the drop of a hat, kick in his drinking buddy’s teeth. No complexity about him, no convoluted layers to his thoughts, he had simple wants and needs. For him, life was one giant game of king-of-the-hill. As one of her yoga teachers would have said, ’Berto lived in his lower chakras, the belly and the phallus, and had yet to realize his higher potentials. The yoga teacher would have earnestly believed that ’Berto had higher potentials. Chance knew better. ’Berto had three things driving him: fighting, sex, and good food, that was it—
“I’ve seen the latest TV spots,” Skye said, interrupting her internal musings.
“What did you think?”
Skye chuckled. “The people who make Kleenex must love you. Even Kodak hasn’t got anything so soppy.”
“Subscriptions are up twelve percent since we started running the new series.”
Skye wiped a bit of lipstick from her coffee cup with a napkin. “Doesn’t surprise me. I’d expect them to be effective. Subtle doesn’t work for television viewers. Lowest common denominator and all. Speaking of which, I know a woman who slept with one of those basketball players.”
Chance raised an eyebrow.
“Hung to here,” she said, slapping the inside of her left knee. “And she says they must make Viagra out of his blood.”
They both laughed.
Chance nodded. Yes, a smart woman was a great break from mule-headed men. She glanced at her watch. “Well. I need to run along. It’s been great visiting with you, Cory.”
“As always. I’ll call you with updates.”
“I appreciate it.”
Chance waved the waiter over and paid the bill, and Skye merely nodded her thanks. Another thing a man would quibble over. Skye cleared half a million a year, easy, and she wasn’t going to make noise over a little hundred-dollar lunch tab, one way or the other.
As she left the restaurant, Chance looked around. Washington was a dreary city in the winter. It was beautiful in the spring, all the flowering fruit trees, but when the gray and cold settled in, all the marble and wide streets couldn’t offset the gloom. She had a couple of other errands to run, including a visit to a key senator. While Cory Skye was scrupulous in her personal life, Chance would use any weapon she had to win a contest. If that meant screwing a middle-aged married senator stupid — which was no great chore, given the starting point of his IQ — she had no problem with that. Whatever worked.
Toni was excited. It had been some time since she had been in the field, back when she and Alex had had their troubles on that trip to England. She smiled at the memory, which was bittersweet. Such heartache they’d gone through, for what was basically a stupid mistake, on both their parts. More his than hers, but, she had to admit, she had jumped to a conclusion she shouldn’t have.
She had packed for warm weather, one bag she could fit into the overhead bin on the jet. She was only going for a couple of days, and she had had enough bad experiences with checked baggage to last a lifetime. Once, on a flight to Hawaii, her suitcase had vacationed in Japan.
Documents had provided her with a new ID — driver’s license, credit cards, even a library card, no passport needed — that showed she was Mary Johnson, a divorced secretary from Falls Church, Virginia. She was on holiday, going to play the slot machines and soak up the sunshine in the warm Caribbean. She had her flight booked, along with a single cabin on the Bon Chance. It was enough cover to check out the ship, she’d be in and out, and nobody would be the wiser.
“You still packing, girl?” Guru said. She came into the bedroom, Little Alex slung over her right hip.
“Guru, I don’t know how you expect him to practice walking if you never put him down.”
Guru smiled and bounced the baby on her hip a couple of times. He laughed.
“Don’t you worry about him learning to walk. Pretty soon, I start teaching him djurus. Time you get back, he’ll be a fighter.”
“I’m only going to be gone three days.”
“Plenty of time, eh, best boy?”
Little Alex laughed again.
“You sure this is all right?”
Guru shook her head. “Child, I raised a houseful of babies. This little one is an angel compared to a couple of my boys. We’ll be fine. And we’ll watch out for big Alex, too.”