And you're the best goddamn campaigner I've ever seen. But the White House? It's just not going to happen for you, buddy.'
'Who're we gonna run? Romney? A Mormon named Mitt? Sounds like the fucking family pet. Folks are sick of him-he's like a party guest who won't go home.'
'There's Bachmann.'
'She's half crazy.'
'Santorum?'
'Creepy.'
'Paul?'
'Kooky.'
'Cain?'
'Black.'
'Christie?'
'Fat.'
'Daniels? He's not crazy, creepy, kooky, black, or fat. And he's smart.'
'Sure, he's smart, but he's got the personality of a minivan, he's five-seven, and he's bald.'
'So?'
'So voters want a tall president with good hair.'
'Gingrich has good hair.'
'And two ex-wives.'
'What about Palin? She's happily married.'
'She's a goddamn Saturday Night Live joke to most Americans. She gets elected and takes that litter to the White House, it'll be the Beverly Hillbillies Go to Washington. Besides, Americans don't want a broad in the White House. They want a man, someone who'll take charge and make things better, and not for those greedy bastards on Wall Street'-he pointed out the window-'but for Main Street. For middle-class folks.'
'I hope you don't mean that.'
'I do.'
The Professor shook his head. 'Don't go populist on me again, Bode. Remember, politicians talk populism, but big business funds their campaigns.'
Bode paced the office; his adrenaline was pumping now.
'The tea party changed the game, Jim Bob. It tapped into the middle-class anger at government, same thing we've been doing. I'm the tea party's favorite son here in Texas-why couldn't I go national with them?'
'This ain't the Ice Capades, Bode. You want to go national, you do it with the Republican Party leadership, the Establishment boys in Washington, not the crazy cousins out in the country. Sure, they can energize the voters, but they're wild cards in the party-shit, they're not even sure they want to be Republicans. And they're sure as hell not interested in long-term careers in Congress, which is how the party keeps the members in line. You want to move up, you keep your head down, your mouth shut, and follow orders when a vote is called. You don't go on Fox News and buck the speaker. Tea partiers, they don't give a shit about moving up in Congress-they want to firebomb the fucking place.'
'I thought you believed in the tea party?'
'No more than a surfer believes in the wave.'
Bode stared at the Professor. He blinked hard.
'What the hell does that mean?'
'It means, just like that surfer respects the power of the wave, I respect the tea party's power to mobilize middle-class voters. We got two hundred tea party groups in Texas representing half of all registered voters. So we're going to ride that tea party wave right through the election. You're going to tell those voters exactly what they want to hear. But that doesn't mean you're supposed to believe it.'
Bode pulled out his pocket-sized copy of the U.S. Constitution and held it in the air. The Professor groaned.
'Not with the Constitution again.'
'Like Reagan said-'
Another groan. 'Now it's Reagan quotes.'
'Jim Bob, I've been preaching the same Tenth Amendment, anti-Washington, anti-taxes sermon since-'
'Bode-you're not the wave. You're just riding the wave. You used to be a Democrat when Democrats controlled Texas. Then you switched to Republican when Republicans took over Texas. Now you're a tea partier because they're sweeping across Texas. That's what politicians do, at least the ones who win elections: they ride the wave.'
'I'm not the wave? I'm just riding the wave?'
'Bode, politics is like investing. Twenty years ago, I bought stock in Whole Foods. Not because I believed in organic-hell, I don't give a shit if my fried chicken was happy when it was alive-but because I saw the organic wave building and thought it might be a money-making opportunity. So I jumped on that wave, and I rode the stock price up and made a lot of money. Investing isn't about what I believe; it's about making money. Politics isn't about what you believe; it's about winning elections. The tea party is a political opportunity. It's the wave. Today. But that wave always dies out, and the tea party will, too. And all those middle-class folks will go back to work and church and the PTA and get on with their dull lives out in suburbia and leave politics to the professionals.'
'Which means?'
'Which means the tea party can't put you or anyone else in the White House. Only the Establishment Republicans have the money for that. The Democrats are going to spend a billion dollars to keep Obama in the White House. Where's that money coming from? The unemployed middle class? No. It's coming from Wall Street. Same place Republicans get their campaign money.'
'Money's the only politics Wall Street knows.'
'Exactly-and they're sure as hell not going to bet a billion dollars on another Texas governor.' He blew out a breath. 'Look, Bode, you've got a good thing going here-governor-for-life. Don't fuck it up.'
'Why aren't the Republican bundlers in play yet? Why haven't the fundraisers committed to a candidate? Because they're all losers. We need a winner.'
'You?'
Bode stopped pacing and pointed a finger at the ceiling. Jim Bob looked up.
'What?'
'Not what,' Bode said. 'One. All I need is one big play.'
'One big play?'
'Every game I ever played in-won or lost-turned on one big play. A long run, a pass, a fumble, an interception… a game changer. One big play, Jim Bob, that's all I need to be president.'
'Bode, to put another Texan in the White House, it'd have to be the biggest Hail Mary in the history of politics.'
'It could happen. I could win. I've got the game to play in the big leagues, Jim Bob. I just need one big play to get in the game.'
Jim Bob shook his head and sighed.
'Higher office and younger women-the ambitions of a politician.'
Before Bode could defend himself, there was a loud knock on the door, and Jim Bob jumped.
'Might want to try decaf,' Bode said.
Jim Bob was always a little jumpy, as if worried someone might sneak up behind him and put him in a headlock like the cowboys in Comfort used to do to him in the middle-school restroom, until Bode took him under his wing. From that day, Jim Bob Burnet had pledged his undying loyalty to Bode Bonner. Another knock, and the door swung open on Jim Bob's new young assistant. He waved her in. She walked over and handed a stack of papers to Jim Bob. But she smiled at Bode.
'Mornin', Governor,' she said in a syrupy Southern drawl.
Her perfume drifted over and incited Bode's male hormones the same as waving a red flag at a bull. Bode's eyes involuntarily dropped from her face to her body and then slowly worked their way down to her feet and back up to her face. When their eyes again met, she winked. Damn, she was a frisky gal-whose name he couldn't
