I knew she was trouble the minute she come through my door.
 
It started back in January, when I got the call from Rove. It was a cool night in D.C., the kinda night what got a thousand stories - alluva 'em sad. It was the kinda night your granma'd tell you about when she was a few over the line. It was the kinda night what makes a man's hand itch to hold a dame or a glass a' ice-cubes - splashed with just enough Jack to keep 'em from gettin' lonely. It was the kinda night made a man sorry he'd give all that up. That's the kinda night it was.
 
"It's your 37.5 cents, Rove," I said, forgettin' for a moment, and reachin' down into my desk drawer. My hand come up empty. And sad. "But let's make it quick. I got a lotta regrettin' ahead a' me, and only the night to do it in".
 
"George," he said, "what's that music you're playing in the background?"
 
"It's a little thing called 'One More for the Road', Karl," I said, "What's on your mind, fella?"
 
"I just talked to Christie Whitman. I think she's ready to play ball"
 
"You can't play ball without what you know the game. Does she know the game, Karl?"
 
He didn't say nothin' right away. "I have no earthly idea what you are talking about, George," he said finally.
 
I chuckled. "I guess you don't Karl. I guess you don't" I chuckled again, this time for emphasis.
 
"George," he said, sighing, "Do you want to talk to her or not?"
 
"Sure, Karl, sure," I said, "What's the difference, in a kill-crazy town like this?"
 
He sighed again and hung up.
 
I swiveled my chair to face the night. It was the kinda night that - but then you know all that.
 
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
 
She showed up in my doorway the next afternoon, right on time. My doorway looked pretty happy about it, and I could see why.
 
She was wearin' a black dress with about a thousand polka dots - each one a center a' lastin' interest. She had on a wide-brimmed black hat that shaded her face so that all's you could see was her eyes; eyes that cut right through you, eyes that went clear on out the wall behind you, then around the corner and down the street a ways. Them kinda eyes.
 
She come in like a cool drink a' water on a hot day, and poured herself into the chair across from me.
 
Governor Whitman," I said, 'cause we had to start somewhere.
 
"Call me Christie," she breathed, "Christie Todd."
 
"What can I do you for...Christie Todd?"
 
She took a unfiltered Camel from a silver case. I got a match and flick-lit it with my thumbnail. It flared up, got caught in my nail. Burned my thumb. I dropped it.
 
Third time today.
 
I lit another one. She covered my mitt with her slim fingers and drew it to her cigarette. She leaned back and blew a smoke ring in my direction. "You know what I want," she said. Her voice was hot and smoky like a trash fire, cool and distant like a union audience, a kick in the gut like by a Emu, that's what they was like.
 
Yeah. Yeah, sure. I knew what she wanted. But I knew I had t' be careful. She was tough, plenty tough. I seen the news pictures with her friskin' suspects and wearin' a big grin. They say humans is the only ones what show their teeth when they're happy.
 
But then they say a lotta things.
 
"You want the EPA.," I said simply. You think you're woman enough to handle it?"
 
She looked at me hard, like a SAT test. "Yeah. You man enough to give it to me?"
 
I heard this question lotsa times before, and I didn't have no better answer this time than all the others.
 
"Listen, sister," I said, "I ain't got the time for all this Percy Flage. This is politics, baby. It's the big supermarket. It's a fast flight on the red-eye to a little town called 'mid-term elections' - ever hear a' it? Sometimes your ticket gets stamped 'No Return'. So I gotta know, baby, and I gotta know now, you on board or what?"
 
She just stared at me for a moment. "You, know," she said finally, "You're really something."
 
"Thanks," I chuckled appreciably, "You're aces with me too, kid." For a moment our eyes locked and our hands almost touched, then I come to myself, and sat back. "I could listen to you butter me up all day, sweetheart, it's good for my girlish complexion. But just to move this pow-wow off the dime, why don't you lead the next dance?"
 
"Okay," she said, "But I need to explain something first."
 
"Sure, kid, I said. It's your 37.5 cents". I sat back and absent-minded reached down into the drawer again.
 
Damn.
 
"You see," she said, "I work in a dirty state -"
 
"They're all dirty, baby," I consoled.
 
"No, no," she said, "I mean it's got a lot of pollution. New Jersey is the most polluted state in the country"
 
I chuckled inside my head. Actual, my own Texas is the most polluted, but I wanted to see how she handled herself when she thought the game was goin' her way. There'd be plenty a' time later to see how she did when it wasn't.
 
It was late afternoon now, and the sun slantin' through the blinds casted zebra stripes over the room. When the stripes come to her, they seemed to go crazy, makin' all kinds of fascinatin' twists and turns 'all over her, like a drunk's ski-trails.
 
For a while I was imaginin' myself skiin'.
 
"Please understand," she went on, "When I first became Governor, I was pretty disdainful of all the environmental preaching. I thought most of the laws were silly and anti-business. But, after a while, I began to see that they had helped to bring pollution down without hurting the economy at all - quite the reverse."
 
She shrugged. "So, for the rest of my term I've been increasingly pro-environment. Now people who wouldn't even talk to me in the early days, people whom I now respect, have come to respect me, too! I...I think it would kill me to lose that respect."
 
She leaned forward, and her perfume rang my bell like the he-man test in a carnival "I must know," she said, "That I can count on you; that I can depend on you to back me up. I want so badly to do a good job. It's the only reason I'm thinking of leaving the Governorship."
 
I wasn't havin' none a' that on my plate. "I like violins, too, sweetheart, why don't you play yours a little louder? Or, better still, why don't we can the malarkey and get down to the real reasons you're pullin' out early."
 
I leaned forward and started tickin' points off on my fingers. "In the first place, Jersey's a two-term state. You're at the end a' the road next year anyhow. Second, your tax-cut chickens is comin' home to roost this year, and the Governor's chair is gonna turn into a hot seat right soon. Third, you only won the last two elections by a one-point margin, so I wouldn't give you two cents for your chances in a real Senator race. Finally, Colin's gettin' Secretary a' State, and I don't see no other Cabinet spot for you. Way I see it? EPA's about the only shot left on your table."
 
I leaned back again. "That sound right to you?"
 
She looked at me like she'd fell off the roof. She wasn't ready for that. I may not be a genius, but if it's one thing I know, it's all the ways somebody can be behind the eight-ball. It's my best area of expert. I can be real smart about that.
 
She lowered her head quietly. I thought I heard a sniffle. "All right! All right!" she said, finally, "It's true! I've no where else to turn! But promise me you'll be on the level with me." She wiped her eyes, "Will you give me a square deal?" she said.
 
I said, "Yes," right off, 'cause I've discovered how much it depresses people if I answer that question any other way.
 
"I knew it," she said, all relieved, "They told me you were a right guy". Which caused me to raise my eyebrows a little. I didn't know who'd said that, but I didn't think I liked it. I been in the GOP a long time, and I know once they hang that "trustworthy" label on you, brother, you're finished,.
 
But I put my paw over hers, and said, "I promise. You got my word on it as a honorary Junior Texas Ranger."
 
Then I sat back. "What's your first prioritizin'?" I asked.
 
"I've been thinking about that," she said, "I think we should focus on global warming and the Kyoto accords. I remember that you campaigned on reducing carbon dioxide emissions, which I fully support too. Then there's the Clinton administration's initiative on reducing arsenic levels - that looks pretty good to me too. Are those all right with you?"
 
"Listen," I said, "When it comes to the environment you got cart blank, you are It, the big kahuna, numero uno 'round here"
 
"But what...what about your advisors on the Council on Environmental Quality? Won't they want a say in all this?"
 
"I don't even know what that is. How many ways I gotta say this, sweetheart? You're the boss, the big cheddar, the last word, la ultima, and you don't need to clear nothin' with nobody 'cept me. Got it?" And I shook her hand.
 
She looked at me grateful. Then, without a word further, she got up and was gone. Gone like a prayer in a crap game, gone like a rose in a hail storm, gone like a mother's kiss on the first day of school. That kinda gone.
 
I just sat there for a few minutes, reflectin'. Then with a slow sigh, I started my calls. First I called Karl to tell him I got his recommendations about how we should dump the Kyoto accord, Carbon Dioxide emissions reduction, and scotch the arsenic regulations. Told him if he liked it, it was jake with me. Then I called Condie, told her Christie would be comin' on board and would need a little watchin', and that I was makin' her personal responsible for seein' to it that Christie took things in the right direction.
 
Then I hung up and reached into my drawer.
 
Empty as a party platform.
 
I kinda hated to do it to the poor kid, but it's a tough game in a tough town, and she ought a' know the score by now. Way I see it, she's like what in my flyin' days we useta call a "wind dummy." Sometimes when you're about to land, and you don't know which way the wind's blowin' you push the wind dummy out and watch how it falls. All the way down.
 
Other thing is, EPA Administrator's just about the only job in the government where you is guaranteed to catch hell from all sides all the time. It may not hurt to have Christie in a place where she can't make nothin' but enemies for a few years. We ain't all that far from 2004, and intra-party rivals got a habit a' poppin' up like Whack-A-Moles.
 
I sighed again, turned up the volume on "One More for the Road", turned out the lights, and let the night swallow me like a goldfish at a frat party.
 
It was that kinda night.