Mark Gimenez - The Governor's wife

"Why am I in this office?"

"It's the Governor's Office. And you're the governor."

"But why am I the governor?"

"You're a Republican in a red state."

"No-what is my purpose in being governor?"

"To get reelected."

Jim Bob choked back a laugh.

"Wait, I lost count-is this your third or fourth midlife crisis this term?"

Jim Bob shook his head then tossed the newspaper on the desk and gestured at the headline: BET ON BODE.

"You're a hard man to please, Bode Bonner. You just won the Republican primary with one hundred percent of the vote, and you're not happy?"

"No one ran against me. Where's the thrill of victory in that?"

The State of Texas had held the Republican and Democratic primaries the day before. But Republicans didn't fight each other in March, and Democrats didn't win in November. The Democrats hadn't won a statewide election in Texas in twenty years. They were that incompetent. That irrelevant. And outside of Austin and a few border counties, statistically insignificant, as the pollsters say. Texas glowed bright red from Amarillo to Brownsville, Texarkana to El Paso; Republicans controlled all three branches of state government. Consequently, the general election was a mere formality, Republican voters rubber-stamping the Republican primary winners. Bode Bonner was as good as reelected for another four-year term. He had been declared the Republican primary winner by eight the night before (the polls had closed at seven), given his victory speech by nine (the party was over by ten), had sex with Mandy by eleven (his wife had left for the airport after his speech), and fallen sound asleep by eleven-thirty. No contest. No agony of defeat for his opponent. No thrill of victory for Bode Bonner.

"You want thrills, go ride a roller coaster. You won. That's all that matters. Like that guy said about football, 'Winning isn't everything. It's the only thing.' "

"Lombardi."

"Same rule applies to politics. And yesterday goes in the books as a win. A win-win because we saved our campaign funds for the general election."

"Like that'll be much of a fight." Bode waved a hand at the newspaper. "Even the Austin paper figures me for a landslide. And who are the Democrats running against me? A Jewish ex-country-western singer who dresses like Johnny Cash and sings like Dolly Parton. A goddamn serial candidate. He's run for damn near every state office except dogcatcher. He's a political punch line." Bode threw his hands up. "Where do they get these people? For Christ's sake, Jim Bob, I'm up fourteen points in the polls."

"Eighteen."

Bode sat up.

"You got the new poll numbers?"

"Yep."

"Did I make the nationals?"

"Nope."

Jim Bob pulled a thin black notebook from his briefcase-a notebook he guarded with the same paranoia as the army officer guarding the president's case containing the nuclear launch codes-and flipped open the cover.

"But you're kicking ass in Texas. Fifty-nine percent favorable rating across all registered voters-that's your all-time high."

"What's the breakdown?"

Jim Bob turned the page. "Anglo males, seventy-one percent favorable. Anglo females, sixty-two percent. African-Americans, seven percent. Mexican-Americans, four percent." He looked up. "NASCAR dads and soccer moms, they love you. Not so much the blacks and Latinos." He chuckled. "Hell, just be glad the Democrats are running a Jew instead of a Latino. There's not but a dozen Jews in Texas, but there's ten million Latinos."

"You don't figure they'll vote for him, do you?"

He could hear the hint of worry in his own voice.

"Not a chance."

And that was the fear of every Republican politician in Texas: Would the Latinos vote? They never had before, but no Republican wanted to be the one who finally brought out the Latino vote-for his Democratic opponent.

"They're waiting for their savior… and they'll still be waiting come election day," Jim Bob said. "They won't vote."

"Thank God."

Every Texas politician understood a simple electoral fact: Anglos occupied the Governor's Mansion by the leave of Latinos.

"One day," Jim Bob said, his voice taking on that familiar professorial tone James Robert Burnet held a Ph. D. and taught a class on politics at the LBJ School; consequently, he was known in Texas political circles as "the Professor."

— "there'll be a Latino sitting in your chair, that's a fact. But not on my watch."

For the last decade, ever since Karl Rove had decamped to D.C. with George W., the Professor's opinion on all things political in the State of Texas had been considered gospel. So Bode Bonner breathed a sigh of relief: no need to fret about the Latino vote, at least not in this election. That settled in his mind, his thoughts quickly returned to his midlife crisis.

"My life peaked when I was twenty-two and playing strong safety for the Longhorns. Been downhill ever since."

He fingered the massive UT college football ring that rode his big right hand like a hood ornament; the memories of football flooded his mind. Sitting in the Governor's Office and recalling those glorious moments now, Bode couldn't believe how life had let him down. He leaned back and kicked his size 14-EE handmade elk skin cowboy boots up onto the desk. He had big feet because he stood six feet four inches tall and carried two hundred and ten pounds, his playing weight. He had blue eyes and good hair. He worked out at the YMCA and ran five miles around the lake every day. He had a working prostate and a valid Viagra prescription. Bode Bonner possessed the strength and stamina and sexual drive to keep up with men half his age. And women. He was still young enough and strong enough and willing enough to live life. He just needed something to do with his life.

"What am I gonna do the next four years?"

"Same thing you did the last four years… Nothing."

"I don't want to do nothing the rest of my life, Jim Bob."

"Bode, you're the governor of the second most populous state in America with twenty-five million people, a state that encompasses two hundred and sixty-eight thousand square miles, a state with a one-point-two-trillion-dollar gross domestic product that would rank it number fourteen in the world if Texas was still a republic, a state that's-"

"Bare-ass broke! I'm the governor of a goddamn bankrupt state, and I don't have any public money to spend or power to wield. I can't do a damn thing." He pointed out the window at the Capitol. "Hell, I gotta go over there and beg those bastards to pass a bill before I can take a goddamn piss."

The Professor nodded. "Sam Houston thought power should reside in the legislature, so the state constitution provides for a weak executive."

"Doesn't provide for much excitement." Bode shook his head. "I love the guy, but old Sam screwed the pooch on that one. I mean, what the hell is the governor supposed to do for four years? I can't play golf every day-some days it rains."

That amused the Professor. He was fixing his coffee in a china cup-cream and five sugar cubes. Which explained his pudgy physique and why he had been the star of the chess club in high school instead of an athlete.

"What do you hear, Jim Bob?"

The Professor cocked his head. "Nothing."

"Exactly. This ain't the Governor's Office-it's the goddamn morgue. You know why?"

"I bet you're gonna tell me."

Bode again pointed out the window at the Capitol.

"Because all the action's over there. You want to play the game of politics in Texas, you don't come to the Governor's Office, you go to the Capitol. Come January, that place is gonna sound like a cattle auction, lobbyists bidding for legislators' votes. Hell, they're already lining up outside the speaker's office, because he's got the power, not me. Because they don't need the governor. Because I'm irrelevant."