office.
Susan heard the Senator saying, “I look forward to debating with Mr Burdock,” as she and Barney set off down the hall.
“How do you think that went?” he asked.
“Not quite as I’d expected, I must say.”
“Let’s have a coffee.” He took her downstairs to the basement, through a brick tunnel labyrinth which eventually led to a coffee bar.
“Welcome to the only privately owned coffee bar in Congress,” Barney said. He showed her into the little café with a hot and cold self-service buffet at one end. A couple of Congressmen, vaguely familiar to Susan, were seated at a table. Staffers waited in line for coffee to go. Susan and Barney took theirs into the next room.
“This is obviously not my area, but should we be taking this Tea Party thing seriously?”
“DeKripps? We are, don’t worry. Dailey’s probably safe, but I can think of a few others in Congress who should be worried. I’m from Philadelphia, and right next door there’s this crazy woman who wants to run for Biden’s seat next year. She’s Tea Party and she’s a witch! I mean, a real witch. Can you imagine it? A witch on the Senate foreign relations committee? We’d be the laughing stock of the whole world.”
“There’s a real revolutionary streak in America, isn’t there? It reminds me of France. I think the French and the Americans have more in common than we realise.”
The comparison seemed to leave Barney cold. He sipped from his coffee and winced.
“What I’m saying is, it’s dangerous, Susie. Dangerous for the Republicans. And everything that’s happening is good news for Democrats, although God knows they’ve got enough problems. Look at how Obama’s screwed up healthcare. He’s been in office for almost a year and Congress is still jammed with this goddamned thing.”
“From what I read, the gridlock in Congress isn’t just on healthcare. There’s warfare on any reform that comes to the floor. It might even affect us with HFCS.”
“True, I’ve never seen it this bad. Never. But food-wise, it’d be dangerous if people start seeing nutrition as a political issue, not a health issue.” He narrowed his eyes. “We’re not there yet, though.”
Susan thought of Mimi. For her daughter, food was already political. After giving up media studies, the subject du jour , she’d ended up in her NGO, which had completed her political education. She knew that Mimi did communications, although her latest job seemed to consist of holding childish protests, dressing up in public places to shout about policy reform. Or awareness raising, as Mimi called it.
Barney began jiggling his knee with caffeinated impatience. When she’d finished her latte, instead of heading the way they came, he took her past the sprawling Senate cafeteria, its food stations spread out in the basement. This was the place where French fries had been re-baptised Freedom Fries during the Iraq war.
Serge, a Bush-hater, had been apoplectic, and hadn’t seen the joke.
A little further along the corridor, Barney showed her the little subway train that ran to the Capitol.
Beside it was a well-stocked Senate gift shop. It would be the perfect place to pick up some Christmas presents, stamped with the Senate seal.
They walked in silence along Pennsylvania Avenue, then as they neared the office she asked, “How’s Project Posh?”
“Project Candy? It’s dandy.”
He obviously intended to leave it at that. But then he added, “You’ll be impressed. We’ve got one scientist in particular who deserves a Nobel Prize.”
“The peace prize? Let them eat Candy?”
He laughed. “The prize for chemistry. Or biology. One of those. You’ve not mentioned Project Candy to anyone, right?”
“Of course not.”
“You know loose lips sink ships,” he said, pulling an invisible fastener across his mouth. “Zip ‘em Susie.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
As Christmas approached, a blizzard dumped a record sixteen inches of snow at Dulles on
Susan heard the Senator saying, “I look forward to debating with Mr Burdock,” as she and Barney set off down the hall.
“How do you think that went?” he asked.
“Not quite as I’d expected, I must say.”
“Let’s have a coffee.” He took her downstairs to the basement, through a brick tunnel labyrinth which eventually led to a coffee bar.
“Welcome to the only privately owned coffee bar in Congress,” Barney said. He showed her into the little café with a hot and cold self-service buffet at one end. A couple of Congressmen, vaguely familiar to Susan, were seated at a table. Staffers waited in line for coffee to go. Susan and Barney took theirs into the next room.
“This is obviously not my area, but should we be taking this Tea Party thing seriously?”
“DeKripps? We are, don’t worry. Dailey’s probably safe, but I can think of a few others in Congress who should be worried. I’m from Philadelphia, and right next door there’s this crazy woman who wants to run for Biden’s seat next year. She’s Tea Party and she’s a witch! I mean, a real witch. Can you imagine it? A witch on the Senate foreign relations committee? We’d be the laughing stock of the whole world.”
“There’s a real revolutionary streak in America, isn’t there? It reminds me of France. I think the French and the Americans have more in common than we realise.”
The comparison seemed to leave Barney cold. He sipped from his coffee and winced.
“What I’m saying is, it’s dangerous, Susie. Dangerous for the Republicans. And everything that’s happening is good news for Democrats, although God knows they’ve got enough problems. Look at how Obama’s screwed up healthcare. He’s been in office for almost a year and Congress is still jammed with this goddamned thing.”
“From what I read, the gridlock in Congress isn’t just on healthcare. There’s warfare on any reform that comes to the floor. It might even affect us with HFCS.”
“True, I’ve never seen it this bad. Never. But food-wise, it’d be dangerous if people start seeing nutrition as a political issue, not a health issue.” He narrowed his eyes. “We’re not there yet, though.”
Susan thought of Mimi. For her daughter, food was already political. After giving up media studies, the subject du jour , she’d ended up in her NGO, which had completed her political education. She knew that Mimi did communications, although her latest job seemed to consist of holding childish protests, dressing up in public places to shout about policy reform. Or awareness raising, as Mimi called it.
Barney began jiggling his knee with caffeinated impatience. When she’d finished her latte, instead of heading the way they came, he took her past the sprawling Senate cafeteria, its food stations spread out in the basement. This was the place where French fries had been re-baptised Freedom Fries during the Iraq war.
Serge, a Bush-hater, had been apoplectic, and hadn’t seen the joke.
A little further along the corridor, Barney showed her the little subway train that ran to the Capitol.
Beside it was a well-stocked Senate gift shop. It would be the perfect place to pick up some Christmas presents, stamped with the Senate seal.
They walked in silence along Pennsylvania Avenue, then as they neared the office she asked, “How’s Project Posh?”
“Project Candy? It’s dandy.”
He obviously intended to leave it at that. But then he added, “You’ll be impressed. We’ve got one scientist in particular who deserves a Nobel Prize.”
“The peace prize? Let them eat Candy?”
He laughed. “The prize for chemistry. Or biology. One of those. You’ve not mentioned Project Candy to anyone, right?”
“Of course not.”
“You know loose lips sink ships,” he said, pulling an invisible fastener across his mouth. “Zip ‘em Susie.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
As Christmas approached, a blizzard dumped a record sixteen inches of snow at Dulles on
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