Sex Change: A Nina Bannister Mystery (The Nina Bannister Mysteries Book 6) by T'Gracie Reese, Joe Reese Page B
Authors: T'Gracie Reese, Joe Reese
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doing anything from ten in the morning—when she had been called ‘stupid’ two or three times—until two in the afternoon, when her press conference was to take place.
Certainly, Tim Sandler was a part of her existence in this vacuum/vortex of non-being of having anything to live for except humiliation.
He must have taken her somewhere; then he must have bought her lunch.
Which she must have either eaten or left on the plate.
He must have chatted with her.
He was very good at chatting.
She, when one actually thought about it, was getting pretty good at chatting herself.
And he must have taken her back to Jeb Maxwell’s office.
For that was where she found herself at two o’clock.
Having arrived fifteen minutes earlier, and having read the statement that had been typed out neatly and handed to her.
She stood at a podium.
Fifteen news reporters sat in three rows of folding chairs in front of her.
She did not have the courage to look at all of their faces.
Their faces were not important.
She had been told years before, in elementary school, that a good way to avoid being nervous while speaking before a crowd was to imagine all of the people in the crowd were wearing nothing but their underwear.
She had tried this once or twice, found it utterly disgusting, and given it up.
Now though, as she began reading, she could not avoid the feeling that she was wearing nothing but her underwear.
Well, so be it.
Underwear lady.
Nothing for it but to begin:
“Ladies and gentlemen, I am, as I’m sure you know by now, Congresswoman Nina Bannister.”
Some small laughter at this.
It helped.
She continued.
“Yesterday I gave an interview with a reporter from a newspaper in my home state of Mississippi. This story was carried on the AP wire and ultimately appeared this morning in The Washington Post .”
Everyone in the audience had laptop computers, the keyboards of which could be heard tapping away.
“I was not misquoted in this story, nor can I blame the reporter for what was in the story. She wrote down quite accurately what I said. What I must do now, however, is apologize. My statements did not reflect my actual feelings on the matter of the refugee children, nor did they accurately portray the views of the President, or the Democratic Party. I meant to say, and should have said, that in a perfect world, it would be wonderful if all American families could simply open their homes to the refugees of the world. It is not, however, a perfect world, and both major political parties realize this. They are, as we speak here today, attempting to find some compromise position that will allow us to deal humanely with the flood of children who are now standing at our borders. The President has made an urgent request for funds so that we can process these young people, and get them safely back to their families. But neither my party nor I really believe that it would be possible for us as a nation to offer them a blanket invitation to come and live in our homes. Our doing so would open up a flood of immigration that no nation could possibly withstand, or deal with. Once again, I apologize for having put my feelings so awkwardly, and having, because of my inexperience in public speaking, caused embarrassment to my party and to my President.”
Silence for a moment.
Then:
“That is the end of my statement.”
A sea of hands shot into the air.
“Congresswoman Bannister, do you…”
“Congresswoman Bannister, is it your…”
“Congresswoman Bannister, have you ever…”
Jeb Maxwell was approaching from the right of the podium:
“The Congresswoman, as I said before the press conference began, will not be…”
But then came a voice from the back of the room.
“Nina!”
A figure stood.
A tall woman.
With black-rimmed glasses.
“Nina!”
“I’ m sorry, but…”
“I’m Liz Cohen of the New York Times .”
Jeb Maxwell:
“Thank you for flying down, Ms. Cohen. We’re all aware of your
Certainly, Tim Sandler was a part of her existence in this vacuum/vortex of non-being of having anything to live for except humiliation.
He must have taken her somewhere; then he must have bought her lunch.
Which she must have either eaten or left on the plate.
He must have chatted with her.
He was very good at chatting.
She, when one actually thought about it, was getting pretty good at chatting herself.
And he must have taken her back to Jeb Maxwell’s office.
For that was where she found herself at two o’clock.
Having arrived fifteen minutes earlier, and having read the statement that had been typed out neatly and handed to her.
She stood at a podium.
Fifteen news reporters sat in three rows of folding chairs in front of her.
She did not have the courage to look at all of their faces.
Their faces were not important.
She had been told years before, in elementary school, that a good way to avoid being nervous while speaking before a crowd was to imagine all of the people in the crowd were wearing nothing but their underwear.
She had tried this once or twice, found it utterly disgusting, and given it up.
Now though, as she began reading, she could not avoid the feeling that she was wearing nothing but her underwear.
Well, so be it.
Underwear lady.
Nothing for it but to begin:
“Ladies and gentlemen, I am, as I’m sure you know by now, Congresswoman Nina Bannister.”
Some small laughter at this.
It helped.
She continued.
“Yesterday I gave an interview with a reporter from a newspaper in my home state of Mississippi. This story was carried on the AP wire and ultimately appeared this morning in The Washington Post .”
Everyone in the audience had laptop computers, the keyboards of which could be heard tapping away.
“I was not misquoted in this story, nor can I blame the reporter for what was in the story. She wrote down quite accurately what I said. What I must do now, however, is apologize. My statements did not reflect my actual feelings on the matter of the refugee children, nor did they accurately portray the views of the President, or the Democratic Party. I meant to say, and should have said, that in a perfect world, it would be wonderful if all American families could simply open their homes to the refugees of the world. It is not, however, a perfect world, and both major political parties realize this. They are, as we speak here today, attempting to find some compromise position that will allow us to deal humanely with the flood of children who are now standing at our borders. The President has made an urgent request for funds so that we can process these young people, and get them safely back to their families. But neither my party nor I really believe that it would be possible for us as a nation to offer them a blanket invitation to come and live in our homes. Our doing so would open up a flood of immigration that no nation could possibly withstand, or deal with. Once again, I apologize for having put my feelings so awkwardly, and having, because of my inexperience in public speaking, caused embarrassment to my party and to my President.”
Silence for a moment.
Then:
“That is the end of my statement.”
A sea of hands shot into the air.
“Congresswoman Bannister, do you…”
“Congresswoman Bannister, is it your…”
“Congresswoman Bannister, have you ever…”
Jeb Maxwell was approaching from the right of the podium:
“The Congresswoman, as I said before the press conference began, will not be…”
But then came a voice from the back of the room.
“Nina!”
A figure stood.
A tall woman.
With black-rimmed glasses.
“Nina!”
“I’ m sorry, but…”
“I’m Liz Cohen of the New York Times .”
Jeb Maxwell:
“Thank you for flying down, Ms. Cohen. We’re all aware of your
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