‘Governor Cooper Lanier Approves Funds for Coffee County Road Construction Project. Governor Signs Proclamation Designating Multiple Sclerosis Week. Governor Pledges Support to Congressional Delegation on Waterway Bill.’ ” He tossed the press releases alongside the schedule. “You’ve been busy already with the state’s business.”
She half-rose from her chair. “Mr. Kincaid, you’re way out of line.”
Kincaid stayed put. “First day of a new administration. No cabinet meeting? And what about a press conference? A restless mob is in the Capitol pressroom, just itching to ask what you’re going to make of being the state’s chief executive, other than just minding the store.” He ticked off items on his fingers. “The legislature convenes in three weeks. Are you working on your State of the State address? The budget?”
She was taken aback. No, I’m not. Damn Pickett for brushing me off. Damn me for letting him .
She stood. “I think we can end this.” She reached for the buzzer.
His voice stopped her. “Felicia Withers is going after you.”
Her hand froze. She sat back down.
Felicia was owner and publisher of the Dispatch . Her family had started the paper during the Civil War and held on to it over the years, making it one of the few dailies left in the country that wasn’t ownedby a chain. It boasted a long line of fierce publishers, one generation after another. And now Felicia, who was the fiercest, acid-tongued in person and in print, arbitrary and ruthless, profoundly independent. Popular wisdom said it was far better to be Felicia’s enemy than her friend, because if you were her enemy, you at least knew she was out to get you. Felicia had few friends, but she cultivated legions of enemies, and somewhere near the top of her list was Pickett Lanier. She had taken an acute dislike to him when he was lieutenant governor. Maybe he was too smooth, too successful, too seemingly immune to Felicia.
“Felicia called a staff meeting last evening. Everybody on the payroll, down to the kid who sweeps the floor. I’ve never seen her so worked up. Thought she was going to blow a gasket. She ranted for a half-hour, but the sum of it was, the paper’s mission is to expose this”—his hand swept the room, including Cooper and Pickett’s portrait—“for what it is.”
“And what does Felicia think it is?”
“A farce.”
“And what does she think I am?”
“A phony.”
“Good God,” Cooper said softly.
“You know how she feels about Pickett. Well, she’s in a fine rage over what he’s pulled off here.”
“Mr. Kincaid, Pickett didn’t ‘pull off’ anything, as you put it. I was elected governor of the state, with Pickett’s help, of course. But people voted, and they voted for me. Does Felicia Withers have some problem with people voting?”
“It’s not just that. It’s personal. Felicia can’t stand powerful women. She thinks this town doesn’t have room for both of you. You’re right, you got elected, and she can’t get rid of you, but she’ll do her best to make you look—”
“Like a phony running a farce.”
“Inconsequential. Irrelevant. Powerless.”
Cooper stared out the window, feeling Kincaid’s eyes on her, feeling the cold, suffocating grayness outside. She turned back. “I intend to be the governor. I wouldn’t have run otherwise.”
“Well, Felicia doesn’t believe that. She thinks you’ll dance at the end of Pickett’s strings, and she thinks having good old Roger here to babysit is proof.”
“What’s your role in all this, Mr. Kincaid? This campaign of Felicia’s.”
“I’m a reporter. I’ll do my job,” he said flatly. “Felicia Withers doesn’t tell me what to do or how to do it because I don’t let her.”
“Do you think I’m Pickett’s puppet?”
“I’m waiting to see.” He stood. “But let’s leave it at that. Thanks for your time.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
It took him a moment. “I’ve been
She half-rose from her chair. “Mr. Kincaid, you’re way out of line.”
Kincaid stayed put. “First day of a new administration. No cabinet meeting? And what about a press conference? A restless mob is in the Capitol pressroom, just itching to ask what you’re going to make of being the state’s chief executive, other than just minding the store.” He ticked off items on his fingers. “The legislature convenes in three weeks. Are you working on your State of the State address? The budget?”
She was taken aback. No, I’m not. Damn Pickett for brushing me off. Damn me for letting him .
She stood. “I think we can end this.” She reached for the buzzer.
His voice stopped her. “Felicia Withers is going after you.”
Her hand froze. She sat back down.
Felicia was owner and publisher of the Dispatch . Her family had started the paper during the Civil War and held on to it over the years, making it one of the few dailies left in the country that wasn’t ownedby a chain. It boasted a long line of fierce publishers, one generation after another. And now Felicia, who was the fiercest, acid-tongued in person and in print, arbitrary and ruthless, profoundly independent. Popular wisdom said it was far better to be Felicia’s enemy than her friend, because if you were her enemy, you at least knew she was out to get you. Felicia had few friends, but she cultivated legions of enemies, and somewhere near the top of her list was Pickett Lanier. She had taken an acute dislike to him when he was lieutenant governor. Maybe he was too smooth, too successful, too seemingly immune to Felicia.
“Felicia called a staff meeting last evening. Everybody on the payroll, down to the kid who sweeps the floor. I’ve never seen her so worked up. Thought she was going to blow a gasket. She ranted for a half-hour, but the sum of it was, the paper’s mission is to expose this”—his hand swept the room, including Cooper and Pickett’s portrait—“for what it is.”
“And what does Felicia think it is?”
“A farce.”
“And what does she think I am?”
“A phony.”
“Good God,” Cooper said softly.
“You know how she feels about Pickett. Well, she’s in a fine rage over what he’s pulled off here.”
“Mr. Kincaid, Pickett didn’t ‘pull off’ anything, as you put it. I was elected governor of the state, with Pickett’s help, of course. But people voted, and they voted for me. Does Felicia Withers have some problem with people voting?”
“It’s not just that. It’s personal. Felicia can’t stand powerful women. She thinks this town doesn’t have room for both of you. You’re right, you got elected, and she can’t get rid of you, but she’ll do her best to make you look—”
“Like a phony running a farce.”
“Inconsequential. Irrelevant. Powerless.”
Cooper stared out the window, feeling Kincaid’s eyes on her, feeling the cold, suffocating grayness outside. She turned back. “I intend to be the governor. I wouldn’t have run otherwise.”
“Well, Felicia doesn’t believe that. She thinks you’ll dance at the end of Pickett’s strings, and she thinks having good old Roger here to babysit is proof.”
“What’s your role in all this, Mr. Kincaid? This campaign of Felicia’s.”
“I’m a reporter. I’ll do my job,” he said flatly. “Felicia Withers doesn’t tell me what to do or how to do it because I don’t let her.”
“Do you think I’m Pickett’s puppet?”
“I’m waiting to see.” He stood. “But let’s leave it at that. Thanks for your time.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
It took him a moment. “I’ve been