The Governor's Wife Read Free Page B

was no different than every other forty-seven-year-old man in the state. The best years of his life were behind him. His glory days were gone. No one needed him anymore, not the State of Texas, not the UT football team, not his wife or his daughter or even the cattle on his ranch. He was just another unnecessary middle-aged white male waiting for a heart attack or a positive prostate exam to make the end of life official. And like most men when facing their own mortality or irrelevance, Bode Bonner longed for one more moment of glory, one final challenge in life, one more thrill of victory, one last great—
    "Adventure."
    Jim Bob had returned to fiddling with his phone. He didn't look up.
    "What?"
    "I need an adventure."
    "An adventure?"
    As if Bode had said "enema."
    "I've gone as far as I can go in Texas, Jim Bob. Time to move up."
    "Senator?"
    "President."
    He cut his eyes to the Professor, who was shaking his head.
    "Don't even think about it."
    Bode fully faced the ranking political genius in the State of Texas—or at least his bald head. He wanted to snatch that goddamn phone and stomp the shit out of it.
    "Why not?"
    "The Bush legacy—no more Texans in the White House."
    "It could happen."
    "Not to you."
    "I'm a great campaigner."
    "Here in Texas."
    "What's that supposed to mean?"
    Jim Bob exhaled as if his teenage son had just announced at the dinner table that he had wrecked the family station wagon, then turned his head up.
    "That means, Bode, you're a good ol' boy cattle rancher from Comfort, Texas. Which means your bullshit sells here in Texas, but take it to the East Coast and West Coast, nobody's buying." He leaned back. "Look, Bode, you've got the perfect résumé for a Texas politician: Tall and handsome with good hair. Star football player at UT. Devout killer of animals and lifelong NRA member. Republican and rancher—hell, you're a real goddamn cowboy and you look the part, like John Wayne if he wore Armani. Which means you're immensely popular here in Texas. You see 'Bode' was the second most popular baby name in the state last year?"
    "What was the first?"
    "Osvaldo." Jim Bob chuckled. "But you blew away Britney." He thought that was even funnier. "You're beloved here in Texas, Bode—at least by fifty-nine percent of registered voters—but north of the Red River, no one's ever heard of you. You're not even within the margin of error for potential Republican presidential candidates."
    "Doesn't matter. My message will resonate with the people."
    "Your message? "
    "It's okay to be white and pissed off."
    "There's a bumper sticker."
    Jim Bob was smiling; Bode wasn't.
    "I've got the Ph.D. in politics. Let me decide what your message is, okay?"
    "Jim Bob, middle-class folks are desperate for a hero, someone who'll stand up and fight for them. For their America."
    "And you like being a hero."
    The Professor let out an exasperated sigh, as if a student had asked a stupid question.
    "Bode, we've been best friends since fifth grade. You were a great football player. You're a great governor. And you're the best goddamn campaigner I've ever seen. But the White House? It's just not going to happen for you, buddy."
    "Who're we gonna run? Romney? A Mormon named Mitt? Sounds like the fucking family pet. Folks are sick of him—he's like a party guest who won't go home."
    "There's Bachmann."
    "She's half crazy."
    "Santorum?"
    "Creepy."
    "Paul?"
    "Kooky."
    "Cain?"
    "Black."
    "Christie?"
    "Fat."
    "Daniels? He's not crazy, creepy, kooky, black, or fat. And he's smart."
    "Sure, he's smart, but he's got the personality of a minivan, he's five-seven, and he's bald."
    "So?"
    "So voters want a tall president with good hair."
    "Gingrich has good hair."
    "And two ex-wives."
    "What about Palin? She's happily married."
    "She's a goddamn Saturday Night Live joke to most Americans. She gets elected and takes that litter to the White House, it'll be the Beverly Hillbillies Go to Washington. Besides, Americans don't want a broad in