Photo by Davis BarberTo be honest, I never believed the letters you published in this space, and I probably still wouldn't if I hadn't been invited to a political fund-raiser the other day. Normally, I could not imagine anything more dull, but this fund-raiser was to be held at a very (in)famous Los Angeles mansion; (in)famous for how "BOYs" "PLAY" there.
I arrived early to have a look around, but as soon as the fund-raiser got started, things turned out to be just as boring as I'd feared they would. The only thing keeping my interest was a smoky little number with dark brooding eyes and athletic calves that showed through the rather generous slit in her gown. It turned out that she was the evening's hostess, a local congresswoman who had taken a lot of guff from her colleagues for holding her event at the mansion. She told them to shove it. I liked that. With those legs and that spunk, I thought, "Here's one pol I wouldn't mind wrapping myself around."
I lost interest in the proceedings when the congresswoman stopped talking, and I slipped away to continue to explore the house. I had let myself into one of the upstairs bedrooms when I heard the door close behind me. I turned to find the congresswoman looking me up and down.
"Hey, good looking," she said. "Is that a pocket veto or are you just happy to see me?"
We got right down to business. I could tell she'd had plenty of experience at pressing the flesh, not to mention playing hardball. As we neared our goal, she demanded I immediately move my caucus to the center, and I obliged, not a minute too soon.
While we laid there, spent, I asked her if it wasn't a risk to her career to be doing this.
"What career?" she asked with a laugh.
The fund-raiser, she said, had ruined her with not only party colleagues but also her power base, a certain ethnic group, she said, that wouldn't be "Yo quiero-ing me much anymore."
So I asked her why she hadn't moved the fund-raiser from the mansion to some other location. She trailed off with an explanation about "being young," "needing the money" and "certain photographs."
It got pretty quiet after that, and I thought about getting up and leaving. But just then, the door flew open, and I dove under the covers. I heard the door shut and then the sound of two women giggling. Slowly I pulled the covers from my head and found the congresswoman standing in the raw with an equally unclothed and very famous U.S. Senate candidate, who looked at me and said, "Don't tell me you're not open to considering a third party."
I asked about her very (very, VERY) famous husband.
"What's good for the goose," she said, "is pushing up those covers."
She was right. Even after a rigorous primary season with the congresswoman, I was experiencing a late surge at the polls. The ladies jumped under the covers and soon they had raised my funds to new heights.
"That's one plank I wholeheartedly endorse," the congresswoman said.
"I choose to do this," the senate candidate said, "and the other things because it is hard."
We were frantically waffling and flip-flopping when she said it was time to "filler, buster," and I obliged. But she wanted more.
"Man," I said. "It would take two or three guys to satisfy you."
"Actually," she said, "it takes a village."
Soon it was time for these steamy power brokers to say good night to their guests. I got dressed and left. As I did so, I thanked the congresswoman at the door for showing me that politics is so much better when you get involved yourself. And looking back, I think that was the best night I've ever spent. Even better than the time I nailed Liddy Dole.
