“You’d have to be a state trooper before you can be EPU,” the governor told Andy in an autocratic, unfriendly tone.
“I am a state trooper, Governor. And we’re short of pilots,” Andy added to the First Lady, because by nature he was inclusive and did not treat the wives of others as appendages.
“Seems like it’s always the same pilot these days,” she said, irritated by the reminder as she frowned at Macovich.
Where had all her pilots gone? As she recalled, there had been plenty of them earlier in the year, and she supposed that the problem must be that ball-breaking woman who was the new superintendent of the state police. Trader had horrible things to say about her. What was her name? A tool of some type. How appropriate. A sledgehammer? No, not quite. Mrs. Crimm strained to remember. Sledge. That was it. Superintendent Sledge. Maybe it was time for the First Lady to send a pointed note to her and demand more pilots, and Mrs. Crimm fondly thought of her favorite saying, Variety is the spice of life, and recited it out loud.
“Pardon?” Andy was baffled.
“I’m just wondering if you agree,” the First Lady said to him.
Andy sensed he was being tested and replied, “In most cases. But not always. For example, I don’t wear a variety of clothes to work. Always a uniform. And I very much like the state police uniform and am happy to wear it every day, so variety is not an issue with me.”
“What?” The governor picked up on his wife’s secret code and was shocked she would be so blatant, and he imagined her having sex with this Andy fellow, who probably would have nothing on but a duty belt. “Variety most assuredly is not the spice of life or anything else,” Crimm thundered. “Life is all about faithfulness and serving your master. And what do you mean by spice?” He glared through his magnifying glass at his unfaithful wife.
“Dear, calm down,” said the First Lady, who suddenly recalled that she had hidden her stash of trivets in the spice cabinet, and perhaps it was best not to allude to spices again. “I told you not to eat all that sour cream and butter. You know what it does to your submarine.” She was confident this would divert his attention. “Why, all that animal fat and all those dairy products are just fuel oil for your submarine, and spices aren’t the problem because there were no spices on your dinner, other than all that salt you poured over everything. We avoid spices for good reason, now don’t we? And we won’t mention them ever again for fear you’ll make associations that will excite your submarine and send it plunging into turbulence that could end terribly with blown gaskets and leaking seals and silt billowing up from the bottom of your constitution. Now, Trooper Brazil–what an exotic name, are you South American? Have you met Constance, Grace, and Faith?”
The First Lady stopped short of the fourth daughter, the youngest, and the least attractive woman in the parking lot.
“And what about you?” Andy asked the ignored daughter, halfway expecting her name to be Sloth or Gluttony, based on her appearance and demeanor.
“What’s it to you?” She violently chewed a massive wad of bubblegum, and Andy was struck by her blunt-ness and lack of charm. “And I saw you get out of your unmarked car.” She scowled at him. “What good does it do to drive an unmarked car and then wear a uniform? How retarded is that?”
“You don’t sound like you’re from around here.” Andy overlooked her poor manners as he tried to place her loud drawl. He also didn’t intend to reveal that Hammer insisted Andy drive an unmarked car since he was an undercover journalist and she preferred that he draw as little attention to himself as possible.
“I was born in Grundy, in the coal mines,” the rude daughter replied.
“You most certainly were not.” The First Lady was appalled. “I was carrying her during a whistle-stop campaign up there on the western Virginia border where we toured several coal mines,” she informed Andy as the governor continued to scan through his magnifying glass, in search of the helicopter, while the EPU huddled around him and his family in the dark, waiting for orders. “But she was born in a hospital just like all of my daughters,” Mrs. Crimm added indignantly, giving the so-far nameless girl a warning glance.