Smart-ass. Definitely the type that had to have all the ideas, and therefore, all the attention. “Well, certainly the salamanders,” she said in her best I’m-just-a-stupid-beauty-queen voice. “But also strip mining. You know about strip mining, don’t you? Surely someone has sued over it,” she said sweetly, putting aside that she knew nothing about strip mining, other than the article in Texas Monthly she read: Golden Cheek Warbler habitat destroyed by Strip Mining; Other Habitats Threatened. Nevertheless, Rebecca was prepared to fake her way through it and flashed Mr. Big-Ass Lawyer a very definite, very unperfect Rebecca-like smirk.
Matt clearly didn’t like that, but before he could speak, Pat said, “She’s absolutely right,” which instantly cemented Rebecca’s undying friendship for life. Even more incredibly, Gilbert asked, “Aren’t there a lot of federal dollars for preserving natural habitats? Isn’t that something we ought to look into?”
“What does this campaign have to do with a bunch of birds or salamanders?” Matt asked.
“It’s not about birds or salamanders, Matt,” Pat said with a hint of snippiness in her voice. “Strip mining is devastating to the environment, destroys natural habitats and threatens our groundwater. It’s about our environment.”
“What about heat? Don’t you think we need coal? Or uranium? What about all the jobs the strip mining industry provides to Texas? Look,” Matt said, holding up a hand before Pat could argue, “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not anti-environment. I’m just saying it’s not a huge issue in Texas, and it’s a topic I think we should avoid altogether. Trust me, in a statewide campaign, no one is going to want to talk about a bunch of pits.”
“But what if they do?” Rebecca heard herself ask. “People feel strongly about it. There are some pretty passionate feelings just here in this room.”
Matt’s narrow gaze zeroed in on her as Tom quickly agreed, “You’re right, Rebecca. We should at least have a position in case it comes up on the campaign trail. Can’t hurt, right?”
Now Matt looked as if his head might blow off his shoulders into tiny pieces. “Can’t hurt,” he said tightly, dragging his gaze from Rebecca to Tom, “but we’ve got to focus on the economy. The jobless rate is the highest it’s been in two decades, the Homeland Security initiative is putting the urban counties into fiscal straits like they haven’t seen in a century, and minimum wage is not keeping pace with inflation.”
“Dude, you’re so rad!” Angie laughed. “You really know your stuff!”
“Yes, you’re absolutely right, Matt,” Tom agreed, but grinned at Rebecca. “And so is Rebecca! You seem to have a sense of what’s important around the state—I knew I was right about you. Folks, meet our new campaign strategist!”
Campaign strategist? Rebecca let out a little cry of happy surprise at that unexpected announcement—it even sounded like a real position.
Popinjay blinked at Tom in total, unfettered, disbelief.
“Tom, are you sure?” Rebecca asked, smiling so broadly that her cheeks hurt.
“I am very sure,” he said, nodding emphatically. “You bring just the right touch of empathy to this crew,” he declared. “Say, where’s that pizza’? I’m starving! Rebecca, you like pizza?”
“Love it!” she lied, and as Smarty-Pants glared at her from across the table, she shrugged out of her Chanel jacket and rolled up her sleeves to get down to work.
Chapter Seven
Stubbornness is also determination. It’s simply a matter of shifting from “won’t power” to “will power.”
PETER MCWILLIAMS, LIFE 101
Campaign strategist?
Matt tossed his briefcase onto one of several overstuffed leather armchairs gracing his law offices, punched his fists to his waist, and glared out the plate glass windows at the shining dome of the state capitol. Campaign strategist . . . implying, naturally, that the person knew a little something about campaign strategy. Which she obviously didn’t. Strip mining. A fork in his eye would have been better than that.