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"I'm not. I'm perfectly safe as long as I'm in my pyramid."
"If word gets out you're holed up in an obelisk," the campaign manager said
sternly, "the campaign is over."
"If I come out and get my head shot off, the campaign is really over," Barry
Black, Junior countered.
"You know, a true Republican wouldn't be caught dead in a pyramid."
The pyramid was silent. Except for a single dry crunch.
"I am a Republican," Barry Black said huffily. "Color me business-friendly."
"Prove it. Get out of that thing."
"No. I can prove it another way."
"I'm listening, Barry."
"I have a secret plan. Just like the great Republican, Richard M. Nixon."
"Richard M. Nixon's so-called 'secret plan' was to end the Vietnam War, and it
turned out to be just smoke and mirrors--a scam to get him elected."
"Exactly. I have a secret scam-plan which will get me elected governor, and
then and only then will I announce it."
"You're going to announce this scam after you're elected?" the campaign
manager blurted out.
"Well, I can't very well announce it beforehand. It wouldn't work."
"If you announce it afterward, you might get lynched."
"Never happen. My secret scam-plan is so brilliant, people will applaud my
genius."
"Er, is this scam-I mean plan-a secret from your campaign manager?"
"Yes. Wild horses couldn't drag it out of me."
"What," the campaign manager wondered, "would be big enough to drag you out of
that thing?"
"I'll come out once I'm elected," Barry Black, Junior answered. "On
inauguration day. We'll airlift me to the capitol and I'll emerge in triumph
and fanfare, like a born Republican."
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"Somehow I have trouble envisioning that."
"Try meditation. After I've meditated two-three hours, I see the most
unbelievable colors."
"I'll bet you do. But you gotta do more than sit on your behind if you're
going to beat Esperanza. He's moving major numbers in the polls."
In the New Age security of his pyramid, Barry Black, Junior put his agile mind
to the task of winning over the voters of California. He closed his eyes and
watched the colors his retina picked up. He got purple. Just purple. One
color. No matter how much he squinched his eyes tight, no patterns or symbols
emerged. Barry Black knew it had to mean something. But what?
"Enrique Esperanza is a one-note candidate," he said at last. "He's Mr.
Multiculturalism. Multiculturalism is good, but it won't solve the problems of
this great state. The recession. Taxes. The drought. The poinsettia whitefly.
These are the issues that must be addressed with Republican forthrightness."
"You should be saying these things before the camera," his campaign manager
pointed out, "not inside a formstone teepee."
"Teepee!" Barry Black cried. "That's it! We'll break the drought!"
"We will?"
"Not we, directly. I want you to scour the Indian Reservations. Find me a
medicine man. A photogenic one, with lots of seams in his face and sad but
wise-looking eyes."
"Sad but wise?"
"One who knows how to perform the sacred rain dance."
"Rain dance . . . ?"
"Go for a Chippewa. They have the best karma. Have him perform the dance in my
name. Pick someplace splashy, like the La Brea Tar Pits. When the rain pours
down, hand out umbrellas that say 'Vote For Black.' "
"We can't afford preprinted umbrellas, Barry."
"Use the tiny paper ones you get in Mai Tais."
"Barry," the campaign manager protested in exasperation, "if it works, the
voters will be drenched. If it doesn't, we'll look like fools. We can't win."
"We can't fail. And voters will be soaked by election day. And a soaked voter
is a Black voter. I want bumper stickers that say that."
"If you go through with this, they'll go back to calling you Governor
Glowworm."
"As long as I'm governor again, who cares what they call me?" Barry Black
retorted firmly.
The Black for Governor campaign manager let out a leaky sigh.
"Barry," he said wearily, "I'm going downstairs and renew my acquaintance with
Valium. When I feel up to it, I'll come back and we'll have this conversation
again. Okay?"
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