He clutched them in the palm of his hand, his voice soaring over the din: the bandleader crooning a standard everyone recognized but no one could name, tall glasses clinking, a dozen natterings about the latest gossip on the Hill. His donors nodded and smiled, transfixed. This is why he’d chosen politics–crafting responsible policy was one thing, but the adrenaline surge from watching the wealthy and the powerful bend to your will was everything.
“Sir?”, a sprucely-dressed server appeared from behind carrying a tray. A wineglass filled with organic milk rested in one corner; a dozen Oreo cookies were piled in the other. Three years before, the Senator’s doctor had forbade him from drinking alcohol prior to surgery. At the suggestion of his twelve-year-old daughter, the Senator had substituted Oreos and milk for his single malt scotch. He’d discovered that he enjoyed it more than expected and decided shortly thereafter to continue. The small eccentricity served him well.
His donors raised their glasses, watching him. “To a very special friendship,” he said. His hand hovered above the glass, ready to dunk the Oreo.
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