Na. Pelosi reclined slightly in her Office-of-the-Speaker-issued chair, gazing at Rep. Betsy Markey with a withering look that spoke of vote counts and hotshot whips who've made one promise too many. Markey, though a RepHouse freshman, returned the gaze evenly, but just barely--she had to clench and reclench every muscle in her body just to withstand Pelosi's unstoppable person.
Like a plane calculating its best angle of approach, Pelosi began. "Miss Markey, as you well know I don't have a lot of time on my hands. My information sources tell me you're voting no. Is this true?" Pelosi's eyes narrowed to a calculated width.
Markey's knees began to compress but didn't buckle to the pressure, so she was able to respond: "Yes, it's true." Markey had to practically yell this to be heard over the sound of all the aides in the room loudly defecating their pants and jumping out of the window, such was the gale-level force of clashing personalities present in the room.
"Why?" Pelosi said.
"Because of what my fa--"
"Because of what your father said to you on his deathbed?" Pelosi finished, her hand disappearing beneath the desk. Markey gulped. How did Pelosi know what she was going to say? she thought. This is what is must have felt like to be dunked on by Jordan, she mentally added.
From beneath the desk Pelosi pulled out a small glass of scotch, which she set on the desk in front of her. "I didn't get to be RepHouse Speaker from having poor information sources. I know all about your father's dying request that you vote no on this measure."
Mustering up every ounce of courage, Markey said, "And I intend on following through on my father's wishes--as God as my witness."
"Very well then," said Pelosi, and proceeded to throw scotch in Markey's face for 20 minutes straight. Glass after glass she pulled from some unseen source behind her desk, in one smooth motion flinging it in Markey's face and reaching for the next glass.
Finally, Markey lifted up her palm, a quaint smile on her face. "Enough". Pelosi halted the bombardment, and all at once transformed her steely visage of arm-twistment into one of warm familiarity.
"I never knew that you went to the same negotiating school as my father," Markey said, her smile broadening.
"He was in his last year when I was in my first," Pelosi explained. "He was a legend. He practically invented the Medium Scotch Throw. Hell, he did invent it."
Markey stood up. "While it's true he made me promise not to vote for this legislation, he was, in essence, a negotiator's negotiator--he wouldn't have wanted me to accept his deathbed demand at face value. His true, implicit demand was that I negotiate with him as a remembrance." She wrung out her RepHouse-issued Congressional voting blouse and made her way towards the exit.
"He was a good man," Pelosi called after her.
Markey stopped in the doorway and said over her shoulder: "Damn right. I'm going to visit his grave. Then I'm going to vote yes on this bill."
As soon as Markey was out of sight, all warmth left Na. Pelosi's face, replaced with cold, calculating features.
There was still much work left to be done.
