“My man Newt!” exclaimed the stockbroker, taking the only seat remaining, between the attorney who is a steadfast Democrat and the federal agency middle manager, who I’ve always taken for a swing voter.
“So, you’re off Perry?” asked the state employee across the table.
“Wasting money,” the broker shook his head. “Toast.”
Our little lunch club was meeting, we figured, for the last time this year. One last chance to trigger a Yuletide heart attack; even the salads at our rendezvous restaurant are salty and the dressings could grease a tractor. Our broker buddy ordered up his usual foot-long with chili and extra cheese, but threw our waitress a curve by asking for onion rings instead of fries. None of us were counting calories, all of us were projecting delegates, the latter a tip of the hat to the holiday season, the latter a nod to the pending Iowa caucuses.
“Still not ready for Romney?” the insurance executive grinned.
Independent reporting for Pine Bluff & Jefferson County since 1879.
“Mitt who?” the broker called back. “Have you seen how Newt’s doing in New Hampshire?” a reference to the primary that follows Iowa. “I think he could take Romney out in his own back yard. Then there’s South Carolina to wrap it up” for Gingrich, the former Speaker.
“Tall order,” volunteered one of the other lawyers.
“Big ‘Mo,’” answered the broker. “We got the ‘mo.’”
“Then your party’s got bigger troubles than I thought it had,” the Democratic lawyer smiled contentedly.
“Careful what you wish for,” the state employee advised quietly, squirting lemon juice over a catfish filet. “These are weird times.”
“What you’re getting from Newt is common sense and you guys think it’s weird,” the broker came back. “Here’s what’s weird,” he continued, aiming his fork at the Capital D. “It’s mid-December and you haven’t found anybody to take on Griffin,” meaning Tim, central Arkansas’s first-term GOP congressman.
“I hear that will change soon,” the federal man said.
“I guarantee it will,” Capital D. asserted.
“Bring lunch,” the broker chuckled, devouring his. “Matter of fact, bring dinner — you’ll need it with your pal (President Obama) at the top of the ticket.”
“Didn’t say it would be easy,” Capital D replied, not really defensive, “but very do-able.”
“Three months ago you had Perry with one foot in the White House,” chortled the third lawyer at the table, which, with the exception of the broker, shared in the merriment. “You said it was all over, or something like that.”
“Hey,” the broker smiled good naturedly, “everybody’s entitled to one misfire.”
The table took that to mean Perry, not the broker, and the gentle laughter became guffaws.
“No, me,” the broker explained, pointing his fork at himself this time. “Broke my heart,” he sighed.
“Well,” said the insurance man, taking a piece of paper from his jacket pocket, “it looks like you new man Newt…”
“The New Newt!” the state executive interrupted grandly, grinning at his formulation.
“…your new man Newt has a problem with math.” He studied the paper. “Says his tax plan would add…let’s see…a trillion-five…no, sorry, a trillion-three…add a trillion-three to the deficit in its first year.”
“Where’d you get that, the (Democratic National Committee)?” asked the Capital C Capitalist.
The insurance man studied the paper again. “Tax Policy Center,” he replied. “You haven’t seen it? Came off the Bloomberg wire this morning.”
The broker shrugged. “Bet it doesn’t figure in spending cuts.”
“Or job creation,” the federal manager interjected.
“Or job creation,” the broker echoed, unaware at first he was being teased. “Better create a bunch of ‘em,” said one of the lawyers, who had borrowed the insurance guy’s paper. The Gingrich plan “would wipe out everything except Social Security and Medicare. Wouldn’t even meet debt service. Nothing for the Pentagon…zero out the rest of the government.”
“So he won’t get all of it,” the broker shrugged again, then added: “More’s the pity.”
“Careful now,” the federal guy smiled. “I’ll see you get funded,” said our broker pal, filled with holiday spirit.
“Really, you couldn’t live with Romney?” I asked him.
“ABO — Anybody But Obama,” he replied. That brought some sideways glances; ABO represented a certain softening in our friend from his earlier denunciation of Romney, and Jon Huntsman, as RINOs — Republicans in Name Only.
“You know,” one of the lawyers mused, “I don’t know many people who are happy with anybody who’s running.” Several heads nodded in agreement. “It’s like none of them can show the country a clear way out of this mess.”
“They all make it sound so easy, nobody believes them,” someone, couldn’t tell who, suggested.
“But nobody wants to do anything hard,” chimed in Capital D.
No one said anything for a moment. The checks came, we began settling up. Merry Christmas, we told one another, and be safe. We’d gather again after Iowa. No, make it New Hampshire.
• • •
Steve Barnes is a native of Pine Bluff.