The Zero Game

“Congressman…!” I call out. He doesn’t slow down. I turn to follow, but just as I spin around, I’m surprised to see Enemark’s gray coat hanging lifelessly on the coat-rack. There’s a sound of running water on the right side of the room. Harris is washing his hands by the sink. Across from him, LaRue rests his chin in his palm, studying C-SPAN with his fingers covering his mouth. See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil.

“Excuse me?” Enemark asks, taking his coat from the rack. The way it’s draped over his forearm, I can’t see the lapel. The pin’s nowhere in sight.

I glance over at Harris, who’s wearing a calm that’s almost hypnotic. His green eyes disappear in a soft squint, and his dark black eyebrows seem to take over his face. Japanese is easier to read.

“Son, did you say something?” Enemark repeats.

“We just wanted to say hello, sir,” Harris interrupts, leaping to my aid. “Really, it’s an honor to meet you. Isn’t that right, Matthew?”

“A-Absolutely,” I say.

Enemark’s chest rises at the compliment. “Much appreciated.”

“I’m Harris… Harris Sandler…” he says, introducing himself even though Enemark didn’t ask. Leaving the sink, Harris studies the Congressman like a chessboard. It’s the only way to stay ten moves ahead.

The Congressman extends a handshake, but Harris pulls away. “Sorry… wet hands…” he explains. “By the way, Congressman, this is Matthew Mercer. He does Interior Approps for Congressman Cordell.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Enemark jabs with a fake laugh as he pumps my hand. Asshole. Without another word, he opens his coat and slides an arm into the sleeve. I check the lapel. There’s nothing there.

“Have a good day, sir,” Harris says as Enemark slides his other arm in. Enemark rotates his shoulder blades and pulls his suit jacket into place. When the other half of the jacket hits his chest, a tiny flash of light catches my eye. There… on his other lapel… there’s a tiny American flag pin… a little triangle with an oil well on it… and the Lorax, whose big Dr. Seuss eyes smile at me.

I motion to Harris; he looks up and finally grins. When I was a freshman at Duke, Harris was a senior. He got me into the fraternity and, years later, got me my first job here on the Hill. Mentor then, hero now.

“Look at that,” Harris says to the Congressman. “I see you’re wearing the logging mascot.”

I turn toward LaRue, but he’s staring at the ground to keep himself from laughing.

“Yeah… I guess,” Enemark barks, checking the Lorax out for himself. Anxious to be done with the small talk, the Congressman leaves the bathroom and heads across the hallway to the House Floor. None of us moves until the door closes.

“The logging mascot?” I finally blurt.

“I told you there’s still fun going on,” Harris says, looking up at the small TV and checking out C-SPAN. Just another day at work.

“I gotta tell Rosey this one…” LaRue says, rushing out of the room. “Harris, they’re gonna catch you sooner or later.”

“Only if they outthink us,” Harris replies as the door again slams shut.

I continue to laugh. Harris continues to study C-SPAN. “You notice Enemark didn’t wash his hands?” he asks. “Though that didn’t stop him from shaking yours.”

I look down at my own open palm and head for the sink.

“Here we go… Here’s the clip for the highlight reel…” Harris calls out, pointing up at C-SPAN.

On-screen, Congressman Enemark approaches the podium with his usual old-cowboy swagger. But if you look real close – when the light hits him just right – the Lorax shines like a tiny star on his chest.

“I’m Congressman William Enemark, and I speak for the people of Colorado,” he announces through the television.

“That’s funny,” I say. “I thought he spoke for the trees…”

To my surprise, Harris doesn’t smile. He just scratches at the dimple in his chin. “Feeling better?” he asks.

“Of course – why?”

He leans against the inlaid mahogany wall and never takes his eyes off the TV. “I meant what I said before. There really are some great games being played here.”

“You mean games like this?”

“Something like this.” There’s a brand-new tone in his voice. All serious.

“I don’t understand.”

“Oh, jeez, Matthew, it’s right in front of your face,” he says with a rare glimpse of rural Pennsylvania accent.

I give him a long, hard look and rub the back of my sandy-blond hair. I’m a full head taller than him. But he’s still the only person I look up to in this place. “What’re you saying, Harris?”

“You wanted to bring the fun back, right?”

“Depends what kinda fun you’re talking about.”

Pushing himself off the wall, Harris grins and heads for the door. “Trust me, it’ll be more fun than you’ve had in your entire life. No lie.”

2

Six Months Later

I USUALLY HATE SEPTEMBER. With the end of the August recess, the halls are once again crowded, the Members are frozen in preelection bad moods, and worst of all, with the October 1st deadline that’s imposed on all Appropriations bills, we’re clocking hours twice as grueling as any other time of the year. This September, though, I barely notice.