The Zero Game

Naturally, I was skeptical at first, but then I realized just how innocent it really was. We don’t change the laws, or pass bad legislation, or stroke our evil goatees and overthrow democracy as we know it. We play at the margins; that’s where it’s safe – and where it’s fun. It’s like sitting in a meeting and betting how many times the annoying guy in your office uses the word “I.” You can goad him and make your best attempts to alter it, but in the end, the results are pretty much the same. In the world of Capitol Hill, even though we’re split between Ds and Rs, 99 percent of our legislation is passed by overwhelming majorities. It’s only the few controversial bills that make the news. The result is a job that can easily lapse into a repetitive, monotonous grind – that is, unless you find a way to make it interesting.

My pager once again shudders in my fist. 103, Harris sends.

“Okay, what about the White House?” Trish asks, still working her list. This is the one she’s been saving for. In the House, we allocated seven million for structural improvements to the White House complex. The Senate – thanks to Trish’s boss – zeroed the program out.

“C’mon, Trish,” Ezra begs. “You can’t just give ’em goose egg.”

Trish raises an eyebrow. “We’ll see…”

It’s typical Senate. The only reason Trish’s boss is playing the jerk is because the President has been pushing for a settlement in a racial discrimination lawsuit against the Library of Congress. Trish’s boss, Senator Apelbaum, is one of the few people involved in the negotiation. This close to the elections, he’d rather stall, keep the lawsuit quiet, and keep it out of the press. This is the Senator’s way of pushing back. And from the smug look on Trish’s face, she’s loving every minute of it.

“Why don’t we just split the difference?” Ezra says, knowing our usual mode of compromise. “Give it three and a half million, and ask the President to bring his library card next time.”

“Listen closely…” Trish warns, leaning into the table. “He’s not getting a single muddy peso.”

107, it says on my pager.

I have to smile as it inches closer. Whoever the organizers are – or, as we call them, the dungeon-masters – these guys know what they’re doing. The bets can go from twice a week to once every few months, but when they identify an issue, they always set the game at the perfect level of difficulty. Two months ago, when the new Attorney General came to testify for the Senate Armed Services Committee, the bet was to get one of the Senators to ask the question, “How much of your success do you attribute to the support of your family?” A simple query for any witness, but when you add in the fact that a few days earlier, the Attorney General insisted that public figures should be able to keep their family lives private – well… now we had a horse race. Waiting for the words to be uttered, we watched that achingly boring Senate hearing as if it were the final round of Rocky. Today, I’m glued to a vote that was decided by a majority almost ten minutes ago. Even the baseball lobbyists have turned off their TVs. But I can’t take my eyes off it. It’s not the seventy-five dollars I’ve got riding on the outcome. It’s the challenge. When Harris and I put our money down, we figured they’d never get near 110 votes. Whoever’s on the other side obviously thinks they can. Right now they’re at 107. No doubt, impressive… but it’s the last three that are going to be like shoving a mountain.

108 blinks onto my pager.

A buzzer rings through the air. One more minute left on the official clock.

“So what’s the count at?” Trish asks, swiveling at the sound, back toward the TV.

“Can we please not change the subject?” Ezra begs.

Trish doesn’t care. She’s still scanning the screen.

“Hundred and eight,” I tell her as the C-SPAN number clicks into place.

“I’m impressed,” she admits. “I didn’t think they’d get this far.”

The grin on my face spreads even wider. Could Trish be playing? Six months ago, Harris invited me in – and one day, I’ll invite someone else. All you know are the two people you’re directly connected to: one above, one below. In truth, it’s purely for safety purposes – in case word gets out, you can’t finger someone if you don’t know who they are. Of course, it also brings new meaning to the term anybody’s game.

I look around the room. All three of my colleagues take subtle glances at C-SPAN. Georgia ’s too quiet to be a player. Ezra and Trish are a whole different story.

On TV, Congressman Virgil Witt from Louisiana strolls across the screen. Ezra’s boss. “There’s your guy,” Trish says.

“You’re really serious about this Library thing?” Ezra shoots back. He doesn’t care about seeing his boss on television. Around here, it happens every day.

109, my pager says.

On TV, Ezra’s boss once again rushes across the screen.

Under the desk, I type in one last question: How’d Witt vote?

My eyes are on Ezra as the pager rumbles in my hand. Here comes Harris’s answer.

Nay.