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THE GOVERNOR’S APPOINTMENTS SECRETARY told Richardson on the telephone that the interview would be limited to ten minutes. “I’m only letting you in there because you’ve just taken over the political beat from Callum,” he said. He made it sound as if he was acquiescing in a ritual akin to a new ambassador presenting her credentials to the foreign government she would be dealing with on a daily basis.

Richardson asked Callum to make the call for her, but he refused and told her she was on her own. “I’ve spent over three weeks introducing you to just about every lawmaker up on Smith Hill, their chiefs of staff, administrative assistants and legislative aides. I had you shake hands and exchange business cards with every lobbyist we met in the hallways. I said a good word about you to every clerk or political hack who might ever be able to help you. We’ve been to the bars that both the Republicans and Democrats hang out at after work. You know the restaurants in town where the Governor likes to have his quiet, informal meetings at night. The same for the Majority Leader of the Senate and the Speaker of the House. For Chrissakes, even the two blind guys who run the take-out shops know who you are. So do the elevator operators, the barbers and the librarians in both chambers. You’ve got sources up the wazoo for any kind of story you want to write. I’ve given you the last nine years of my life in twenty-three days. But now you’re on your own. If you want to meet with the Governor, call Troy Williams. That’s what he’s there for. Good luck, Jenna, and try hard not to fuck up.” Callum gave her a big grin when he finished speaking. The gesture sent the message that he knew she’d do fine.

Richardson arrived at the capitol building about ten minutes early. She entered through the north portico and glanced quickly at the famous “Gettysburg Gun” to her left. She remembered learning about it on a tour of the Statehouse when she was a student in the sixth grade. The cannon was last fired at the battle of Gettysburg where it was put out of service permanently by a confederate shell that exploded on it and killed the two Rhode Island cannoneers.

As she climbed the stairs, crafted from white Georgia marble, Jenna told herself that it was good to be early. The Governor might be free before her 3:30 appointment and be ready to talk to her then. She stopped for a few moments in the rotunda to look at the brass replica of the State Seal. It was an anchor mounted on a shield surrounded by a garland of leaves. The word “HOPE” was engraved on the shield, but Jenna was unaware that the single word was the official State motto.

She joined two other women near her in admiring the mural inside the dome of the rotunda. It was about 150 feet above them, she guessed. Part of the painting depicted the Colonists in discussion with some Indians. Jenna recalled that the figure in the middle standing the tallest was Roger Williams, founder of the first permanent white settlement in Providence. She also remembered the point being stressed in school that the land in question was purchased, not taken, from the Narragansett tribe.

As Troy Williams had directed, Richardson proceeded to the State Room, the room that provided entry to the Governor’s Executive Chamber. From her seat there, she glanced up often at the crystal chandelier that hung from the ceiling and at the huge portrait of George Washington. It was painted by Gilbert Stuart, another son of Rhode Island who gained fame during Revolutionary times. The portrait was enhanced by an enormous gilded frame and hung over the marble fireplace just outside the entrance to the Governor’s office. America’s first President stood full length, one hand resting on a table, as he looked almost directly at the artist.

Jenna realized she had wanted this time to relax, breathe deeply and go over in her mind the three or four questions she might be able to ask John Sacco during the brief period allotted her for the interview.

Troy Williams saw her sitting there as he emerged from the inner sanctum carrying an armful of large files. He hurried past her toward the corridor. “Remember, Richardson, ten minutes,” he said, without slowing down. No sex discrimination there, she told herself, remembering that she also heard him call Jim Callum by his last name alone.

The meeting went very well. Sacco suggested they sit close to each other, on opposite ends of the sofa. Without asking, he poured a cup of coffee for each of them from a white china pot. He expressed his pleasure at knowing she would be covering the political scene around the Statehouse for the rest of the year.

“I suppose Jim Callum probably clued you in on where I go after hours when I want to meet people away from the office.” Richardson smiled and admitted that Callum certainly did. “Too formal and stuffy in here for some folks,” Sacco said. “Can’t get them to open up and tell me what’s really on their minds.” He also mentioned the names of several executives at the Herald, with good things to say about all of them.

The time passed quickly. Before she posed her last key question, Jenna heard a knock on the door and saw Williams look in. She started to get up, but without saying a word, Sacco waved him off. Given a reprieve, she asked the Governor when he expected to announce his intention to seek another term. Sacco didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he arose easily from the sofa and walked toward his desk. Jenna realized that it was a question he wanted to think about without having to sit there, looking at her, while she waited for him to respond.

She watched as Sacco changed direction and approached the window at the rear of his office with its view of downtown Providence. The way he carried himself forced her to appreciate the fact that he appeared to be in excellent shape for a man whose next birthday would celebrate six full decades of life. Earlier, as she listened to him speak, Jenna concluded that the Governor had a streak of vanity when it came to his appearance. He was well tanned, had several teeth that were obviously capped, giving him a catching smile, and was impeccably groomed. Jenna made a mental note that he was both a smooth talker and a great dresser.

After contemplating the scene in front of him, Sacco called her over to where he was standing. He pointed at the city skyline a short distance away. “Tell me,” he said, “how many people out there do you think took five seconds today to ask themselves when John Sacco would let them know he’s running again?”

Richardson knew the question didn’t call for an answer.

He looked at her and made a zero with his thumb and forefinger. “That many, Miss Richardson, or Jenna, if I may call you that.”

“Please do,” she replied.

Sacco moved from the window to his desk and sat down. Jenna took the chair to his left, hoping to continue the interview. He found a thin cigar in the top drawer, tore off the cellophane wrapper and held it between his fingers without making any move to light it.

“This is step five in the eight step plan I’m on to quit,” he explained. “But then again this is about the fourth different program I’ve been on. I keep telling my wife I should be buying better cigars instead of spending the money looking for a cure.” His laugh showed off his beautiful teeth.

“The fact is,” he said, turning serious again, “I’ve got much too much work to do to even think about the answer to your question right now. The economy here has improved a little with the changes we’ve been able to make. It’s still what I’d call ‘lousy,’ although thank goodness it’s not nearly as bad as Massachusetts or Connecticut. We’re doing everything we can to find jobs for people and get them off the unemployment rolls. I’ve got law students at ten dollars an hour searching the books for any federal programs we can possibly pull some money out of. I was on the phone half the morning with folks in Washington trying to get some shipbuilding or even ship repair work for Newport. More jobs, Jenna. That’s where all my energies are directed, not worrying about whether or not there’ll be another campaign out there for John Sacco.”

He stood up again. “And there are a few things I’ve still got to do today,” he said, indicating with a sweep of his arm the piles of paper sitting all over the top of his desk. Richardson got up also, and he walked her to the door. They shook hands and she left.

He had avoided her question about his candidacy with an answer that he knew would look very good in print if she chose to use it. But he was completely unaware that as Jenna noted down his words, her eye caught the spines of two books on his desk that were otherwise hidden by the papers resting on them. The one on top was entitled, The Committees and Subcommittees of the United States Senate. Under it was a thinner volume called, A Guide to Househunting in Washington, D.C.

Jenna wondered why Sacco would have those books on his desk. Was he thinking of running for Hardiman’s senate seat? She couldn’t believe the Party would let him run against one of their own, an incumbent. Had someone—maybe even Hardiman—told him that the junior senator from Rhode Island intended to step down after one term? Sonofabitch, Jenna thought to herself, as she looked down the corridor for a public telephone, maybe things are going to get interesting around here after all.