Andy walked into the entrance hallways and Pony shut the door.

"Exactly," Andy agreed. "The minute they get elected, they're already thinking about what they're going to do next because they have only four years, and half of them must be spent campaigning or going to job interviews."

Pony nodded, feeling encouraged that someone at last understood what it was like to be assigned to the mansion. "You here to see the Crimm girls? 'Cause you sure don't look like their type."

"Not that I'm aware of," Andy said, suddenly suspicious of the First Lady's real motive for inviting him to the mansion.

Regina, too, was suspicious.

"These crabs are not dead!" she yelled. "One of them just looked at me. I just saw its eyes move. How could I possibly eat anything with eyes bugging out of their heads the way they do? It hurts my eyes to watch. You would think stuff would get in them all the time because of the way they stick out and don't have lids."

"It's so they can hide in the sand and still see," Trader explained to her. "There's a reason for their eyes being periscopic like submarines."

He deliberately alluded to submarines to mock the governor's constitution behind his back. Trader was respectful to his prominent boss only when he had no choice, and it was his habit to abuse mansion staff and say whatever he wanted when Crimm wasn't present or was unaware.

"Take them down to the river and let them go," Regina ordered Chef Figgie. "The fish, as well. It's looking at me, too. And take that damn hook out of its mouth first. You let it go with that hook in there, it will get caught on stuff and the poor thing will drown. I want ham biscuits with butter and mint jelly, you hear me? What happened to the rest of that pie we didn't finish? The peanut butter pie?"

She ran tap water on the crabs and the fish, waking them up a little, as she loudly ordered people about.

"There's a bucket in the corner," she said. "The one they came in. Put them in it right now. And don't you ever bring another crab or fish into this mansion. I'm sick of deer meat, too. How do you know the Indians don't poison the deer first to pay us back? They drag this carcass up the steps, thinking we're so lucky they give us gifts."

"You're not supposed to call them Indians, Miss Reginia. They're Native Americans and it's very thoughtful of them to bring us deer." Chef Figgie was offended and not the least bit intimidated by her.

"Native Americans, huh?" Regina's face darkened with rage. "Oh really? That's the same thing as us calling your people Natives."

"It most certainly isn't." Chef Figgie looked directly into Regina's tiny, hard eyes, which reminded him of raisins imbedded in rising bread dough. "And if you ever refer to any of the mansion help as Natives, I'll report you to the NAACP. I don't care if you are the governor's daughter."

"Get these crabs out of there this minute!" Regina screamed. "Or they're gonna die and smell."

The crabs waved their claws in celebration as Chef Figgie gently lifted them and the trout out of the deep sink and set them in the bucket. He got wire cutters and snipped off the hook, sliding it free of the fish's sore mouth.

Pony wasn't so lucky. Nobody had ever let him off the hook for any reason. Oh, how he would love it if Chef Figgie would carry him down to the James River in a bucket and let him go. Pony watched the chef walk through the dining room, heading to a side door, water slopping out of the bucket as the crabs and fish talked to one another, making plans. Regina was close behind and stopped in her tracks when she saw Andy.

"We're not having a light supper, after all," she told him.

"Whatever," Andy politely replied. "I think we need to hook me up with your father as soon as possible."

"Are you making a tasteless pun because of the fish?" She scowled.

He didn't know her well enough to make puns, and Regina had no doubt that this handsome man was not going to be nice to her. None of them were or ever would be.

Andy noticed the fish swimming inside the crowded bucket and realized he had misspoken. "I'm sorry. I didn't see the trout until just this second. Otherwise, I never would have used the word hook in its presence. I meant no disrespect. It's just that I sincerely hope I get a chance to speak to the governor tonight."

"You can call me Regina."

No, he couldn't. Andy couldn't possibly say that name without feeling very uncomfortable and embarrassed.

"Do you go by any other names?" he asked. "What about Reggie?"

"No one has ever called me Reggie."

She was knocked off balance by his kind interest and had to steady herself against the polished mahogany bannister that curved out of sight, leading upstairs to the First Family's private quarters, where this minute Maude Crimm was spraying her hair, unhappy with the reflection that was spraying its hair in the mirror.

She had been beautiful once. When Maude and Bedford had first spotted each other at the Faberge Ball, she had been voluptuous but petite, with a bowed red mouth and expressive violet eyes. Maude was gazing into a showcase at a jeweled egg that had led to the Bolshevik Revolution and the mystery of Anastasia, when Bedford Crimm IV, a freshman state senator, had gallantly appeared at her side and stared through an old magnifying glass at the lovely shapes scarcely covered by her low-cut gown.

"My, can you imagine?" he said. "I've always wondered why an egg. Why not something else if you're going to make things out of precious metals and priceless jewels?"

"What would you have chosen for a theme?" Maude coyly inquired.

She had fallen swiftly for Crimm and his inquiring mind, and it occurred to her that she had always taken the Faberge collection for granted. All these years, and she had never questioned why.

"Most certainly I would not have chosen an egg," Crimm replied in a rich, important voice that lilted with the rhythm of the Old South. "A Civil War theme, perhaps." He considered. "Maybe cannons of rose gold or Confederate flags fashioned of platinum, rubies, diamonds, and sapphires-the very stones and metals you should have around your lovely tapered white neck." He traced her throat with a stubby finger. "A long necklace with a huge diamond at the end that would disappear into your bosom." He showed her. "And remain tucked out of sight to tickle you when you least expect it."

"I've always wanted a big diamond," Maude said, looking around rather nervously, hoping nobody in the crowded room was paying them any mind. "You look like you're wearing a big diamond yourself," she said, staring at the front of his tuxedo pants.

"The hope diamond." He chuckled.

"Because you're always hoping. I get it," she said. "You know, I'm quite a collector, too, Senator Crimm."

"You don't say?"

"Oh yes. I happen to know a lot about magnifying glasses." She continued to impress him. "Why, they go all the way back to the caves of Crete and there was once a Chinese emperor who used a topaz to look at the stars. That was thousands of years before the Baby Jesus was born, can you imagine? And I bet you didn't know that Nero himself used to peer through an emerald when he watched the gladiators kill each other. I suppose so the sun didn't hurt his eyes. So I think it's very appropriate that you should have very special optic glasses, too, since you're such an important, powerful man."

"Why don't we slip off to the men's room and introduce ourselves to each other?" Crimm suggested.

"I could never!" Maude's no was a yes, but Crimm would find out soon after their marriage that even a yes would be no when she was preoccupied with crown molding and cobwebs.

"The ladies' room, then," Crimm tried again.

Beautiful women had always ignored him before he

went into politics. Now it was amazingly easy, and he felt he had been given a second chance. Having been born terribly short and homely with deteriorating eyes no longer mattered. Even the size of his diamond made little difference. It wasn't like the old days at the Commonwealth Club, where all the up-and-coming males would sit around the swimming pool naked, making political decisions and discussing unfriendly take-overs.