The First Counsel

* * *

At five o'clock, I take my only break: a ten-minute round-trip dash to the West Wing for the first batch of fries that comes out of the Mess. Over the next four hours, I skim through hundreds of criminal cases, looking for the best ones to make my point. It's going to be a late night, but as long as things stay quiet, I should be able to get through it.

"Candy bars! Who wants candy bars?" Trey announces, striding through the door. "Guess what just got added to the vending machines?" Before I can answer, he adds, "Two words, Lucy: Hostess. Cupcakes. I saw 'em downstairs--our childhood trapped behind glass. For seventy-five cents, we get it back."

"Now's really a bad time . . ."

"I understand--you're knee-deep. Then let me at least tell you about--"

"I can't . . ."

"No such thing as can't. Besides, this is impor--"

"Dammit, Trey, can't you ever take a hint?"

He's not happy with that one. Without a word, he turns his back and heads for the exit.

"Trey . . ."

He opens the door.

"C'mon, Trey . . ."

At the last second, he stops. "Listen, hotshot, I don't need the apology--the only reason I came by was because your favorite Post reporter just called us about the WAVES records. Adenauer may be waiting until Friday, but Inez's cashing in every press favor she has. So no matter how badly you're trying to smudge elbows with the President, you should know the clock's ticking--and it may explode sooner than you think." He wheels around and slams the door shut.

I know he's right. By Adenauer's count, I'm almost down to two days. But with everything else going on, it's going to have to wait until tomorrow. After the President, and after Vaughn.