Power Curve by Richard Herman Page B

confirm Anderson for Health and we’re going to run the tank dry getting her confirmed as vice president. That’s gas we can’t afford to burn at this point.”
    “I trust her,” Turner replied, “and need her to head a new program.” Shaw braced himself for the words tax reform . He didn’t hear them. “We’re going to give this government a face.” She came alive. “For example, when someone calls a government office, they won’t hear a recorded menu with a list of options. They will be talking to a real person—a person who cares about their problems.”
    Shaw paced the floor while she talked. When he sensed the timing was right, he stood by the mantle and touched the bell that Turner had rung while in the California senate. She smiled when he picked it up. “Patrick, I really want to make this happen.” He tilted the bell, and it gaveoff a single ring, little more than a tinkle. She stopped talking, and he knew she was listening.
    “This will be a good job for your new vice president,” he told her, “whoever she or he is. But, Mizz President, choose someone near the middle. And about Government with a Face, it’s window dressing, so don’t micromanage. They tell the story about President Carter who insisted on even approving the schedule for the tennis courts. Use your time wisely. It’s my job to handle the details.”
    Turner smiled at him. “You’re my daily dose of reality,” she said. “Work General Bender into the schedule. I want him to meet Gwen and discuss another problem.”
    “The subject?” Shaw asked.
    “The glass ceiling in the military. We need more women in command.”
    He’s going to love that one , Shaw thought. “Anything else?”
    “No. Let’s get started.” She walked to the door. “Oh. I want to see action on tax reform. Today.”
    “What did you have in mind, Mizz President?”
    “Your job is to handle the details,” she reminded him.
    I got to get out of Dodge , Shaw moaned to himself.
     
    “Go right in,” the secretary said. “Mr. Shaw is waiting for you.”
    “Thanks, Mrs. Raskin,” Bender replied. The woman smiled at him. Everyone else called her Alice Fay, and she suspected that Bender was one of the few people who knew her last name. Like every staff member in the White House, there was no name plate on her desk. You were supposed to know who she was or you had no business being in her office.
    Shaw was tilted back in his chair with a telephone stuck to his left ear. He waved Bender to a seat. “Senator, we’ll do what we can, but we’re going to need some help.” He listened for a moment. “Don’t think of it that way. Right, I’ll be back in touch.” He dropped the receiver into its cradle. “Senators are like dogs,” he said. “Some learn quicker than others.” He stood up and deliberately loosened his tie and rumpled his shirt. “We’re going into theOval Office in a few moments, and you are going to meet one Gwen Anderson. Be careful.”
    “I’ve heard about Mrs. Anderson,” Bender replied.
    “She’ll try to bait you. Just the way she is.”
    “Thanks for the heads up,” Bender said.
    He followed Shaw into the Oval Office. The two women were sitting on the couches opposite each other, and Turner patted a spot next to her for Shaw. Bender took the remaining seat on the couch next to Anderson. She was a handsome, heavy-set woman in her midfifties with attractively streaked salt and pepper hair. A strong scent of musk perfume assaulted him. Turner made the introductions before turning to business. “Robert, we’re concerned about the small number of women in the military.”
    Bender wished he had been warned about the topic and stifled his standard protest that she was talking to the wrong man. They were all looking at him expectantly. “The percentages have been constantly improving,” he began. “Overall, we are up to approximately sixteen percent—”
    Anderson interrupted. “Approximately?”
    “The current figure