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the list."
    "I'm sure I'm not. But why can't I go in?"
    "Because you're not on the list."
    I took a breath. For Annie, only for Annie. I said, "This is the press entrance, right?"
    “Yes.”
    "And I'm a member of the press, aren't I?"
    "Yes, yes, of course."
    "Then," I said brightly, "it's all coming together, right?"
    I pushed by him, he squawked some things at me, and after a brief walk through a narrow hallway, I was into the large conference room and into ---
    Chaos. Absolute and unfettered chaos. I moved so that I was standing against a wall. Near me was a raised wooden stand. There, almost a dozen cameramen with their cameras on tripods were aiming at the stage at the far side of the room. If the gatekeeper had followed me in, I had lost him in the crowd in a matter of seconds. And the crowd inside made the crowd outside look like a meeting of surviving World War I veterans. People were jammed up tight against one another; the room was hot and loud, the sound coming from rock music over a sound system and hundreds of people trying to be heard over the din. Balloons and bunting hung from the ceiling and walls. The stage was nearly empty save for a large JACKSON HALE FOR ALL OF AMERICA'S TOMORROWS sign hanging at the rear. A lectern was in the middle of the stage, along with a number of empty chairs on each side.
    I wiped at my face and my eyes. My heart was racing and my throat hurt and nausea was sloshing around in my stomach. A woman's voice, close to my ear: "Hey, Lewis. What brings you here?"
    I turned. A young woman was standing next to me, wearing a thin down tan winter coat and a bright smile. Despite how lousy I felt, it was good to see her. Her ears stuck through her blond hair, and Paula Quinn, reporter for the Tyler Chronicle , one-time lover and now friend, and second-best writer in Tyler, stood there with a reporter's notebook in her small hands.
    "Just getting a piece of the political world," I said.
    "Yeah," she said, smiling knowingly, "A piece of something, I'm sure. How's it going?"
    "Not too bad."
    "Really? Don't take offense, but you look like crap. You coming down with something?"
    "Sure feels like it."
    She gently nudged me with her shoulder. "My, she sure is something, to get you here today."
    "That she is. How's your day?"
    She laughed. "Campaign rally here, another rally this afternoon, and another rally tonight. Rah rah, sis boom bah. The joys of primary season. Look I'm going to get closer to the stage. If you feel better, let's do lunch later this week, all right?"
    I nodded and tried to say something, but she had moved by then and the noise seemed to have gotten louder. I looked around the crowd, trying to spot Annie, and gave up after a few minutes. It was impossible. There were just too many people, too many signs, too many conversations, and as I stood against the wall, as the crowd flowed and ebbed around me, I could only make out quick snippets of the give-and-take.
    "---latest polls show it's tightening up---"
    "---can't believe we'd lose to somebody like Pomeroy, even if the moron is from Massachusetts---"
    "---budget deficit as a campaign issue is a loser---"
    "---so I told her, if I don't get five minutes with the candidate, then---"
    "---God, guns, and gays, how often have you heard that--"
    The crowd was a mix of journalists, young, enthusiastic volunteers, and in one comer, a knot of well-dressed older men and women who talked among themselves like veteran campaign observers who had Already Seen It All. One woman with brown hair, wearing a dark blue wool dress, seemed to be the center of attention, and I found it amusing that a few of her companions were busy trying to hear what she was saying, instead of paying attention to what was going on elsewhere in the room.
    I closed my eyes, my stomach rolling along. The music went to some sort of crescendo, and there was a burst of applause as people started filing across the stage, waving at the crowd. There were four men and two women,