<i> L’Affaire </i> Agran, Antidote to the New Hampshire Chill

It had been another frustrating day for Larry Agran on the presidential campaign trail in New Hampshire. The media were snubbing him, and voters didn’t seem to care what he had to say. It was almost like being back in Irvine, only 60 degrees colder.

So it was an exasperated Agran who met with his advisers in the Super 8 motel room where six of them were sharing quarters. The smell of cheeseburgers hung heavy in the room.

“I need to hit harder on the peace dividend,” the former Irvine mayor said. “I’ll hammer away on repairing the infrastructure. I’ll hit Bush again on capital gains. I’ve got it all here in my position paper.”

“Shut up, Larry,” his top adviser said.

“Pardon me?” Agran said, startled.

“You’re never going to mention the peace dividend or capital gains again,” the aide said. “If you ever say the word infrastructure again, I’ll knock your glasses off. I’ve got a better idea.”

“Let’s hear it,” Agran said, knowing all too well that he was in single digits in the polls.

“You’re going to confess to the affair.”

“What affair?” Agran said. “I’ve never had one.”

“That’s your whole problem,” his aide said. “That’s why nobody is paying any attention to you. Tomorrow you’re going to stand in the middle of Main Street with a bullhorn and announce that you carried on a 12-year affair.”

“Clinton’s affair was supposedly 12 years,” another aide interjected.

“Good point,” the chief adviser said. “Make yours 13. Aw, hell, let’s shoot the works. You had an affair for 22 years.”

“Wow, that’s almost as long as I’ve been married,” Agran said.

“Now you’re getting the picture,” his aide said.

All of a sudden, the aides started rolling up their sleeves as a current of electricity swept through the room. “OK, next thing is we need to figure out who you had it with,” the chief aide said. “Any suggestions? Feed me some names.”

“I’ve always been partial to Old Testament names,” Agran said. “How about something like Ruth or Naomi?”

There was an awkward silence as the other aides rolled their eyes and exchanged quick glances. Privately, a couple of them wondered how this guy ever thought he had what it took to run for the presidency.

“Uh . . . Larry,” the chief aide said. “You don’t have affairs with women named Naomi. Think Fannie. Think Gennifer, with a G. Think Bambi. Think French.”

“OK, OK, let me think, let me think,” Agran said, rubbing his hands together. “How about . . . Mimi, a 6-foot belly dancer with red hair and a tattoo of a cheetah on her backside?”

He blurted it out with such gusto that the aides were taken aback.

“Yes,” one aide said, stroking his chin.

“It just might go,” said another.

Everyone waited for the chief adviser to speak.

“Can I level with you--I like it, big fella,” he said, giving Agran a mock punch to the chin and prompting everyone to burst into riotous laughter. It was the sound of hope returning to a campaign.

“That may be the best idea you’ve ever had,” the aide said, imagining an artist’s rendering of the 6-foot Mimi with the bespectacled, button-down Agran, who stands about 5 feet, 7 inches.

Agran beamed with pride.

“The press will want specifics,” the aide said. “Since there won’t be anyone to deny the story, let’s give them a good one.”

“How about if I say I met her while my wife was pregnant with our son?” Agran said. “I could say I was walking along the Balboa Pier, and she was about to walk into the ocean because she was despondent over her fourth divorce. I could say we started talking, and we knew right away that we were meant for each other but that we couldn’t publicly reveal our love because it would destroy our careers. I mean, how would it look--a belly dancer married to a politician.”

“And so what happened to her?” an aide asked.

“I could say we were on a midnight cruise to Catalina last year, and I said something so funny that she started laughing in hysterics and fell overboard. I could say I was so traumatized that I just kept silent and that I’ve been tormented ever since by the memory.”

“God, Larry, that is genius!” a senior staffer said. “Let’s see Clinton and Kerrey top that one! I don’t think even Gary Hart ever did anything that wild!”

“There’s something about this that makes me uncomfortable,” Agran said, tensing a bit.

“Larry, Larry,” his adviser said, reassuringly. “Trust me.”

“I know you’re right,” Agran said. He wadded up the position paper with his program for the country and slam-dunked it into the wastebasket.

“Gentlemen,” Agran’s chief aide said, “tomorrow is going to be a beautiful, beautiful day.”

Dana Parsons’ column appears Wednesday, Friday and Sunday. Readers may reach Parsons by writing to him at The Times Orange County Edition, 1375 Sunflower Ave., Costa Mesa, Calif. 92626, or calling (714) 966-7821.