It's been a couple of weeks now, and I'm still worried about Bianca.
You may have missed it. At a recent press availability -- to call it a “conference” would be roughly akin to calling a beer commercial a drama -- President George W. Bush called on someone named “Bianca.” There was no answer.
“Is Bianca there?” he asked, again.
Finally, a woman newsie rose from her seat.
“Are you Bianca?” the president asked.
It turned out the woman worked for FOX News, and that her name was not Bianca. Neither was it “Brit,” “Shep,” or “Geraldo.” (In conjunction with several important people who ran down the hall when they saw me coming, I have made a study of this phenomenon and have come to the conclusion that the FOX News Channel is actually an Italian-made Western movie.) Her name was Anita. The president seemed disappointed by this. Bianca remained missing.
I remain concerned.
Now unkind souls (not me, certainly) have speculated that Bianca, whoever she might be, was a plant -- that she was someone the president could find, well, available at his availability in case someone in the press corps asked him whatever happened to a) all those Iraqi weapons of mass destruction, b) his mandate, or c) New Orleans. Right on cue, it was speculated, Bianca would then get up and ask the president if he'd beaten Jesus at backgammon the night before. There is no evidence behind this conspiracy theory, at least none worthy of being scribbled on Tim Russert's Etch A Sketch. After all, you might as well believe that a baldheaded former male escort could wander the West Wing, having infiltrated American political journalism at its highest levels.
Which leaves us to ponder the question of what the president was talking about.(And yes, yes, we've all been there before. Carry on.) There are a number of possibilities. Perhaps he thought Bianca was another hurricane. True, this would require the president's believing that “B” follows “K” and “R” in the alphabet -- and that'll be quite enough, Mr. Kuttner.
And I dismiss every single one of the theories about Karl Rove throwing his voice, especially since sources close to the White House custodial staff have confirmed that Mr. Rove has been spending all this time recently practicing the phrase, “To the best of my recollection, counselor,” while drinking a glass of water.
Or, perhaps, the president was concerned about his breath and did not want to offend the high-priced intellects in the front row. But it's difficult to imagine that the president would say “Bianca” when he really meant “Binaca.” And, Mr. Tomasky, you're not going to like it if I come down there.
(This heckling from further up the masthead is going to have to cease immediately. This is not the kind of thing to which pundits of my stature should be subjected. Unless it stops, I promise you, I'm keeping all the invitations to the annual DLC Jello Wrestling party to myself.)
It seems more likely that Bianca is an actual person. The only Bianca I'm aware of is the former Mrs. Jagger, but it's doubtful that's who the president had in mind. They have no real history together that I can find, and besides, Jerri Hall was a good Texas girl. You'd have to think that the president would be rooting the other way.
There is also the possibility that, jealous of all the time given to similar stories by all the major cable news networks, the White House was looking for a missing-woman story it could call its own, and that the press shop won't be happy until Greta Van Susteren turns up in the Map Room, peeking under the antimacassars and interviewing some sheriff who's built like a balloon in the Macy's parade. I don't want to minimize the president's laudable desire to poach on John Walsh's turf, but I don't think any network is going to pick up “White House 10 Most Wanted,” unless the pilot concerns Osama bin Laden.
Some analysts have whispered to me that the president's briefing materials got mixed up, and that what we saw was his attempt to give the answer -- Somebody knocked over the snack foods in the Roosevelt Room. Hey, where's Blanco? -- he'd been giving to every tough question that had arisen over the previous month concerning the catastrophic storms that overwhelmed Louisiana, but that he'd botched the governor's name. Those same analysts also expressed gratitude that the governor's first name wasn't Bianca, because anyone saying “Bianca Blanco” to the president was better than even money to receive the reply, “De nada, por favor.”
The fact is that I don't have the faintest bloody idea where Bianca is. I don't think she's been consigned to wherever it is that this White House quarantined the likes of Paul O'Neill, John DiIulio, Joe Wilson, Richard Clarke, David Phillips, and Anthony Zinni after they each showed symptoms of having spent too much time in the plague-ridden streets of various reality-based communities.
(It's a nice airy place along the Potomac, with helpful nurses and lovely golden bells for the patients to wear, so that the bookers on the Sunday shows can hear them coming and immediately begin dialing Fred Barnes' phone number, Barnes being looked upon in the wards there as sort of a walking antibiotic to any kind of nasty infectious reality.)
I do hope they find her soon, though. My faith in the grown-ups who run the government has been severely tested of late. I would hate to believe that, with all its other obvious failings, it is now incapable of keeping track of one woman with an exotic-sounding Spanish name. That kind of stuff never happened when the Kennedys were in charge, I'll tell you that.
Charles P. Pierce is a staff writer at The Boston Globe Magazine and a contributing writer for Esquire. He also appears regularly on National Public Radio.