I gripped the sides of my seat, reluctantly remembering a plane rideduring the Gulf War that had cost me my military career. It would bemore than a li...tle ironic if another one were to cost me my politicalcareer - or worse yet, my life.The ride during the Gulf War was on a chopper, churning through theheavy, hot air of Southern Iraq. I was a captain then - an officerexpected to go places once my tour of combat was over. I had alreadybeen selected for major, and duty at the Pentagon was just a. Glanced quickly away from the Club manager, Lucy Cuthbert; she can be stern when the joyfulness level ascends too high as the evening wears on.I’d been demonished by her, more than one time; the last incidence for bar-singing “When it’s Apple-Blossom Time in Orange New Jersey” a little too audibly. Mrs. Cuthbert hadn’t — to my startledness — 86ed me. I had been in good voice, so far as memory serves, so maybe that’s why she forgave me.I said, “What’s that French jargon you said the other day. More

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