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The Best Laid Plans. It was a simple, optimistic statement, with not the slightest portent of the dramatic chain of events that was about to occur. It was one of those rare, serendipitous days when nothing could go wrong, when nothing would dare go wrong. Leslie Stewart had no interest in astrology, but that morning, as she was leafing through the Lexington Herald-Leader, a horoscope in an astrology column by Zoltaire caught her eye. It read:. Be prepared to enjoy what? Leslie thought wryly. Today was going to be like every other day.

Astrology was nonsense, mind candy for fools. She had three meetings scheduled for that afternoon, the first with the Kentucky Fertilizer Company, whose executives were excited about the new campaign she was working up for them. They especially liked its beginning: "If you want to smell the roses Redletter day? In her late twenties, with a slim, provocative figure, Leslie Stewart had an exciting, exotic look; gray, sloe eyes, high cheekbones, Long sat Lexington-fayette for pussy soft, honey-colored hair, which she wore long and elegantly simple.

A friend of Leslie's had once told her, "If you're beautiful and have a brain and a vagina, you can own the world. Leslie Stewart was beautiful and had an IQ ofand nature had taken care of the rest. But she found her looks a disadvantage. Men were constantly propositioning her or proposing, but few of them bothered to try really to get to know her.

There were fifteen male employees. It had taken Leslie less than a week to learn that she was more intelligent than any of them. It was a discovery she decided to keep to herself. In the beginning, both partners, Jim Bailey, an overweight, soft-spoken man in his forties, and Al Tomkins, anorexic and hyper, ten years younger than Bailey, individually tried to talk Leslie into going to bed with them.

She had stopped them very simply. Her first week on the job, during a coffee break, Leslie had told her fellow employees a joke. The first man said, 'I wish I were twenty-five percent smarter. I think I know things now that I didn't know before. Leslie looked expectantly at the men at the table. They were all staring at her, unamused.

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The red-letter day that the astrologer had promised began at eleven o'clock that Long sat Lexington-fayette for pussy. Jim Bailey walked into Leslie's tiny, cramped office. She was already handling more s than anyone else at the firm, but she knew better than to protest. You've heard of Oliver Russell, of course?

Everyone had heard of Oliver Russell. A local attorney and candidate for governor, he had his face on billboards all over Kentucky. With his brilliant legal record, he was considered, at thirty-five, the most eligible bachelor in the state. Strikingly handsome, with black, unruly hair, dark eyes, an athletic build, and a warm smile, he had the reputation of having slept with most of the ladies in Lexington. He's on his way here now. Oliver Russell arrived a few minutes later. He was even more attractive in person than in his photographs. When he was introduced to Leslie, he smiled warmly.

I'm so glad you're going to handle my campaign. He was not at all what Leslie had expected. There was a completely disarming sincerity about the man. For a moment, Leslie was at a loss for words. Kentucky's a wonderful state. We know it is, because we live here, and we're able to enjoy its magic--but much of the country thinks of us as a bunch of hillbillies.

I want to change that image. Kentucky has more to' offer than a dozen other states combined. The history of this country began here. We have one of the oldest capitol buildings in America. Kentucky gave this country two presidents. We have the most beautiful scenery in the world--exciting caves, rivers, bluegrass fields--everything. I want to open all that up to the rest of the world.

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He spoke with a deep conviction, and Leslie found herself strongly drawn to him. She thought of the astrology column. Today will be a red-letter day. Be prepared to enjoy it. Oliver Russell was saying, "The campaign won't work unless you believe in this as strongly as I do.

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Too quickly? He really cares. I think he'd make a fine governor. Bailey shrugged. There's something going on that I can't explain. You've seen Russell on all the billboards and on television? One of the rumors is that someone was backing Russell, putting up all the money for his campaign, and then for some reason suddenly dropped him. That doesn't make sense, Jim. I think he's ambitious. And he feels he can make a difference.

He would like us to figure out a campaign that won't cost him a lot of money. He can't afford to buy any more airtime or do much advertising. All we can really do for him is to arrange interviews, plant newspaper articles, that sort of thing. In the last two weeks, Russell's gone way down in the polls. It's a shame. He's a good lawyer. Does a lot of pro bono work. I think he'd make a good governor, too. Leslie Stewart's early childhood was idyllic.

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She was an extraordinarily intelligent. Her father was an English professor at Lexington Community College and her mother was a housewife. Leslie's father was a handsome man, patrician and intellectual. He was a caring father, and he saw to it that the family took their vacations together and traveled together. Her father adored her.

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He would tell her how beautiful she looked and compliment her on her grades, her behavior, her friends. Leslie could do no wrong in his eyes. For her ninth birthday, her father bought her a beautiful brown velvet dress with lace cuffs. He would have her put the dress on, and he would show her off to his friends when they came to dinner.

One morning, a year later, in a split second, Leslie's wonderful life vanished. Her mother, face stained with tears, sat her down. My mother has driven him away, Leslie thought. She felt sorry for her mother because now there would be a divorce and a custody fight. Her father would never let her go. He'll come for me, Leslie told herself. But weeks passed, and her father never called. They won't let him come and see me, Leslie decided. Mother's punishing him.

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