by lisa depaulo
I met Michael Steele in his office at the RNC several weeks into his new job, while he was still unpacking his stuff. It’d been a tough beginning—and was about to get even worse, with one committeewoman calling for his resignation after he picked the now legendary fight with Rush Limbaugh. Even Saturday Night Live found him goofy enough to make fun of. But Steele seemed anything but under siege when we talked. He was exuberant, charming, intense, playful—not the usual vibe you get at the RNC. Like his best-known predecessor, Ken Mehlman, he is fastidious (“Yeah, I’m kinda crazy like that”). Unlike Mehlman, he talks. And talks. Nothing is off the record. Everything is amusing. Even the heavy dark-wood Republican furniture he has inherited. Don’t worry, he assures me, he’s “redoing the whole thing. This is gonna sound weird, but it’s way too male for me. Would you like a piece of chocolate?” They’re…kisses.
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