Unfortunately, this anti-New York sentiment has a way of asserting itself legislatively. Nadler remembers when Dan Burton walked out on the House floor and railed against New York's and Los Angeles's generous helping of funding from the National Endowment for the Arts.

"So I got up," says Nadler, "and said I was shocked, shocked to discover the prejudice against New York -- that we didn't get a penny of the wheat subsidy! And how much went to Indiana!" He bangs his fist on his desk for emphasis. "Never mind that we don't grow any wheat."

Outside Clinton's Senate office, a sweaty bike messenger suddenly appears. "I just, like, wanted to meet her," he tells one of her aides, who happens to be walking by. "Do you, like, need an appointment or can you just walk in?" The aide graciously explains that the senator is talking with her staff, but he can probably catch her when she leaves to go to a meeting. Inside, a cute kid with floppy hair is working one of the phones. "I will definitely make a note of it," he's saying. "Where are you from . . . ?"

Clinton's three receptionists estimate that they take more than 1,000 calls per day. Her interns open more than 2,000 pieces of mail per week. And the foot traffic outside her suite, located on the fourth floor of the Russell Building, rivals Disney World's.

Hillary might be a celebrity. But this new job of hers is by no means glamorous. And it is perhaps this humdrum dimension of the job -- the grueling, tiresome, quotidian details that go into helping constituents and making policy -- that her colleagues say will be the hardest adjustment for her to make. First Ladies browse for china patterns, choose a few pet issues, and travel all over the world. Senators spend their days raising money, commuting, listening to unhappy constituents, racing to meetings, sitting through four-hour hearings, going to parades in far-flung towns, and raising more money. This time three years ago, Hillary was off on an eleven-day tour of Africa. These days, she's spending her weekends in Schenectady.

"I told her: 'Remember, behind every curtain and every drapery there is a monster called envy. Don't expect any favors; you start at the bottom.'"
-- Robert Byrd

"She'll find out how tedious it is," says Pete King. "I don't know if she's prepared for that." He thinks. "I'm also wondering how the disorder will affect her," he says after a moment. "There's no orderly life as a member of Congress. One hundred constituents arrive you have to meet with. Committee meetings abruptly adjourn. You're scheduled for a talk in Syracuse, and suddenly Trent Lott doesn't let the Senate go home.

"That stuff wouldn't bother Bill Clinton," he continues, "because -- and I mean this as a compliment -- his life is total confusion all the time. But she's more like an appellate lawyer, having structured arguments in structured ways. Which is fine in normal life. But not in the Senate."

Clinton is bending over backward to make it clear that she doesn't expect any special treatment. In spite of what Judd Gregg says, she has taken pains to wear her three-man Secret Service entourage as unostentatiously as possible: They don't accompany her on the Senate floor; they don't cling too closely in the halls. She chats easily with her colleagues. (On the floor, she's a furious gesticulator.) And already, she has a reputation for being one of the best female senators to work for. (Though the competition isn't stiff. They're a difficult lot.)

But some of Hillary's peers, like Ben Nighthorse Campbell, still can't help wondering how certain questions of protocol will be resolved. Campbell is on the Helsinki Commission with Hillary. The other day, he realized he had no idea what'll happen when they take their first trip overseas.

"Usually, there's a special section of the plane, a private stateroom, for the chairman," he explains. "And then another section with reserved seats for senior senators -- it has tables and headphones and even cots for sleeping. And then the freshmen sit in the back, in regular coach seats, with the staff."

He throws up his hands. "The old bulls, they're not used to being upstaged. But if she gets special seating with her Secret Service people, I don't know how they'll take to it. Then again . . . " He hesitates. "Well, it's a little awkward to have the ex-First Lady in the back, with her knees up by her chin, all cramped up, after traveling on Air Force One. Don'tcha think?"

Back in the White House, Clinton could also keep the media at arm's length. But the Capitol provides its press corps with uncommon access to elected officials. Reporters can trap Hillary outside her office in the Russell Building, in the private subway that takes her from Russell to the Capitol, and even right off the Senate floor. The public has almost as much access, and people pretty much stop her every ten feet or so -- to take pictures, to say hello, to talk about issues of concern to them.