So, what are you wearing? I never thought I’d begin a phone call to someone I don’t know with that question, given its salacious, heavy-breathing connotation. I certainly never thought I’d do it calling someone named Jeff.

A little background. It’s been about a month since the first TV ad for U.S. Senate candidate Chellie Pingree premiered. It’s a fine ad, professionally and thoughtfully done, focusing upon the Democrat’s trademark issue of affordable prescription drugs.

There’s a soaring trumpet in the background, music that evokes aspirations, determination, a hint of patriotism. Amid passages of the candidate speaking earnestly about her issue, Real Maine People testify to her diligence ushering through the Maine Rx law as a state senator. One Real Maine Person observes that this landmark legislation was vigorously opposed by the pharmaceutical industry, which sent to Maine lobbyists wearing “shiny shoes” and carrying “beautiful briefcases.”

An odd indictment. Maybe because I was raised to believe that shiny shoes were a good thing, an indication of good grooming habits and, when going visiting, a gesture of respect toward the host. As for briefcases, to me they are so far down the list of things capable of possessing beauty I thought at first the soaring trumpet had damaged my hearing.

Now there’s a radio ad. Same trumpet, same earnest candidate, same RMPs. This time, the observation is made that the pharmaceutical lobbyists wore “shoes with tassels” and – prepare for a shock – “blue suits.”

This is even odder, or maybe it’s just evidence of gender gap. The RMP making this observation is a woman, the implication clearly is that the pharmaceutical lobbyists in question are men. For the record, men do not seek out shoes with tassels – after proper fit and a reasonable approximation of appropriate color and style (no wing tips with tuxedos, guys), tassels just happen. Similarly, a man does not buy a blue suit because its sets off the flecks in his eyes or brings out the highlights in his hair. Go into the men’s department of any store. Close your eyes, spin around three times and grab a suit off the rack. The odds are better than even it will be blue. If it fits (to a reasonable approximation), ring it up.

Or so I thought. In-depth investigation into this matter has raised the possibility that there is a mysterious, even sinister, link between blue suits and the pharmaceutical industry. The investigation, which took place over a span of perhaps 45 minutes Wednesday, began with the aforementioned call to Jeff. That’s Jeff Trewhitt, an employee of the Pharmaceutical Research and Manufacturers of America. That’s PhRMA.

Mr. Trewhitt could be called a lobbyist. He came to Maine a couple of years ago when Maine Rx was before the Legislature, we met very briefly at that time. I called him Wednesday at his office in D.C., and, after reminding him of a meeting neither of us really remembers, girded the old loins and asked him what, at that very moment, he was wearing.

A blue suit. Without even a trace of remorse, Mr. Trewhitt admitted, almost brazenly, that he often wears a blue suit – call it a worsted wool smoking gun. In this age of political ads that obscure important issues, it must come as a great relief to Maine voters that they have before them one that nails it.

He swore, however, that he does not wear shoes with tassels. Cowboy boots (he’s from Tennessee; apparently it’s the law), clean, but in need of shining. Never uses a briefcase. Or so he claimed.

Moments after this conversation, one that must have left Mr. Trewhitt convinced that Maine’s problem with prescription drugs is that certain people use them improperly, I learned from a reliable source within the office of Sen. Susan Collins what the Republican incumbent Ms. Pingree hopes to unseat was wearing that very day.

A blue suit. Information regarding the senator’s shoes was not available, the condition of her briefcase was described – rather vaguely, I thought – as “scruffy.” Still, in a campaign that could well turn on which candidate is the valiant fighter against Big Pharmaceuticals and which is its sniveling lapdog, Sen. Collins has been seen parading around in the uniform of the enemy.

Here’s where it gets really weird. My next investigative step was to log on to the Pingree for Senate Web site. As the home page flickered into view, I was stunned by the photograph of the candidate – specifically, what she was photographed wearing.

A blue suit. Coincidence? Fashion faux pas? Could be.

Or, it could be that sinister thing. It has recently been revealed that Ms. Pingree owns a substantial piece of a mutual fund that is invested heavily – in fact, predominantly – in pharmaceutical stocks. That certainly is her right, just as it is the right of voters to argue about whether a candidate who rails against the industry’s high profits should be profiting from them.

Wearing what her very own ad suggests is the apparel of evil raises a serious question. Are all these people wearing blue suits merely because they’re readily available or is the blue suit some kind of secret sign, an unspoken indication of membership in some unholy alliance bent upon making the nation’s elderly choose between medicine and groceries? Kind of like the way Crips all wear red bandanas so they can recognize each other at the crack house.

Incidentally, this phenomenon of turning an important public policy issue into irrelevant class warfare is not unique to Maine. In a recent New York Times story on the extent to which prescription drugs will be an issue in the coming elections, Sen. Byron Dorgan, D-N.D., complained that every time the issue comes up in his state, the pharmaceutical industry sends “two well-dressed people to every news outlet in North Dakota.” I looked at Sen. Dorgan’s picture on his Web site. He’s well dressed. Perhaps a little too well. His suit is dark. Very dark. It might be black. It might be something far worse.

Bruce Kyle is the assistant editorial page editor for the Bangor Daily News.