Waltzing at Midnight

by Robbi McCoy

  “And on the issue of planning for the future,” she said, “the plan submitted by your planning commission last month, a year late and forty million dollars over budget, is doomed to be voted down by the council. It’s unrealistic and even in opposition to the county and state plans. Environmentalists and state offices are hollering bloody murder. But I’ve got to give you the fact that it’s farsighted. Fifty years! No other city’s plan has been able to see that far into the future, Hugh. Maybe you ought to rent out your crystal ball.”

  I smiled along with Rosie as she and the camera turned to Kiester, whose face was contorted into a grimace trying to become a smile.

  “Isn’t he a jerk?” I said. Jerry patted my arm to placate me.

  The mediator asked about job creation. This was one of Kiester’s vulnerable areas. Rosie was going to smear him. I was definitely enjoying myself.

  “Bringing new jobs to our county is one of my top priorities,”

  Kiester said. “We have implemented several new programs to make this area attractive to business, including the one-stop permit office which will open in January. In the recent past we’ve asked new and expanding businesses to shoulder too great 15

  a percentage of support for our infrastructure. I’ve ordered the council to review the business tax structure and look into the fee system, land use and environmental regulations, and several areas where we might ease some of the burden away from businesses willing to locate here and employ our citizens. Two companies which will employ a total of two hundred and eighty-five people have committed just this month to relocating to our city.”

  When it was Rosie’s turn, she sparkled at the camera and said,

  “If you can’t get a job done, take credit for somebody else doing it.

  The two relocating companies the mayor refers to were secured through the negotiations of the Vision Partnership, a cooperative of civic leaders and businessmen and women, of which I am the director. The Partnership was formed because we’re deeply concerned about the lack of jobs in our community and we’ve been unable to move city government to act. One of the reasons we haven’t been more successful is that businesses are alienated by the apparent apathy of city government in assisting them. The regulations are oppressive, the taxes are restrictive, and the red tape involved in getting licenses and permits is prohibitive. Not a single piece of legislation has been passed in the last two years to ease these constraints, and the one-stop permit office, which we’ve been pushing for at least three years, has been too long coming.”

  Rosie gestured in a relaxed manner with her hands, talking into the camera as though she were addressing a friend. She was so good at this! “And, as the mayor has just told us,” she continued, “he has finally asked the council to review some of the restrictive policies, policies he promised in his previous campaign to revise. How many terms do we give Mr. Kiester before we get some results? Since he took office, twenty-two private-sector employers in the city have shut their doors. Four hundred and twenty-one people lost jobs.” Rosie paused for effect. “No, he didn’t cause an atmosphere discouraging to business, but neither did he do anything to improve it. As far as I’m concerned, the single most urgent issue for this community is unemployment.

  Put people back to work and you’ll reduce crime. Bring more 16

  business to town and you’ll increase the tax revenue. I’ve shown my commitment to this issue through the creation of the Vision Partnership. Mr. Kiester has shown his lack of commitment through inertia.” Rosie glanced at Kiester, the camera dutifully following her lead. He coughed nervously. Rosie continued. “We need to inject some life into this lackadaisical government. We need to get off our Kiester.” Rosie hit the podium with her fist. I laughed out loud.

  “Isn’t she something?” I said after the debate.

  “Mom,” Amy complained. “Enough already. People are gonna think Rosie’s your GF or something if you don’t cool it.”

  My daughter got up from the couch, standing to her astonishing five feet nine, her lanky form slumped at the shoulders. Both of my children were tall, unlike me, and Amy was having a hard time accepting her attributes. For her sake, I hoped she had reached her full height. Already she wore only the flattest shoes she could find and her posture was suffering. Despite her awkwardness over her tall frame, however, she wasn’t the least bit shy.

  “Well, don’t you think she’s impressive?” I said. “She’s the perfect role model for someone your age.”

  Amy sang in a mocking voice, “She’s the tops, she’s the tower of pizza.”

  “Pisa,” Jerry corrected.

  “Really? I like it my way.” Amy tossed her head to throw her long hair out of her face.

  “Hey, princess,” Jerry said, “how about taking all these newspapers and putting the bins out for pickup?”

  “Yes, my lord and master,” Amy said with a low bow. “Your wish is my command.”

  “Jerry,” I asked, as Amy took an armload of newspapers from the room, “are you going to vote for Rosie?”

  “You know I am,” Jerry said. “You’d probably kick me out if I didn’t.”

  “But wouldn’t you vote for her anyway?”

  “Probably. It’s hard to know with you campaigning us to death. We’re getting a biased view.”

  1

  “Well, if you just look at the facts—”

  Jerry held up a hand. “Whoa. Let’s not. I’m going to bed. Are you coming?”

  I nodded. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  As soon as Jerry had gone, Amy returned, flung herself on the couch and switched stations to tune in to some reality show.

  “You’re pretty sure Rosie’s going to win, Mom?” she asked.

  “How could she lose against that imbecile?”

  Amy tossed her long hair yet again and leaned her head on the back of the couch. “Yeah, she’ll probably win. Kiester is so gross. People are tired of seeing his face.”

  This girl understands politics, I thought. “Don’t stay up too late. School tomorrow.” Before going to bed, I cleaned off the kitchen counter, except for the pile of Rosie propaganda at one end. There she was smiling up at me from a flyer with that magnetic personality. Seeing her image there, I couldn’t help but smile myself.

  From the moment we met two months ago, I’d felt the special energy she radiated. “Welcome aboard, Jean,” she had said, shaking my hand heartily. Her presence was powerful.

  When she looked at you, you knew she was seeing you, really seeing you. And she was honest and intelligent, so much more intelligent than Kiester. I didn’t suspect, when Faye coerced me into volunteering, that I would end up believing so firmly in my candidate, that I would want so much for her to win. I’d always assumed, like most people I knew, that politicians were self-serving manipulators. Rosie was exactly the opposite. She acted out of altruism. Her business, and the business of the community, seemed to be what she lived for. With no husband, no children, she gave herself over to public life.

  Faye thought it would be good for me to get involved in something. “And you’ll be setting a good example for your daughter,” she said, a timely example, since this was Amy’s first election. That’s the way, Faye, hit a mother where it counts. I had argued at first about not having the time, about not knowing anything or even caring about politics. For the sake of our long 1

  friendship, for the only friendship that I had kept from high school, I finally relented and agreed to work a couple of hours a week for the Rosie campaign.

  That couple of hours a week had turned into a full-time commitment. No, I wasn’t earning any money, but I was definitely having fun. The best part was that it wasn’t just something for me, like a hobby. It was something important. I felt different. I felt renewed, as if on the verge of a whole new life, a life that would be so much more meaningful than what had come before it.

  1

  Chapter Two

  During lunch, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for me, eaten bet
ween phone calls, Rosie called me into her office. “How’s it going?” she asked, looking up at me with the expectation of good news.

  “Great.”

  “Glad to hear it. Jean, I need a favor. I’m speaking this afternoon at the Women’s Center, and I’ve dribbled coffee on my scarf.” She showed me a small stain on the cherry-colored silk scarf around her neck. “I hate to ask, but do you think you could get it cleaned by two?”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “You’d probably be better spent here, but Tina’s out and I’ve got another meeting in a few minutes.”

  “I don’t mind. You can’t give a speech with a coffee dribble.

  We want you to look your best at all times.”

  She untied the scarf and handed it to me. “Other than that, how do I look?”

  She stood before me in a black and tan suit, black slacks, 20

  two-tone jacket with gold buttons, cream-colored shell, a string of colored glass rectangles on her chest—red, pink and clear iridescent tablets that sparkled as she moved. “Fantastic,” I said.

  “I’ll be glad when this election is over so I can relax a little bit about my appearance. Clark almost had a stroke the other day when he saw my earrings were on the wrong ears.”

  I knew Rosie was taking special pains to look good all the time these days. In the two months that I had known her, I hadn’t once seen her looking anything less than meticulous, every hour of the day and night. “Compared to me, you always look like you just walked out of a magazine,” I said.

  “You haven’t seen me at home with the horses, Jean. Besides, I think you’re very attractive. You have the sort of figure and features that don’t need a lot of enhancement, a quite natural beauty.” She looked into my eyes momentarily, then clapped her hands together, saying, “Well, let’s get going. I’ll be back for the scarf at one thirty.”

  “Right,” I said. I flew out to a dry cleaners and waited while they cleaned the scarf, arriving back in time to tie it around Rosie’s neck before she left. I arranged it carefully, puffing it up, leaning it toward the right so that it draped gracefully over her shoulder and covered the top of the jacket lapel. She stood about two inches taller than me, about five-seven. I caught her scent momentarily, light, floral, perfectly subtle. Soap, I thought, or body wash, even shampoo. Not perfume. It was too faint. When I had finished with the scarf, I noticed Rosie’s amused expression.

  “You do that very well, Jean,” she said. “And very thoroughly.

  Thanks. Leave me a note so I’ll remember to pay you back for the cleaning.” To the office at large, she said, “Well, gang, I’m off on another vote-gathering safari. Keep up the good work.

  There’s no stopping us now.”

  At four o’clock, Clark asked me to go to the mall to take over the booth for a couple hours. I called home before leaving. Amy answered. “I have to work late,” I said. “Do you think you can make something for your dad’s dinner?”

  “Well, I could call out for pizza.”

  21

  “There’s a package of chicken breasts in the refrigerator.

  How about baking them?”

  “I could pick up Chinese,” she suggested.

  “Just put them in a dish and turn on the oven. You don’t even have to put anything on them.”

  “But I’ve got to touch them.”

  “Yes. Rinse them off and pat them dry with a paper towel.

  Then maybe sprinkle a little soy sauce on, or Italian dressing. Be creative.”

  “Now, Mom, you just said all I had to do was put them in a dish.”

  “Come on, Amy, help me out. You can use the bag of salad in the fridge too.”

  “All right, all right.” In a puckery British voice she said, “And then I’ll whip up a cherries jubilee for dessert, dah-ling. And what would you say, my dear, to an unassuming little California fumé blanc, Kenwood perhaps, or Beringer?”

  “Thank you, dah-ling,” I said, then hung up.

  The booth at the mall was decorated with red, blue and white paper streamers. While in it, I wore a white straw hat with a blue and red ribbon trim. On the front of the booth was a picture of Rosie, the one with the broad, teeth-flashing smile. I was talking to a young man and his wife when Faye came along to relieve me.

  The couple had asked about Rosie’s plan for revitalizing their downtown neighborhood.

  “Rosie plans to offer low-interest loans and tax incentives for new businesses and renovation of existing ones,” I said, “and she’ll expand the Neighborhood Pride program into downtown shopping areas and the waterfront. But let me ask you a question.

  Why are you shopping here instead of downtown, closer to home?”

  The two of them looked at each other and then back to me.

  “I don’t feel safe downtown at night,” the woman said.

  I noticed Faye leaning against the table, pushing her white hat on over her dark brown curls and grinning at me.

  “That’s one of the biggest problems,” I said. “A small business 22

  downtown can expect to get burglarized on a regular basis, and the crime level discourages customers. Rosie has a plan that unites the local residents and business owners in creating enclaves of well-lit, well-patrolled, clean shopping areas like small town Main Streets.” The idea of an old-fashioned Main Street made them smile. I spoke to them a few minutes more, then sent them away with visions of malt shops and dime stores, certain of their vote. I removed my hat and smoothed my hair.

  Faye, who owned a travel agency, did what she could for Rosie’s campaign during her slow times and off hours.

  “You sound like you know what you’re talking about,” Faye said, pulling up the folding chair beside me. She slipped her shoes off under the table and sighed.

  “Rough day?” I asked.

  “No, just the shoes. Obviously, men design women’s shoes to keep us in our place. How can we possibly excel at anything with crippled feet?”

  I pointed to my sneakers. “You’re a modern woman. It’s your choice.”

  She nodded. “Depends. You’re married. You can afford to be good to your feet. For those of us still prowling through the jungle hooting out the mating call, all the plumage is strictly necessary.”

  “Mating call?” I scoffed. “Since when? You’ve already turned down everybody in town.”

  She shrugged. “I’m getting old.”

  Since Faye was exactly the same age I was, I wasn’t sure I liked the sound of that, but, at forty, she probably was having to reassess her lifestyle a bit. She’d never been married and had no children. She’d had a lot of fun, at least that’s what she claimed, but maybe it was getting tiresome. One thing I did envy about Faye’s lifestyle was how much traveling she’d gotten to do. That was the point of being a travel agent, she’d told me. She had been all over the world, literally, to every continent except Antarctica.

  And now she was talking about that as well, just to complete the list. She had arranged a few trips for me and Jerry, twice to 23

  Mexico, once to Hawaii, but that was the extent of our travels.

  I wasn’t sure why. Lack of energy was about the only excuse I could come up with.

  “I guess you can run along now,” Faye said, “as much as you seem to be enjoying yourself. Which I am glad to see, by the way.

  It’s put some life into you, this work.”

  “Yes, so people keep telling me. I’m beginning to wonder if I was one of the living dead before.”

  Faye laughed. “Well, it wasn’t that bad, I’m sure. I just meant that you seem really involved, you know. You sounded just now like you really care about this election.”

  “Well, I do care, actually. More than we could have guessed.

  It’s Rosie, of course. She’s such an inspiration.”

  “Oh, sure. I told you you’d like her.”

  Faye had known Rosie about five years. Their businesses brought them into some of the same circles. And, like Rosie, Faye had i
t in for Kiester. It was, in fact, originally Faye’s idea to run Rosie for mayor against him. They had started talking about it almost as soon as he was elected, as a sort of joke at first, but eventually in a serious mode, because the more people she mentioned it to, the more support the idea received. Other people with money and influence started taking up the idea. And now here we were, turning it into reality.

  “Are you on your way home, then?” Faye asked.

  “I think I’ll look around a while. Amy’s cooking dinner, more or less. Can I get you something to eat?”

  “No, thanks. I stopped at the food court on the way in.”

  I went browsing through the stores and ended up in Macy’s where I tried on several pairs of tailored pants, jackets and blouses, the sort of clothes I had so little of. I’d never needed this kind of smart business clothing before. I guess I didn’t really need it now, either, because the attire for the campaigners was extremely casual. But Rosie, with her elegant wardrobe, was making an impression. I ended up buying a wool jacket in a fine, patterned weave of wheat and tan. And, in an adventurous mood, I bought a scarf to accessorize it.

  24

  In the full-length mirror of the dressing room, I tried the jacket on over my white blouse, which didn’t work at all, so I bought a new blouse as well. Then I surveyed myself in this chic, conservative outfit, pleased with the professional look. I should probably cut my hair shorter, I thought. It was stylish, though, chin-length, nice highlights. But even with this part on the side, the bangs wouldn’t stay behind my ear. I was forever sweeping them back. How would you look in a style like Rosie’s, I asked myself. Something shorter, neat, requiring no fuss. Or maybe just parted in the middle. I ran my fingers through the center of my hair, creating a new part and adding a little unintentional mess in the process. There, I thought, now I look like Meg Ryan. Well, that wasn’t half bad.

  Looking at myself in the mirror, I had that feeling again, that gripping anxiety that clutched at my throat. I shook it off and made my purchases.