Minnie Chase Makes a Mistake (10 page)

She picked up her surfing magazine and flicked through the pages. It was an alien world to her – athletic and confident with stunning photographs of waves and surfers. The pages were also packed with people who were cool and beautiful enough to go by an alias like ‘Snowflake’.  

She then considered sending Jackson a text but, as ever, she was uncertain about the words she should choose, numbers were easier to deal with, much more predictable, infinitely more reliable. She looked around to see if Sarah-Jane was around, that would give her some human interaction. Minnie couldn’t spot her so she slowly, disinterestedly, picked up the menu instead and tried to convince herself that the terrible ache in her stomach would disappear as soon as she’d eaten lunch. 

7

Mayor votes with her feet

Angie was right. Parker Bachmann’s public schedule was online. It was simple to track her down. Minnie re-read the statement Bachmann had issued via the Office Of The Mayor website that blah-blah-blahed about her returning to San Francisco alone to address an urgent health care situation caused by budget cuts from Sacramento. Minnie recognised this well-worn formula. It was unofficially called ‘covering your ass’.

Bachmann’s statement didn’t mention Greene in person but alluded to the idea he had remained in London to finish business. Reading between the lines, it was obvious she desperately didn’t want to turn a private matter into a public brouhaha but there was no escaping the fact that she didn’t remain at her fiancé’s side when the Parkinson’s story exploded. 

Other people seemed incapable of reading between the lines. The media, for example, took a more direct approach and demanded to know who leaves a loved one alone during their time of need?

Suffice it to say, Parker Bachmann was well and truly caught up in the Greene media maelstrom. Frenzied speculation over the wedding dominated all media formats with headlines such as
‘The Runaway Bride’
and
‘Mayor Votes With Her Feet’.
Photographs of Bachmann had been extensively Photoshopped to capture the public imagination. She was pictured, wearing a bridal gown, cantering into the distance on horseback while another popular image saw her pounding over rough terrain with a wedding party chasing after her. The media was working hard on this high-profile take down. 

Debates and opinion polls covered the hot topic and there was endless commentary on wedding vows: for richer, for poorer; in sickness and in health. Wife caring for her man in his hour of need, or not in Bachmann’s case. The main question in print and on lips was whether the wedding was off because Greene had a non-curable neurological disease.  

Minnie felt the familiar ulcerous stab in her stomach as she assessed the damage. She was responsible for this news freakfest. For the umpteenth time she wished she could claw back her damning words from the voracious world – smash them into atoms, bleach them thoroughly and then flush them down the drain so that not even a forensic scientist could link her to the madness.

The negative attention seemed to have viral properties and it felt as though Minnie was charged with the insurmountable task of finding the vaccine. So much for the common-held belief that ‘there is no such thing as bad publicity’, because in this case, even Parker Bachmann might concede there is always an exception to the rule. 

Minnie’s fingers rattled over her keyboard as she did a thorough background check on Parker Bachmann, including the Bachmann family tree, which had far-reaching roots in American politics.

Bachmann held a PhD from Columbia University and was fluent in French, Spanish, Russian and Polish. She had impeccable physical co-ordinates too; always in the right place at the right time. Last year she had secured a prominent role within the city council as President of the Board of Supervisors. Then she was swiftly designated acting mayor when the existing one had a very public resignation over a love child and a salacious blackmail scandal. She was subsequently selected by the Board to finish the term. Minnie scanned through several of the resulting interviews and sound bites and could see that this was a role she clearly relished.  

Minnie’s eyes opened wide. Later this afternoon Bachmann would be at the San Francisco public library in the Koret Auditorium. She was scheduled to talk about the San Francisco International Airport improvement plan. Create jobs. 6pm. 

Minnie tapped the location into her phone: 100 Larkin Street. Finally, a breakthrough.

Minnie stood on Larkin Street and looked across at the European beauty of City Hall. Homesickness added to the leaden ache in her stomach. As she turned to face the library the sky matched her mood, quickly fading to a foreboding gunmetal grey. The library looked cold in contrast to City Hall. Its distinctive square-patterned exterior seemed to absorb what light there was creating a cold aura around the building. This tombstone lighting did nothing to calm Minnie’s nerves.

She checked her phone: 5:27pm. She had time to kill before Bachmann was due to arrive and headed down to United Nations Plaza to buy a drink from a vendor. Minnie found a bench, sat down, then stood up again. She couldn’t relax. She headed back towards the library’s main entrance. Activity around the building began to increase. Vehicles pulled up and dropped people off. The wide pavements began to fill up – people killing time like Minnie before going inside. 

She stood and waited, checking email and text messages again on her phone. Nothing from James George, which frustrated and hurt her in equal measures. It was pointless taking an illegal look inside his phone because he knew she was an expert coder and hacker. If she
did
find an illicit message, it could be a deliberate move on his part to expose Minnie to his extra-curricular, lusty life instead of having the decency to communicate with her directly. She couldn’t bear the thought of reading messages that charted his unfaithfulness and felt a deep sense of embarrassment that she had inflicted this misery upon Jackson. The surfer had seemingly coped well with the shock revelations or perhaps he was adept at masking his emotions to save face in front of Minnie. Maybe she had missed the signs. Minnie checked her phone again. 

As 6pm approached, it suddenly occurred to Minnie that Parker Bachmann might already be in the building. It was entirely feasible that the politician was advised by her security team to arrive early whereupon she would be whooshed through a discreet door at the back of the library. Minnie started to head inside. Then a deep, thunderous sound in the distance made her stop in her tracks. Minnie could feel tremors through her feet. The noise gained momentum until Minnie wasn’t the only one gawping; other people on the street had stopped to stare at an enormous hotdog on wheels rumbling up the street towards the library. Minnie blinked rapidly to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating.

As it neared its destination, Minnie could see that it was Bachmann’s campaign bus. It was the colour of a beige hotdog bun, the long roof sprinkled with oversized plastic sesame seeds. Through the centre was an enormous frankfurter that Minnie found quite unsettling. There were also blacked-out windows and more chrome fittings than a fairground attraction.

The hotdog bus was stickered with images of Parker Bachman, Mayor of the City and County of California. It was the most surreal thing Minnie had ever seen. She stood captivated as the vehicle coughed and belched to a stop. It was how to make an unforgettable entrance. 

Then a door near the front was flung open and Bachmann descended from the bus with all the grace and poise of a prima ballerina. Minnie conceded she had to admire anyone who could climb out of a mobile sausage as though descending the Spanish Steps towards an adoring crowd.

Parker Bachmann had no intention of arriving below the radar.

Someone had once said Minnie had a pretty forgettable face. There had been no hint of a comma or a compliment within this sentence.  

Angie was always encouraging Minnie to turn negatives into positives, so Minnie marched her forgettable face inside the library and took advantage of her ability to blend in with a crowd.  She had swapped a swirling lace-trimmed dress for a more austere number – straight, black maxi skirt and long-sleeve cream shirt – that had been designated for a Jones & Sword world. She was a linear two-tone presence. Earlier in the afternoon, she had bought an official-looking folder to complement her notebook and pen. With an official stride, she was inside the library and marching towards the auditorium. Members of the public milled about as did members of the Board and elected officials. Minnie managed to find a seat.

Bachmann walked up to the podium exactly on time to deliver her speech. The woman certainly had the DNA: tall and imposing, she was sheathed in a red and gold toile designer dress that showed off strong arms. Even her bouncing hair seemed strong enough to swing from. Minnie tried to read the woman’s face and micro expressions but Bachmann had a very strong public mask – she would only reveal what she wanted you to see. 

The smile never left Bachmann’s face the entire time she talked; it was an impressive feat of facial muscle coordination and stamina. She was expressive, engaging and oozing charm as fluidly as magma pouring from an active volcano. As she finished her speech an avalanche of applause boomed around the room. Then Bachmann proceeded to thank about a billion and one people; painstakingly churning out name after name after name. Minnie likened it to the world’s longest electoral roll being read out. The list went on. Extreme boredom and a lack of fresh air took Minnie over the edge into a semi-sleep. Bachmann finished on a lion’s roar. ‘BRING ON THE JOBS!’

Minnie jerked back from her doze and automatically leapt to her feet with the rest of the audience although, admittedly on her part, this was more through shock than appreciation. It would seem Bachmann’s speech was an unqualified success.

While Bachmann soaked up the applause, Minnie seized the moment to sidle down the side of the auditorium towards the front. The woman was working the room with nods and smiles, engaging with the crowd to make everyone feel special. 

Minnie waved discreetly until she eventually caught Bachmann’s eye. Bachmann turned and fixed a smile on Minnie that could be seen from outer space. Then her face froze. From a distance it might look as though she was still smiling, but Minnie gulped, interpreting it correctly: she had been recognised and Bachmann was now baring her teeth at her. 

This was the moment, under the unforgiving fluorescent lights, that Minnie witnessed the power of a satanic stare. Minnie felt a shiver run through her. It was a visceral, serial killer look that could strip flesh from bone. Then Bachmann’s face relaxed slightly as she remembered where she was, but she was still looking at Minnie as though she was examining solid waste that had passed out the human body through the bowels. There was no disguising this expression. The disgust on her face couldn’t be more obvious. 

Bachmann turned her attention back to the crowd. Minnie was left shivering, having witnessed and felt the force of the formidable change. Bachmann was beaming once more but her smile was now sharper, more predatory, a ravenous piranha in couture clothing. 

Minnie, apparently, didn’t have such a forgettable face after all.

Then a breathless minion in a suit was sent over. Minnie was ushered into an adjacent room to wait (and wait) for her audience with Parker Bachmann. Eventually, the mayor swept into the room with her official entourage trotting after her like the longest bridal train in history.

‘Can we have the room,’ Bachmann commanded. There was no question. There was no sign of the winning smile either. 

Minnie resisted the urge to curtsey. Instead, she stood absolutely straight with her heels clicked together like a noncommissioned officer waiting in line for an inspection for perfection.

The entourage trotted out again and Bachmann waited until the door was closed.

Minnie was intimidated on several levels. Bachmann’s biceps rested like rocks against her silk shift dress while a pulse throbbed threateningly in her neck. The woman didn’t have arterial flow she had a nuclear reactor pumping blood around her body. As well as looking physically dominating, she possessed an air of emotional steel. She looked strong and unbroken – not someone in a relationship crisis who hadn’t a clue what to tell her wedding planner. 

In a microsecond assessment, Minnie also noted that Bachmann was cold off camera. She looked a little tired, too.
No wonder
, thought Minnie. Being so ‘on-camera’ and fabulous all the time had to be exhausting. 

Then Bachmann addressed Minnie with the assuredness of someone who has a speech writer and a vocal coach. She used five words as though she begrudged using valuable oxygen on someone as worthless as Minnie.  

‘Is this a smear campaign?’ she asked. Her nose wrinkled and her upper lip curled. Minnie saw the classic signs of disgust. Minnie blinked and processed the question. She quickly tried to work out what connection it had to do with the Greene debacle.

Bachmann, now clearly irritated at having to waste additional words, barked, ‘I’m about to announce I’m running for Governor of California and then you set out to destroy it all?’

‘What?’ cried Minnie. Then she realised that Bachmann was prioritising politics over love. ‘Gracious, no!’

‘Then what the
hell
are you doing here?’ she hissed. ‘Have you spoken to the reporters outside?’

‘NO!’ Minnie emphatically reassured her. ‘No one knows I’m here.’

‘Then I suggest you leave as anonymously as you arrived.’

‘I wanted to talk to you about what happened,’ said Minnie. She was aware that her voice had dropped to a whisper.

Silence soaked into the space between the two women.

Minnie hurriedly volunteered more information. ‘At The Savoy?’

‘I
know
what happened at The Savoy,’ said Bachmann, taking a step towards Minnie. ‘I was there, remember?’