Waltzing at Midnight (2 page)

cutting into his time, as it were. The jobs I normally took, low-paid office work, didn’t detract that much from my home life.

Those jobs left me mentally unencumbered and home to greet Jerry when he arrived. Amy, too, wasn’t getting the attention she was accustomed to, but this was temporary, would be over soon, and then I would quit neglecting my family. Now that Amy was in college, though, and really didn’t need her mother hovering about, this work of mine was doing her no real harm.

“Oh, yes,” an elderly man said after I introduced myself.

“We’re going to vote for Rosie. You bet.”

“Can I put a sign on your lawn?” I asked. He agreed, helping me hammer in the stake.

We were going to win, I could feel it. Rosie for Mayor signs littered the streets of Weberstown, welcoming me everywhere I went. As I turned into my street at the end of the day, a six-foot sign planted in my front yard waved me into the driveway, testifying to my family’s political involvement. Just across the street the Strattons boasted an equally impressive endorsement of opponent and incumbent, Hugh Kiester.

I hurried into the house, my feet aching, and threw together a meal of tuna salad sandwiches, ready just in time for Jerry’s arrival. He came over and hugged me at the kitchen counter, the stubble on his face scratching my cheek. “How was your day, hon?” he asked.

“Fun. I did the door-to-door bit.”

“I’m a little worried about you walking the streets in strange neighborhoods.”

I stuck a plate in front of him and gave him a paper napkin.

“I’ve got my mace.” I put the sandwiches on the table and sat down. “We’re up in the polls again. Rosie’s got it nailed. I’m so excited!”

He smiled affectionately, crow’s feet appearing around his light brown eyes. “Yes, you are. This work seems to have done you a lot of good.” He bit into a sandwich. “It hasn’t improved our meals any, but I guess if it makes you happy, it’s a good thing.”

Happy? Is that what this is? I asked myself. Wasn’t I happy 12

before?

“Maybe you should consider finding a full-time job after the election,” Jerry said. “Something interesting, not like those things you’ve done before, but something that would absorb you like this, push you a bit.”

“I thought you were feeling neglected,” I said, taking a sandwich.

“Well, it was a selfish attitude. Jeannie, I’ve been watching you lately, and I’ve made some observations.” He stopped eating and looked at me purposefully. “Maybe you didn’t realize it—I know I didn’t, but a couple of months ago you were a miserable woman.”

“What?” I objected. “I was not miserable.”

“I think you were. And now you’re not. Think about it. You’re so full of life now, so enthusiastic about what you’re doing. It’s fun to watch. Amy thinks so too. Ask her.”

I said nothing, thinking about what he said. Yes, I felt different, more energetic, more anxious to get up in the morning and get going. I might have been bored before, but certainly not miserable. I was happily married to a successful CPA with two well-adjusted, healthy children, one of them cavorting across Europe, one of them still at home, attending our local community college. What was there in this scenario that could possibly make me miserable? I just needed something of my own to do, probably, especially with the kids out of the nest, if not literally, then at least emotionally.

Yes, Jean, I thought, you’re a cliché—a forty-year-old wife and mother with the kids grown, feeling left out of the world and desperate for a life of her own.

“Where is Amy, by the way?” Jerry asked.

“Still at school, I guess.”

Jerry got a bottled beer out of the refrigerator and twisted off the cap. I was reminded of the time before we were married when he had opened a beer with his teeth to impress me. You could still see the chip, small, but right there on the edge of his front tooth.

13

“What are you smiling about?” he asked.

“Oh, nothing. Maybe I should go to college,” I said, “one of the business colleges or the community college.”

“Yeah, you and Amy could trade notes.” He sounded amused.

“I’m serious. Why shouldn’t I go to college?”

“No reason. You’re an intelligent woman. I guess we can afford it, at least the junior college. You’ve got until January to decide on a major. Pick something lucrative, okay? If my wife’s going to get a career, I’d like it to pay. Not like this campaigning stuff. You’re working more than forty hours a week with nothing to show for it. At least at that dentist’s office, you brought in a pretty decent paycheck.”

“There’s plenty to show,” I countered. “And next month when Rosie’s elected, it’ll show well enough.”

“I hope she appreciates what we’re going through,” he said.

I mussed his thin hair. “Poor lamb.”

At ten o’clock, I confiscated the remote control from Amy and switched to the local station to watch Rosie in a debate against Hugh Kiester. The third candidate, Mike Garcia, wasn’t considered a serious contender and had not been invited. Rosie appeared behind a podium in a broad-shouldered red jacket and white blouse, precisely groomed and made-up, every light brown hair in place—and the gray ones too—her cheeks slightly ruddy, her lips bright red, a smile on her face, as usual. I smiled too, remembering her complaining to Clark about having to wear lipstick on camera. She didn’t like it, thought it made her look like a clown, but everyone insisted that there was no choice in the matter, that’s just the way it had to be, like a law of physics or something.

“She’s a good-looking woman,” Jerry said.

Yes, I thought. She’s beautiful.

Kiester was droning on about his public service career, about how qualified he was for the position. “My opponent has no experience dealing with the complexity of big city finances,”

Kiester said. “I ran a multimillion dollar company for fifteen 14

years, and I’ve been working in city government for eight years, as a member of the planning commission and then as mayor. I know how to make long-term plans for our future growth. As mayor, you have a responsibility to deal with public funds wisely and with foresight.”

“The city is practically broke,” Rosie said. “Are you bragging about that, Hugh? During your term, the monies have been so badly mismanaged that if Weberstown were a charity, it would be criminally prosecuted for fraud. The reserve was in the millions of dollars when you became mayor. Today there is no reserve to speak of.”

Rosie’s manner was spirited and good-natured, as though she were enjoying the game. She was relaxed. He was tense and on the defensive. You could tell he was frustrated, had no means to slow the momentum of phenomenal Rosie.

“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