The mayor’s office opens at nine, allowing me plenty of time to prepare. After an early workout, I convince Willette one scone is enough to meet all my dietary needs—if not more—then I shower and get dressed for war.
No occasion has ever called for a power suit more than today. At the cost of being banal, I opt for an all-black set. A clean-cut jacket with a silk satin sleeveless blouse underneath and skinny, straight pants. Very classy, very elegant, hyper-professional.
For footwear, however, I take a little more creative license. Nature might have not provided me with spikes, but thankfully, Christian Louboutin rectified that mistake. I wear my five-inch heel, studded pumps. The final touch is to apply matte-red lipstick to match the soles of my shoes.
Jerry comes to pick up Celia just as I’m ready to drive away. My assistant will be my eyes and ears at the compound while I’m gone. Before leaving, I double-check with Jerry that I understood the directions to get into town correctly. He repeats them to me one more time while also assuring me I only have to get a couple of turns right before I cross over a creek and into a land where satellite systems will resume functioning. I follow his instructions and as I pass over an old wooden bridge with flaking paint, the map app miraculously stops loading, and the reassuring ‘woman from the valley’ voice instructs me to turn left.
As Jerry predicted, I reach the ‘city’ center in fifteen minutes. The town square is for pedestrians only, and the street I’m on has no free parking spots. I make a few loops on the adjacent streets until a gray truck turns on the blinker. I pull up ahead, and once the car’s gone, reverse into the spot.
In New York, I don’t drive and I’m out of practice. So it takes me a few maneuvers to back into the space properly. When I get out of the truck to check the result, it’s far from perfect. The pickup is skewed to the left and the front tire doesn’t exactly fit into the parking limit line, but it’s the best I can do. Plus, I’m already sweating more than with my earlier workout, and I’d prefer to get to the mayor’s office in a presentable state.
The street is lined with parking meters. I take out my credit card to pay for a few hours of parking—who knows how long the mayor will make me wait—but when I approach the column, there’s no card slot or wireless sticker to signal where I should place the card for contactless payment. Confused, I study the meter. There’s only a coin slot with a turning lever. Could… could this be one of those ancient mechanical-only meters?
I snap a picture and send it to my friends captioned:
To Taylor, To Holly
Holly gets back to me right away.
From Holly
To Taylor, To Holly
I don’t have any on me. Already exasperated, I get back into the truck and search the glove compartment, cup holders, and under the seats for any spare change. I come up with a grand total of three quarters and ten cents. Mmm, probably not enough.
I check my wallet and find a five-dollar bill. In New York, I haven’t used cash in I can’t remember how long. Heck, I haven’t used a credit card in months. I pay for everything with my phone.
Now I need to find a place where I can change the fiver. On this street, there’s only a FedEx, a bike rental, and a closed restaurant. I lock the truck and walk along the curb to reach the main square. Here, fanned out around the wide circle of the plaza, the shops overlook a fountain in the middle. Flower beds full of anemones and multi-colored sweet peas are interspersed with wrought iron and wooden benches. And a large maple wood gazebo, probably used for public celebrations, sits at the edge of the square.
At the corner of the next crossroads, a blue-and-white striped awning catches my eye. I head in that direction, hoping for a coffee shop.
The establishment turns out to be more of a diner. As I walk in, the bell above the door chimes with the notes of an Elvis song. The fifties vibe is replicated by the interior. Not by design, I suspect, but simply as the result of the place not being renovated since it was built.
A portly woman in her early sixties is updating the day’s specials on a blackboard behind the counter.
I approach her. “Hello, do you serve coffee?”
“Morning, dear, yeah, sure. Would you like a cup?”
“Oh perfect, I’ll take a skinny vanilla latte with soy milk, easy on the foam, and with a double sugar-free vanilla syrup pump, please.”
The woman blinks at me. She grabs a pot from the auto-drip coffee maker behind her and pours the dark liquid into a nondescript white mug. “Honey, we got coffee, black.” Then she points at the counter. “Sugar is in the jar, creamer in the basket.”
I search the pods for a vanilla flavored one and I’m thrilled when I find it. “Do you have any sweetener?”
The woman begrudgingly hands me a packet of Sweet’N Low. “That’ll be a dollar fifty.”
I hand her my bill and collect the coin change.
With the addition of the creamer and sweetener, the coffee is drinkable. I gulp it down in a few long sips and head out of the diner.
Back at the truck, I feed all the coins I’ve amassed to the meter. At a fare of two dollars an hour, the spoils of my scavenger hunt grant me a little over two hours of street parking. Busy or not, the mayor had better receive me.
I retrace my steps back to the square and cross it toward City Hall. The building is a three-story stone structure with decorative patterns on the windowsills and front pillars. Behind the double-entrance doors, a reception booth sits in the middle of the lobby, but I avoid stopping by, just in case they tell me I need an appointment to speak to the mayor and that they’d be happy to provide me one in two or three weeks. Instead, I follow the directions pointing to the mayor’s office as if I knew perfectly well where I was going.
When I reach the top floor, I chase one last sign to a spacious, blind corridor. The mayor’s wooden and glass door looms at the end, Mayor Theodore Abraham Hunt spelled in golden lettering on the opaque glass panel.
And I wish I could just barge in, guns blazing. Unfortunately, the path is blocked by a young brunette manning an external desk. The secretary, nothing unexpected. To hope she’d be on a coffee break would’ve been too much.
With the self-assuredness of a woman who belongs where she is, I approach the desk and announce myself. “Samantha Baker, I’m here to see the mayor.”
The secretary startles at my sudden appearance. “Uhm, hello, Ms. Baker, did you, mmm, have an appointment with us today?” She checks an agenda. “I don’t see you on the books.”
“No, but I must speak with the mayor urgently. And since the only appointment given to my staff was two weeks from now, I tried a walk-in.”
“Let me just check with the mayor.” The woman picks up the landline and pushes a red button. “Yes, Mr. Mayor, I have a Samantha Baker for you… no… yes… very well, sir.” The secretary hangs up and stares at me. “Sorry, the mayor is busy at the moment. He won’t be able to see you. But I can check our calendar and book you an appointment.”
“That won’t be necessary, thank you,” I say, struggling to keep a smile stamped on my lips. “I’ll wait until he’s free.”
“I’m afraid that could take hours.”
“Then I’ll wait all day if necessary,” I say with finality, sitting on one of the plastic chairs lining the hall.
The secretary doesn’t pick up the phone again, but I see her typing a quick message on her keyboard. No doubt an email or a work chat message to her boss, notifying him of the stakeout.
After sending the red alert, the woman continues working at her computer but throws me the occasional dirty look. After forty-five minutes of this silent battle of wills, the coffee I drank an hour ago demands out.
I get up. “Is there a restroom I can use?”
“Two doors down the hall,” the secretary informs me.
I hate public restrooms, but thankfully City Hall has one of the cleanest I’ve ever seen. I enter a stall and exit again as quickly as I can. I wouldn’t put it past the mayor to sneak out while I’m gone to avoid meeting with me. Before getting back, I pause in front of the mirror to reapply my lipstick. I’m going to need the war paint to handle the meeting.
At noon, I still haven’t heard a peep coming from behind the mayor’s door. And now I wish I’d brought a cereal bar or something to support me during my siege. But if I’m hungry, he must be, too. I mean, the man’s gotta eat eventually, right?
After another half hour, the landline on the secretary’s desk rings, making both of us jolt in our seats.
She picks up on the second ring. “Yes… yes, sir… right away.” The woman hangs up and looks at me. “The mayor will see you now.”
“Thank you.” I stand up and iron the wrinkles from my suit with my palms. My heels click loudly on the marble floor as I close the distance to the door. I knock twice on the glass panel.
“Come in,” a deep voice replies from within the office. Hand on the doorknob, I take a steadying breath and push my way into the mayor’s office.