Rolina drove Elaine to the city council meeting, since she still wasn’t proficient with crutches, even after Joe’s tutorial. Rolina pulled into a handicapped space and Elaine hung the temporary handicapped permit from the rearview mirror, then climbed out, pulling her equipment from the backseat. She’d walked down this block before her injury but never noticed much about city hall. The square, red brick, three-story building was typical for a government structure constructed early in the 20th century, with a hipped roof and a small enclosed, covered entry porch of wood and glass. A whiff of floor wax and underpinnings of grasses and pine wafted around the entrance.
Elaine wanted to arrive early so her awkward method of walking wouldn’t make her the center of attention. Inside they navigated a central hall, down the shiny, wide-planked oak floor to reach a large meeting area at the end. The high-ceilinged room, fans circling and thumping overhead, resembled the interior of a church, with parallel wooden pews facing a wall of windows that half-circled a long table. Six oak desk chairs faced the pews, and in the middle, a larger wooden chair with a high back obviously was the seat of power —in this case, for the mayor. Small clusters of people, one including Merrill, gathered in several locations near the table and at the rear of the room, but business hadn’t started.
“I’m still nervous about this process,” Elaine whispered to Rolina as they slid into a pew toward the front. “You know my grant wasn’t perfect. There were some holes in it with reference to promotion. What should I do if someone grills me about that?”
“Calm down. So it’s not perfect, so what? It’s still a great idea for a project. Frankly, we’ve got something more important to worry us.”
“What’s that?”
“Merrill told me Joe’s not in favor of it.”
Elaine took a short breath in. “Why ever not?”
“Do the words Pollyanna and ridiculous competition convey a viewpoint to you? He’s so focused on economic development and jobs he can’t imagine any value to an effort that doesn’t deal directly with those.” Rolina removed her coat and set her files and paperwork neatly next to her.
So dumbfounded she could barely speak, Elaine clutched both crutches in one hand and tapped their rubber tips on the floor. She was finding the equipment had multiple uses, expressing emotions being an important one, in much the manner ladies used to flutter and fold fans to convey ideas. She gritted her teeth. “He has a heck of a nerve. Doesn’t he realize the way people feel about themselves greatly affects their morale and their willingness to stick their necks out? Directly related to trying new ventures.”
“Don’t you understand? He’s absolutely committed to improving conditions in Falling Rock. He may never have missed a meal in his life, but he’s eaten loads of rice and beans. Plus he’s seen plenty of kids who cried for food at night.”
Elaine had no response, but she added, “I still think Look Alive would help the people who participate.”
Promptly at seven, an official with a bearing as rigid as a ruler stood at the side of the table and called the meeting to order. “City Clerk,” Rolina murmured to Elaine. Merrill sauntered toward them, a smile covering his entire face, beaming at what had to be the sight of her companion, since he’d never gazed at Elaine with unadulterated ecstasy.
Six people sat in the chairs facing the observers, while Joe took his place in the center, like an emperor sitting in a throne. She thought he spotted her, and she raised her crutch and smiled in a vain attempt to connect with him. He simply stared in her direction.
A list of routine matters cycled through in no time flat as the clerk read titles of types of topics and referred those present to attachments only Council possessed—agenda, financials, minutes, resolutions honoring this and that person or declaring this and that commemoration.
“Our first order of business is a request for City approval of a proposed community project dealing with a health-related matter. The project is sponsored by the Falling Rock Health Center to be submitted to the Rocky Mountain Community Health Foundation. Tonight Elaine Svoboda and Rolina Rose Richter-Leon are presenting the proposal, which requires Council’s participation to move forward. You received a copy of the application a few days ago.”
Joe fluttered several sheets of paper and appeared to be reviewing them. “Is there a motion to approve?”
“So moved,” said the council member on the far left.
“Second,” said the woman member beside him.
“Being moved and seconded, is there discussion?” asked Joe.
“As I understand it,” said the original council member, “no city funds are requested. Is that correct?”
Elaine stood and started to reply. “Yes, that’s right.”
“Excuse me, Ms. Svoboda,” Joe broke in. “Could you move to the speaker’s microphone at the front?”
“Certainly,” she said. She gathered her crutches and swung her way to a small podium with a microphone attached. Everyone in the meeting gawked in her direction for the eternity it took her to reach her destination, and she was thankful she’d taken the time to don a loosely flowing, spring wrap dress from Bloomingdale’s unhindered by her disability. She smoothed her ginger curls behind her ears and began. “The Look Alive project would be underwritten by the foundation…”
“Excuse me, Ms. Svoboda,” Joe interrupted again. “Can you speak into the microphone and state your name and residence for the official record?”
“I’d be happy to,” she said, although she was gritting her teeth in frustration. Perhaps he was simply performing the required functions of his office, but why did he make it sound as if he were accusing her of some crime? “Elaine Svoboda, currently residing at 515 Pine Street.”
“Is that your official address?” Joe appeared to be studying his papers with an eye toward dissecting them like a biology specimen.
“I’m a recent arrival but, yes, it is my intent to be a permanent resident of Falling Rock,” she said. “For now I lack choices.” She gestured toward her crutches, and the audience tittered.
“Come on, Mayor. Let’s move this along,” said an older council member with a scraggly beard at the other end of the long table. “Ms. Svoboda, please briefly describe the concept.”
“This is a community health project. During a three month period, we would ask residents to form weight-loss teams and compete to see which team can lose the most weight collectively. Weekly meetings would feature nutrition, diet, and exercise tips as well as official weigh-ins. The approach has been tried informally in several locations and seems to bear weight, excuse the pun, for emotional support, on-going enthusiasm, and permanent weight loss.”
“How is the program managed?” asked the first council member to speak.
“Under the auspices of the Falling Rock Health Center, I would be responsible for supervision, assisted by nursing students from the Falling Rock Community College, represented by Rolina Rose Richter-Leon.” Elaine turned part-way to nod at Rolina, and she stood up and gave a little wave.
“Any relation to His Honor?” asked the first council member, with a grin.
“Yes, I’m his sister.” Rolina beamed.
“The nursing students will assist in marketing along with preparing educational presentations, weighing patients, and record-keeping,” Elaine added as she rotated back to the front.
“What’s the budget?” Joe questioned.
“No city support is required,” she responded.
Joe’s voice dropped. “I asked the finances for the project, not where the money came from.” He seemed to sneer at her down the length of his broken nose.
Flabbergasted at what appeared to be a continuation of an unwarranted attack, she struggled to remain calm, running her tongue over her snaggletooth in nervousness. “Yes, it’s there on the final page. You will notice we’ve kept administrative costs to a minimum by entering the nursing students’ time as an in-kind donation.”
“Oh? What do the pupils get for their participation?” snapped Joe.
“They earn college credits,” she answered.
Merrill, who’d been sitting next to Rolina, rose and waved his hand. “If I may interject a comment, Your Honor.” He was on his best behavior now, not a flippant remark or joke in sight. Joe nodded, and Merrill joined Elaine at the podium.
“As editor of the Falling Rock Courier, I’ve agreed to sponsor the program. Publicize it, market it. We’re even backing a weight-loss team. We’ll call it the Courier Worriers.”
The council members and audience chuckled. “Fun, huh?” said Merrill. “But a serious matter. Health. The community’s health. Even your own. How many of you might stand to lose some pounds? Most of you. Excess weight is responsible for contributing to a whole host of ailments.”
During this time, Rolina had moved up to the podium, too. “Yes,” she added. “Diabetes, high blood pressure, heart disease, elevated cholesterol. By approving this project, you’ll be setting a great example for everyone who lives here.”
“Yes,” Elaine agreed. “In addition, you’ll do enormous psychological good. When people lose weight, they gain self-esteem and initiative. You could set off a chain reaction to impact the entire town. Who knows what benefits might accrue? With an upward turn in overall attitude, you certainly will be helping increase tourism, encouraging business.”
The first council member spoke. “I’m convinced. Let’s vote.”
“Since no city monies are obligated, I see no harm in the program. Can the clerk read the official wording of the motion again?” Joe asked.
The clerk did so, then called for ayes and nays. The motion passed with six in support and Joe abstaining.
Elaine waited until she was outside the building before she made a comment to Merrill and Rolina. “Boy, was I worried for a while. Joe sure comes on negative. Merrill, thank God you stepped up. You, too, Rolina. I didn’t think we’d be required to justify a program with so much going for it.”
Merrill halted on the sidewalk, hands shoved in his pockets against the evening chill. “I need to be straight with you, Elaine. For some reason, Joe’s suspicious of you. He doesn’t think you’re going to hang around here, that you’re only interested in getting ahead, that sort of thing.”
“Yeah. You’re a bad influence on me as well,” said Rolina, before she and Merrill burst into laughter.
“Me?” Elaine gasped. “Where’s he dreaming up these ideas? Not from you. Not from Rolina. Or are you sabotaging me so he’ll neglect your little liaison?”
Rolina stole a quick glance around as people from the city council meeting exited intermittently. “This on the QT because Joe hates others knowing his personal business. I told you he got burned from his ex-wife. I think it made him wary of women.”
“I agree,” said Merrill. “Especially the good-looking ones. He described her to me as major league stunning, like one of those models in Vogue. Evidently, she was an empty piggy bank, perpetually needing money. She spent tons, wasted it really, on clothes, styling salons, manicures, makeup, expensive shoes, and bags.”
Rolina moved closer to Merrill and took his hand. “I don’t think he gave you the complete story, Merrill. Men don’t let their hair down as much as women. The situation was much worse. Our mamacita was still alive. I was just a kid, and Joe tried to help support our whole family. Mom needed extra nursing care, medicine, operations, all that. Dad was working, but he’s a heavy equipment operator for the city and didn’t make much. So Joe went to college and worked full-time at a Mexican restaurant for tourists. Humiliating. He had to wear this huge black sombrero and spout Ah, caramba. Made fistfuls of tips, but surrendered his dignity. Then Miss Fancy Pants took every penny she could lay her hands on.”
“Wasn’t she employed?” Elaine asked.
“She was trying to find something where her stunning appearance would pay off. A major ordeal in Albuquerque. She walked out on him the day before our mother passed away. Left him flat. And took the couple of thousand in their joint savings account —money Joe needed to help bury Mom.”
Stunned, Elaine scrambled to cover her horror at this revelation, substituting a question about herself. “What can I do to change his opinion of me?”
“In my view, the best thing is for you to make this proposal a raging success,” Merrill said.
“I agree,” said Rolina. She exchanged a glance laden with some sort of meaning with Merrill that had nothing to do with the conversation, and Elaine noticed he’d put his arm around Rolina’s shoulder. Hmmm.
“Looks like you two have another priority than this project,” Elaine said. “Maybe Joe was ticked off because he suspected you’re playing hanky-panky. Have you been?”
Rolina blushed. “Not really. But we’ve become…closer.”
“Listen. With the sponsorship of the newspaper, you’ll get lots of people signing up to participate. Don’t waste time worrying about what that die-hard thinks,” advised Merrill.
“I’m surprised.” Elaine gave Merrill a poke in the thigh with a crutch. “I thought you and he were best buddies. All for one and one for all.”
“I don’t blindly agree with everything he says or does,” Merrill muttered. “We’ve disagreed on many issues—best football team, when it’s going to snow, whether taxes should be raised—some violently. If I rolled over and followed his every command, I’d miss the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” His unwavering gaze left no doubt he referred to Rolina, and she blushed. He continued, “I’m sure you’re going to be awarded the grant, so as soon as official notification arrives from the foundation, schedule the first meeting for the public.”
Rae hoped Merrill’s prediction would come true. If it didn’t, the town’s name could be a prediction of her fate here.