Theo pulled the Vanagon into a vacant parking spot in front of City Hall. As soon as the vehicle came to a stop, Lisa slid the Volkswagen’s side door open and jumped out, Patrick following right on her heels.
“Lisa, you should have seen it. George tried to shove the drugs down the garbage disposal,” said Patrick, doubling over with laughter.
Lisa just rolled her eyes. Patrick was enjoying George Green’s humiliation all too much. She’d seen her boyfriend high plenty of times and usually it just made him mellow and quiet. This version of Patrick was almost frantic, like he was acting. At this point he’d told the story about half a dozen times. “I’ll take your word for it,” she said. She passed the rose-colored granite columns that supported the building’s portico and paused, waiting for the others.
Theo pushed open one of the heavy glass doors leading into the lobby and held it as they all entered the building. Lisa noticed that he’d left the DEA jacket in the van and wondered again who this guy was. Ellen waved the group past a pair of security guards and headed to the elevator. She pressed the call button, the door immediately opened, and the five of them stepped in together.
Patrick continued retelling the story. “And then George couldn’t find the disposal switch in his own kitchen. What an asshole.”
“Yes, Patrick. It was so funny you could have died,” said Lisa.
“Too bad George will never see the inside of a jail cell, but it was still awesome,” said Patrick. “Mayor Salder, you scared the shit out of him. And tattoo guy—or is it DEA guy—what’s your name again?”
“I’m not a DEA agent. And it’s Theo.”
“Where’d you get the jacket?” asked Jamie.
“Just a souvenir I picked up along the way,” he said with a wink.
The elevator door opened, and they walked down the hall to Ellen’s office suite. Lisa charged ahead and pushed open the lobby door.
Patrick started retelling the story again, but Ellen cut him off. “Lisa, can you please get your boyfriend under control.”
“He’s not my boyfriend anymore, and there is literally nothing I can do. He is totally high.” Lisa flopped down on the sofa.
“Yes, we can all see that.”
“He needs some junk food and a nap,” said Jamie, who took a seat next to Lisa.
“Fine,” said Ellen. “He can sleep it off on the sofa in my office.” She dug through her purse, found a granola bar, and handed it to Patrick.
“Mayor, you’re the best. I don’t know why Lisa always says you’re the worst mother ever,” said Patrick.
An uncomfortable pause followed, and Lisa glared at him.
“Did I say that out loud?” whispered Patrick loudly.
“Patrick, please try to remember to use your inner monologue,” said Lisa.
Ellen scowled at them both, then unlocked her office door and pointed Patrick toward a brown leather sofa. She closed the door behind him, kicked off her heels, and sat down on one of the upholstered armchairs. “Lisa dear, I know I’m the worst mother ever, but could you pour me a drink? I could murder a gin and tonic.” Ellen nodded toward a large cabinet in the corner.
Lisa stood, silently cursing Patrick as she walked to the cabinet. She opened the doors to reveal a dozen liquor bottles, a mini fridge full of mixers, and even a small bowl filled with fresh lemons and limes. “Mother!” she said, aghast. “You have a bar in your office?”
Jamie joined her and looked through the bottles. “Badass.”
“I’m the mayor, Lisa. Of course I have a bar. How else do you expect me to survive this job?” said Ellen. “On second thought, dear, can you make that a vodka martini? Twist, please.”
“Yes, mother,” she said curtly. Lisa couldn’t help but wonder if her mother’s choice of drink was intentional, thinking of the two or maybe three martinis she’d downed with George last night. She vowed to never drink that particular cocktail again.