Cloning Galinda
Page 27
“Huh?” Frank cocked his head, his eyes questioning. “Just like that? With somebody you don’t know anything about?”
Mary knew she had sounded a little wild and naïve. “I do know you. I trust you’re dealing with an honorable person. I’ll join. I’d be a very small partner.”
“You mean it?” He lowered his head and stared intensely down at her.
She nodded firmly. “Sure I do. Don’t you think I can help? I love solar. I’ll take a loan. I have collateral. Land.”
He looked at her askance. “Will Joe—?”
She shrugged. “It’s my land. And he’ll love to help. We’ve talked about such things.”
Frank nodded but looked unconvinced. “You did?”
“I told you I knew what you were up to. Kind of knew anyway. Joe will be with us. He expects a legal settlement from Supren—without a lawsuit. Could be a good sum. Really good.”
He looked perplexed. “Wow! A settlement….”
“Dombroski’s lawyer helped us.”
“Good for you guys! Okay. Well, I’ll talk to my partner.”
“Put a good word in for us, will you?”
“Should I?” He showed her a serious face but then burst out laughing.
Mary started plotting.
***
Late April, less than two weeks before the election, the rumor mill said that Sanders was in trouble. “She’s going to kick his ass!”
A nervous-sounding Sentinel executive, Mr. Gray, called Mary right after breakfast a week before Election Day. “For the benefit of the city we would like to organize a debate between you and Mr. Sanders. He has gracefully accepted.”
Bullshit. He must have begged them. I don’t need this. She and Joe already had spoken to at least thirty percent of the voters. And Frank now had joined the effort. “Maybe I should gracefully decline, Mr. Gray,” she answered, smiling at Joe and mouthing to him, “Debate.”
“You think so? May I ask you why?”
She detected a tad of reproach in the caller’s tone. “You sure can. You might have noticed that our dear mayor has been spreading garbage about me. Loads of it. I haven’t responded. But if I’m on the stage with him, I’ll have to react, and I don’t want to get into the gutter. I like things civil.”
“We want civility, too. Our moderator would control the tone of the exchanges, Miss Jenkins. We intend to focus on the plans both candidates have for the city. Well informed citizens—”
“Promise me you will tell Mr. Sanders that I’ll walk out the moment he starts talking trash.”
“As I said—”
“Yes or no, sir. I have no time to waste. Send me an email to confirm. Thanks.” She cut the call.
Joe gave her a thumbs-up.
“Piece of cake.” She winked.
“Did he say yes?”
“I don’t know. His problem.”
Friday night, four days before the election, the Odeon movie theater on Main Street was packed twenty minutes before debate time.
Two minutes before eight Stan Perkins appeared onstage. He was the sedate, grandfatherly moderator from the Sentinel Mary and the mayor had agreed upon. The two candidates accompanied him. Mary pointed and waved at Joanna, Frank and Joe, who were seated side by side in the front row. Joe raised his fist.
The debaters took their seats.
Lively discussions within the crowd faded as Stan raised his hand. He introduced incumbent and challenger and invited them to state their qualifications and goals, time limit two minutes.
Sanders read from a sheet a basic summary of his first announcement in the Sentinel. He received polite applause. Mary thought he sounded angry and entitled. She detected some nerves as well.
She spoke about the need for long term prosperity in harmony with a healthy environment. “No contradictions there if we’re smart enough to bank on the constant progress technology makes every day.” She got the same plain audience reaction as Sanders, but hers was followed by waves of murmured comments, questioning frowns and whispers. Okay. Got them wondering.
A courteous back-and-forth developed between the contestants, on budgets, regulations, garbage pick-up, school hours, law enforcement and more. Sanders’s experience gave him the upper hand, but he kept mum about drinking water.
About half an hour into the debate, Mary made an abrupt turn. She pointed at Frank. “Mr. Anderson, sitting right there in the first row, former Doornaert employee and technical whizz, has proposed to me that Noredge pursue an interesting tentative proposal from a solar manufacturer to set up shop in our city.”
Sanders’s head jerked up. He stared at moderator Perkins, who opened his palms and looked somewhat helpless.
Mary showed a slight smile. “Over the last few months, tough times for all of us, Mr. Anderson has been studying the nuts and bolts of solar power. Yes, solar….” She paused. “He developed very interesting contacts. He’s helping one of them locate a new operation in Ohio and Mr. Anderson wants it in Noredge. So do I.”
Gasps spread through the crowd. Mary heard some handclapping.
“I hope you’re not trying to bamboozle the good folks of Noredge, Miss Jenkins, with one of those pipedreams thought up by some pot-smoking guys in torn jeans.” Sanders turned to the audience, his face soliciting concurrence, but he quickly went back to Perkins. “Let’s stay on the topics that matter.”
Mary jumped in before Perkins could speak. “This technology delivers high-value jobs, in very high numbers, not just for out-of-towners, not temporary, not what we’ve seen in the last twelve months. Jobs that stay. And they’ll get better as the technology advances. And advance it does, very rapidly. It’s not a done deal but—”
“Talk is cheap, Miss Jenkins,” Sanders scoffed. “Let’s go back to where—”
“Mr. Anderson will have a share in the new company.”
Applause erupted.
Mary put her hand up. “I’ll have one too. Skin in the game. I’ll—”
“You?” Sanders barked.
“Me. This woman.” She tapped her chest.
“You’ll be putting money—”
“Yes, sir. Me and Joe Bertolo.”
“What money?” Sanders mocked.
Murmurs in the audience, then jeering.
Mary smiled. “I think you can figure that out for yourself, but I know what I’m saying. We’ll have the money. The deal’s not done yet, but we’re very close. And the exact location in the city hasn’t been chosen. Mr. Anderson, Frank Anderson, is working with the State and the investor, who doubles as technology provider. As mayor I will move heaven and earth to bring this new industry to our town.” She stood up and stretched her hands out to the crowd. “That’s my promise!”
A standing ovation ensued. Whistles and wows. Lively discussions in the crowd.
Sanders shrugged. “And who’s this beneficent Manitou, this genius with all the dough? We should at least know his name so we can thank him,” he said, his tone dripping scorn.
“This gentleman wants to be unnamed for now, for good legal and tactical reasons, but he’s an honorable person and firm in his commitment to Frank. And to me, along with Joe. We really hit it off.”
“And we citizens have to take your word for it? What tune do you plan to sing once the election is over? That it all was a misunderstanding? That Mr. Unnamed has reneged on the deal? That you’re very sorry? That the good folks here will unfortunately be stuck with you?” He gave Mary an angry stare and pointed at her. “That smooth-talking, empty-headed broad, that harebrain will get us all in trouble!” He shook his head, disgust all over his face. “You and your Mr. Unnamed,” he sneered, waving it all off with his hand. “You’re in over your head, girl.”
Joe jumped up from his chair. “Sir,” he said, his tone pure indignation, “I demand respect for my wife! She’s—”
Sanders’s sarcasm didn’t play well.
“She’s my partner, sir,” Joe asserted. “Let me tell you something straight: you don’t like ‘Unnamed’. Who does? I don’t. Mary Jenkins will get you the name of that gentleman in due time. Soon. She’s no idle talker. Neither is Mr. Anderson, who’s doing this community a great service. Tell me, when my wife does deliver that name, will you then tell us your names, the names of the crooks who transferred their bribes into your bank accounts? The Doornaert and Supren bribes? I hate ‘unnamed’ too.” He looked at Mary and sat down.
She flinched, taken aback. Then she smiled.
Frank grinned and patted Joe on the back.
Perkins sat open-mouthed.
Sanders, face crimson red, took off his mic and stormed off the stage.
Great speed for a potbelly. Mary chuckled.
The audience looked and sounded dumbfounded. Loud discussions ensued. Applause began to swell and rolled wave after wave through the crowd. Mary got another standing ovation. A long one this time.
***
On Tuesday, it didn’t take long for the election officials to declare Mary Jenkins the new mayor of Noredge for the next four years. By nine she and Joe were back home, with Frank and Joanna.
“Dan Clark is on his way with Lydia,” Joe advised.
The celebration was in full swing when Frank received a call. “From Bakersfield, California. Cisneros,’ he said, looking at Mary. He clicked. “Alejandro? Good evening…yes, all good! Mary will be the new mayor! Let me switch to speakerphone. I have Joanna here, and Mary and Joe with the kids and some friends.”
Sleep-starved Jimmy and Andy had their eyes wide open, looking impressed.
“Wow! Good! Hello my friends! Hello Mrs. Mayor! Congratulations! Great job all of you there,” the Californian roared, his tone exuberant, his accent slight. “Let’s forge ahead. Rosita and I look forward to seeing Noredge with our own eyes.”
Joe winked at Joanna and Mary and raised his glass.
Frank’s face radiated pride. “Yes. Welcome! We want to have you and the lovely Mrs. Cisneros here soon.”
“Thank you!”
Mary moved closer to the phone. “Mr. Cisneros, Mary Jenkins speaking. I want to thank you so much.”
“You’re very welcome, Mayor Mary.” The man laughed. “Congratulations again to…my newest partner, I hope!”
“Oh. Yes. Absolutely. I look forward to that. Joe sends his best.”
“Thank you! Nice to get to know you, Joe. Partner. Y Joanna? Qué tal mi amor?”
“Todo bien. Gracias, Alejandro.”
Mary took over again. “Mr. Cisneros, do you know what they call you here?”
“Already? Something nice, I hope,” he joked.
“Manitou!”
“Wow! Alejandro Manitou Cisneros! Rosita will like that!” he laughed.
“They mean it, sir. Noredge welcomes you!” She teared up and fell into Joe’s arms.