Please Don't Feed the Mayor Page 9

  It hadn’t happened yet, though, and in the meantime there was still a lot for the two of them to do. As for what might or might not happen after that, Melanie told herself, she’d just have to be like Scarlett O’Hara and think about it tomorrow.

  Or maybe the day after.

  She took out the map of Fossett that she kept by the phone book and spread it out on the kitchen table, setting the legal pad with her tally on top. Then she marked the area they’d covered that day and the places they still had to go. Melanie shook her head. Seeing it like that made her realize how big the task was that lay ahead. How were they ever going to reach even half the people in Fossett in time?

  She closed her eyes, trying hard not to feel discouraged. Bryce had warned her that this was the hard part, the one-toone connection that would pay off at the voting booth, but that didn’t make it any easier. Every time someone closed a door in her face without listening, she knew the fear of failure was going to start building until it overwhelmed her, and then where would she be? When she’d dreamed about having Shep as Fossett’s mayor, it seemed that her plan couldn’t fail. Now that dream seemed as insubstantial as a puff of smoke. And getting her dog elected was only the first part. After that, they’d still have to find some way of getting the word out. She couldn’t do it. It was too much.

  Whoa, girl, slow down!

  Melanie took a deep breath, reminding herself that it was late and she’d had a long, hard day. The only thing she needed to do was make a plan for tomorrow and get some rest. As for publicity, Bryce’s friend at the Gazette would surely be interested in giving them a boost. A story like Shep’s was perfect for the newspaper’s local news section and they were more likely to get people to make a move to Fossett from Corvallis than from someplace farther afield. Then maybe they could start looking for other outlets, someone at the local radio and TV stations. Bryce’s concern about slimy characters seemed a little paranoid to her, but then being a lawyer, she supposed he tended to see the uglier side of things, and his advice so far had been good. For the time being, at least, she’d just have to trust him.

  With the next day’s plan marked on the map and a preliminary script to follow, Melanie decided to call it a night. She put on her pajamas and brushed her teeth, wondering how much she’d changed since the last time the two of them had seen each other. Had age and maturity made as much of a difference in her as it had in Bryce? The honest answer was probably no. Since their split, she’d even asked herself from time to time if staying in Fossett had simply been an excuse, a way to keep from growing up and accepting responsibility, but the truth was she had accepted responsibility. Not for herself, but for everyone around her.

  Maybe that was why there’d been so little enthusiasm for her ideas in the past. After all, it was easier to sit back and wait for someone else to solve your problems than to face them squarely and figure them out yourself. The problem was, the collapse of the lumber industry had made people lose heart. Those who could had left for greener pastures; the rest just seemed to be treading water. That was why she’d come back and that was why she couldn’t leave. Not yet, anyway. Not until she was sure that the people there would be all right.

  Shep’s license jangled as he rolled out of his dog bed and padded after her into the bedroom. It was good to have someone else in the house. Melanie had gotten him in the first place thinking that she’d be safer living alone if she had a dog, but she never imagined that he’d be so smart or such good company. There were times when she would swear that Shep understood every word she said.

  She crawled into bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. The cold sheets made her shiver. Shep curled up at her feet and fell instantly asleep, but Melanie just lay there, staring at the ceiling. Yes, she thought, it was good to have a dog in the house, but there were times when she missed having another person around. Days when her bank balance was low or a customer had been rude and all she wanted was for someone to tell her it would be all right. Or when something really amazing happened and she wished there were someone at home who would take her out to dinner so they could celebrate her good fortune. And there were nights like this, too, when the bed was cold and the house was dark and she wished more than anything that she could reach out and feel a warm body beside her.

  Melanie felt the ache in her chest intensify and sighed. She’d finally realized what her problem was. She wasn’t sick, she thought; she was lonely.

  Darn you, Bryce MacDonald.

  CHAPTER 11

  If there was anything Chad Chapman hated more than meetings with his producer, he couldn’t think of it—not before noon, anyway. He’d been doing tequila shots until two that morning and the world was still a bit of a blur. Why did they have to do this so early, anyway? It wasn’t as if someone else had booked the rent-by-the-hour meeting room that day. As Roxie continued to blather, he watched a fly crawl across the table and wondered how it would feel to crush it under his fingers.

  “What do you mean it’s not finished?” she bellowed. “We already sold that piece to The Learning Channel.”

  “Could This Be Chewbacca’s Love Child? What kind of learning is that?”

  “What’s wrong with it? It had a great hook—everybody loves Star Wars—and you have to admit that kid is pretty hairy.”

  “It was a stupid story.”

  Chad swatted at the fly and missed.

  “That’s not what you said when you took the assignment.”

  “I was drunk when I took that assignment,” he said. “I’m not responsible for things I say under the influence.”

  “Oh, good,” she said brightly. “Then I’m sure you’ll change your mind once you sober up.”

  Chad sat back. Why was he putting up with this crap, anyway? It wasn’t as if working for this sleazy outfit was the way to fame and fortune. Life was so unfair.

  He reached for the Starbucks that Roxie had brought him and took a sip.

  “Hey! This isn’t what I asked for.”

  “Well,” she said. “Now you know how it feels.”

  Chad grabbed his hair with both hands and yanked, hoping the pain would clear his head.

  “What do you want from me?!”

  “I want you to finish your assignments,” she said. “I want to see you do the kind of work you’ve done for us in the past.”

  She started counting the episodes off on her fingers.

  “The Best Poker Player in Vegas Is a Chicken; Chow Mein Führer: Inside Hitler’s Secret Cookbook—”

  He nodded. “That was a good one.”

  “—I Won the Lotto and Still Can’t Get a Date. You’ve got great instincts, Chad—maybe the best in this business—but you’ve got the work ethic of a sloth.”

  “Hey, sloths are cool,” he pouted. “Don’t be picking on sloths.”

  Roxie’s face purpled.

  “We are not talking about sloths! We’re talking about your future! You are this close”—she held up a thumb and index finger, close together—“to being booted out the door. Either you do your work or you go find a producer who’ll put up with your BS. And good luck with that.”

  Chad put down his pen and sat up straight, taking a moment to fix his hair. He would not sink to her level, he told himself. They both knew this was an empty threat; it was time he reminded her of that fact.

  “What does Graeme say?”

  Roxie sat down and reached for her coffee.

  “Graeme’s opinion is that you should be given another chance.” She took a sip. “However, he made it clear that the final decision is mine.”

  Yeah, right.

  “The truth is,” she continued, “I never thought that the Chewbacca story was all that great. Nevertheless, really good story ideas are hard to find and the competition is fierce. Eyeballs aren’t as easy to grab as they once were.”

  “That’s true.”

  They both knew he’d won the argument. Why be a sore winner?

  She looked at him and shook her head.

  �
�For the life of me, I don’t know why people trust you, Chad, but they do, and as you know, that’s the key to success in this business. We don’t have a stable of preening, overpriced talent here; we don’t make millions selling airtime; we sell prepackaged videos to the freak show that is the modern entertainment industry. If we have nothing to sell, we literally have no reason to exist.”

  “Which is why,” he said, “I need for you to give me something better than Chew-freaking-bacca.”

  “I agree.”

  She set the cup aside and started sifting through the pages in front of her.

  “I found another story that I think will be right up your alley. It’s about a dog that’s running for mayor.”

  Chad deflated. “Seriously?”

  “Hear me out. The hook isn’t about the dog so much as it is about the town he lives in. It’s been on the skids for years and the gal who owns him thinks that a dog mayor will turn the place into a tourist mecca. Think Field of Dreams meets Deliverance.”

  He started doodling on his notepad.

  “Where is it?”

  “Someplace in Oregon.”

  He looked up sharply.

  “The scene of the crime?”

  She shook her head.

  “Not that close. It shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “Mmm,” he said. “Well, I suppose it’s worth considering.”

  “No. Not just considering—doing. Graeme might be on your side, sweetie, but his patience is wearing thin.” She gave him a sour smile. “You’re an expensive guy to keep around.”

  Chad sighed dramatically.

  “Is this about Angie what’s-her-face? What’s the problem now?”

  “She’s asked the court to set aside your arbitration agreement.”

  “Oh, please. She knew what she was getting into as soon as I walked through the door. It’s like they say: You can’t pick up one end of the stick without the other. Fame cuts both ways. You take the good with the bad.”

  “Any more aphorisms you want to hit me with before we move on?”

  He stuck out his tongue.

  Roxie sighed and put her head in her hands.

  “Chad, you’re almost thirty years old—you’re not a teenager, even if you act like one. Believe it or not, I’m not your enemy, I’m actually on your side, but this Butler thing is different. Even Graeme is worried.”

  Chad ground his teeth and looked away. The truth was, he might have taken a teensy step over the line in that case, but he doubted that Angela Butler knew that. As long as she remained safely in the dark, her case would end up just like the other ones had: no harm, no foul.

  “I thought that’s what we had lawyers for.”

  “It’s still a huge pain in the ass,” she said. “And attorneys are expensive. I wouldn’t press my luck, if I were you.”

  Roxie gathered her things and gave him a significant look.

  “Fine. I’ll do it.”

  “Good,” she said. “I’ll tell Graeme that we’re putting Chewbacca’s love child on the back burner—”

  “Please do.”

  “—while you look into this mayor dog story. The woman’s name is Melanie MacDonald; I’ll email you her contact info. Give her a call. Find out what the deal is with her dog and see if there’s enough there to build a story around. Depending on the angle, I’ve got at least two outlets who’ll buy it in a heartbeat, so let me know what she says. If it’s good, I’ll get Mick to shoot the video and put you both on the first plane out of here. Get the footage, edit it into something juicy, and all will be forgiven. Agreed?”

  “Yes, yes. Don’t get yer panties in a twist.”

  He stood up and stretched, yawning dramatically; there was no sense in letting her think she’d won. He had no way of knowing how upset Graeme really was, but as long as Roxie was his gatekeeper, he’d just have to play nice.

  “By the way,” he said. “What’s the name of this darling little Oregon town?”

  “Are you ready for this?” She smirked. “It’s called Fossett.”

  Chad paused, waiting for the punch line, then burst out laughing.

  “Oh, my god. It looks like my career really is going down the drain.”

  CHAPTER 12

  When Melanie and Shep arrived at Fossett House the next morning, Bryce was just finishing breakfast: eggs, bacon, toast, orange juice, and another carafe of Ground Central’s best. Nothing fancy, but aside from the Beavertails Selma had snuck into the bread basket, it was darned near perfect.

  “Have a seat,” Bryce said. “I’m almost done.”

  Shep crawled under the table as Melanie took a seat.

  “So. What’s the plan for today?”

  “Glad you asked.”

  She took the map from her purse and spread it out on the table between them. Bryce leaned forward to take a better look.

  “Whoa, what’s this?”

  “I thought about what you said, you know, about being better prepared. So, I spent some time last night dividing the town into roughly equal sections. I figure if we can cover one section a day, we’ll have contacted everyone in Fossett before the vote on Saturday.”

  Bryce pointed to the two black X’s on the east end of town.

  “What are those for?”

  Melanie pointed to the larger one.

  “That’s Lou Tsimiak’s place; we won’t be canvassing there.”

  “Is this the Indian at the bar?”

  She nodded.

  “You’ll see it when we go by. Place looks like a haunted house. He built this big tower in the backyard where he sits all day, watching for ‘enemies.’ ”

  “So, what’s the other one for?”

  “Oh,” she said. “That’s just a reminder not to disturb Horrible Harry.”

  Bryce raised an eyebrow.

  “Bad guy?”

  “No, just a bad-tempered rooster. He spends most of his time roosting in Everett Stubbs’s truck, which is generally parked right where that X is. Everett says he’s the best security system in the world.”

  “Why not just lock the doors?”

  She laughed.

  “It’s a long story. Suffice to say, this way Everett doesn’t have to remember to take the key fob with him when he wants to go somewhere and Harry has a comfortable place to snooze. It’s sort of a symbiotic relationship.”

  “Well, at least it’s only one house and a truck,” he said. “The rest looks pretty straightforward.”

  He ran a finger over the highlighted and numbered areas.

  “You know, you might just have a future in community organizing.”

  “No, thanks,” she said, refolding the map. “Once this election is over, I’m done.”

  Bryce finished his coffee and set his napkin aside.

  “Sounds good,” he said. “Let’s go.”

  The sun was dazzling that morning, but the lack of cloud cover had forced the temperature into the mid-twenties overnight and it was still barely above freezing as they got into the car. Melanie let the engine idle while she put Shep into his harness.

  “Looked like Selma finally fed you a decent breakfast,” she said. “How was it?”

  “Very good. Why?”

  She closed Shep’s door and slid into the front seat.

  “I had to chew her out yesterday for not keeping the larder stocked. It’s hard, I know, when the place isn’t busy, but she needs to learn to think ahead. If all goes well, we’ll be having a lot of visitors soon, and I don’t want her feeding them all a bunch of Beavertails.”

  “Really?” Bryce said as they pulled away from the curb. “I think those things are great.”

  * * *

  They were starting in the southeastern part of Fossett that day. Less a true neighborhood than a random collection of dwellings, the ramshackle houses looked as if they’d been built from construction site castoffs. Poorly clad children played outside, the abandoned appliances and rusted-out cars in their yards serving as jungle gyms. Melanie had put Bryce in ch
arge of the tally that morning. As they got out of the car, she noticed the look on his face.

  “Needless to say, this is the less prosperous part of town,” she said. “This is what happens when a big employer leaves: All those unskilled jobs that paid a decent wage go, too.”

  He nodded grimly.

  “Let’s do this side of the street, then the other side on the way back,” she said, shivering. “I’m afraid if I get back in the car before we’re done, I won’t get out again.”

  “Sounds good.”

  No one answered at the first four houses, though shadows on the curtains seemed to indicate that someone was home. Melanie and Bryce shook their heads and kept going. There was no sense in making enemies badgering people.

  “We have a fair number of Russian families here,” she said. “They’re hard workers, but most of the older ones don’t speak much English. I think they might be reluctant to try and talk to strangers.”

  They turned up a dirt path toward the fifth house and Melanie knocked on the door.

  “This is Nikita and Ogie Gulin’s house,” she said. “We might have better luck here.”

  She paused.

  “I hear someone coming.”

  The door opened a few inches and a small woman in a babushka peered out.

  “Hi, Ogie,” Melanie said. “We’re here to talk about the election. Do you have a minute?”

  The old eyes crinkled.

  “Yes. Shep is good dog. I will vote.”

  “You will? Oh, that’s fantastic. What about Nik? Do you think he’ll—”

  The door closed again.

  “Oh. Well.” She looked at Bryce. “Looks like one yes and one undecided.”

  He marked it on the tally sheet and they started off again.

  Just as she’d hoped, the canvassing was going much faster that morning than it had the day before. Partly that was because the houses were closer together, but also because only about half of the residents would open their doors. The responses they did get, though, were pretty positive, and though Melanie couldn’t bring herself to ask for donations, Bryce didn’t argue. It was obvious the people there had nothing to offer, and most seemed so excited to be casting a vote for Shep that there didn’t seem to be any need to encourage them further.