Election Day

by Richard T. Hellinga

“The mayor’s not gonna show up, is he?” says Paul. I’m sitting around the patio table with him and Dave. The official block party planning meeting is over. Most everyone else has left. Their wives are inside. Mine stayed at home.

Go on without me, Gloria said.

I unfold my left leg and sit up a little straighter in the lawn chair. The folded white envelope crinkles in the back left pocket of my shorts, and my keys and change jangle in my right front pocket. I should’ve mailed it before I got here. Then it would be done and over with. Now I don’t know if I should mail it. My left foot is getting a little numb. I wiggle it a bit but it don’t help much. It don’t feel like it’s there. I hate this feeling.

“Hell no. Not after what happened the last time he showed up,” says Dave. He takes a drag off his cigarette. The tip of it glows orange for a moment. The light mounted above the patio doors isn’t very bright. It’s surrounded by moths buzzing around it, stopping and moving.

“That was what? Four years ago?” I say.

“Yeah,” says Paul.

Mayor Barry Dennison gave us a port-o-potty for the block party that year. Which seemed stupid considering everyone on the block was gonna be there, and all our houses are there on the block, so we all got plenty of bathrooms for people to use. Anyway, someone took out a black marker and wrote “Barry’s Palace” over the door of the port-o-potty. I don’t know who who did it, but everyone on the block thinks it was either Paul or Dave. When the mayor saw it he got real pissed off. I can’t say I blame him. No one’s seen him on the block since.

“He’s already raisin’ money,” I say.

“You’re kiddin’,” says Paul.

“I got a thing in the mail last week asking me for a donation.”

“The summer’s not over yet for Chrissakes,” says Dave. “The mayoral election’s not till April.”

“We still got the Presidential one first,” says Paul.

“Now that I think about it, it don’t surprise me one bit.”

“Politicians always want our money. I should know.” Paul laughs. His back patio is nice. I remember when he had it put in like 15-16 years ago, he was so happy because he’d always wanted a nice place to sit outside during the summer. I got a wood deck. Nice and big with a table and some chairs too. Needs to be sealed next spring. Actually, now that I think about it, I’m probably gonna have to get a few new planks put in, shit...Paul’s is concrete. The guys who did it did a real good job because I don’t see a crack in it at all.

“Thousand dollar golf outing,” I say. The check is in the envelope. It came pre-addressed. All I had to do was write the check and add a stamp.

“What?” says Dave.

“What did you say, Gino?” says Paul.

“One thousand dollars the mayor wants to play golf with him over at Silver Springs in September.”

“You gotta be kiddin’ us,” says Paul.

“No. Believe me, I wish I was.”

Dave takes a drag off his cigarette and flicks the ashes into his empty Budweiser can. “You never asked for that much money when you were alderman, Paul.”

“No way,” says Paul. “I never spent that much on a whole campaign. All I ever needed was a few fliers to mail out, other than going door to door. I sure as hell didn’t host some big-time golf outing...Not that a golf outing is ever a bad idea.”

“He must be scared.” Dave takes a final puff and shoves the stub into his empty can of Budweiser. “Which is good. He should be.”

I feel a small pinch on my right leg. Probably a mosquito, so I swat at it. There. That feels a little better. “I just want to run a clean business and have something to sell for my retirement, you know? That’s all I’m tryin’ to do. I don’t want no trouble.”

“You won’t have any trouble if we get that asshole out,” says Paul. “None of us’ll have any trouble.”

“But until then–”

“I understand that, Gino” says Dave, leaning on the arm of the chair towards me. “But you gotta square it with your conscience. How can you give that asshole that much money?”

I shift and rest my right elbow on the arm of the chair, away from Dave. The envelope crinkles. “I’m a businessman, Dave. Payin’ the thousand bucks is a good business decision, okay? Pure and simple. I’ve done it with every election.”

“It’s a shakedown, is what it is. That sonofabitch has got every business owner in town scared. I was at the barber shop last week and Marcello was tellin’ me he’s not givin’ the bastard a dime. He said he’s had it.”

“Dennison could make it hard for me. Send in a bunch of inspectors and shut me down. Revoke my liquor license, and it don’t matter if I’m right legally, because by the time it gets resolved in court I’ll be out of business.”

Paul shakes his head. “No mayor until Dennison came along would think of raising so much money for an election in a town this size.”

“Don’t forget,” says Dave, “The job used to be part-time until he came along, doubled his own salary, and fired the city manager.”

“A thousand bucks and a round of golf will give me peace of mind,” I say and take another drink from my beer.

“I’d sure like to give that mayor of ours a piece of my mind,” says Paul.

“He should be raising money to make up for all the debt he got us into,” says Dave. “Are you gonna vote for him?”

“No,” I say. “I’ve never voted for him.”

“Then how can you can give him your money?”

Rose asked me that same question and she didn’t like the answer I gave her. Gloria doesn’t ask. I shrug. “Like I said, it’s the price of doing business. You know that. You mean to tell me all those autobody shop owners you’ve worked for don’t figure in that kind of thing?”

He shakes his head. “No, no, no. I know what you’re saying, but there comes a time when it’s no longer worth it, and that time is now.”

“Amen to that,” says Paul.

Dave takes a drink from his beer. “As soon as this guy Newton everyone’s talkin’ about decides to run I’m gonna cover my whole fence with his signs.”

His corner lot’s got a big six-foot fence along the side. No one driving on Darrow street can miss it.

“I can’t believe you’re not afraid of him, Dave.”

“I can’t believe people aren’t more pissed off. He used Eminent Domain to pave over them houses across North Avenue and put in a Wal-Mart and Sam’s Club against all those homeowners’ objections. An old man killed himself because he didn’t want to leave the house he built like 40 years ago. You remember that, don’t you? You didn’t see that in the Mayor’s bullshit Fairview Notes newsletter that he mails out to us every other month. And then there’s the police chief he pulled over from Stone Park to run our department who was here a year and then pled guilty to a grand jury indictment for takin’ bribes for lookin’ the other way on those poker machines and a bunch of other stuff. It’s time for Dennison to go.”

Paul nods in agreement. They put up that Wal-Mart and Sam’s Club, and all that tearing down and construction put dirt and dust everywhere. I had to spend an extra hour or two each day cleaning. The dust was everywhere. And the noise during the day...But I made a lot of extra bucks during lunch and dinner too because of the construction workers. They liked to eat, drink, and watch a game that’s for sure. I was able to pay off the Riviera a year early thanks to that. And not to mention the extra cash those poker and blackjack machines make for me. Thank God the new police chief is lookin’ the other way, too.

“Better hope he doesn’t see your fence once you get it all covered up,” I say.

“I got sixty feet of fence to cover up.”

“Better hope he doesn’t see it.” I finish off the last of my beer and crush the can and set it on the table.

“I hope he sees it.”

“And I’m gonna cover my whole front lawn with Newton for Mayor signs,” says Paul.

“They might pass another law because of you, Paul.”

Paul’s been retired for over a year and one day he went in to city hall and bought one of those city stickers every car in town has to have. And on the bottom of the sticker is the name of the mayor. So right in front of the clerk in city hall Paul used a pair of scissors to cut the mayor’s name off the sticker. Right after that, the mayor had the city council pass a law banning the defacing or alteration of the city automobile sticker. We call it “Paul’s Law.”

“That just shows you how stupid and petty he is,” says Paul.

I don’t know how these guys stay so tough about things like that. I’ve always known them to be good guys but stubborn. I’m not like that. If it’s one thing I’ve learned from working with the public, especially the drinking public, is to always try to be patient and nice. Things go better that way. Though if a drunk gets out of hand, I don't hesitate to have my guys throw’im out...And being patient with Gloria ain’t working so well.

I hear the sliding door open behind me. “What are you guys plotting now?” says Mary, Dave’s wife.

“Gettin’ rid of this mayor we’re stuck with,” says Dave.

She walks past me and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Is that right?”

“Damn right.”

Standing next to Paul is his wife Irene. “Don’t tell me you or Paul has decided to run for mayor.”

“Maybe you should, Paul,” says Dave.

Paul opens his mouth. “No way,” says Irene.

I laugh. So does Dave and Mary.

Paul turns his head up towards Irene. “You didn’t even let me answer.”

“I already know the answer.”

“Can you believe this? What I gotta put up with.”

“You?” says Irene. “You’re gonna be sleepin’ out here if you keep that up.”

They touch each other in front of other people. Look at them. Must be nice. Same with Dave and Mary. Not me. Had Rose and a nice routine. Rose at the Royal Deluxe Motel on Mannheim. Pay the clerk cash. No checks, no credit cards, and no letters, I told her. Nothing written down. No evidence.

But we exist, she said.

Of course we do, but no one can know, otherwise we’re screwed, I said.

I’m leaving Frank and moving to Vegas.

If I wanted to talk about marriage I’d talk to Gloria.

Did you hear me?

If I wanted to talk about marriage—

Then maybe I need to leave you, too.

I buttoned up my shirt.

It’s perfect symmetry since I started it and now I’m ending it, she said.

No one said you had to end it.

You can’t make up your mind about anything. Lose weight or keep growing. Leave your wife or save your marriage. Kiss the mayor’s ass or tell him to fuck off.

It’s not so easy to leave my wife.

And this hasn’t been easy either. But we do it because that’s what we want, right?

But no good’ll come if anyone finds out. It’ll work against us in the divorce proceedings.

Frank is too drunk most of the time to know how to tie his shoes, and Gloria is practically in a coma...Come on, Gino. Neither of us deserves to be stuck with the walking dead.

“I should get goin’,” I say.

“What do you say, honey? Shall we go too?” asks Mary.

“Yeah, we’re done here,” says Dave.

“So then everything for the party is pretty much set,” says Paul.

“Yep.” Dave gets up from his chair. His belly has gotten bigger through the years. So has mine; it’s a lot bigger. My cholesterol is up, too. I told Gloria maybe we should go on a diet together to get in better shape. She said she didn’t think it was necessary.

I stand and stretch out my arms. That feels good. Then I pick up the can I crushed. “Hey Paul, what do you want me to do with this can?”

“Nothing. Don’t worry about it. I’ll clean it up.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it.”

“Okay.” I set it back down on the table. “I’ll see you all later.”

“Tell Gloria we said, hello,” says Irene.

“I’ll be sure to tell her.”

We all say goodnight to each other and I head around the house, up the driveway to the sidewalk, and down towards my house.

Everyone has an opinion about what I should do, except Gloria. Should I hedge my bets; pay him and consider it insurance until at least election day? If he wins again, he’ll be back in a few years asking for more. If he can get a grand out of me now, what will he think he can get out of me the next time around? I could do a lot of other things with this money. 20 or 30 new chairs for the bar or a nice chunk towards a new gas fryer or broiler, or a bunch of siestas with Rose...But I can’t have anything unless I know I can stay in business without any hassles. Or maybe I should just call in all my favors and have the guys take care of the place and collect the insurance and be done with all this business.

I’m in front of my house, so I stop walking and look at the front window. The curtains are pulled shut and the air conditioner is on. Even though I can’t see Gloria, I know she’s there in the living room watching TV because of the glow. On nights when I wasn’t working, we used to sit together outside on our back deck after dinner in the summer and enjoy the way it cooled off when the sun goes down, like it just did. I look down the block. Dave and Mary are walking with their arms around each other towards their house in the opposite direction. I turn back to my house. I wish Gloria would snap out of it or talk to somebody. I wouldn’t tell anyone; no one would have to know. It’s no shame anymore to get your head examined. People go on Oprah all the time to talk about what’s bothering them. It’s no shame to lose a twin sister like Floria that you used to talk to about everything every day of your life. I’ve never had anything like that kind of closeness, even you Gloria. I always knew you were closer to her in most ways and always would be because that’s just how it was and I had no problem with that. Especially since you gave so much to me, two great sons, a wife, a lover, a cheerleader, so much, so much...But now it’s like you’ve taken yourself away, Gloria. What do you want me to do? Should I leave? Is that what you want?...Just tell me what you want. I’ll do anything...The air conditioner shuts off. Must be cool enough inside there for now.

The blue mailbox is there at the end of the block. I pull the envelope out of my pocket. It’s a bit crinkled from sitting on it. The check is probably crinkled, too. I need to continue walking so I can drop this in like I intended to before the block party meeting. This money. My money. To elect a mayor I don’t even like in an election that’s almost eight months away. It’s the easy thing to do so why should I hesitate now? It’s easy for Dave and Paul; neither of them got a business to run. I like my bar and restaurant. It’s mine and I wanna keep it, so I can sell it in a few years and retire to Florida or somewhere else that’s warm year round. Maybe even Vegas. When the time is right get a divorce and then work things out with Rose. Maybe that’s what I’ll do. Can’t do it now. I gotta buy time until I can make a move and this envelope is gonna buy me more time. I turn away from the house and take a step towards the mailbox.

© 2004 Richard T. Hellinga. All Rights Reserved.