As Winnie walked into city hall Tuesday morning, she wondered, briefly, if she’d become transparent. Could everyone see what she’d done the night before on Cosgrove Hill? Did everyone know just how transformed she was courtesy of the sexual favors of one Mr. Cal Spencer?
When she awoke that morning, she had shot straight up in bed, awash in a variety of emotions inspired by the outdoor tryst. Pride. Pleasure. Embarrassment. But more than anything else? Astonishment.
What Cal had done to her body… The way he worked over her and in her with those clever fingers. The way he perched above her in the moonlight and watched her intently as she burst into a thousand shards of light. That had been rapturous. Transforming. Divine.
But what she did to him at the back of that concrete shed?
Her lips curled just at the memory of it. The Winnie of the past would have never taken what she wanted. Hell, former Winnie would have never wanted a man in that way with even half the enthusiasm. That, combined with the sheer shock on Cal’s face… that she’d rendered a magnificent man into a speechless, desperate, groaning animal. That was a power she’d never known, and now that she had experienced it, she only wanted more of it.
Yet here she was, reporter Winnie, back on the beat, going on about her professional business as if last night hadn’t been life-altering. She had trouble making eye contact with people on the street, lest her new insatiable wantonness show. How could it not?
Making her way into the city council chambers felt like déjà vu. The chairs in the audience sat empty, save for Chief Conrad flipping through a notebook near the back. The only difference was that this time, the mayor was in place before the meeting began. He didn’t look any more composed—his sandy-white hair still stuck out in tufts around his head, and his crumpled Polo shirt looked as though it had been picked up off the floor only a few minutes prior, but at least he was here.
Winnie’s stomach flipped when she considered Carter in a new light. He was no longer just the friendly and sexy-as-hell police chief. Now she also knew him as Cal’s best friend. Did he know anything about what Winnie and Cal were up to? Would he judge her if he did? Maybe she should just sit up near the front today, and avoid that particular situation.
Just when she was about to do so, Chief Conrad’s mesmerizing blue eyes flickered up to her and a grin unleashed its dazzling brightness. He gave her a small wave, and she knew that she’d go to him.
“Hey, Chief,” she offered as she plunked herself down on the folding chair next to his.
“Hey, Winnie. Please, call me Carter.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. As long as I’m not arresting you, Carter suits me just fine.”
“Okay, I’ll keep that distinction in mind.”
She grinned, grateful for his teasing. Even if he did know anything about what she and Cal were up to, Winnie suspected he wouldn’t hold it against her. Relief flooded her, given that next to Cal and Evie, Carter was the closest thing Winnie had to a friend in Bloomsburo.
“So how are you settling into town?” he asked.
“Oh, pretty well. Each day seems to introduce some new challenge or challenging personality, but it’s all part of the job.”
“Yeah, we have our fair share of challenging personalities around here. But most in our town have pretty good hearts.”
She nodded. His gaze met hers, as if he wanted to ask a question he couldn’t quite allow him to utter.
“Did you ever make any headway on the pancake sabotage?” she asked, fully aware of how ridiculous the phrase sounded. Before he had a chance to answer, though, the gavel struck and Mayor Simpson called the meeting to order. He still seemed suspiciously rusty at running a city council meeting, but he went through the approval of the last meeting’s minutes (a step he completely skipped over last time, though Winnie doubted that previous minutes were even taken.)
“Our first order of the day is to discuss the issue of temporary special permits,” Mayor Simpson began. “It’s come to our attention that the city is not managing its costs adequately on these special events, and that we may need to raise this fee.”
Winnie raised her hand, and the mayor looked at her in annoyance.
“Yes?”
“What types of events require these special permits, and what is the current fee?” The mayor looked over to Councilwoman McDonald, who cleared her throat loudly.
Winnie wasn’t shocked that the mayor didn’t have the answer himself.
“These permits are used for special one-time, annual or semi-annual events, such as seasonal sales of holiday merchandise, farmers markets, festivals, fairs, carnivals, special sheds or structures needed on construction sites, et cetera.”
Winnie nodded as she took down notes furiously. So basically, they were talking about the kind of events that were the bread and butter of Betty Jean’s Blooming Ladies.
“The current application fee is $150. Some events require a deposit as well. The length of the license varies based on the nature of the activity.”
“Thank you,” Winnie said, rounding out her notes.
The mayor continued. “These sorts of special events can put extreme pressure on city resources, including law enforcement, facilities and clean up teams,” the mayor explained, somewhat dramatically.
Winnie knew from her time working in Chicago that these types of special events were more likely to affect where government employees needed to be more than the hours they worked. These were often roles that were being filled regardless of what events were happening on a given day.
“Thus,” Mayor Simpson said, “I’d like to propose raising the application fee from $150 to $1,500.”
Winnie gasped, and she heard Carter whisper the quietest burst of profanity she’d never heard, but the other bodies in the room— the city council members—merely nodded in agreement, clearly having discussed this figure ahead of time.
That kind of fee inflation was not only unprecedented and unethical, but it would be absolutely devastating for small business owners and non-profit organizers like The Blooming Ladies. Some of their events wouldn’t even bring in $1,500 in profit. They surely couldn’t be expected to pay that kind of money to apply for a special event license just to hold a fundraiser.
“Given our current fiscal realities, I feel like this is a move in the right direction,” said James Dolittle, the youngest councilperson by at least a decade (which was saying something, since he appeared to be in his sixties).
“I agree,” the third councilman said quietly. Joe O’Loughlin was by far the eldest council member. Winnie wouldn’t be surprised if had been in office during the JFK administration.
“It is a time for financial prudence,” Councilwoman McDonald said.
“I’m sorry, but are you suggesting that this fee money could be used to balance out deficits within the city budget?” Winnie butted in, incredulous. “And aren’t you concerned about how this high fee scale will deter community organizers from hosting local events?”
“Young lady, this is an official government meeting, and you may not burst out with questions whenever one pops into that pretty head of yours,” Mayor Simpson roared, now standing from his position of power up front. His face reddened with an anger that dissolved the harmless, nutty-professor vibe he gave off up until then. She thought he was mostly daft; her heart sank at the knowledge that he was also a misogynistic jerk.
Young lady. Her blood boiled.
“If you have questions about the particulars of our budget, Miss Briggs,” said Councilwoman McDonald, “you can access that information via the city clerk.”
“That doesn’t answer my question,” Winnie pressed, but the mayor continued on.
“If we’re all in agreement, let’s set an action item for the next meeting regarding this proposal.”
“But—” Winnie interjected, but her plea fell on deaf ears. Whether she liked it or not, she didn’t have a vote at the meeting. The council voted unanimously to put a vote on the next agenda.
She looked incredulously at Carter, who merely closed his eyes, shook his head, and rubbed his fingers across his brow. Winnie knew he couldn’t speak his concern about his boss in this forum, but she took some small comfort in the fact that someone in the room found this new proposal as preposterous as she did.
“Our final agenda item: as may arise,” the mayor said.
“Nothing from me,” said Councilman O’Loughlin, followed by identical statements from the other two council members.
What mindless sheep, Winnie thought grouchily to herself. She couldn’t help but shake the feeling that this entire meeting had been orchestrated carefully before hand, in clear violation of open meetings law.
“If there is no other topic to discuss, I’d ask for a motion to adjourn.”
Before Winnie even had a chance to ask another question, the motion had been made and seconded. Like cockroaches when the lights turn on, the mayor and the council members scattered out of the chamber the second that gavel hit to adjourn the meeting. There would be no time for follow-up questions today.
Her shoulders slumped dejectedly.
“Cal is going to be so pissed,” Carter quietly observed, pulling out his phone and beginning the text message to his friend.
“I doubt he’ll be the only one.” Winnie sighed. As helpless as Winnie felt at the lack of transparency and the poorly reasoned decision, she took some comfort in knowing that a story about the fee spike in The Bloom would force the issue. Neither Cal nor Betty Jean would let something like that stand without contention, and Winnie had a feeling that in a small town like Bloomsburo, there were dozens more where they came from.
~-~-~-~-~-~-
It was almost two p.m. before Winnie rushed into Dewey’s Diner, hungry and burnt out from the city council nonsense she’d dealt with that morning, among other things.
“I knew you were working today, and I had to see you!” Winnie said breathlessly to Evie, plunking down her messenger bag on the stool next to hers at the counter. “And I knew I had to catch you before the dinner rush, so that we might actually have a chance to talk.”
Evie smiled and Winnie glanced down the counter where she saw a man about her age in a white T-shirt, jeans, and a black apron, flipping through a binder. He was husky and handsome in a 1950s kind of way, with short dirty blond hair, sideburns and strong, wide shoulders.
“Is that Dewey?” Winnie whispered to Evie, pointing in the man’s direction. Evie’s face flushed ever so slightly as she nodded.
Interesting.
“Will I be in trouble for talking to you while you’re working?” she whispered again, but not as discretely as she thought. Dewey looked their way and his full lips slipped into the subtlest of smiles, first at Winnie then at Evie, before returning his attention to the clipboard.
Evie looked down at Dewey again to see if Winnie’s personal visit was going to be a problem. He said nothing, but waved his hand as if to gesture “go on,” much to both women’s delight.
“You’re the best, Dewey!” Winnie hollered down the counter, forcing familiarity on him. He said nothing, but shook his head as he continued to look through his paperwork, and she saw his lips quirk ever so slightly at the corner. It was quickly apparent to Winnie that Dewey was not a man of many words.
She looked back to Evie. “Not to make you wait on me, but can I get a soda, a burger and some fries?”
“Right.”
They talked about their days, about the bizarre city council meeting, and about Evie’s children. Winnie hinted at some juicier stories about the night before that she wanted to share once Evie was off the clock. In the meantime, eventually Winnie mustered up the courage to ask the question that had been eating away at her.
“Can I ask you to divulge some of your townie knowledge?” Winnie asked, grabbing her soda for a long sip.
“Sure.”
“What’s the deal with Cal’s dad? Was he ever in the picture?” The question had been burning in Winnie’s mind since she first met Rhonda. Though her landlady had mentioned in their very first phone call that she was single, she’d never offered up any backstory on the subject of her marriage and Winnie had yet to find an appropriate time to ask.
She saw Evie’s face fall and Winnie’s heart sank.
“That’s a sad story,” Evie offered, looking down to her fingers. “Maybe you should talk to Cal or Rhonda about it.”
A bolt of guilt flashed through Winnie, but she pressed on anyway. She just needed the general outline of the situation, and then she could follow up with Cal or Rhonda about the details. The journalist in her hated little more than unanswered questions.
“Just the basics?” she pleaded.
Evie sighed. She didn’t seem to want to tell the story, but she did anyway. “You know how his little sister, Rosie, has MS?”
Winnie nodded. Rhonda had brought it up more than once talking about her family.
“Cal was probably a junior in high school when Rosie was diagnosed,” Evie continued. “When they started doing tests and seeking treatment, they found out that his dad, Charlie, was the one who carried the genetic predisposition for the disease. He received his own diagnosis a short time later.”
Winnie’s heart tumbled in her chest as she tried to imagine what it would be like for a parent to process that kind of information.
“His dad spiraled right when they needed him the most,” Evie said with a sigh, her voice getting quieter. “First it was drinking too much. Then it was drugs. Then affairs. There were arrests.”
Winnie’s heart sank. Poor Rhonda. Poor Cal.
“It ramped up and up until finally he was killed in a drunk driving accident, along with a woman he was sleeping with.”
Winnie felt tears welling. “Gosh, that’s horrible.”
“It really was. Thank God no one else was hurt. They just crashed into an underpass. It was a tragedy and a huge town scandal. Cal was several years ahead of me in school, but everyone knew how it affected him. He was mortified, but he stepped up. He took care of his little sisters like it was his job. Which, for better or for worse, it was.”
She’d already loved the man’s body, but damn it if her heart didn’t crack open for him now, too.
“Jeeze.”
“Yeah. He had to grow up really fast.”
Winnie nodded, poking around at the fries on her plate and no longer finding herself hungry.
“I was going to ask about Chief Conway’s story, too, but something tells me that one sad story is enough for today.”
Evie’s shoulders slumped, confirming Winnie’s suspicions.
“Yeah, if Cal’s backstory is sad, Carter’s story is straight-up tragic,” Evie said with a sigh. “That one requires whiskey as a minimum.”
Winnie glanced down at the Coke in front of her. “Alright, I’ll take a rain check on that one. But only for now.”
Evie nodded, taking Winnie’s plate and walking back toward the kitchen. In the meantime, Winnie tried her best to will away the feelings of heartbreak and injustice that bubbled up in her heart for Cal, as well as how to navigate them alongside her physical attraction to him.
She failed.