The dawn of my inauguration broke clear and cool, promising a fine day for being mayored. I awoke refreshed, having managed to get my required eight hours even after writing the inauguration speech required by Muffy. She, by the way, was already up and gone. As the last thing I remembered after my head hit the pillow was the clanking of hangers in Muffy's closet, there was an excellent chance she'd never actually come to bed. On the mirror of her makeup vanity was taped a note: Went to Columbus to accessorize. Will see you at City Hall.
After a shave and shower I pulled my finest three piece suit off the rack - the navy blue multi-stripe - and proceeded to dress in the manner I imagined would be appropriate to match the dignity of the office I was to occupy: a Lee Iacocca blue shirt with white collar, red power tie and cordovan wingtips. Despite the fact that Westerville was at least 10 years behind the times, it seemed wearing a Dress for Success outfit from the '80s would clue everyone into the fact that I was not the right man for the job of Mayor by providing visual proof that I was too out of it to be trusted with much more than a twice burned match.
As I worked my way through Hop Sing's meager breakfast offering of juice, coffee, Belgian waffles, maple cured bacon, Eggs Benedict and a cheese blintz, I looked over my inauguration speech. I came up with the inspiration for my speech within minutes of sitting down in front of my computer and had it ready to be read in less than half an hour. It read as good over breakfast as it had the night before, so I folded it an put in a pocket inside my suit jacket.
"You want to hear my inauguration speech?" I asked Hop Sing as he filled my coffee cup for the third time.
"Sí."
I gave Hop Sing the evil eye, but he was making a point of ignoring me. The house rule was he was only to use either the Spanish language or his amazingly bad Spanish accent when we had company.
Evidently Hop Sing was in a bit of a mood.
"Are you in a bit of a mood this morning?"
" Sí."
"Stop that," I snapped. "What did I do?"
Hop Sing shot me an exasperated look.
"Here Hop Sing is," Hop Sing always referred to himself in the third person. " Working his fingers to the bone, making you and your lovely wife a inauguration breakfast to remember, and does anyone bother to tell the him that half of the household won't be having any breakfast? Or that the half that will be breakfasting will be doing so two hours later than usual? Of course not… Hop Sing is only the hired help, after all."
"Whoa," I said, holding up my hands to emphasize my innocence, "I had no idea she was going to be leaving. She left a note in the bedroom saying she had to go to Columbus to 'accessorize'. I don't know when she left, but it was before I woke up. As to being late, hey, she's in charge of the alarm clock, and it wasn't set."
Hop Sing eyed me with obvious suspicion.
"Honest," I said, trying hard to look as innocent as I actually was.
Hop Sing finally relaxed a bit.
"OK, read the speech."
"Great. Get yourself a cup of coffee, sit down, and be prepared to be amazed."
Hop Sing did just that, then listened in silence. When I was finished he looked at me and asked one simple question.
"Is Muffy going to be on the podium with you when you read this?"
"Yes," I answered.
"Then Hop Sing suggests you wear a cup."
……….........
I managed to get to the office a minute or two before eleven. Much to my surprise I found three young African-Americans, two men and a woman, marching in a circle in front of the Peasant Building. Each held a sign reading 'Mayor Unfair - Diversify the Police' and were chanting 'Dennis is unfair. He won't hire police with nappy hair!' As I approached them, it was clear they had no idea who or what I was.
"What's all the hubbub, bub?" I asked one of them, a tall, athletic and strikingly handsome young man with close cropped hair and an engaging smile.
"We're protesting the new mayor's decision to hire a new police chief without even considering qualified African-American candidates, " he replied politely.
I was somewhat surprised.
"Were there any qualified African-American candidates to interview?" I asked.
"Beats me," he answered. "I'm not from around here."
"I sort of figured that. What brings you here in the first place? Is this a big enough issue to bring you from…?"
"Cleveland. But I'm majoring in Poli Sci at O.S.U. Should graduate next Spring."
"Huh… Cleveland, eh? This is news in Cleveland?"
The young man let out an easy laugh.
"I sincerely doubt it. I've got a summer internship with Reverend Hoover in Columbus. Political agitation."
"I see," I said. "Well, you have a nice day."
"Sure. You too."
With that I started for the front door of the building and the handsome, athletic young African-American Political Science major went back to marching and chanting. As I reached for the handle to let myself in, I heard him call to me.
"Are you the new mayor?"
I turned to him and answered.
"Is this going to lead to a confrontation? Because if it is, I must warn you: You may be young, tall and strong, but I happen to be short, flabby and middle-aged."
He let out another easy laugh.
"I'm here to agitate, not to confront. That's the Reverend's job. Besides, as soon as the reporters get here and get their shots for the evening news, we're out of here."
"All things considered then, yes, I am the new mayor of Westerville."
The young man pointed up to the second floor and smiled.
"Reverend Hoover's up there… Has been for an hour. You've been warned."
Another smile.
"Thanks," I said sincerely. "Enjoy your agitating."
And with that I opened the door, crossed the threshold into the Peasant Building and headed up the stairs to my offices. Things were hopping. Effie was on the phone. From her expression, it was clear she was talking to someone she'd have just as soon not. The telephone console blinked red, showing two other lines holding. Without bothering to shoot me a nasty look, she grabbed a pile of pink message slips and held them out to me. As I took them from her, she quickly put the receiver against her shoulder and then shot me the look I'd thought I was going to miss.
"Reverend Horton Hoover in your office. He's been waiting an hour to talk to you. Did Muffy forget to set the alarm clock?"
"As a matter of fact, she did," I said, trying to sound pained.
Effie gave me a suspicious look.
"Of course she did."
Effie pointed towards my office and then went back to the phone and I decided I'd better see just what it was that I could do for the good Reverend. As I opened the door to my office, I saw the Reverend Horton Horatio Augustus Hoover had made himself comfortable in one of the fine leather backed chairs that sat in front of my desk. When he heard me opening the door, he stood up, turned and began to speak. I held a figure to my lips, which cut him short. After closing and locking the door, I turned to him.
"Horton, you old dog…" I said in a low voice.
"Dennis, Dennis, Dennis. Good to see you," he replied, understanding that I didn't want anyone overhearing pleasantries.
We shook hands and I motioned him to sit down. I'd met and befriended Horton Hoover when we were both freshmen at Miami University. Like any sane African-American who went to Miami, he transferred to Wright State immediately, but we'd stayed friends and in touch since.
"I'd offer you coffee, but this is supposed to be a confrontation."
"That's OK, I try to lay off the caffeine while speaking truth to power."
"'Dennis is unfair. He won't hire police with nappy hair!'?"
The Reverend shrugged his broad shoulders and chuckled.
"Jesse Jackson I ain't."
"You're telling me. Anyway, how's Sarah?" I asked.
"She's fine. How's Muffy?"
I rolled my eyes heavenward.
"She is Columbus. Accessorizing. For the inauguration."
"Well," the Reverend said, allowing himself a quiet laugh, "Now I understand the panicky phone call yesterday. It sounds like she has some serious delusions of grandeur."
"Tell me about it," I said.
I walked over to a window and glanced down at the sidewalk in front of the Peasant Building.
"I appreciate you getting up here this morning, but couldn't you have brought more than three protestors?" I asked.
"Hey, you try getting together more than one Person of Color who is under the age of 65 for anything that doesn’t involve Barack Obama. Especially now that we live in a post-racial society. Those three are two nephews and a niece... and I had to pay 'em to come up here."
"Send me the bill, Horton. I just hope they can perform for the cameras. I need to get fired or recalled or impeached in a really big way. And I need it done fast."
The Reverend Horton Horatio Augustus Hoover threw off a yawn and then stretched as he leaned back in the chair he so impressively occupied.
"I imagine the media should be here soon," he said as he stood up. "I called them an hour ago."
At that moment, I saw the Lingere Media mobile broadcasting truck pull up.
"They're here," I said as I turned towards the Reverend. "Give me Hell, Horton."
"Anything for a pal, Dennis," he replied as he straightened his tie. "Time to put on the ol' game face. And for your sake, Dennis, I sincerely hope Muffy doesn't remember meeting me back in '90."
"Amen, Brother. Amen."
Reverend Hoover then strode purposefully towards the door of my office and grasped the doorknob with a rather large right hand.
"We will see," he thundered as he opened the door. "Just how the righteous in this community respond to such godlessness in their midst. I'll pray for you, Mr. Mayor, and hope you reconsider the course you have chosen."
With that, Reverend Hoover marched out of my office, past Effie and to the stairs leading to the first floor. Once I heard the Peasant Building's entrance door slam shut, I peeked out the window and saw the Reverend marching up to a reporter - in this case Lingere Media's Maybelline Billabong - who was waiting with microphone in hand. As the Reverend began his act, I pulled out a handkerchief and walked into the front room. Effie was at her desk, head down, organizing the morning's message slips.
"Whew," I said, touching the kerchief to my brow, "Glad that's over with."
Effie neither looked up nor commented.
"I haven't been given a dressing down like that in years," I added, hoping for some feedback.
Effie didn't look up, but she did let out a sigh that was unmistakably tinged with disgust.
"What?" I asked, wide-eyed and innocent.
Effie set down her pencil and looked up from her work, locking eyes with me.
"Who does the firm's Christmas cards?"
I was confused by the question, but managed to stammer, "You do."
"Right. And how many years have I been sending out those Christmas cards?"
"I don't know. Since you've been here?"
"That's right. Twenty years," she said, turning back to the work on her desk. "And guess how many Christmas cards I've addressed to the Reverend Horton Hoover over the past twenty years?"
I decided it was best to think this development through in silence.
"I know you Dennis, and I know what you're trying to do," she said, a hint of the accusatory in her tone. "You're trying to screw up."
I decided to play the sympathy card.
"Effie, I don't want to be the Mayor of Westerville. All I want to do is grow old gracefully… and quietly. But Muffy doesn't see it that way. She sees this as the Golden Opportunity to be a First Lady. I don't want to spend the next few years making speeches, listening to citizen complaints and eating lunch with every jerk in town who wants to make a buck off the City."
Effie leaned back in her chair and looked up at me, trying to gauge just how earnest I really was.
"You really don't want to be Mayor?"
"God, no. Effie, you know damn well I loathe just the sort of person who feels the need to get involved in Westerville politics. I mean, who do I actually hang out with?"
"Cesspool managers, hog farmers, tractor mechanics and burned-out restaurant owners?"
"Right. And that's the high end of my social scale…"
"You shouldn't have tried to con me," she said, "I am nothing if not loyal…"
"You know, Effie," I replied, "I was just thinking… It's been a while since I've rewarded your loyalty, hasn't it? Perhaps now would be a good time to discuss Christmas bonuses."
"First, you should probably hear this," she said, holding up a pink message slip, "Kevy Bellouche called, and he said the 'you know who' will be 'you know where' 'you know when'."
"You don't want to know…" I said.
"That goes without saying," she replied. "And as I can already see you're going to need all the help, your secret is safe with me… Just don't involve me any more than you have to. I have to live with Muffy, too, you know."
"You're an angel," I said, not bothering to hide the relief in my voice.
"Not really," she replied, turning to reach for the phone that rang. "This is going to cost you big-time. And besides, I live here. I don't want you to be Mayor either!"
