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Joyce takes the stand to talk about the threat that a chain coffee store posed to the Flying Saucer earlier in the year and how spas like Scarlett’s are the thin end of the wedge that could drive other local businesses under. She makes a good point, though she also mentions the fire that almost engulfed her building and her business, which probably doesn’t do me any favors.
Better Jeremy than Scarlett, I remind myself. But I wonder how gracious I’ll be able to be if he really does get it.
Even shy Bailey gets up to give a surprisingly impassioned speech about how chain stores will mean the loss of public spaces, like the Flying Saucer, where community members can gather. She also points out that some local businesses have already closed under pressure from the big box stores on the edge of town, reminding the audience about Betsy’s fabric store. In my mind, I do a little fist pump when she manages to tie Betsy’s loss back to the library as an example of the rippling repercussions that an increased corporate presence could have.
Bailey’s gallery supports a lot of local artists, many of them senior citizens with deep ties to the community, and I see a lot of people in the room nodding along at her words.
The public comments part of the evening goes on for over two hours, the room getting warmer and stuffier by the minute. I clench my teeth against a yawn and resist the urge to fan myself with a notebook for fear of looking bored with the proceedings.
Just when I think I can’t take any more of the public comments, they’re over… and the council members begin debating. Walden has long complained that dealing with the council is like herding cats, and for a moment I actually have a shred of sympathy for him. They argue, talk in circles, and take so many turns playing devil’s advocate that there’s no hope of figuring out what each one really thinks.
Come on, Walden, I think. For once in your career, say something supportive of the library—of your sister!
But nope. Walden, ever the politician, is careful not to say anything that could be construed as taking a side. I just sit there, frustrated, hot, and praying the whole thing will end soon.
Beside me, Jeremy blows out a long, exasperated breath. I catch his eye and we smile at each other. It’s just a quick look, but it lifts some of the sticky exhaustion and gives me the strength to stay put a little longer.
Gradually, though, I realize that there’s one council member who is quite definite about what he wants—and he wants Scarlett. At least he wants her spa, though from the looks he casts in her direction, I don’t think it’s just the spa he’s thinking of.
George Shumaker is a well-dressed man in his late forties who oozes a slimy kind of charm. I’ve met him a handful of times. I didn’t like him then, and I’m liking him less and less for every minute he speaks. He owns several laundromats in the area and has branched out to vacation properties, his influence expanding with each new acquisition.
Tonight, I get to see that influence close up as he alternately charms and bullies each of the other council members, dismissing their concerns about VivaVentis, brushing off the fire station’s and library’s needs without crossing the line into disrespectful, harping on the need for the council and the town to be seen as “pro business.” He even floats a plan to split the proceeds from the sale of the Addison between the fire station and the library. It sounds good in theory, but split between the two departments, the proceeds won’t make enough of a difference for either of us.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jeremy take out his phone and tap something into it. My phone vibrates in response.
Almost ready to concede just to get this douche to STFU, he texts. Too hot for this BS.
I know, I write back. I’m melting.
He catches my eye and waggles his eyebrows. Getting wet, huh?
I giggle-snort and quickly turn it into a cough. I plaster a bland smile on my face and stare at George, who is now pontificating about all the jobs for women that Scarlett’s spa will create.
It’s even harder to keep a straight face at that. George is not known for treating women with respect.
You want to come over later? I text him. I need to work off some frustration. I add a little devil face for emphasis.
Jeremy: I wish, but no can do. One of my guys has Covid, so I’ve got a double shift coming up. Saturday night?
Me: Can’t. Bachelorette party, remember?
Instead of replying, Jeremy sends me a goofy gif of Chris Farley and Patrick Swazey doing a Chippendales routine on Saturday Night Live. I repress another laugh.
Okay, maybe not my most professional moment, text-flirting with the Chief while the future of my library is debated, but it passes the time.
And it’s nice. I’ve flirted and sexted with plenty of guys, but usually as a precursor to the main event. Being silly with Jeremy is sexy, but more than that, it’s fun. It feels like we’re a team.
Then I remember that we’re still rivals, and that if I don’t get the Addison, I may well be leaving town.
I put my phone back in my purse. After a quick, curious glance at me, Jeremy puts his phone away too.
Finally, Walden adjourns the meeting by assuring the crowd that the council will continue taking feedback from the public and will announce a decision at the August meeting.
People stop to talk to both me and Jeremy, and it’s almost another 15 minutes before we’re finally able to step outside into the warm night.
“Heading over to the fire station.” Jeremy holds his hand out to shake. “Pleasure to see you this evening, Miss Wilder.”
I take his hand. “What are you doing?”
