The Crash of Hennington

—No, no, she’s terrified of me. It was easy. But as I’ve said, I’m leaving. Walk me to my car.

—Of course. Nice talking to you, Harold. Albert, be a dear and get me another soda water.

—Certainly.

Cora and Archie walked towards the car park.

—Cora, I have concerns.

—I suppose I’m not surprised.

—I’m wondering if we’ve got a bit of a paper tiger on our hands here.

—Don’t worry, Archie. The campaign is months away, and though you admittedly haven’t had an opportunity to hear it, Max can be a very persuasive campaigner in his own way.

—He’d better be, is all I’m saying.

—What’s on your mind, Archie?

—There were some rumblings in the crowd in there.

—Rumblings about what?

—About Max being Rumour.

—Oh, Archie, you can’t be serious.

—I’m quite serious. He’d be the first. I’m not sure they, them, in there, are sure they’re ready for it.

—But everyone knew that going in. His poll numbers are high, he’s viewed with integrity—

—He’s still a Rumour. It could be the old story that people are afraid to say they wouldn’t vote for him because they don’t want to look prejudiced.

—I suppose I can see your point, Archie, but don’t you think we’re past that? We’ve had Rumour Councilmembers, Rumour Department Heads—

—I’m not saying he’s not going to win. I’m just saying it might be tougher than you, we expect it to be.

—I don’t have any illusions that there might be an element out there that might not vote for a Rumour.

—The trouble is that it’s a volatile element that could be open to persuasion as well as growth in size.

—Persuasion by whom? He’s unopposed.

—Just because there’s not a credible opponent now doesn’t mean there won’t be at some point.

—Who?

—I don’t know, Cora. Good grief. I’m speaking hypothetically. Just keep your eyes open is all I’m saying. This could be a bigger challenge than it appears on the surface.

—I wasn’t born yesterday. My last race was against Jake Caldwell, remember? All those churchkin of Miriam’s with their picket signs, pretty much calling me a wayward wife who should go back to the kitchen. Whoever thought those loonies would get thirty per cent? But at the end of the day, the voters did the right thing, and they’re going to do the right thing this time.

—Fair enough, but stay on your guard.

—That’s very sweet, Archie. I appreciate your help tonight.

—I hardly did it to be sweet.

—But you did it anyway.

—And thank God it’s over. Ah, there’s the limo.

—Have a good night, Archie.

—Remember what I said, Cora. I’m an old man. Our bodies make up in clairvoyance what they lose in malleability. There are rumblings afoot. Whether they’ll bring anything noteworthy to pass is anyone’s guess.

Albert came up behind her as Archie sped away.

—Here’s the soda water.

—Thank you, my love.

—What did Archie want? A percentage of Talon Latham’s future income?

—He thinks Max is going to have problems because he’s Rumour.

—Well, no shit. A secret conference just for that?

—I guess he wanted to impress upon me the gravity of the issue.

—?-ha, he was drunk.

—Looked that way. Let’s go back inside.

—Must we?

—Duty calls.

19. Duty Calling. (#ulink_cf6b5f5b-e96e-5589-9f34-d44df57b2f0d)

Deep in the distant far side of Hennington Hills Golf Course and Resort, Jacki Strell waited on the bed for Councilman Wiggins to finish his cleanup in the bathroom. The excitable Councilman had spilled all over himself inside of twenty minutes. As usual, he had tried to hold out and Jacki had attempted the methods she knew to slow him down: giving it a finger flick on the head, grabbing a single pubic hair and pulling it out, etc. All to no avail. Given that the entertainment was informally scheduled for an hour, Jacki faced the familiar problem of dead air with Councilman Wiggins. Most of the time, they tried half-heartedly to bring him to a second climax, a climax for Jacki, of course, being the furthest thing from either of their minds. He usually just ended up biting too hard on her nipples while fumbling ineffectively with her round bottom.

Jacki sighed pleasurably. She had so much Forum in her bloodstream that Councilman Wiggins could bite away and she wouldn’t even notice until the next day rolled around and salve would be required for her inflamed, maltreated aureoles. Taking Forum was like kicking back in a hot bubble bath you could take along anywhere. The world became one movable, ongoing massage. It was fair to say she couldn’t remember what life was like before Forum, back in those non-prostitute, number-filled days with her sons and ex-husband, but one of the side effects of Forum was the peculiar accompanying belief that all of a sudden there wasn’t a life before Forum, that it was always there, that it would always be there, that no problem was ever too big or too unpleasant that it couldn’t be washed away in the enveloping stream of Forum. She barely registered the Councilman coming out of the bathroom looking both sheepish and peeved.

—I thought you said you were going to learn some new things to keep that from happening.

—It’s okay—

She blanked on his name.