I felt my body get tight as I felt Mickey’s eyes move to me.
I turned my head, caught his, licked my lips and rolled them together.
“I see,” Bobby muttered and we both looked back to him.
“What’s up?” Mickey asked.
Bobby couldn’t answer because we heard, “The Magdalene Town Council Meeting is now in session.”
“Later,” Bobby mouthed before turning back around.
I turned my eyes to Mickey. “Honey,” I called.
He looked down to me. “Douche,” he stated. “Don’t worry, Amy.” He then gave his attention back to the front where there was a panel of five seated behind a long, tall, official-looking bench desk.
The one in the middle was saying something, but I was thinking that I was under the impression, considering I hadn’t heard from him in some time, that Boston Stone finally got the hint and stopped calling me. We’d had one date. We’d had one kiss (well, one and a half).
What we had not done was make avowals of love.
So whatever he was up to that had to do with Mickey couldn’t be about me.
Surely.
A variety of business was swiftly brought up and voted on without any comment from members of the public. This was not surprising since the room was not quite half full, and I suspected attendance was greater that night because the volunteers of the MFD were there.
Clearly, the town of Magdalene didn’t involve themselves too much in town business and from how very boring it was, I didn’t blame them.
Ash and Cill were playing games on their phones (due to the Rhiannon situation, Cill now had his own) when the issue of additional town resources allocated to the Magdalene Fire Department was raised.
Evidently, the head honcho sitting in the middle thought it would be voted through without demur because when he asked for public comment, he missed movement in the room and immediately started, “Right then we’ll vo—”
“One moment, Councilman Whitfield,” a smooth voice I knew called out.
I looked to the side, my neck muscles tensing, and watched Boston Stone strolling arrogantly (and you could stroll arrogantly, he was proof) up the center aisle.
“Boston, of course, take the podium,” the head honcho, apparently Councilman Whitfield, invited.
Boston did just that, lifting an attractive, slim leather briefcase in front of him to rest it on top of the podium and pulling out papers.
Once he had them, he started, “I can only assume with this referendum being raised, our town council members aren’t aware that, nationwide, the incidence of fires is on a dramatic decline and has been for the past decade.” He then raised the papers he’d gotten out and shook them officiously.
The inference the council had not done their homework was not lost on any of them, they didn’t like it and they showed it.
“We are aware of that, Boston,” Councilman Whitfield retorted, sharing this verbally.
“Then I must admit to being curious, since that’s the case, as to why you’d be allocating more funds to a city service that should, in fact, be getting less,” Boston replied.
Mickey straightened beside me and both his children looked up from their phones.
On my part, I found my hands forming fists.
“Due to their function and its importance to public safety, I can’t imagine anyone would begrudge the current funds the MFD receives,” a female council member off to the left stated.
“I’m a citizen of Magdalene and I’m doing just that,” Boston returned.
“I would assume you’re in the minority,” she retorted.
“Please don’t assume, Louise,” Boston replied condescendingly, shifting some papers. “To that end, I’ll present you with a requested action, voted approved by the members of the Magdalene Club, that this referendum be deferred until further research into the need of fire services and the funds allocated to that need are thoroughly researched. After which we call for a report to be offered to the citizens prior to an open public vote on this issue.”
Bobby twisted his neck, gave Mickey a dour look, mouthed, “Asshole,” and turned back.
Councilman Whitfield held up his hand resignedly and invited, “I’ll have a look at that if you don’t mind, Boston.”
“Not at all,” Boston murmured into the microphone in front of him, moved from the podium, presented the papers to Whitfield and returned to the podium. “As you’ll see in the addendum attached to that paper that a goodly number of businessmen and women in this community, who voted that action, are concerned about this issue.”
“In other words, the rich folk, thinkin’ they’re high and mighty and their money should get them attention, wanna throw a fit about somethin’ none of us get but if they get their way, could put us in danger,” a man called from the gallery.
Whitfield looked from his study of the papers over the reading specs he’d slid on in the direction of the voice. “Tom, if you have something to say, we ask you say it during your turn at the podium.”
“And make me listen to this crap in the meantime?” Tom, who I saw was the Tom who ran The Shack on the wharf, returned.
“Everyone has a voice in this meeting and if a citizen takes their time to share their thoughts with this council, as servants to this town, it’s our duty to listen,” another council member replied.
“Not if their thoughts are full of it and it isn’t worth your time,” Tom shot back.
There was a titter and I caught Mickey grinning at his lap.
“Tom—” the council member started but was interrupted when someone else spoke up.
“This is crazy. The boys at the MFD volunteer. And just last week, they put their asses on the line, makin’ sure the entire jetty didn’t go up in flames like it could have.”
“I’d ask you to refrain from using coarse language, Jeff,” the council woman named Louise requested firmly.
“What else would you call it?” Jeff asked. “Straight up fire or fire damage closed down that whole shopping area and if the worst happened, those same things coulda took out the folks fightin’ it. I call that puttin’ your ass on the line. Now, no disrespect, Louise, but I didn’t hear about you in your gear fightin’ that blaze. I sure as hell didn’t hear about Stone doin’ it.”
That got another titter.
“They aren’t all asking for salaries,” someone else called loudly. “They want one salary for one guy. Town’s over two hundred years old and we never paid a single firefighter. Only pay a chief and he acts for the whole county so we don’t even pay his full salary. Think it’s about time we did that. Shoot, if it was up to me, they’d all get paid.”