Stray Dogs

Chapter 18

The phone rang and it was Grace asking for Deborah. He called her and stayed at the window.

"Grace? Hi, what's up?" She stood quietly listening, saying nothing and then hung up the phone and stood looking at the desktop.

"That Grace?"

"Uh- yes. She wants to talk with me."

"She just did."

"A private talk, it's something personal for her."

"When?"

"A soon as Puela can get into the Houser room I'll nip down and see what she wants. It shouldn't be long. You mind?"

"No. Go. I can wrangle this mob by myself." His face was grim but a smile twitched at the corners. For some time Gordon had acquired a suspicion that Deborah's overnights with Grace was an indication of something other than just girls stuff. Her behavior with him hadn't changed at all and in bed they still shared a mutual enjoyment of one another. Still . . .

Deborah sat on the customer chair by the door. The closed sign hung at an angle behind her on the door and her friend stood across from her, fingers knotted together.

"Kit told you this?"

"Just an hour ago." She walked over and squatted in front of Deborah, taking her hands in hers. "Think carefully about this, Deb. Don't rush out and start accusing. We all know what Jeannette is like."

"You're saying I should just ignore it?"

"No, not ignore. Just think about it with a clear and open mind." She handled Deborah's fingers and looked away then back. "You have to keep it in perspective with your own behaviour."

Deborah started to protest but Grace held up a hand. "It's not different, Debs, it's the same thing so be careful in your judgement."

"Why does she do these things?"

"Ambition. Word is she wants to be the first woman Mayor of Santa Gordo."

"And she gets this by- by--?"

"Who knows how her mind works. I'll tell you this for nothing; half the men in this town seem to fall on their knees whenever she passes. I think it's a power thing with her. God knows she has no control over her own husband. That idiot is so immersed in golf I think he's gone over the edge."

"I don't know what to do, Grace. I can't believe Gordon would do that to me."

"Maybe he didn't. Remember what I said, Kiddo. Pot and kettle, eh?"

Deborah looked bleak as she recalled her own indiscretion with Grace but somehow it didn't seem as big a betrayal in her mind.

"I have to get back. She stood and hugged her friend. "Thanks, Grace."

Saturday was very slow. Once Jeannette's gang had all left things quieted right down. The winter group returned to their stations on the patio and once again ruled their adopted domain. He heard Deborah pull onto the parking area and studied her determined walk across the pool court to the office. Stiff of spine and lip-- not a good sign. He decided to play it calm cool and collected as she pushed through the door and headed through the office.

"Hello?"

"Hi." Abrupt.

"Everything okay?"

"Fine."

"Good." Things were not fine. He yawned and followed her inside. "God what a boring day. What did Grace have to say?"

"Nothing. Just woman stuff."

"Ooohoo, women stuff, not girl stuff? Must be serious."

She didn't answer. "I'm going to find something for dinner."

"Want to watch a movie with it?"

"Sure."

"I'm going to check the linen inventory. I wouldn't be surprised if the jerk, Houser stole some of our towels." She left and he yawned again as he went out of the office down to the supplies room behind the hotel. Don't push, he warned himself.

************************

Rob Brewster soaked in the lavishness of the office provided for him as the new Mayor of Santa Gordo. Easily fifteen feet square with full corner windows overlooking the highway running south from the town center. He walked the perimeter, touching the polished surfaces of the dark stained wooden file cabinets, the large oval meeting table with leather-padded chairs and moved his shoe over the plush oriental rug that formed an island beneath the set.

Photos of previous occupants decorated the walls, all posing with celebrities at charitable events or construction moguls, cutting ribbons at grand openings. Brewster looked forward to the days ahead when his face would adorn the gallery of Mayoral achievements. Trophies, plaques and citations completed the wall décor and he finished his circuit and sat back down at his desk.

Brewster was under no illusion that he would not have a tough time making the office his; word about was that Jeannette Whyst had big ambitions for his office, and he recalled her performance at his welcoming party, as he swung slowly in the big, ergonomic chair. He needed a strong team on council to keep any attempts of moving on him at bay. This was his reason for calling the office in on a Saturday; Rob intended to jump-start the new week with one extra day.

He buzzed his new secretary and told her to arrange a meeting of the current council for that afternoon and to invite a few of his reliable supporters as well. Move fast, he counseled himself. He arranged his personal items on the desk and then began a list of strategies he would pursue after hearing the input from the meeting. He drifted back to Jeannette in his thoughts and pursed his lips as he considered their encounter; she was shrewd and he just knew he had to be careful.

Fifty-five years old and seasoned in the political arena for most of his adult life, Rob Brewster looked every bit the confident, experienced hand for the tiller that would steer a community to prosperity. Short dark hair, fading at the temples and eyebrows. Square-jawed and shaved so clean as to look shiny.

His eyes were steel blue and his mouth curved in a semi smile that could represent pleasure or scorn without effort. Fit and well groomed, Rob Brewster moved with determined strides when walking and his handshake felt sincere to both men and women. He was the poster boy Mayor.

The line buzzed and he listened to the arrangements for his requested meeting. Soon he would confront his troops as their new leader and he would promote or demote as he saw fit.

Jeannette listened on the phone to the report of Brewster's first moves in the dance of power. It seemed he was going to be a determined and not entirely predictable opponent; Saturday was a day she liked to loll in bed and pamper herself, not be busy on the phone planning strategies.

She checked her list of current councilmen and chose two whom she knew could not afford to object to her suggestions on how to vote at the meeting on the various possible topics. An hour later, she sat back and smiled at the ease with which she could remotely manipulate city hall. Rob had his work cut out.

She called a meeting of her own with a couple of like-minded women, women that had automatically attached themselves to Jeannette and echoed her goal as a rallying call of their own. The purpose was to begin the subtle assault on council by the same means they always found useful in pursuing personal gain—sex, compromise and ultimately, extortion. The battle for Santa Gordo was on.