Jess Lourey - October Fest

The snort, however, did not break Glokkmann’s stride. She smiled winningly at the audience, revealing two dimples as deep as oil wells. Her hands were clasped tightly in front of her. “What is important to me is what’s important to you. Increased money in your wallets. Healthier communities. Stronger families. More jobs.”

It occurred to me that I should be writing this down, but I didn’t see how she could be any vaguer short of saying, “I like good stuff!” She continued dishing out the pabulum for another ten minutes before tossing a gracious nod to Swydecker, who was as sincere as he was boring. In a mumbling, shuffling voice, he explained how his thirty years in the education system (I knew it!) taught him the value of strong public schools and well-funded libraries, the benefit to communities if families had access to living wages and health benefits, and the importance of preserving the environment for future generations by making unpopular decisions now. He did not have a hooting section, not even a small one. In fact, I wouldn’t have noticed when he stopped talking except he and the Representative took their seats.

The debate followed a pattern after that: Grace would read a question, which didn’t seem fair as we knew whose team she was on. Glokkmann would answer it with a chirpy ball of nothing, and then Swydecker would respond in a specific and stultifying way before being cut off for running over his time limit. The only alteration to this pattern was in who spoke first. I didn’t want to embarrass myself by nodding off and so instead closed one eye and pretended to squish the tiny heads of the people on stage.

Before I knew it, it was time for questions from the audience. I raised my hand not because I had something to ask but because I needed to reassure myself I was awake. Thankfully I wasn’t called on. Instead, the blonde woman to my left got her chance. “Representative Glokkmann, there’s rumors that you’re considering throwing your hat into the governor ring. Is it true?”

The Representative smiled brightly. “Lila, right now my priority is serving the state in the position they’ve elected me to. I have no other political ambitions at this time. If that changes, my family will be the first to know, and you’ll be the second.” The audience laughed politely, and Glokkmann winked in Lila’s direction.

Someone behind me was called on next. He stood. “Mr. Swydecker, what are your feelings on the current war?”

Swydecker appeared somber and thoughtful, which apparently was the debate equivalent of showing your throat in a dog fight. “Depends on what day you ask, doesn’t it Arnie?” Glokkmann interrupted, smiling as she sliced. “But I’m always on the side of the troops and America.”

Handy, I thought, settling in for a twenty-minute playground fight with Glokkmann playing the role of lunch-stealer. I was about to pack it up when the reporter who’d tipped me on the tippler was finally called on. Grace seemed to have been deliberately avoiding acknowledging him because he’d had his hand up since before the official audience Q & A period and had been holding it impatiently aloft since.

“Yes, Bob Webber, right?” Grace said icily. “What newspaper are you with again?”

“I have a blog, actually, Ms. Swinton, but I believe you know that,” he said, standing. “It’s called The Body Politic. My question is for Representative Glokkmann.” He cleared his throat, and I noticed that the arms of his sport coat were a little short, the front shiny from wear. He looked vulnerable standing there, like a kid owning only hand-me-downs dressing his best for a big speech. “Ma’am, the only bill you have successfully sponsored in your three terms in the legislature is House Resolution 1294, which calls for the designation of the month of September as ‘National Moebius Syndrome Awareness Month.’ Of the twelve other bills you’ve co-sponsored, six are directly related to opening up national lands to gas and oil exploration, development, and production. Two are aimed at killing the health-care bill so insurance companies rather than doctors get to decide what health care we receive, while your husband coincidentally owns an insurance company. Do you have any ethical qualms about doing little else in Congress other than using your position to line the pockets of the oil industry and your family?”

Glokkmann held her smile, though it cracked a little at each corner. “Bob, tell me what you know about Moebius Syndrome.” Both hands were definitely shaking now.

“That’s not my question, ma’am.”

“I’ll tell you what I know. I know it’s an unfair disease that affects thousands, and through awareness and support, we can make a difference in the lives of children who face this tremendous hurdle. You’re telling me that advocating for those who can’t advocate for themselves is ‘doing little’?”

I always thought I had a gift for deflection, the pretty little sister of lying, but this lady was a pro. I craned my head fully so I could watch Webber’s reaction. His cheeks flushed, and he was shifting his weight from one foot to another. He knew he couldn’t pursue his line of questioning without looking coldhearted. Score one for the Lego-haired Lady. He sat down abruptly, and I turned back in time to see her smile triumphantly, her hands once again clasped in front of her.

Grace stepped in to announce the debate successful, and at an end. The candidates moved to the edge of the stage and shook hands while worker ants sprang up to clear the stage and prepare it for the night’s festivities. I wove through the crowd to reach Bob the blogger and was nearly there when a commotion erupted at the rear of the tent. A group of six or seven people marched in, all of them carrying protest signs. The posters I could read proclaimed health care a right and not a privilege, and the sign holders were chanting angrily, demanding an audience with Glokkmann and Swydecker.

I toggled to get a closer look, but so did all the other reporters and the camera crews, causing a bottleneck. Moving to the side instead of fighting forward, I was able to catch a glimpse of the dark-haired woman who’d assured me “Queen Glokkmann” would not miss a debate slide into the tent through the same opening as the protestors, a smirk on her face. She strode toward the stage and took a post where she could watch both the candidates and the sign holders. Swydecker was watching the sign holders with interest. Glokkmann, on the other hand, was high-tailing it toward an exit. The security guard materialized alongside the protestors.

I wished I had a chance to see how it all turned out, but I had to open up the library. I scribbled Bob the blogger’s name in my notebook, wondering if his last name was spelled with one or two b’s, and set off to start my shift. Of course, if I was a dog, I’d have bolted straight out of town, my hackles razor-sharp. The murder had never been closer, butcher and victim sharing the same tent air.

The Battle Lake Public Library had served as my refuge since I’d arrived in town, an oasis of comforting words, leafy plants in the windows, a place for everything and everything in its place. I let myself in and grabbed the stack from the Book Return bin on my way to fire up the front desk computer. I loved having a peephole into what Battle Lake read. Today’s load featured Artificial Intelligence for Dummies with several pages dog-eared, a handful of romance novels, two books on training boxers (the dog, not the fighter), four hardcover bestsellers, all of which I had a waiting list for, and a Thai cookbook with a gorgeous cover photo of slivered pork in cilantro broth alongside fresh spring rolls and a tiny pot of peanut sauce. I was so busy slavering over the culinary possibilities that I didn’t notice the shadow on the other side of the door. I almost jumped over my hair when the greeting bells jingled.