Around ten o'clock on election night Mike's was as crowded as it had ever been, packed with members and supporters of the pro-park group and more than a few folks who just wanted to hear the outcome with their neighbors. If only they'd come out like this all the time, Mike thought for a moment, but he knew that this was an exceptional day and that his business -- or Johnston -- might never be the same again. The atmosphere in the cafe was charged with anticipation: the polls had been closed for about an hour, and it would be a while longer yet before any results were in, but it was getting just close enough to feel, close enough for reasoned discussion to give way to feverish waiting, ears pricked up, muscles tensed. Mike poured coffee and distributed beers and joked about the wait, trying to remind himself as well as others that life would go on, either way, afterward.
There was a fairly regular flow of people through the door, and after a while Mike was too busy to pay attention to each new party. So it was indirectly, looking back at Madeleine and seeing the surprise on her face, that he learned of Roy's arrival. He turned around to see Roy, in his usual cap, windbreaker, and jeans, smiling at him.
"Hey," said Mike, a bit off balance, "am I glad to see you."
"You seem surprised. Did you really think I was going to just sit in that living room until they took the ranch away?"
"Well, it's just that it's been a while . . . and we hadn't heard . . . "
"Yeah." Roy's look grew more sober. "Fact is, Mike, I was starting to wonder myself. As of tomorrow, we'll know exactly what we're dealing with; tonight, I wanted to be here. Whatever happens, happens."
"Funny," said Mike, "I was just thinking the same thing." He threw an arm around Roy's shoulder and walked him back to the counter, where they joined the waiting crowd.
It was about an hour later that Dave came through the door, his camera around his neck. "Dad," he said, dashing toward the counter, "I got your note." He looked back and forth between Roy and Mike. "Is everything okay?"
"It's fine, son." Roy patted him on the shoulder. "I knew you'd be out, so I thought I'd drop in on your uncle Mike here."
"So you're not -- "
"No," said Mike, "we're not. Welcome back, fellas. I'm not sure how things got as crazy as they did. But it's over now."
"Yeah." Dave looked warily at Mike. "So how are you doing?"
"Well, okay . . . just a little impatient, is all."
"You mean you haven't heard?"
Mike, Roy, Madeleine, and just about everyone within earshot leaned forward in unison. "You got results?" blurted Roy. "Mike, I thought you'd have a spotter at the counting place."
"We do," said Mike. "No one's called yet."
"Well, this isn't complete," said Dave. "Maybe two thirds of the votes are in. But it looks like Ed's going to win, big-time. At least ten points."
"Whew." Roy let out a long whistle; the crowd turned to each other in surprise; and Mike, after trying to hold back for a moment, broke into a huge shit-eating grin.
"I'm not saying who I voted for," he said, to general laughter.
"What about the park?" asked Madeleine.
"That's a lot closer," said Dave. "But right now it's running behind." He found it hard to check his enthusiasm, but at the same time he looked around and saw a sea of shocked, disappointed faces. "Sorry," he said, as the stillness gave way to an anxious buzz.
"I'll be damned," said Mike, pulling Madeleine aside. "I knew it was possible but I thought we had it."
"It's not certain, honey."
"Two thirds of the vote, Mad. That doesn't look good." He shook his head. "I wonder how ol' Iris and Steve are taking this," he said, and he and Madeleine had to put aside their own worries long enough to share another laugh.
* * *
"Seventy-five thousand dollars, Steven! Do you have any idea what that is in a race on this level? Do you?"
"Well, I'd imagine -- "
"It's a bloody fortune, that's what it is! We spent a fortune for this mayoralty and we lost!"
Steven sighed and sipped at his vodka tonic and watched her pace past him, back and forth. They were in an anteroom just above the reception hall at Hidden Canyon, where a small crowd was milling around waiting for what would be a concession speech. He didn't have a concession speech; Iris hadn't thought one necessary. But he didn't much care. Smooth speech or rough speech or no speech, the election was gone and nothing could win now what the seventy-five thousand hadn't. "I guess a fortune wasn't enough," he said, nodding at the poetry of the line as he said it. Perhaps he could use that in the speech. . . .
"Honest to God, Steven. Don't you see what we've lost here?"
"Yes. Seventy-five thousand dollars. Which we can afford."
"Steven, with that park being built and with us in office . . . we were on the verge of something great, we were poised to become something bigger than this godforsaken part of the world has ever seen."
"Maybe we let that blind us. Maybe we were trying too hard." He looked at Iris, his arms open and palms up in a gesture of what can I do about it now?, then, getting no response other than a black look, rose from his seat and walked out into the hallway in preparation for the trip downstairs.
Iris remained, her eyes flashing with anger, her arms folded before her, for a good minute before finally deflating, hanging her head and laughing bitterly at what she took to be Steven's fatal lack of ambition. "If he weren't good in bed . . . " she started, but the thought wasn't worth finishing; in the end it wasn't his sexual stamina but his charisma that bound her to him, more inextricably than any of the clients they'd played for patsies or the voters they'd tried to. She sighed, tossed back the rest of his drink, and followed him downstairs to face the cameras.
* * *
Just as Steven hadn't planned on delivering a concession speech, Ed hadn't planned -- or at least hadn't planned much -- on delivering a victory speech. Alone in his office, he sat tapping hesitantly at a laptop while listening to the muffled sounds of the victory party below. In time, he knew, he'd find the right words for the moment; in time, he'd print out a few pages of notes and head downstairs, where Janet would come to his side and, smiling, take his arm on the way to the podium. For now, he was content to tap out a few lines and rise and stare out at the near-deserted streets, drinking in his solitude.
He hadn't felt so vindicated, or so lonely, in his life. His performance at the debate, prompted by what seemed the sure knowledge -- for the first time in his political career -- that victory had probably escaped his grasp, had gotten the town's attention and sparked a last-minute shift of votes. In the end, they didn't like what they'd seen of Spencer; they just wanted to know that Ed wasn't a lesser version of the same phenomenon. In the end, Rebecca had been right: it was the right strategy and the right thing to do.
But Rebecca wasn't there to help him find the right words, or to put a hand on his shoulder as he caught a moment's rest, nor would she be. In the moments after the polls closed, when his reason for optimism was a feeling in the air and not any actual numbers, he'd called and gotten her congratulations -- and, with them, a plea not to call again. "I'm glad you've turned it around, Ed, and I believe you," she said, "but the spell is broken. I need to move on, for myself." The movers would arrive, on schedule, a week later, and something in her voice told him that there would be no winning her back in that time -- that the attempt would only make her parting bitter all over again. So he wrote, and paced, and surveyed, alone.
"I guess this is what's known as a Pyrrhic victory," he said, tucking his notes into his jacket and heading for the auditorium.
* * *
Dave's work for the evening wasn't done, and after dropping in at Mike's (where he got a few good shots of the park supporters' troubled vigil) he headed across town to shoot Ed's victory speech. The gathering promised to go till well after midnight, the last event in a frenetic last few days, and he was tired, aching tired, when he climbed into Roy's truck and drove away. Home, and bed, looked better than they ever had. Coming through downtown, though, he passed a familiar storefront and noticed that the lights were still burning. Aw, no, he thought, even as he was pulling up to the curb, don't do this. But still he found himself peering through the glass, and watching her as she gathered stray folders and flyers and soda cans, and, when she looked up, waving then pointing at the door.
"Well, we won," he said, when she'd let him in.
"I know. I, uh . . . I was kind of surprised."
"Me, too. But . . . I guess we got what we wanted, huh?"
Jenny let out a little laugh, but it was a bitter laugh. "I guess so," she said. "Except that I was taken for a fool. And I did a terrible thing to you."
"You didn't do anything to me. I was angry for a while, but -- "
"And with good reason. I can't imagine what you're doing here."
"I didn't plan it," he said. "I didn't know why myself. But now that I'm here, I know. I needed to see you. I don't want to come back around here in a week and find you gone."
"Not even a week," she said sadly. "I'm packing tonight and leaving tomorrow. I guess I belong in Tucson."
"You belong anywhere you want to belong, Jenny. I've been thinking a lot about that. You did some good work here. Don't let what happened take away from that."
"Thank you, Dave." She reached out and squeezed his hand, very lightly. "But it really is time for me to go."
Dave took a deep breath; he scarcely thought about what came next before saying it. "Take me with you?" he said.
"What? Dave, I -- "
"No, no, I don't mean let's live together or anything." The words were coming out in a rush. "But now that it's all over, I need to think about what's next, too. I know I want to go to the university, and now I've got a contact in Tucson who'll use my stuff. I could make a go of it there. And I . . . I don't want to forget about you. Can't we back up the clock, go back to the day after that first night? You know . . . dating and all that?"
Jenny, who'd practically been frozen in shock, thawed as Dave spoke. "A date would be a good thing," she said, a smile spreading slowly across her face. "And in the meantime, yes, I've got room in my car."
"Oh, Jenny," said Dave, already wrapping her in a hug, "that is all I wanted to hear."
* * *
Roy began to make up for lost time by showing up early the next day, with great news: "I'm keeping the ranch," he announced, before Mike could even say hello. What happened had been a blessing in disguise: because the only available buyers for his and other ranches had been speculators, the entire future of those ranches as ranches depended on the election. If the theme park had been approved, the speculators were sitting on top of prime land for future development; but since it was defeated (by a 51-49 margin, in the end), they were sitting on top of entities that they knew nothing about running, and the expected stampede to resell would depress the prices they could hope to command. That very morning, Roy had been contacted with an offer: buy the ranch back (in practice, voiding the sale before it became final). Being one to seize opportunity where it presented itself, he agreed, but on the condition that the original buyer assume some of his equipment debt. He walked into Mike's, before lunchtime, in charge of his own ranch and able to balance the books with enough left over for himself and Dave. It was the happiest Mike had seen him in years.
It was almost enough to make Mike glad the park had gone down.
Almost.
What made him glad, if not about the park, was a visit he got later that day. As they were waiting out the lull between lunch and dinner, Ed appeared in the doorway; it was his first visit since the evening, several months ago, when Mike had challenged him on the park. Now, with both halves of the election having gone his way, Ed might have been expected to show some of his old swagger, to remind Mike in a manner that seemed good-natured but was really rubbing it in that he'd prevailed again. But he entered the cafe quietly, almost hesitantly. "Mike?" he asked. "You got time to talk?"
Mike nodded and led Ed to the back booth that he liked to use for conversations with visitors. "Congratulations," he said.
"Thank you."
Mike waited for Ed to launch into something, but Ed really wasn't in that sort of mode. "So . . . what did you want to talk about?"
"About the election, actually."
"The election. Well, Ed, it's obvious how things went. You value my input on this one?"
"I'm not here to rehash the race, Mike."
"That's good, because I'd rather not." He stared at Ed. "Tell you something, though. I voted for you."
"Really." Ed seemed absolutely bewildered. "I figured that even after you broke your ties with Spencer, you'd end up holding your nose and voting for him."
"Ed, I just couldn't figure out a way to hold my nose that long."
Ed laughed. "It should have been you, Mike. Hell, you could have beaten me."
"Good thing for everyone I didn't think of that, then."
"I guess so."
"You know, it really ended up being good for the town, even if it got a little nuts for a while. We figured out who we are. Or I did, anyway. We'll be fine."
"We'll especially be fine if we build a little." He smiled. "A little. I'd like to return to your proposal for developing downtown, Mike. If there's one thing I've learned this year, it's that we can't just sit back and let things take care of themselves."
"I don't know, Ed. That proposal's three years old now. I'd just about gotten to the point where I was willing to let it lie -- "
"But not really. Don't you see? That's why the park looked so good, in a way. If you don't move forward -- if we don't move forward, everything we have here just erodes away. I still think the park was moving too far forward. But I see now where my attitude made it seem like it had to be the park or nothing."
"That's certainly the way I felt. Hell, when those results came in, I thought: we've saved the town from the Spencers of the world, but how are we going to save it from a slow death? How are we going to save it from . . . "
"From Ed Fontaine?" asked Ed with a wry look.
Mike couldn't help but chuckle. "Now, Ed," he said, "don't put words in my mouth."
"I'm not going to do that, Mike. What I am going to do is listen, for real. If you're willing, I want to go ahead with that complex; I think it'll give us a development boost that we can handle . . . without losing sight of who we are. What do you say?"
Mike sat and thought for a moment, about all his past history with Ed, about the struggle over the park, about the ill-fated alliance with Spencer, about the rift with Roy, about his uncertain future . . . and he couldn't bring himself to be bitter, or to want to fight another round with anyone. The important thing was, it wasn't too late; Johnston would fight its larger battles in harmony with itself. "I say, let's do it," he said, extending his hand. They shook on the deal, agreeing to talk over the details later, and then Mike went outside to take in a perfect desert afternoon before getting back to work.