“Miss Winds, are you there?” now demanded the Mayor.
“Yes sir, I shall be there in just a moment,” I called from the other side of the wooden paneled door.
At this time of night, when the moon is high in the sky and the stars, though obstructed by gleaming apartment lights, are surely now visible, there is no other living soul haunting New York’s mayoral office aside from myself and, of course, Mayor Momo. I shuffle a few papers around on my desk to keep up the appearance of being busy, of being a good aide, and hurry into the Mayor’s private office. He is sitting beside the fire, a scotch in hand, and his usual stagnant expression is plastered on his face, not entirely different from a smile painted on a clown. Despite the seemingly unmoving curl of his lips, one fit for a politician who delivers both desirable and concerning news while maintaining popular support, he is not utterly ugly. The broadness he lacks is made up for in height. The only hint of his age is a slightly receding hairline and specks of white at his temples. Without fail, the Mayor is suitably dressed and, for the most part, charming; I find charming and cunning travel in pairs, with the latter whispering the directions of a warped moral compass.
I take my seat on the swivel chair across from the red plush couch in the center of the chamber where the Mayor is reclining.
“Miss Winds, you act as though you are afraid of me. Why don’t you come sit beside me?”
“I am quite alright here sir,” I knew to utter these words would be fighting the inevitable with an unloaded gun, so instead, reluctantly, I moved to the far end of the couch. For the first time, the Mayor turned his gaze away from the television broadcasting CNN news, a program I had learned was his favorite.
“Do you find me handsome Ms. Winds for an older sort of man?”
“Handsome sir?” I faltered mid-sentence. Did I find this man, this plastic statue, to be handsome? I would not declare it so. “No.” The words slipped from my lips before I was finished thinking about them. It was at this singular exclamation that the once impassive expression crumbled into a sort of smile or grimace; I could not be sure to either extent. He must be appalled; I will be jobless by morrow.
“You truly do not find me the slightest bit handsome?!” he exclaimed. I attempted to interject, to apologize, to get on hands and knees, figuratively of course, but he continued speaking ignoring my fumbled interruptions. “In my career I have had many aides, yet, none so bold, none so honest. I admire your bluntness, though it is lacking in the proper confidence. To be blunt and honest is a liberty and one that I, as a wealthy politician, do not possess or have any use for. For these reasons, I quite enjoy basking in your unfiltered comments. Your candidness is refreshing and compensates, though barely, for your otherwise ordinariness.”
For a moment the reasons I was here escaped me. I was bewildered. What steps had I taken to earn such a title: ordinary? Then I remembered I was here to have a purpose, to be useful, so I held my tongue.
Shifting in my seat I mumbled, “Is there anything else I can do for you sir?”
“For starters, you may speak clearly. I would most appreciate it if you would stay awhile and chat with me. It has been a long day and like I said I enjoy your company; it is in many ways a novelty.”
“Sir, if you insist on my remaining here, with you, in this office on this plush red couch, may I pose a question?”
“Go on,” said Mayor Momo presently.
Choosing my words carefully, I was intent on restraining my impulsivity. I asked, “Would you consider yourself a politician of philanthropy, a man of and for the people you might say?”
“Why, that is not a simple question. It makes sense you would inquire considering your age and undeniable innocence. A politician who is indeed a true philanthropist is just as real as fairies or Santa Claus. If this is enough to satisfy your inquiries and to earn me your continued support I will assure you I try my very best to be one of the good ones.”
In return, I bestowed upon him a slight nod, one that alluded to approval but was in no way a presentation of enthusiasm. I did not believe him. I was ready to retire for the night, but I knew contrary to my heavy eyelids, the excitement of the encounter would entrap me in thought and hinder my sleep. The words “Do you find me handsome Ms. Winds for an older sort of man?” pounded relentlessly, creating engravings on the forefront of my skull; the phrase visible in my mind's eyes even when my droopy lids closed.
Disclaimer: Any relation that this writing has to current events is merely a coincidence. This is simply an emulation of Jane Eyre.