Mayor Edward's Story

Mayor Charles Edwards puts on his spectacles. He stares at the phone for several minutes, apprehensive about picking it up. He could veto a dozen bills a day and go toe-to-toe with the thorny city council--he doesn't care.

Edwards glances at a photo of him side by side with an older gentleman in his late sixties to early seventies, wisps of thinning white hair flanking his tonsured head. The goofy smiles on their faces seem to say it all, as though they could care less about the camera in front of them. A bottle of vintage wine is clearly visible in the older man's hand.

"Guess I have no other choice, do I, Jack?"

He fishes out a cigar and lights it as he begins the tedious process of going through the Rolodex, dialing heads of state and government as though he were asking them to give blood. Rivulets of sweat trickle through his palms.
No one said this would be easy.

"Madam Prime Minister, this is Mayor Edwards of Atlanta. I was wondering whether you'd be coming to the summit. Yes, I'm aware that your daughter is having her bat mitzvah that week. But the President--my President--is insisting on your presence at the presidential palace. I don't care if she's turning twelve, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity, you have to reschedule. We're talking world peace here! Is Palestine on the table? I don't know, Madam Prime Minister--I can look it up. I know it's in the middle of the night. Could you just think about it? Goodnight. Shalom."

click

"Prime Minister Koizumi! Kenichiwa! This is Mayor Edwards, from Atlanta? I'm wondering if you got the invitation from President Robertson. Thank you for the compliment--you know the President is a big Elvis fan too. No, I haven't seen the photos from Graceland. Look, the President is really serious about you coming down. No, I don't know what's on the agenda. It's kind of hush-hush actually. What? No, the President didn't tell me personally. I'll see if we can work China in. Goodnight, Mr. Prime Minister."

click

"Good Morning, President Marcos! This is Mayor Edwards of Atlanta. Thank you for your concern. The wife is doing very well. I know things have been rough for you ever since the attempted coup last year. Did you get the invitation President Robertson sent? No? Double-check, then. I have as much idea as you do. I can't make any promises about bringing up the Muslim thing in the south, but we'll see what we can do. Can the President count on seeing you there? Ok. Good."

click

"Sultan Ali! Salaam! This is Mayor Edwards of Atlanta. What? No I don't think he got it--swords are kind of hard to ship through the mail these days, as I'm sure you're aware. By the way, thank you for the cigars. Quick question--are you coming to the summit this week? The President wants to know. What? Good. Glad to know we still have friends in the region--Christian or not..."
Something raps his office door.

"It's your wife, sir." A female aide announces.

"Thank you." He dismisses her.

He freezes as an older woman in a flower print dress stands under the threshold of the door, looking apprehensive. Even after five years of marriage (and ten years of living in sin before that), she hasn't lost the curves that attracted him to her--nor the sweet, warm disposition that endeared her to thousands. He struggles to pry himself from her piercing dark eyes, drawing him deeper into her stare.

""Thank you, sultan." He nods assuredly before hanging up the phone. "I'll pass that along. Please give my regards to the misses."

Click.

"That was the Sheikh of Oman." He informs her. "He's flying in next month."

"The conference?"

"Yes." He nods . "Everyone is going to be there .The Iranians, the Israelis..."

"Sounds like a big deal."

"It is." He fishes out a cigar from a nearby drawer. "Cyberorganisms are the new Internet."

"I wish you wouldn't do that."

"Honey, it's just one a day. No big deal."

"No big deal?" Rebekah puts her hands on her hips. "Remember what happened to your father?"

"You got a point." He puts it out.

"Charles." Her voice is tinged with concerns. "There's something I've been meaning to tell you."

"It's not about the kids again?"

Rebekah nods her head.

"Honey, remember the last time you had a miscarriage? You cried for four days."
"I know, but I just can't get the image of that girl out of my mind. Those long blonde curls..."

"You need to stop living in the past." He quickly changes the subject. "By the way, the President and First Lady are expecting us at the state dinner next week."

"You mean our President?"

"Yeah." Charles slips his spectacles on. "You must have made quite an impression on them."

"I'm not sure it's a good idea. All those soldiers...I'd hate to see anything happen. Remember when the army tried to poison you?"

"It's okay." Charles coos. "As long as we have God on our side, we'll be fine."

"But what if we aren't?"

"God willing, I hope not."

"I guess I'll be seeing you later this evening?"

"I'll be seeing you."

"Charles?"Rebekah spins around as she leaves the room.

"What?"

"I love you." She blows a kiss.

As the two lay in bed later that evening, Mayor Edwards struggles to go to sleep. His mind races. What if his wife is right? What if terrorists somehow manage to kill him at the summit? Or her? Or both?

He shudders at the thought.

He listens to his wife's sighs as she turns over. The mayor closes his eyes and tunes out the awful thoughts.

Everything's going to be okay, everything's going to be okay, everything's going to be okay... He tells himself. *Everything's going to be okay, everything's going to be okay..."

Suddenly a hand that is not his own travels down his chest, gripping his stomach tightly. At first he tries to resist, yet as his wife rains wet kisses over his face and neck, he feels himself becoming aroused. She pulls herself closer to him in the spooning position, nibbling his ears gingerly. He relents as his wife's body heat warms him.

"Oh, Charles..." She murmurs in her sleep.

Her hand sneaks into his briefs, massaging the rigid shaft inside. The mayor groans before pulling it away, draping her over the covers. As he gets up to leave he gently kisses her on the forehead.

"I love you too, kid."

Splayed out on the living room couch, he can't help but think that there are worse things in the world than having a wife who loves him--even if she chooses the wrong time to express it.