Dramatization of City Council Meeting
Late in the afternoon, Simon called and I filled him in on the amazing developments. He wanted to bring champagne to celebrate, but we both agreed it would be politically more prudent to stick with apple cider. I told him to bring along some fresh clothes and deodorant.
Simon arrived at the same time as the aldermen did for that night’s meeting of the Urbana City Council. Aldermen and audience members alike, noticed my lack of hygiene so I was not pleased when Simon came bearing no clothing. “Where are my clothes?” I asked.
“No rush,” said Simon, winking.
“What!” I shouted with disgust.
“You’re letting people know that all gays aren’t prissy queens, that we can be rugged.” I grimaced. “So are you going up to the meeting?” he asked. “You’re probably the main order of business.”
“Like this!?” I shouted. “I can’t believe it. Do you have a BO fetish or something, or are Samantha and Ellen right about you being a police agent?”
“I plead not guilty to being a police agent,” Simon said, smiling.
I realized then that the filth turned him on. I would rather he be a police agent. Spy vs. spy still had a hint of ‘60s glamour. I figured our relationship did not have much of a future and told him so.
“I’ll remember you always as you are now,” he replied lasciviously. “Anyway, you should go up there and tell them what you think.”
“No way,” I said shaking my head. “In this state, I’ll just turn everybody off. Seriously, I think Joel Sandberg will have a better chance with the Sheila Swanson proposal, if I’m not there.”
Simon just looked disappointed. “You’re supposed to be in their face,” he said.
“Give me a break. I’m tired. I smell. I’m low on valium. C’mon, let’s just celebrate the victory.”
Simon reluctantly shrugged, put the plastic champagne glasses on the floor and poured the sparkling cider. We toasted the revelation, the identity of Floyd “Butch” Picardy, and ate a box of Kentucky Fried Chicken.
The meeting ended at ten; the audience and aldermen left. To a person, they looked down at Simon and me playing cards on the mattress and glanced at the box of chicken bones. Several crinkled their nose. There were a few encouraging smiles, but most faces showed contempt, horror or disgust.
Joel Sandberg came down when almost everyone else had left. "We didn't make it. No one wanted an investigation. All they wanted was for you to leave. They said you were a public nuisance. They were outraged that the Mayor had left town without ordering your arrest."
"What did they say about Wayne Picardy?" I asked.
"Nobody mentioned him, although he didn't show up at the meeting tonight and that's a first." Joel half-waved goodbye and hurried out the door.
Suddenly I was petrified that the information about Wayne Picardy and his son was for my ears only, that it conveniently would never make it to the newspapers. Now I was upset with myself for not going upstairs to the Council meeting and revealing the news in answer to any questions or during audience participation. “I wish you brought me those damn clothes and deodorant,” I said to Simon.
