Chapter 13

Election day dawned cloudy, grey and rainy. By nine o'clock, the rain tapered oft to a light drizzle but that was as good as it promised to do all day.

"Cheer up, darling," Art tried to console her. "It's raining just as hard for all the candidates you know."

"I wish you were right, dear," Wanda corrected him. "I don't want to sound like an old political pro, but rain falls harder for some candidates than for others."

"You better fill me in on that after I pour us some more coffee," Art shook his head as he stepped naked out of the bed. "I never was much at either weather or politics."

Wanda listened as he rattled cups in the kitchen, then the silence was broken by a little whoop of exhultation.

"Now there's something I can understand," . he called in a way that told her the lesbians were at it again and had given him a ringside seat.

"Right on time today are they?" she called back.

"Sure thing," he answered. "There's one game that doesn't get called off on account of rain."

"That game wouldn't get called off on account of earthquakes, from what I've seen. Are you bringing the coffee or have they hired you to keep score?"

"Grouch," he answered from the door where he stood with two mugs of steaming coffee.

"Who seems to be winning this morning?" Wanda asked with a laugh in her voice that assured him she didn't mind his having looked at the show.

"As far as they're concerned, I'd say it's a dead heat." He paused and looked thoughtful for a moment before going on. "Well, not dead, surely, but very heated. I'd say the winners are the viewers on this side of our building. I wonder if they sell tickets to their friends."

"I think I'd better get you off that subject and back to politics, sweetheart."

"Okay," he swung into the bed beside her. "Tell me again that bit about the rain falling on some candidates more than others."

"Well, darling," she began "I suspect you're putting me on, as they say in my part of town, but here goes. The machine has a bunch of assured votes already lined up. These are sure things no matter what."

"Fine, and so do you."

"That's right. They know how many they have, I don't. I suspect on that basis my assured vote total is smaller than Carson's. Now we move into the next area."

"That's the rainy one?" he asked.

"That's the rainy one," she answered in the same tone. "You see, the critical vote is that mass of partially committed voters. They're the ones I've really been hammering at. They are fed up with the system and the fact that it does nothing for them. In talking to them, I could see that some of them were more or less convinced by my arguments and are actually thinking of voting for me."

"And if you have enough of them sufficiently convinced," he picked up her explanation, "you can really beat the machine after all."

"Right. Now that's where the rain leaks in and streaks the picture."

"Show me."

"As I see it, a lot of the people I've talked to went to bed last night expecting to go out and vote for me today. They're not exactly dedicated followers, but they think that maybe I really mean what I say, really care about them.

"So," she went on, "they get up this morning, take a look at the weather and say, oh hell, it's raining. I'll go vote later when the rain stops."

"Maybe they'll vote on the way to work," Art suggested.

"Maybe, except that they don't follow banker's hours. Those who work have to be there by eight o'clock. They have trouble enough getting to work. A lot of them don't work at all so if they don't have to go out to vote, they don't have to go out at all except maybe to the neighborhood bar. Why should they get wet just to vote? They really aren't that concerned."

"But they should be, damn it all. They should be more aware of what's going on around them."

"Sure, darling," she patted his cheek lightly, "but with a lot of them, if they were that concerned, they wouldn't be living in that ward at all."

"I'm afraid I follow you and I don't think I like where you've led me," he observed ruefully.

"Neither do I, dear, but that's the way the raindrops patter."

"Ouch. You nearly made me spill my coffee, you big, nasty bully."

"If I catch you talking Madison Avenue again you'll get more than just one spank."

"Sometimes, I think you're not really punishing me at all when you do that. I begin to suspect you do it because you like it."

"Of course I do," Art laughed. "After all, you're a nice cheeky little miss. I guess that's just the way the fanny tans," he looked very serious.

"Now who's talking Madison Avenue?" Wanda pretended to pound on his bare chest with her fist.

"So," Art returned to the subject of weather and votes, "if the rain keeps falling, so does the vote count. And if all those half-committed ones don't vote, you're going to be the loser."

"That's about it dear," she shrugged. "I'm not admitting I'm licked yet, by any means. And if I do lose, I'm not going to blame it on the weather, but I think my chances would be so much better if the sun were shining."

"Let's see now," he mused as he rubbed his chin, "who do I know in the weather department who can be bought."

"Arthur Bowman," she sat up straight and glared at him, "this is one department where you can't buy things."

"Hey," he looked stunned as he turned toward her, "are you sure of that?"

"Absolutely, my darling. I hear that's a one man show and the head man is absolutely incorruptible."

"That's terrible," Art looked to be in great pain. "You shouldn't go around saying things like that lightly. It's enough to shake a man's faith in money."

They laughed for a while, then got up and Wanda busied herself with preparing breakfast. After admitting it would be more practical to shave while she was busy in the kitchen, Art announced that he had no intention of being practical when he could enjoy himself by watching her work.

Through the window, they saw that the ambitious lesbians had finally finished their game and were getting ready to go out.

"Darling," Wanda slipped her arms around him, "I know I kidded you about looking at them, but I hope you know I don't really mind it."

"Of course I do dear. Sure, from time to time I like to take a look at them, any normal man would I guess, I just draw the line somewhere between normal interest and that morbid point where a man becomes a peeping Tom. Does that sound reasonable?"

"Everything you say and do is reasonable, my darling," she patted his cheek again.

Over breakfast, Art told her that there were a few things he had to do that would keep him fairly busy during the day. Wanda assured him she didn't mind and had been planning to break the rules by going to school for the day but had hesitated mentioning it for fear of hurting him.

When they finished eating, they carried refills of coffee to the bathroom. Art had a quick shower before Wanda ran a tub for herself. Later, while she relaxed in it, Art shaved and they went on chatting.

"How come a man with all your money doesn't have an electric shaver?" she asked as she watched him move the safety razor over his face.

"Because electric shavers are for ladies' legs and very young men, as far as I'm concerned," he answered. "For a good shave, I'll take lots of lather and a good stainless steel blade any time."

"Don't you ever cut yourself?" she asked after a brief pause during which she continued to look at him in the mirror.

"Only when I see you in the mirror sitting in the tub like that and forget where my face is," he answered with a serious expression.

Standing in the tub, Wanda held a towel loosely around herself and went into a variation of a dance that would have drawn roars of approval from the audience at any strip joint in town.

"Lady," he pretended protest, "you're going to make me cut my throat."

With a few more bumps and grinds, Wanda assured him that wasn't the portion of his anatomy in which she was most interested.

They dressed then and kissed good-bye. On her way to the school, Wanda stopped at the polling station and dutifully cast her ballot.