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Chicken fried rice with broccoli and carrots (Homemade, not take out)

Wow… I knew I'd taken way too long to get this chapter out, adding a paragraph a day or something, but I didn't know it had been that long. Sorry folks! 108. Canvassing “Come on, sweetheart, we need to be going!” Brock just stuck his head into the lounge, and Isadora realised he already had his shoes on. He was wearing a suit now, rather than the jogging pants and sweater he’d been in while he cooked lunch, which of course made perfect sense. He would want to present the best possible impression to attract the votes of residents who were normally less involved in the Committee meetings. It also made perfect sense that he would be heading to the Arrencani house an hour or so ahead of the announced time for the meeting. He was a candidate, at least according to the gossip Isadora had heard around the neighbourhood, and there would presumably be some kind of preparations before the public side of the meeting. It seemed so obvious now. Isadora wished it would have been obvious half an hour ago, so she would have had time to dress up properly. Instead she’d been staring into space, running through different plans in her mind and wondering why Brock hadn’t bothered to share his political ambitions with her. Like every other part of his investigation, really. But she was confident that she was close to catching up on at least one front; desperately hoping that once she got there, her partner would start sharing like they were supposed to. She rushed back to the master bedroom and opened the closet, calling to Brock that she would catch up with him in a minute or two. It shouldn’t take that long to pick an outfit. But nothing in her closet looked right today, and she wanted to get it right. When they had first moved in here, she had been provided with a complete range of outfits suitable for Stella’s background, but that was before she had started developing the legend as a person, rather than a role. Brock had added more outfits to the closet while she was away, but most of those were too soft and childish. Today she was supposed to be a candidate’s wife in front of all the neighbours, so she couldn’t afford to look casual; but at the same time if she was too businesslike it would make Lorenzo and Victor suspicious. And she needed to appeal to Marco as well; she couldn’t see him paying any attention to a girl who wasn’t dressed in something both fashionable and revealing. She stared at all the options in front of her, and then reminded herself that she didn’t have time to be indecisive. She should just pick a compromise, and hope that it was good enough for everything she needed. She pulled out a dusty-rose wrap dress that she had worn exactly once, to a particularly dull dinner with the Palahniuks. It was structured enough to read as grown-up and deliberate, but the colour kept it soft. Then she thought about accessories. She picked up pearl earrings first, something more traditional, but wondered if they might give the impression she was trying too hard. After glancing over her options, she chose an understated plain-gold pair instead. She left her hair down, added a sweep of coral lipstick, and then paused to look at herself in the mirror. She looked like she was confident, and ready to take charge. She’d never looked so forward even when she was actually trying to exert her authority. She imagined that was how Estelle Klein would have looked at work, until the new boss decided to take her under his wing and turned her world upside down. She was proud of who she was, she told herself, and if she wanted to stand out nobody would stop her. She was sure that Marco wouldn’t turn her away looking like that. The confidence from her appearance seemed to seep into her feelings, and she told herself that there was no need for second thoughts. And then she hurried out of the house, wondering if she would be able to catch up with her husband before they got all the way to the Arrencani house. She got all the way to the driveway without seeing anyone else. She didn’t know yet whether the other candidates would be already inside, or the Kleins were the first to arrive. The only person she saw was Brock, a perfect gentleman in his suit, kneeling on the ground between two of the Arrencani family’s cars. “What are you doing?” she hissed as she walked closer. He was on his feet again long before she caught up with him. “I thought you couldn’t be far behind me,” he answered with a shrug. “Stopping to retie my shoes more neatly isn’t going to make me late, at any rate.” “You don’t need to do that!” Isadora responded in a low growl. She was sure that his comment had just been for the benefit of anyone else around, and that he’d been replacing the tracking devices on the cars. It was a standard protocol, but made next to no sense when they already knew that Lorenzo wasn’t a real criminal. She realised too late that choosing a public venue for this argument had been a bad move; because she couldn’t say any of the things she really wanted to say. But she had to hope that her message would get through to her supposed partner. “Lorenzo’s just a nice guy. He won’t care about how you shine your shoes, or if one loop of your laces is longer than the other. You can redo them as much as you want, and you’ll never learn anything from it.” “You might be missing the point of a gentleman’s attire, sweetpea,” Brock answered casually. “I don’t do this because of what he’ll think. I hope he won’t even notice. But I do my best because a real man has to. Now, should we head inside?” “You shouldn’t waste time on the details,” she huffed, hoping he would understand what she meant but also knowing that she would have to be pretty firm with him later. She needed to make him understand that he was wasting valuable operational time on a crime family that didn’t exist. Thankfully, he didn’t say anything in response just yet. There was no real opportunity, because Geoffrey was opening the doors in front of them. “Welcome,” the butler said, taking a brief bow and then gesturing down the hallway. “The meeting is convening in the drawing room, though few people have arrived yet. Candidates may convene in the solarium if any time for preparation is needed.” “Thanks, Jeeves,” Brock answered, and Isadora wondered if her words had shaken him. He certainly seemed a little less confident, in some way she couldn’t quite define, and Bernard’s accent seemed just a little less clear than usual. He walked briskly in the direction of the solarium, giving every impression of someone genuinely nervous. Isadora found herself wondering whether he actually cared about Bernard’s position on the board; or whether it was all just a part of the act. “Should I come with you?” she asked quickly, breathless as she tried to catch up. “Or…” “Don’t worry, sweetpea. This is men’s business, not something to concern yourself with. You can mingle with the other residents while I make sure I’ve got my cue cards in order.” The words were so dismissive, but the tone still carried the thick layer of affection that she’d started to associate with his portrayal of Bernard. He loved her, even if he didn’t fully respect her. Isadora decided that it would be entirely appropriate for Stella to storm off then, so she turned on her heel and made for the drawing room. The furniture had been rearranged. Where she was used to seeing the dark wood table dominating the centre, it had been pushed back to leave space for two rows of chairs facing a smaller table at the far end, positioned in front of the garden-side glass so that whoever sat behind it would have the afternoon light at their backs. The bookcases and the piano were where they always were, but the room looked somehow larger when it wasn't being used for an intimate gathering. As if moving people around could make the ceiling higher and the light flatter. The servants had set out a small refreshments table near the door, and a few local residents were already standing around it with glasses in hand, the volume of conversation still low enough that the clink of ice was audible from across the room. Isadora helped herself to a glass of sparkling water while she tried to calm down a little, hoping that her irritation with Brock’s pointless monitoring of their host wouldn’t be audible in her voice by the time she spoke to anyone. She quickly surveyed the room, taking in the early attendees. There were some she’d seen at Committee meetings before, some who didn’t normally bother to attend, and some she was sure were only here because free food had been offered. She didn’t see Marco yet, and for a moment she wondered whether it would be worth walking around the big house a bit in the hope of finding him. But she was drawn back from her thoughts by a gentle tap on her elbow. “My dear, you look wonderful,” Mrs Stanwick greeted her. “A real elegant power couple. I’m sure you’ll make a great impression.” “Thanks,” Isadora answered with a nervous smile and a nod. “To be honest, it’s a little hard to imagine him sitting on a board. I can’t remember him being interested in anything where he can’t be the top dog.” “Maybe he’ll end up taking charge. Although I suspect he’ll have to follow the Arrencanis’ lead if he wants to get anything done. I hear there’s an art to running a community like this, though I would like to believe that everyone will try to get along without too much paperwork.” “Hah,” a voice behind her interjected derisively, and Isadora turned to see a man whose bald head contrasted almost comically with the large tufts of red hair around his ears. She thought she had seen him around before, but couldn’t recall anything significant from her months-earlier study of files on everyone in the neighbourhood. She thought that she might have seen him once or twice in the crowd at Committee meetings, but didn’t think he was involved to any great deal. She scoured her memory, and thought she might be able to match his appearance to a retired manager called Arthur Currie, about whom the police files told her nothing but a couple of parking tickets and a noise complaint. “Mr Currie, isn’t it?” she asked, guessing that he might be the type to take offense at his first name being used uninvited. “Yes. Art. From Linden Close. And if you think people can just get along, you should try living next door to some of the troublemakers around here. I’ve told him at number sixteen a hundred times if I’ve told him once, A nice neighbourhood like this is a place for quiet retirement, not an invasion force. What are you going to do about it?” “I’m afraid I don’t know…” Isadora mumbled, trying to decipher the man’s high-speed bluster. “You need to have a clear plan of action,” Arthur cut her off. “It’s the only way we will have any kind of order around here. Glaze is too sloppy, he says he’ll help but he doesn’t know how to deal with it. Live and let live may be fine for arranging maintenance of the parks, or what have you, but you give those types carte blanche to plant what they want and the next thing you know, Patagonian spider lilies are coming up betwixt Mrs Currie’s begonias. I’m not an unreasonable man, I can admit they can look presentable in their place, but that place is not where they’re going to shed seeds all over the neighbouring properties. It’s practically an epidemic now, and we need positive action! I heard you’re Klein’s wife. Does he have a plan to bring the full force of the law down on those who see fit to plant prohibited invasive species?” “I umm…” Isadora stammered. She had only known for a couple of days that Brock was thinking about running for the board; he certainly hadn’t discussed it with her. And now she was being asked to not just support him, but answer questions on his policies? She froze, not sure how she could possibly come up with an answer to satisfy this man. “I’m sure Bernard is quite capable of making an effective plan, Art,” Mrs Stanwick stepped in. “Maybe you should ask him about it. But Estelle might not have the details of every proposal and debate to hand right now.” “This isn’t just another argument between neighbours about half an inch of grass,” the man bristled. “This is the main issue. Those people have no respect for laws, and where one starts, no doubt you’ll see a dozen more. They’ve been replanting those accursed things for more than a year now, and if action isn’t taken people might assume that they are free to plant whatever they want. And all the good people of Evergreen Estates will not stand for a leader who doesn’t take a firm position.” “I’m afraid Bernard doesn’t discuss his campaign plans with me,” Isadora finally found her voice, trying to find an answer that wouldn’t risk contradicting what her husband said when he took the podium later. And seeing a moment of confusion in Arthur’s eyes, she immediately realised what she really needed to say: “He says that the Committee is men’s business, and I should content myself with looking pretty on his arm.” She tried not to let the words come out too bitter now, in case anyone who knew she had been to the Pink Room was listening. But she hadn’t intended to sound so happy about her husband effectively cutting her out of decision making. But as soon as she said it, she knew that was exactly the role she needed to take. It might be good for Brock’s campaign, or it might not, but that didn’t matter. Because her job wasn’t to help Bernard Klein get elected. Her objective was to make the neighbours believe in the characters of Bernard and Stella. And those words did that perfectly.

Plastic knickers over here.

Amazon pullup with a booster under Abena L4.

I prefer to call them plastic pants.