CHAPTER 3
“Can you put the posters over there for now?” Maisie asked.
“Sure,” Paige replied and moved the giant stack of posters that had Maisie’s face on them, along with her lame slogan, ‘For a better New Orleans,’ to a table in the back.
Maisie’s campaign headquarters was her bookshop.
She had an apartment, but it was a studio, and while her campaign team was only three or four people, she didn’t want them to roam around it and possibly find the drawer where she kept her vibrator while searching for a stapler or something.
So, they used the back of the shop where her family used to host book signings.
Book tours were still a thing, but they didn’t happen as often as they used to and didn’t bring in as much money, either.
The space could only fit about twenty people comfortably, thirty if they pushed it, and forty would get them a visit from the fire marshal, but it was more than enough space for a small campaign headquarters with two long tables and a few phones on top of them.
She had the landlines for the shop, so she hadn’t needed to buy anything extra for campaign phones, and she had the phones in the office from back when they had actually needed a few in the store.
She put them all out on the tables, hooked them up, and set up everything else to make it look like she knew what she was doing, which she didn’t.
“I didn’t even know people still made campaign posters these days,” Paige said with a slight cough.
“Are you still sick? You said you were better. I can’t get sick, Paige,” Maisie replied.
“I’m okay. I think it was a twenty-four-hour thing. Lainey brought me soup last night and stayed to take care of me. I woke up feeling much better.”
“If you still need rest, it’s okay. I can make these calls on my own.”
“No, it’s fine. I coach a high school girls’ soccer team and volunteer at the local youth center. I’m used to begging people for money and them saying no.”
“I guess you would be, yeah,” Maisie said. “This phone is yours. When Lainey gets here, she can take the one in the middle. She’s still coming, right?”
“Yeah, she should be here soon. She’s running practice without me today, too, because she doesn’t want me to get the girls sick.”
“But she’s okay with you getting me sick?” Maisie asked.
Paige laughed a little and said, “I’m not sick, and I told her that, but she said I should help you and she would cover practice.
I told her I should go to practice because that’s my actual job, but we only have fifteen girls who can play right now, with the three injuries we’ve got and two academic suspensions.
That means only one extra goalkeeper and three substitutes.
If one of them goes down, we’re screwed. ”
“I’m running for political office here. If I go down, who’s running my campaign if I’m not?”
“Lainey would; you know that. And I’d help. We’re here for you, Maise. I promise, I won’t get you sick, okay? Maybe drink one of those vitamin C drinks just in case, though.”
“What?” Maisie asked, eyes wide.
“Hey, what’s going on back here?” Lainey asked as she joined them. “Hey, babe. How are you feeling?”
She walked over to Paige, leaned down, and kissed her.
It used to be strange, watching them kiss like that.
Back when they first started dating and Maisie had no one new for herself, it was easy for her to wish that she and Lainey had worked out and that Paige would disappear, but it had been years now, and she could see how much they loved one another.
Lainey and Maisie loved each other, too, but not in the same way, and that was okay with Maisie now.
“I’m good,” Paige replied. “I was just telling Maisie here that I’m feeling much better and I’m prepared to make her some campaign money.”
“I’ll help,” Lainey said. “Oh, Maise, you’ve got a line up there. Three people. Not much, but you might want to run up and check on the register. Another guy just walked in, and you know how slow Sarah is. I swear, it takes her ten minutes to ring someone up. Why do you even let her work here?”
“She’s slow on the register but fast with reshelving, and she uses her employee discount to buy books with her paycheck because she’s in high school and has no bills. I think I actually make money with her working here. She bought ten books last week.”
“Well, I’d check on the line if I were you. Do you have the names and numbers for us to call?”
“Yes, Paige has them.”
“Come here, baby. Let’s get to begging people for their hard-earned money so that our friend here can be a city councilor,” Paige said, pulling on Lainey’s hand.
With the two of them handling the phones, Maisie made her way through one of the three aisles in the shop, which had floor-to-ceiling shelves on all three walls, including the one behind the tables.
She hoped no one needed anything from back there, but when she reorganized the place after her grandma died, she put the least popular book sections in the back and rarely sold anything from them.
“How can I help you?” she asked the customer who had picked up a New Orleans guidebook that she always kept on the front table to attract tourists.
The man was dressed in what looked to be a very expensive suit, while Maisie would be the first to admit that her own fashion taste was jeans and a T-shirt, with a sweater over it most days.
On the rare occasion she needed to dress up for something, she wore a dress from Target or that was flattering but not exactly expensive or probably in fashion.
This guy’s suit was navy with pinstripes, and under that, he had a steel-gray shirt, with a navy tie completing the look.
His shoes looked like they cost more than her rent each month and were shinier than any pair of shoes Maisie had ever seen.
When she finally looked up at him, she realized that he looked familiar. Then, it clicked.
“Colter Stone,” she said, mostly to herself.
“You remember me,” he said. “Or maybe it’s the bus ads you probably see driving by here all the time.
” He motioned to the street outside. “I have an ad on the billboard at the corner, too, so that could be it. Vote Colter Stone for a new, modern New Orleans.” He made a motion to indicate that he was reading his slogan from the billboard that she had to look at every day when she drove to and from work.
“What are you doing here? Need a book?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.
“I thought this was your campaign headquarters,” he said, tucking his hands casually into his pockets as he looked around her shop.
“It’s my bookstore. The same one that the city council has denied historical landmark status to twice. I’m sure you remember that.”
“I don’t, actually. Sorry,” he said, giving her an expression that read mock-sympathy. “Anyway, I thought I’d come check out the competition now that the election is so close.”
“Really? I’ve tried to reach your office for months now to arrange a debate on the issues, and you’ve failed to get back to me every time.”
“I didn’t know that,” he replied. “But now that we’re so close, it doesn’t seem like much of a point, does it?”
“Yes, it does. This is when voters are cementing their decisions.”
“Well, I’m ahead in the polls, and I think we both know that you’d only want to debate me to get your face out there since you don’t have any bus ads or billboards, so it wouldn’t benefit me.
Besides, no one would watch that debate anyway.
Most people in this city think the mayor makes all the decisions and don’t even know we have a city council.
If we had a debate, no one would come. It would also be on public access TV. Who watches that anymore?”
“It’s not something you should be deciding. This is about allowing people to make the right decision on where they put their vote,” she argued.
“And they will.” Colter smirked as he looked around the shop. “Where is your campaign, exactly? Are the books part of it? You’re aware that people don’t really read books anymore, right?”
“Do you have any idea what this city needs?”
“Yes, I do. More big businesses offering jobs and getting tax breaks to bring their companies here. More people like me, willing to do what it takes to even bring them to a city that’s known more for its booze and music than being a place where people want to work.”
“You don’t think people work here?”
“It’s called The Big Easy for a reason.”
“You don’t even have a job,” she replied.
“All the other city councilors have at least another part-time job in consulting or something, but you don’t.
Now, you’re telling me that people in this city don’t work?
Who do you think keeps this place running so that you can get your half-caf, no foam, soy lattes from Starbucks or something?
There’s no way you buy the local coffee. ”
“My job is this city,” he said. “Or, at least, that’s what I tell people.
” Colter took another look around. “You’re really running a campaign out of here?
Where’s all your stuff? I have a whole building and about a hundred people working for me full-time.
Did you honestly expect to win this thing running it from a store? ”
“Not everyone can afford a whole building and a hundred people, Mr. Stone. This store has been in this city since–”
“1790 or whatever. Yeah, I saw the sign,” he said. “It’s old, and I’m pretty sure you have mold. I can smell it.”
He made a face as if he smelled something nasty.
“That’s just what books smell like,” Maisie noted.
“We have antiques and special orders of first editions. Yes, the building is old, but there’s no mold here.
You walked into my bookshop to insult me?
Why? I’m no real competition for you, according to your building, bus ads, and one hundred people. ”
“Don’t forget the billboard,” he said with a wink.
“Is this fun for you?” she asked.
“A little,” he said with a shrug. “But I can see that you’re busy.”
He nodded toward Sarah, who was behind the counter.
The customers had all been checked out and had left since Colter Stone had walked in, so it appeared as if the store had always been empty, despite the fact that she had come up here specifically because they’d been busy only a moment ago.
“That’s fine. We’re about to close, anyway,” Maisie replied. “Here, take this.” She held out the guidebook. “You might need it. I don’t think you know this city at all.”
“Nah. I’m good.” He held up his phone. “The internet exists. I’m really not even sure why people buy books anymore.”
He turned around and walked out without another word. It appeared, he really had only come into her store to mock Maisie, maybe brag about his own campaign and wealth, and leave like he’d done none of it at all.
“Hey, what’s going on?” Lainey asked. “It was a little loud up here.”
“That was Colter Stone,” she said, pointing after him.
“The city council guy?”
“Yes.”
“What was he doing here?”
“Scouting the shop or my headquarters, I guess,” she replied.
“What? Why?”
“I don’t know.” She sighed. “Maybe he just wanted to be a dick to me.”
“He was a dick to you? God, that makes sense. He looks like a dick on all those bus ads. Want me to follow him and kick his ass?” Lainey offered.
She laughed a little and said, “No, it’s fine. He’s probably already in his limo or town car. Do rich people still ride around in those?”
“Who knows? I’m not rich. Are you okay, though?”
“I brought up the debate he’s dodged repeatedly.”
“And?” Lainey asked.
“I’m not getting one. I could keep trying, but he’d just keep dodging my calls.”
“You could call him out on it publicly; get a newspaper to pick up the story or something.”
“I guess. But is it worth it? He’s so smarmy,” she said, shivering a little. “He would find a way to wiggle out of every question with something bad about me, like how I have no money, no political experience, no connections, and talk about how he’s brought jobs to the district.”
“He has, technically, but that doesn’t make him any less smarmy.”
“Hey, I just got a donation for a hundred bucks!” Paige yelled from the back. “That’s worth celebrating, right?”
“Heck, yeah,” Lainey said, smiling at Maisie. “Come on back and help us make some calls? I’m sure you’d get more money if it’s you on the other end of the phone.”
“Yeah,” she said. “Sarah, can you take care of things out here?”
“I thought you told that guy we were closing.”
“We’re not. That was just to get rid of him.”
“Oh, okay. Sure,” the teenager replied and cracked open a book she’d bought last week.
Maisie turned to the front of the shop, looking a little to the left, where she knew there was a bus stop and a poster for Colter Stone.
She rolled her eyes because she didn’t need to look at it.
She needed to get a marker and give him devil horns.
Why hadn’t the graffiti artists of this city tagged the hell out of that thing yet?
She stared at the poster for a minute, picturing what those horns would look like, along with a thin, evil-looking mustache and maybe even some fangs dripping with the blood of the innocent for good measure.
That was when she saw her. The woman walked right by the shop with her phone to her ear, looking like she owned the planet.
Her long skirt looked as if it had been molded to her body, and while Maisie knew nothing about women’s shoes because she preferred cheap tennis shoes to heels, she knew enough to know that those two or three-inch heels had to be expensive.
They had the red bottoms that people always talked about.
The blouse she wore looked like silk and was beneath a blazer that perfectly matched the skirt and shoes.
Normally, Maisie wouldn’t have thought much about it – just another fancy person walking by, probably from one of the new businesses popping up – but this woman was different.
Maisie didn’t know why, but the dark-brown hair and matching deep eyes that she saw only briefly through the window and at least ten feet away had her swallowing hard.
“Maise, this woman said she’ll give you money if you’ll talk to her about what you plan on doing with some rezoning thing,” Paige said loudly.
“Yeah, I’ll be right there,” she said as the woman walked past the window and was out of sight.
“Get it together, Maisie. You’ve got an election to win, not some rich woman to stare at.”
She walked to the back of the shop and took the phone from Paige.
“I understand you want to discuss a rezoning issue?” she said into the phone.