Page 58 of The Mayor and the Mystery Man

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LEO

Remember that Eminem song where he talked about his knees being weak, his arms being heavy, and barfing spaghetti on himself when he went up to perform? That was my current state.

Minus the vomit. For now.

Dusty led the way, carving a path through the throngs of people gathered at the stage. I held his hand tight; he didn’t say a word about my palm being drenched in sweat. I had visions of bombing and getting tomatoes thrown at me, but Dusty had such a fervent look in his eye it had to be worth a shot. I’d never seen him so focused.

Nerves filled my stomach. I pulled back.

“I don’t know if I can do this. It’s been a long time,” I said. “I haven’t picked up a guitar in what? Fifteen years?”

“It’s like riding a bike. You got this.”

Not everything was like riding a bike.

“Are you sure you can do this, Leo?” Vernita asked, tailing us. “Because if you can’t, it’s going to backfire spectacularly.”

That was a good question. A very good question.

I wanted to be truthful and say I had no idea, but Dusty piped up first.

“He can do it. He’s going to blow them away.”

We reached the front of the stage. The sun had set, and Applefest was illuminated by street lights, festive lanterns, and the glow of cellphones. The set for The English Patients was empty, minus a roadie checking equipment. The nerves in my stomach expanded like water spilling over a surface. Vernita was right. If I choked up there, my campaign was over.

But if I crushed it…a teeny tiny part of me kept that dream alive.

Dusty hopped on stage and chatted with the roadie. While I knew how to gladhandle residents of Sourwood, Dusty had a great ability to connect with others. He spoke animatedly, rubbed his hands together, and kept looking at me, shooting me that easy smile. Even though I was a bundle of nerves, I was able to swoon over him. I could multitask. The roadie seemed into it and brought Dusty backstage with him.

“Is this crazy?” I asked Vernita.

She arched an eyebrow at me. “You tell me.”

I didn’t want her to worry. She’d invested years of her life into my political career, as did the rest of my staff. Dusty was sticking his neck out, too, to make this happen. People counted on me, and I had to deliver.

Dusty poked out from backstage and crammed his way back into the crowd.

“All right. It’s done.”

Awesome and crap. He actually fucking did it. And now I had to fucking do it.

Vernita had a confused look, as she was as doubtful about this as me. “How’d you get them to say yes?”

“I said that the mayor wanted to say a few words. And I also told a white lie.”

A lump formed in my stomach.

“What lie was that?” I asked.

“I said Sourwood abided by the Fairness Doctrine.”

Of all the things I expected to come out of Dusty’s mouth, the fucking Fairness Doctrine, an old US law that stipulated that both sides of political issues were required to have equal television air time, was not on the list. I’d be less shocked if he started speaking Mandarin.

“How do you know what the Fairness Doctrine is?” Vernita asked.

“I actually paid attention in high school here and there.” Dusty made a funny face at her. His spirit was infectious.

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