Page 52 of The Making of Mila and Blake
Nashville’s city hall is located by the riverfront, just north of the spot where Blake and I ate our sundaes earlier in the week. The large art deco building sits in a gorgeous park, facing a spacious oval lawn surrounded by trees, sculptures and an observation deck. Tourists mull around the public square, snapping photographs, and we follow behind a couple with thick Scottish accents toward the entrance. The city hall houses the government buildings, including the Nashville courthouse and of course, the mayor’s office. And along with those showing up to fight traffic tickets and settle other matters, Blake and I also have to endure the strict security regime. Our bags are checked, our persons searched, and our IDs scanned in exchange for a visitor’s badge.
Blake leads the way to the mayor’s office, passing police officers and city council members in suits heading to the exquisite lobby we just left, until we reach a huge set of closed doors. It’s awfully silent in this part of the building, with only the sound of speedy typing echoing down the hall. A clerk’s desk is stationed outside of the mayor’s office, manned by a woman with ringlets just like Aunt Sheri.
“Hi there, Blake! It’s been so long since you last came by!” she says, peering around the desktop computer with a pleasant but surprised smile. “Does your mother know you’re coming?”
“No. Is she available right now?” Blake asks.
The clerk returns to the computer, swiftly clicking with the mouse to check what I assume is LeAnne’s schedule, and then looks up from the screen again. “You have twenty minutes until she needs to leave for a meeting. Head on in.”
Blake thanks the woman by name, and as he reaches for the door to his mom’s office, I feel so immensely out of my depth, like I’m trespassing. Prancing around movie sets with A-list actors? No big deal. Waltzing straight into government offices? An entirely different story.
The huge oak doors creak open and we step inside the office. Fully stocked bookshelves and filing cabinets line the walls, but the focal point of the room is the intimidating oak desk that Mayor Avery sits behind in a luxurious leather chair, her back to us. On the wall behind hang both the US and Tennessee flags.
At the sound of Blake clearing his throat, LeAnne spins around in her chair with her desk phone pressed to her ear. She maintains a neutral, calm expression as though our unannounced arrival is nothing unusual, and then turns back to face the wall. She twists the phone’s cord around her finger as she talks. The subtle scent of lavender floats through the air.
“Sit down,” Blake whispers, nudging me forward as he gently shuts the office doors behind us.
We keep our footsteps light while LeAnne remains on her business call, and we quietly sit down together on the two chairs facing her desk. I twiddle my thumbs in my lap as we wait. I have met LeAnne so many times, but this feels as though I am officiallymeeting her as the Mayor of Nashville.
With a tremendous sigh, LeAnne turns in her chair, slams the phone into its receiver and then looks at us. “Ah, protestors,” she says with atsk. She scoots in closer to her desk and scribbles something onto a notepad before flipping it shut and studying Blake. “You normally only visit me here when you need my help to get you out of trouble, so what is it this time? Did you get another speeding ticket? Because if so, you’re owning up to this one.”
Blake scoffs and relaxes in his chair, running his hands over the padded armrests. “I’m not in any trouble, but I doneed your help with something. I was just giving Mila the guided tour of the Belmont campus.”
LeAnne meets my eyes with interest. “Your father said you were studying at San Diego in the fall. Why are you looking around Belmont?” Her steady, balanced tone of voice quickly eases as the professionalism from her phone call wears off. She can afford to be more laidback and personal in front of us.
“I think I made a mistake choosing San Diego,” I admit.
“She was accepted to Belmont and turned it down,” Blake explains, “but she’s hoping it’s not too late to change her mind. It won’t be easy to convince the admissions board, so I was thinking that maybe you could write a letter of recommendation.”
I force a wide, hopeful grin onto my face as LeAnne frowns. It’s a lot to ask of a woman who once despised me and wasn’t afraid to show it, but clearly Blake believes she has turned over a new leaf, and I’d like to think so myself. Remarkably, she has been kind to me this summer.
“A letter of recommendation,” LeAnne echoes, reclining back in her swanky chair and tapping her hands together in contemplation. “I can’t vouch for your academic abilities, Mila. I’m sorry.”
“Oh, c’mon, Mom! You’re the damn mayor. There is no way they won’t make space for her if you personally endorse her,” Blake says, but his mom is right.
“How can I prove myself? I work hard. I have a 3.6 grade point average.” I sit up straight, confidently lift my shoulders.
LeAnne narrows her eyes at me. “You really wish to attend Belmont, Mila? You want to move back here to Tennessee?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say with an eager nod, and when she laughs at my use of formalities, I bite my lip in embarrassment. We are long past that point. “Sorry, LeAnne, I’m just nervous. I don’t want to ask you for any favors, but Nashville is where I belong and Fairview is my home. I don’t think I’ll be happy in San Diego.”
“And it’s– what?– two thousand miles away from me? She can’t handle that, Mom,” Blake jokes with a wink in my direction, and I roll my eyes as the gravity of sitting before the mayor eases.
“I see you two really haveworked things out then. Here’s an idea,” LeAnne says. “How about you prepare an analysis of my time in office so far, and I’ll prepare a letter of recommendationonlyif you prove you can critique from an objective viewpoint?” She flashes me a dazzling, good-natured smile. “An analytical essay should help prove that grade point average of yours.”
“That sounds fair to me,” I agree with a laugh, and I place my hand on Blake’s leg as we exchange smiles. His mom might just like me after all. Did she just give me permission to critique the work she has carried out as mayor?
“We’ll let you head off to your conference,” Blake says as he stretches his legs and rises from his chair. “Mila and I have more places to be, and apparently now she has homework,so we better get going too.”
I look up at him. “We do?”
“Yes,” he says sharply. “We do. Bye, Mom.”
The phone on LeAnne’s desk lets out a shrill ring, and she groans and sits forward to reach for it. As she presses it to her ear and swivels in her chair, she waves goodbye, and we head out of the office, both smiling widely.
“That was quick!” the clerk says.
“Just a flying visit,” Blake replies. “We have somewhere else to be now.” He grasps my wrist and pulls me rather desperately down the hall, retracing our steps through the city hall building.
