Page 5 of Romance and Peppermint Lattes
Brian Campbell began the show with a brief introduction, presenting the evening’s subject: the growing popularity of the Seattle area. He then turned the microphone over to Maryanne, who was to speak first.
Forcing herself to relax, she took a deep calming breath, tucked her long auburn hair behind her ears and started speaking. She managed to keep her voice low and as well modulated as her nerves would allow.
“The word’s out,” she said, quickly checking her notes. “Seattle has been rated one of the top cities in the country for several years running. Is it any wonder Californians are moving up in droves, attracted by the area’s economic growth, the lure of pure fresh air and beautiful clean waters? Seattle has appeal, personality and class.”
As she warmed to her subject, her voice gained confidence and conviction. She’d fallen in love with Seattle when she’d visited for a two-day stopover before flying to Hawaii. The trip had been a college graduation gift from her parents. She’d returned to New York one week later full of enthusiasm, not for the tourist-cluttered islands, but for the brief glimpse she’d had of the Emerald City.
From the first, she’d intended to return to the Pacific Northwest. Instead she’d taken a job as a nonfiction editor in one of her father’s New York publishing houses; she’d been so busy that travelling time was limited. That editorial job lasted almost eighteen months, and although Maryanne had thoroughlyenjoyed it, she longed to write herself and put her journalism skills to work.
Samuel Simpson must have sensed her restlessness because he mentioned an opening at theSeattle Review, a long-established paper, when they met in Nantucket over Labor Day weekend. Maryanne had plied him with questions, mentioning more than once that she’d fallen in love with Seattle. Her father had grinned, chewing vigorously on the end of his cigar, and looked toward his wife of twenty-seven years before he’d casually reached for the telephone. After a single call lasting less than three minutes, Samuel announced that the job was hers. Within two weeks, Maryanne was packed and on her way west.
“In conclusion I’d like to remind our audience that there’s no turning back now,” Maryanne said. “Seattle sits as a polished jewel in the beautiful Pacific Northwest. Seattle, the Emerald City, awaits even greater prosperity, even more progress.”
She set her papers aside and smiled in the direction of the host, relieved to be finished. She watched in dismay as Nolan scowled at her, then slipped his notepad back inside his pocket. He apparently planned to wing it.
Nolan—who needed, Brian declared, no introduction—leaned toward the microphone. He glanced at Maryanne, frowned once more, and slowly shook his head.
“Give me a break, Ms. Simpson!” he cried. “Doesn’t anyone realize itrainshere? Did you know that until recently, if Seattle went an entire week without rain, we sacrificed a virgin? Unfortunately we were running low on those until you moved to town.”
Maryanne barely managed to restrain a gasp.
“Why do you think Seattle has remained so beautiful?” Nolan continued. “Why do you think we aren’t suffering from the pollution problems so prevalent in Southern California and elsewhere? You seem to believe Seattle should throw open herarms and invite the world to park on our unspoiled doorstep. My advice to you, and others like you, is to go back where you came from. We don’t want you turning Seattle into another L.A.—or New York.”
The hair on the back of Maryanne’s neck bristled. Although he spoke in general terms, his words seemed to be directed solely at her. He was telling her, in effect, to pack up her suitcase and head home to Mommy and Daddy where she belonged.
When Nolan finished, they were each given two minutes for a rebuttal.
“Some of what you have to say is true,” Maryanne admitted through clenched teeth. “But you can’t turn back progress. Only a fool,” she said pointedly, “would try to keep families from settling in Washington state. You can argue until you’ve lost your voice, but it won’t help. The population in this area is going to explode in the next few years whether you approve or not.”
“That’s probably true, but it doesn’t mean I have to sit still and let it happen. In fact, I intend to do everything I can to put a stop to it,” he said. “We in Seattle have a way of life to protect and a duty to future generations. If growth continues in this vein, our schools will soon be overcrowded, our homes so overpriced that no one except those from out of state will be able to afford housing—and that’s only if they can find it. If that’s what you want, then fine, bask in your ignorance.”
“What do you suggest?” Maryanne burst out. “Setting up road blocks?”
“That’s a start,” Nolan returned sarcastically. “Something’s got to be done before this area becomes another urban disaster.”
Maryanne rolled her eyes. “Do you honestly think you’re going to single-handedly turn back the tide of progress?”
“I’m sure as hell going to try.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“And that’s our Celebrity Debate for this evening,” Brian Campbell said quickly, cutting off any further argument. “Join us next week when our guests will be City Council candidates Nick Fraser and Robert Hall.”
The microphone was abruptly switched off. “That was excellent,” the host said, flashing them a wide enthusiastic smile. “Thank you both.”
“You’ve got your head buried in the sand,” Maryanne felt obliged to inform Nolan, although she knew it wouldn’t do any good. She dropped her notes back in her bag and snapped it firmly shut, as if to say the subject was now closed.
“You may be right,” Nolan said with a grin. “But at least the sand is on a pollution-free beach. If you have your way, it’ll soon be cluttered with—”
“If I have my way?” she cried. “You make it sound as though I’m solely responsible for the Puget Sound growth rate.”
“Youareresponsible, and those like you.”
“Well, excuse me,” she muttered sarcastically. She nodded politely to Brian Campbell, then hurried back to the reception room where she’d left her coat. To her annoyance Nolan followed her.
“I don’t excuse you, Deb.”
“I asked you to use my name,” she said furiously, “and it isn’t Deb.”
