Page 63 of The Woodcarver's Model
It had been a long flight from Toronto and a short time to freshen up and get dressed. She wore her best black dress—simple, clingy, and ending just below the knees. On her feet she wore her black Manolo Blahnik Hangisi knock-off pumps. Karen made her way along Fort Street searching for the address. Why had she not taken a cab? Why had she chosen these shoes? Sure, they were drop-dead gorgeous, but why was beauty so pinchy?
She thought that a long-time Member of Parliament would have a nicer office—maybe one in the legislative building, or at least a pretty, older building near it. The office at 1052 Fort Street was on the second floor above a music instrument store, and not an affluent one at that.
Having manoeuvred her way up the uneven wooden stairs, she reached a small landing with a single door straight out of a Sam Spade movie. It was dark wood with a frosted glass window. Above it was a transom window covered in enough coats of paint to make it impossible to open. The window bore a hand-painted sign indicating that this was the Office of Hugh McCutcheon Esq., MLA, Salish-North Islands.
Karen knocked. Nothing. She knocked louder. Nothing. She was about to try a third time when the door opened.
On the other side of the door stood a portly older man with slicked-back grey hair. He was dressed in an old, dark-grey three-piece suit with a bright party-blue necktie. On his face he wore a scowl which rapidly turned into a broad grin.This is the guy,she thought.And he ain’t Bogart.
“Well, hello, young lady. Hugh McCutcheon at your service.”
The politician stuck out his hand, which she took.
“Please. Do come in.”
He led her in with the hand that held hers. The other hand he placed on her lower back just above her buttocks. He kicked the door closed with his foot.
“Please forgive my delay in answering the door. My secretary is off for the day.” McCutcheon paused for a moment, lost in thought. “Actually, she’s off for the next month as the legislature isn’t sitting. No point in paying someone to sit around with nothing to do except answer the phone and door. I may look old enough to be your grandfather, but I’m still able to do the basics when it comes to running an office.”
He escorted her to a seat in his inner office. By the time she was ready to sit, McCutcheon’s hand had drifted southward to rest on Karen’s backside. She took advantage of the proffered chair and quickly sat.
“Now, what can I do for you, young lady?”
“Well, Mr McCutcheon, I’ve always been interested in politics. I can’t think of a more honourable and selfless career—to serve others.”
She made a conscious decision to inhale deeply at this point. His eyes had been focused on her breasts at the time.
“I can’t agree with you more, Miss…?”
Miss? Karen hadn’t thought far enough ahead to come up with a false identity.
It was amazing how quickly the brain could work when under pressure utilising the environment and recent events. Her life became a video in reverse—her sitting down, his hand on her ass, him taking her by the hand, the door opening, the door, Sam Spade… What was his secretary’s name?
“Oh, I’m sorry. Effie Perrine, but you can call me Effie.”
“Well, Effie. What can I do for you?”
“Well…I know you’re a very busy man…”
“No problem at all, my dear. Just tell me what’s on your mind?”
“Well, I thought to myself, if you have a question about how politics works, go to someone with experience.”
“An excellent idea.”
“And I know that you’ve been in the game for decades—not that I’m saying you’re old.”
“Oh, but I am, my dear. I am. Sometimes I feel like I’ve been around since the signing of the British-North America Act.” He laughed at his own little joke.
“Well, I wouldn’t worry. You don’t look any older than VE Day,” she rallied, thinking it a compliment.
“That was in 1945, if I’m not mistaken. I was born in 1949,” he replied, dejected.
“Sorry.”
“Well, enough chatting. I have a busy schedule today. What exactly are you interested in?”
The Right Honourable Member took the seat opposite Karen.
