What You Wish For by Kerry Reichs Page B

smelled like wisteria. She heard a siren and saw flashing red lights and pulled over to let an extension-ladder fire truck barrel past. It was hard to believe someone’s house was on fire on such a beautiful evening. It reminded her of that morbid ladybug poem: Ladybug! Ladybug! Fly away home. Your house is on fire. And your children all gone.
    Just another reason not to have kids.

Andy Goes to Dinner
    A ndy was surprised not to smell dinner when he entered the house. The kitchen was cold, and there was no sign of Summer. She’d be happy he’d gotten the Cornin assignment. He found her in her dressing room, fastening a string of pearls. He stepped behind her and took over as she held up her straw hair. She was wearing a little black dress, which meant they were going out. For the life of him, Andy couldn’t recall where.
    “Hurry up,” Summer urged as she stepped to her scarf shelf. “You’re late.” Andy had stopped trying to understand why Summer deliberated among her scarves when she was only going to tie the lucky selection to the strap of her purse, but he knew better than to ask. He could tell that he was expected to remember where they were going.
    “What tie should I wear?” he fished.
    She eyed him. “The blue one I brought back from San Francisco.”
    That could mean anything.
    “Will there be food?” he hazarded.
    She came over, scarf in hand, and kissed his cheek. “There better be after we spent three hundred dollars a plate to attend.”
    It was the Herb Green fund-raiser. Herb was the current Chair—and iron fist—of the Santa Monica City Council. He faced reelection in the fall, though his incumbency was assured, and he was hosting a series of campaign fund-raisers. Every Democratic member of the City Council would be there, which was basically every member, and Summer was determined to insert Andy into this social sphere. She radiated excited energy, and he decided not to bring up the Maryn problem.
    “Let’s hope it’s not boiled chicken.” He went to get his tie.
    “Silly, it’s at Morton’s,” Summer said, and Andy’s mood lifted for the first time all day at the thought of a well-cooked steak.
    At the steak house they were shown to a private room. Summer coughed discreetly and Andy couldn’t blame her. Pungent smoke permeated the air. The source was a bald, red-faced man with a fat cigar clenched in his teeth. Herb Green was as rotund as Boss Hogg.
    Summer drew a deep breath, as if to last, and they approached.
    “. . . they don’t even try to stop me anymore,” the fat man chortled. “That’s Morton’s official Herb Green memorial ashtray. I pass the ordinances, so I guess I can pass the exceptions. Exception one is a two-foot radius encircling the corpus of one Herb Green, a full smoking zone by order of the Chair of the City Council!” His gesture sprinkled ash on those unfortunate enough to be close, and his guffaw turned into rasping coughs. A woman whose ridiculously skinny arms hardly seemed up for the task of her bangles pounded him on the back.
    “You tell ’em, Herb.”
    The councilman’s shirt appeared to be strangling him, fat rolls spilling over the straining collar button. Andy was concerned the fastening would burst, striking someone in the eye.
    “Chairman Green? Summer Knox. We met through Josh Myers.” Summer held out her hand.
    “You’re the weather gal.”
    Andy noticed the suppressed wince. “This is my husband, Andrew.” She gestured.
    “Hello, hello.” Herb’s giant paw swallowed Andy’s hand. “Glad you could come.”
    He started to turn away, but Summer was used to having to work harder than beautiful girls. “Delighted to be here. We moved to Santa Monica because of the excellent governance under your stewardship. In fact, we were interested in becoming involved with your campaign. Perhaps we could host a fund-raiser at our home on San Vicente.”
    Herb perked up. “Well, that’s a fine offer. You should speak to my campaign