Isn't That Bigamy?

Chapter 6

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Typing away on an old IBM Selectric typewriter, the city hall receptionist peered over her horn-rimmed glasses and dabbed whiteout on the paper, scolding herself for making a mistake. When Ferron arrived with Stan and Becky in tow, the receptionist pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and cracked a rusty smile. 

“I’m showing some newlyweds around,” Ferron said. “Thought the Mayor might like to welcome them.” 

The receptionist sized Stan and Becky up as she reached for the phone on her desk. She hit a button to ring the Mayor and mumbled something discreetly before hanging up. 

“Please have a seat,” she said. “He’ll see you in a moment.” 

There were two chairs against the wall and Ferron insisted Stan and Becky take them. 

“Does everyone meet the Mayor their first day in town?” Stan asked, noticing yet another portrait of the Mayor hanging on the wall. 

“All couples do.” 

Before Stan could ask why all couples do, the Mayor’s office door opened and Stan’s gaze shifted from the portrait on the wall to the man himself, standing there in a linen robe and Birkenstocks with a charismatic smile on his face. 

“Welcome to Tamarin,” said the Mayor, coming at them like a politician reaching out to voters in an election year. “As the Mayor of this fine town, I welcome you.” 

Stan introduced himself adding, “This is my wife, Becky.” 

“Is this it?” asked the Mayor. “Just the two of you?” 

“No kids yet,” Stan said, putting all he had into the role of happy newlywed. “But we’re trying.” 

Becky adjusted her arm bandage, making no attempt to hide her revulsion. 

The Mayor turned to Becky saying, “First wife status. Good for you. Keep him in line.” 

Clapping a hand on Stan’s shoulder, the Mayor said, “Let’s talk, find out what brings you here, what you’re looking for.” 

The two of them started off toward the open office door. Becky followed but Ferron tugged at her arm. 

“It’s men talk.” 

Men talk. Becky wanted to bitch slap Ferron, ruin all the hard work that orthodontia was doing. 

Instead, she asked, “Where’s the nearest payphone? I need to make a private call.” 

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The Mayor’s office was lined with bookshelves and a window that looked over downtown Tamarin. Mounted to one wall were portraits that Stan quickly noticed were all women. The Mayor’s oak desk looked about as easy to move as a grand piano. Behind it, the Mayor sat in a soft leather chair with a shiny smooth outline of his back and ass worn into it. Under an imitation Tiffany lamp shaped like a dragonfly sat a single framed photo facing the Mayor. 

“Becky seems great,” said the Mayor. “How long have you been married?” 

“Just married,” Stan answered, taking a seat across from him. “Honeymoon’s over though.” 

The Mayor’s laugh was more of a horse whinny than a laugh. “Monogamy’s not for everyone.” 

“No kidding.” 

Eager to change the subject, Stan pointed to the portraits on the wall, grateful that finally there were none of the Mayor. 

“Who are they?” asked Stan. “Former city council members or something?”