119 Trust Me? and Handsie

“Mein Gott!” shrieked the Mayor of San Anselmo. “Sometimes this town is just like going back to 1957. Now they’re playing ‘Trust me?'”
She was spying through the expensive bamboo blinds and wide open office window. She could hear Uncle Joe add Trust Me? to Handsie.
“Yes . . .” said her assistant warily. But the mayor knew she was giddy.
Uncle Joe had the Administrative Assistant’s hands cupped in his, and he lifted the ball they made, up another button. His knuckles appeared to be touching her longwaisted black jersey, just under . . .
“Trust me?”
“I have never . . .” The Mayor left it to the deer sculpture to witness the rest. She plopped onto her mayor chair and decided to see John Guss’s project, as he begged her to. A site visit, is what it was. The people’s business. Nipping a problem at the root before it became one for the city.
“Trust me?”
She’d never heard her assistant giggle before, giggles because of male attention, at long last.
“My, it’s hot!” Noon approached.  She fanned a Parks and Recreation brochure under her chin.  “At her age, giggling because of a man!”
John Guss’s “restaurant” was the stupidest idea she’d ever heard, of any kind, ever.
But he had received a lot of money from that old woman, The Crazy Lady, San Anselmo’s other notable in disgrace for her ramshackle home. Falling down, that described it better.  Paint peeling and chipping, crumbling in tandem with the shingle roof and dangerous porch. “What did they spend so much time doing, in that place?”
Then the thought came, as Uncle Joe’s next “Trust me?” squirmed through the bamboo slats and tickled her ears uncomfortably, that she must be fifteen or twenty years younger than The Crazy Lady was when she passed away.
“Back At” and she pushed the arrow to two. She nudged the arrow a little more. Now the sign indicated “Back At 2:30.”


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