Read Online Famous Last Meals by Richard Cumyn - Free Book Online Page A

people were impressed to learn that Don had been the PM ’s principal secretary. A woman with a toddler riding her hip and another circling her bare leg said, “That’s great, a man being a secretary. We should all be so secure in our sexuality.” A man asked if Principal Secretary was anything like Secretary General. Another, running up the walk and into the front door from a car idling on the street, wanted the government to ensure broadband internet access everywhere in the country. “You’re lucky to catch me this time of day. Phone’s out of juice, can you believe it, and I have to check my messages. My wife wasn’t here earlier, was she? She didn’t happen to mention a certain delivery? She wasn’t here. You said that already. I am a bad, bad, bad listener.”
    By noon Adam was feeling tired but good about the number of houses he had been to and the number of people who seemed receptive to his candidate. Most of the printed matter he had been carrying was now in other hands. He had eight requests for election signs. Even when they said they weren’t going to vote for Feeney, they were friendly about it. “No hurt feelings, eh, buddy?”
    He was thinking about these welcoming strangers as he walked toward the restaurant on Quinpool where he and Oliver had agreed to meet for lunch. A club sandwich and a tall strawberry milkshake floated in tandem just ahead of him.
    â€œAre you not aware of the time, Adam Lerner?” came a startling voice. A black Cadillac with darkly tinted windows kept pace as he walked, stopping when he did at the sound. The head of Mrs. Fallingbrooke, framed in the open passenger window, awaited his answer. When he gave none, opening his mouth only to close it, she said, “I believe we had a ten o’clock.”
    â€œYou weren’t serious.”
    â€œAbout matters of national security I am always serious.”
    He could not see who was driving. She lowered her window farther and handed him a sealed business-size envelope with his name on it.
    â€œDon’t disappoint me again, Adam. You owe it to yourself and your country. Cecil and I, as you know, travelled the globe, and I can tell you unequivocally that we live in the finest nation in the world, bar none. You are temporarily misplaced and misguided in your efforts, not an uncommon failing in people your age. In your case, however, given your potential, your fondness for intrigue and your recent experience in a certain government parking lot, it is best that you be returned to the shining path of idealism. So.” She murmured something indistinct to the driver of the car. “It’s all set out and quite self-explanatory, as you will see when you open it and read your instructions. Until we meet again, I bid you adieu.”
    The window rose, obscuring her smiling face, and the car moved smoothly away. He looked at the envelope in his hand, which was beginning to tremble the way it might were it holding an activated grenade.
    Quinpool Road west of Robie Street lacked shade, pretension and taste. As Adam walked, he passed a sex shop, a supermarket, several fast food outlets, a bank, a manicurist, a barbershop window reflecting the yellow of old issues of National Geographic Magazine , restaurants Thai, Indian, Chinese and Greek, a skateboarding store, a candy shop sharing a wall with a health-food store, another that sold dubious nutritional supplements to body builders, a pet store, an electronics store and a tarot-card psychic.
    Oliver was talking to Emma in front of the place where he and Adam had agreed to meet, the sort of diner he had envisioned earlier at breakfast. He wondered why they were standing outside. She tucked some hair behind her ear and adjusted her purse strap on her shoulder. She looked like a sales rep in her skirted business suit, sienna orange with matching heels and lips, pale face, dark eyes.
    What was she doing there? He had been rehearsing