Rebecca worked hard to rid herself of the trappings of the old Rebecca. She rearranged her furniture, let Jo Lynn change things around in the kitchen (even though she had to go out on the porch, unable to watch), and boxed up all her self-help books and mailed them to Rachel. She even went to Ruby Falls one afternoon with no makeup, wearing shorts and a T-shirt.
And one morning when Bud proclaimed loudly on the radio, “No one can beat a deal at Reynolds Chevrolet, so come on down to the motor mile,” she went. Not to Bud’s dealership, of course, but to a rival Ford dealership. She had decided that her Range Rover was perfectly pretentious, and what she really needed was a pickup truck for hauling dogs (which now numbered five with the addition of Cookie, although Jo Lynn had dibs on Cookie, just as soon as Cookie grew out of eating shoes).
The truck salesman had nothing but smiles for Rebecca’s breasts, and talked her into a red king cab pickup, the one with the heated leather seats and a surround-sound Bose speaker stereo. When Rebecca finally said okay, he ushered her into his cubicle to do the deal. Only he hadn’t counted on Rebecca having once been married to a car dealer, or having done her homework. He certainly hadn’t counted on the fact that she was no longer a doormat and was, at that very moment, visualizing herself kick-boxing him around the cubicle as she politely, but firmly, maintained her ground.
A few hours later, mentally high-flying herself, Rebecca pulled off the lot with a brand-new, cherry red pickup, knowing damn well that Bud couldn’t beat the deal she had just gotten. With her new radio blaring, she drove north to a neighboring county seat, where a candidate’s forum was being held.
Rebecca groaned when she saw the arrangement—in someone’s deranged opinion, it wasn’t too hot to have an outdoor forum. Nothing could be further from the truth, but nonetheless, in honor of Pioneer Days, a raised stage and podium had been built at one end of the town square. The candidates sat on the stage beneath a canopy, fanning themselves, while the people who had come out to hear them stood in the sweltering sun beneath umbrellas and big panama hats. Rebecca managed to squeeze in with some others to share the thin shade of a little tree, and from there, she could see Gilbert standing off to one side, making last-minute notes on a piece of paper.
Candidates for the legislature went first, all of them promising great things for the future of the state and their district. No new taxes was a common theme, and several seemed to think bigger pots on the state lottery was the answer to revenue problems. Each one, to a candidate, promised program cuts. But not programs to do with children. Or the elderly. Or teachers. Or criminal justice. Or special needs populations. Who exactly that left, Rebecca wasn’t sure.
When it was at last time for the candidates for lieutenant governor to speak, Tom was up first. “I urge you to look at my record in the senate,” he said, and stabbed his forefinger against the podium to make his point. “My opponent has made a mess of the state budget with all his special interests, and now he wants to take the dollars out of your pocket to pay for his special interests!” he bellowed as his opponent shook his head vehemently. “I promise you, as the next lieutenant governor of this state I will provide the leadership necessary to make sure that does not happen!”
That earned him a huge round of applause. “I will make commerce a top priority! More commerce means more revenue for our state coffers!” he said, getting another thunderous round of applause.
His Republican opponent, Phil Harbaugh, was next up. Harbaugh thanked the crowd for coming out, said he’d rather have worked for special interests than not to have worked at all like his opponent, and would continue to work to improve funding for education and competitive insurance rates. He took his seat to a smattering of applause.