Thank you for reading False Choices. Today’s post is a short story. The predecessor story that explains how Enos got the name Honeyman is here: https://falsechoices.substack.com/p/honeyman if you would like to check it out. If you enjoy either story please subscribe below to support my work. It’s appreciated!
The sun was high in the sky, and the morning breeze settled into an occasional light touch, just enough to make you wish for more. The Mayor was soaking wet, his massive, muscled upper body now stuck to two layers of clothes, and about to reach a third, the jacket lining of his expensive, custom tailored suit. He is The Mayor of one of the country’s formerly great cities, a position which family, friends and even random citizens, used to have to remind him; but which today was obvious to all, especially him, as he shook hands and posed for the newspaper photographers with the assembled denizens of industry, finance, and real estate development. “Old land, land of a hundred generations, finding new life in a city with a new life,” were the words in his speech that he contributed that morning, enroute to the ceremony. He dabbed a clean white handkerchief against his forehead and nose, trying to avoid the embarrassment of dripping in public while wearing a suit and title. Finally as the assembled began to fall away he managed to get himself under the shade of the single standing tree on the grassless, empty lot and answer the final questions, shake the final hands, stroke the final egos of the morning’s event.
Back in the limousine with Eddy, his cousin and driver/bodyguard, he undid his tie and tried to sit forward to avoid sticking to the leather interior. He removed his jacket with some effort, his arms had started to melt into the lining. He finally managed to pull it away.
“Kick the air up on high, Eddy,” said The Mayor.
“Oh, it’s been on high, just takes a minute to really get running.”
“Right. You know every time I do one of these grand ceremonies, big new development things, it’s either snowing or raining like the damn devil, or the hottest day of the summer,” remarked The Mayor, still sitting forward in his seat, the blasting air starting to cool him down.
“Yeah, that’s true.”
“Park in the back, today, Eddy, near the private elevator, I don’t want to be seen like this, man, disheveled, soaking damn wet.”
“Will do, will do.”
There was a time, early in his administration, when The Mayor left his office for a ‘field event’ with a full retinue of cars with department heads, and a complete police escort. But after several heated battles with city council, his office budget was cut down until it was just he and Eddy in a single black limousine, driving around town and cutting ribbons or digging a shovel full of dirt. The Mayor got used to the new ‘fiscal realities’ and took the the change as an opportunity for new found freedom. After several minutes, the limousine was within striking distance of a main eastside thoroughfare when The Mayor had the notion to take a short trip into the “old neighborhood.”
Eddy knew immediately what he meant. As boys they had run the neighborhood east of the Market. Even then, a full thirty years ago, many of the blocks were half empty. It was a place to explore, or just ‘park and party’, as they called it. No one around to hassle you, no cops, you could listen to the radio, and tune out.
Eddie took a sharp right and tooled down one street or another, some of the oldest streets in the city, with their original French names, where the water pipes, many still made of wood, burst every winter. But today, the old streets were empty, not a soul in site. Many of the old houses had been torn down in the last few years with the help of federal grants. In their place were the empty lots, many so overgrown with tall weeds and feral trees that you couldn’t see through them to the other side of the block. Other empty lots were still brown sandy earth, with the occasional brick or piece of broken lumber sticking out. Odd little houses still stood here and there with just the faintest sign of life, like a dish towel drying on the front porch, waving sporadically in the broken air like a flag of surrender. But they weren’t surrendering, that would have been too reasonable an idea for these folks, The Mayor thought; they’re tough, resentful, opinionated, and they’re not moving for anyone, anywhere, anytime soon.
Eddy, in no hurry to return to the downtown city office building, drove along slowly, his foot off the gas, just taking it all in; a city fallen to its knees, trying to stand up again. He made a turn, thinking about what fun he used to have on some of these streets back in the day, when he slowed down, his foot on the break. “What the hell is this,” he said out loud to himself.
The Mayor was thinking the same thing. It was like a, like a, he couldn’t put his finger on it. The car rolled to a stop. The two men stared out the side windows, still not able to understand what they were looking at. There was a house, a very nice house, that had been painted. There was a garage, also painted. There was a fence, also painted, and inside the fence there were trees and flowers. But it wasn’t one city lot it was a half block of lots, maybe 16 to 20 lots.
“Pop the locks, Eddy,” said The Mayor.
“Oh, I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Mayor, someone sees you over here, they might get all kinds of ideas,” said Eddy.
“Just pop the locks, Eddy,” repeated The Mayor, “there’s not another living person within a mile of us.”
The door opened and The Mayor got out slowly, looking around for a sign of life. He walked up the driveway and saw a car on the other side of the painted gate. There didn’t appear to be a dog, so he unhooked the gate and made his way towards a side door of the garage that’d been left open. Eddy followed at a short distance, thinking he should have grabbed the gun from the glove box. As they approached the open door a figure suddenly appeared: A large man, his face hidden beneath a mask of some sort, in a space suit.
“HUH,” issued The Mayor.
Eddy turned and ran back for the gun. The man stood there, dead still, holding a box that strained his arms. Finally he lowered the box to the ground and stood back up, removed the mask, a dark netting, and spoke: “Mr. Mayor?”
“Yeah, that’s right, I’m The Mayor. Who the hell are you?” asked The Mayor.
“Name’s Enos. Oh, this is a beekeeper’s suit, that’s all.”
Eddy on his way back with the gun tripped over a large concrete flower planter, the gun hurled into the air. Enos caught it, and his mutt, roused by the activity, stood at his side now, stretching its large mouth as dogs will do after a long sleep.
“I don’t really think you need this, but here,” said Enos, offering the gun to Eddy, who took it back with an attitude like it’d been stolen from him and returned without apology.
The dog laid back down, resting its chin on its paws.
“Beekeeper? You’re a beekeeper?” asked The Mayor.
“Yessir,” said Enos, smiling slightly, “would you like to see the hives?”
“Hellno!” Eddy jumped in, “he’s the damn Mayor, he don’t want to see beehives, any kind of hives.”
“Easy now Eddy,” laughed The Mayor, “maybe you should put the gun away and pull the limo into the drive.”
“Ok, well, whatever, scared the daylights out of me, beekeeper,” complained Eddy, retreating, brushing the grass and dirt off himself after his wild fall.
“Sure, you can show me the hives,” replied The Mayor.
He followed Enos back into the garage. There was a double screen door made of old wood and chicken wire erected in the back wall of the garage, leading to a large lean-to addition. In the lean-to there were four large boxes, each on its own platform. There was a noticeable buzz and The Mayor, looking at the boxes through the screen door from the side could see the bee activity. Hundreds, if not thousands of bees, whirring around in every direction in and out of a long, two inch opening that ran the length of the outer lean-to wall.
”Wow, you can keep bees like this in the city, huh?” asked The Mayor.
“Sure can,” replied Enos, pretty satisfied with The Mayor’s response.
“What’s up with the door,” asked The Mayor.
“Oh, we’ve got wildlife now, every damn thing, skunks, raccoons, foxes, wild turkeys, deer, one day we’ll have bears down here,” replied Enos, immediately sorry he’d said too much to the man whose job it was to turn the city back into a city.
“Bears, huh? Yeah I guess you never know,” chuckled The Mayor.
They walked out, back into the light, into the dreary, hot afternoon sun. Dottie was standing there, under the tree, her hands working each other slowly as if they were trying to figure out what to say or do.
“I saw you from the window, Mayor, would you like a cold drink?” asked Dottie, finally, forcing a light smile.
The Mayor, his eyes adjusting to the light, took in the woman before him, a slight middle aged woman in slip on shoes, three quarter length blue jeans and a white blouse with little embroidered flowers around the buttons. She could have been one of his family, she looked so familiar.
“That would be very nice, thank you,” responded The Mayor, remembering his position and good manners all at once.
Enos had unzipped the white suit and sat down to remove it completely. His legs were wet and his t-shirt also showed signs of heavy sweat. He folded the suit and laid it down on the grass. The Mayor, took a seat next to him.
“Cigar?” offered Enos.
“No, thank you. So what’s in the box?” asked The Mayor.
“I pulled some honey frames, today,” replied Enos, “two frames from each box, so eight frames total, or about 40 pounds of honey or so.” He lit his cigarillo.
The Mayor sat, leaning forward, feeling the air move across his wet back, and looked at the box, trying to form a picture of a ‘honey frame’, but he was out of his element, out of time and place, confused about where he was and what was happening there.
Finally, Dottie returned with the lemonade, big tall plastic glasses filled with ice, clinking along. The men watched her set the tray down, reach for a glass and a napkin and hand them out, one by one. They both leaned back and took a long sip, so ice cold it temporarily shot a noticeable pain up the back of the heads.
“You know, Mr. Mayor, your driver is in the driveway sleeping in the car, but it’s running and I’m afraid the air is not moving on that side of the house,” explained Dottie.
The Mayor, pulled from his ice cold lemonade reverie, took the phone from his back pocket. Annoyed, he managed to call Eddy with just one thumb racing over the screen, touching it here and there. “Shut off the car and come over here, there’s a cold lemonade for you,” ordered The Mayor.
“Thank you, Ma'am,” sighed The Mayor, “for the lemonade and the, you know, Eddy.”
Dottie smiled slightly, took her lemonade and sat down in one of the old steel chairs, painted bright green. Eddy arrived and helped himself to a lemonade before she could bounce up. The four of them sat there and sipped their drinks, enjoying a moment in the dense shade of the tree, the air moving slightly around them, leaving the occasional but distinct impression of sitting in a locker room.
“So you own, like, a half of a whole city block, hey,” started Eddy, staring out at the formidable flower gardens and the orchard, bringing the glass to his lips.
Enos and Dottie rocked very slightly in the steel chairs, making it look almost like they were signaling ‘Yes’. The Mayor smiled broadly.
“You must love flowers, man, you got a mess of flowers,” continued Eddy, never at a loss for a stray thought.
“What do you do with all the flowers? and the honey? and the fruit,” posed The Mayor.
“We share a table at the market with a fellow from the country, Mike, we bring the flowers and the fruit, he brings the vegetables, and we both have honey,” said Enos, happy to be onto a new conversation away from lot ownership. “The market is good for us, it helps with my pension and health care bills, and we enjoy mixing with the public from time to time. And we sell to a few florist shops, too.” Dottie was smiling, watching The Mayor with a sideways look, trying to figure what he was thinking, sure it was not about the table at the market.
“Well, we should be getting back to the office I guess, I have meetings this afternoon, I know, but it’s been very nice to meet you both, and thank you for the lemonade,” said The Mayor, rising and stretching a bit, then shaking hands with Enos on the way to the car. Eddy gulped hard to finish his lemonade, and then rushed to the gate to open if for The Mayor. Enos and his dog stood with The Mayor and chatted while Eddy started the car and got the air going full blast.
“I like what you’ve done here,” started The Mayor, “not what I envision for the city, but it’s a damn bit better than the rest of the neighborhood. Well, good luck to you, Honeyman,” and with that they shook hands, and The Mayor departed.
“You wouldn’t believe it unless you saw it with your own eyes, I mean this guy, he’s got like an old fashioned name like Otis, or, or Enos, and he’s taken over about half of a whole city block in one of the most desolate parts of the city, not really very far from here either, and he’s got a flower garden, like a little farm, really. I walked up the drive and out he comes in a space suit, scared the hell outta us. Eddy, oh man, he freaked and ran and got the gun from the car, you had to see it to believe it,” The Mayor spit out, laughing so hard, he couldn’t contain himself. The woman at his side, balanced on her elbows, her brow scrunched, made neither heads nor tails of the conversation. She smiled wanly, not wanting to look like she completely missed the joke, but her face belied her confusion.
“I mean Eddy with that damn gun,” The Mayor blurted out, “Enos in a damn beekeeper outfit,” sitting up on the edge of the bed, then overcome with laughter again, unable to speak, rocking back and forth.
When The Mayor finally got ahold of himself again he rose and started to dress. The women, still splayed across the sheets, watched him, annoyed he wasn’t paying her any attention, after all the attention she provided him that afternoon.
“You know, it’s our 6 month anniversary,” started the woman, “you might have thought about it, but I guess you had such a fun morning.”
The Mayor continued to dress as he thought about the woman’s half hearted attempt to tie his amusement with the beekeeper to some inadvertent forgetfulness of a ‘6 month’ anniversary. Years ago he would not have hesitated to argue with her about such a ridiculous accusation, but after three and a half years in office he’d learned to pick his battles, and let others, his mistresses, enemies, colleagues, friends and the general public, think they scored a basket once in a while; not win the game, but just drop in one basket. He lifted the woman from the bed, holding her warm, naked body close: “We’ll stop on our way to your place and get you something special,” said The Mayor.
“Do you think he knows,” Dottie asked, anxiously, “he didn’t say anything?”
“Yeah, he’s no fool, he knows,” replied Enos, looking up from the flower bed, a large handful of cut flowers in his hand, “but he also doesn’t care. I mean he’s got a whole city of empty lots to manage, he’s not going to care if I take care of a few of them, what’s he gonna’ worry about this little island of flowers and fruit trees and beehives in the middle of all this empty land. He’s not crazy either.”
“And how come he called you ‘Honeyman’?” asked Dottie, now more perturbed than anxious, “who you been tellin’ about that, that was a personal thing, you should know better than that.”
Enos looked up and turned to his wife. It hadn’t occurred to him that The Mayor referred to him by same the moniker he’d assumed when his romantic exploits with Dottie and a honey bear had been revealed to her relatives, by her, in fact.
“You the only one who ever told anyone about that, to your brother’s wife, and Aggie turned around and told Charles,” responded Enos, defensively, “I’ve never said a word about it.”
“But somehow The Mayor knew?”
“Oh, it’s just a silly coincidence, Dottie,” replied Enos, angry to be accused when he was more than innocent, “he saw the hives and the beekeeper’s suit, and the honey frames.”
“Well, ok then,” managed Dottie, relieved to know The Mayor hadn’t actually heard about their lovemaking adventures with honey, “but I hope there’s not going to be any problems now that he knows we’ve taken over lots that don’t belong to us.”
Enos just smiled and continued to cut flowers. They soon had two full plastic tubs full of their best blooms, wrapped in wet newspapers. They loaded them into the back of their SUV and after getting a couple of cold drinks, started towards a downtown florist to deliver them.
Enos and Dottie, each carrying a plastic tub of newly cut flowers, walked up to the door of Central Florists and got buzzed in. Kathy, the owner, was in the back and waved Enos and Dottie through.
“Oh, these are beautiful,” exclaimed Kathy, “as always. You two have the green thumb boy, o’ boy.”
“Here’s the list,” said Dottie, smiling at the compliment, handing Kathy the invoice. There was a customer buzzed in then.
“Ok, Shandra’s out in front, she can handle it,” mentioned Kathy. She went through the two tubs and checked against the invoice. Then she handed Enos a check for the previous delivery.
Shandra appeared, “Big sale,” she said, and then the two florists began putting away the new arrivals in tubs of fresh water.
“Thank you, now,” said Enos. He and Dottie gave a wave and made their way out to the front door. On the walkway, Enos was amazed to see the limousine that was just in his driveway that morning. As they got closer they both saw through the open back door Eddie the driver up front, and then The Mayor in back, and in the loving embrace of a pretty young woman, not his wife. The young woman pulled back, and then The Mayor turned around. He was not amused to see Enos and Dottie, standing there, looking right at him. Not amused, to say the least.
“Man, that was the last thing I needed today,” declared The Mayor, “first I sweated my ass off at another real estate development groundbreaking that has about a 10% chance of ever becoming anything, then I got scared half to death by a beekeeeper who’s obviously squatting on a bunch of lots he doesn’t own, but making them beautiful in his own weird, damn way, and then I have the two of them, Otis and, or, or Enos and his little wife, staring me down in the damn limo with Roberta, less than 90 days before the damn election.”
“Yeah, you shoulda closed the door, you know the glass is tinted and,” started Eddy, sitting off to the side in a little chair by the wall.
“Oh shut up Eddy,” The Mayor jumped in, thoroughly perturbed now, “I know the damn glass is tinted.”
“Charlene, get me through to Stanley over in Deeds,” The Mayor yelled into his intercom phone, and then remembering himself added, softly, “please.”
“The windows are tinted,” The Mayor repeated, staring at poor Eddy, who continued to believe that since what he’d said was in fact a fact, he was therefore absolved of any sin.
“Yep, tinted,” said Eddy softly enough The Mayor might not notice.
“I have Stanley, on line 1,” stated Charlene, over the phone intercom.
“Hey Stanley, can you look this up for me,” started The Mayor, and then he gave the names of the four streets that surrounded the flower farm he’d visited that morning. After a few minutes a voice came back online:
“Looks like we have only one taxpayer on that block now,” began Stanley, “and there are 9 open lots on the one side and 10 on the other.”
“Right, I can believe it,” replied The Mayor, already exhausted by the conversation, “and between the taxpayer’s lot and corner to the west, how many lots are there?”
“Both sides of the block, that would be 16; 8 on the one side including the taxpayer, and 8 on the opposite side,” answered Stanley.
“Right, that’s what it looked like,” said The Mayor, out loud.
“Yeah, that’s a desolate part of the city, but close enough to downtown, and…” offered Stanley.
“Yeah, thanks Stanley,” said the Mayor, jumping in, “and the city owns all the lots?
“Yes, we do.”
The Mayor and Eddy sat there quietly for a long hour, watching a storm come across Lake St. Clair to the north of the city, the sky turning a deep, dark blue green, and eventually the rain splashing against the windows.
“That’s a helluva blow,” said Eddy, happy to break the silence.
The next morning The Mayor had a community meeting at a church in the Northeast section of the city. It got pretty heated up, too. The temperature rose with the sun, and before long the residents began going down the list of promises from the last campaign and the lack of follow through from the city administration. The Mayor tried his best to field their complaints, but in his heart he knew he really had nothing to offer as explanation or defense. Services to repair and maintain all manner of infrastructure required cash, but the well had run dry. He had no idea of, or interest in, the city’s fiscal condition before assuming office, and now all he could do was reiterate the same promises with the caveat, gained from hard experience, that they would be top of the list as soon as revenues could be found. The assembled were not amused.
Instead of walking among the crowd as the meeting ended, as he had done four years ago in his first campaign, The Mayor saw Eddy open the side door to the dreary, hot midday sun, and The Mayor, offering a cascade of ‘thank you’ s walked out hurriedly and got into the waiting limousine. The crowd sat in disbelief, shaking their heads back and forth, uninspired and unmotivated. Several met his friendly wave good-bye with a hand wave to ‘get out’. The Mayor was relieved to finally be in the limousine and heading back to the pile of problems on his office desk.
“That was a hostile assembly,” noted Eddy, stating the obvious and pulling the car out into traffic.
“Yeah, I know Eddy,” returned The Mayor, the thought of finding a new driver flitting through his head. Eddy turned the limo onto the on-ramp of I-94 and The Mayor leaned back in his seat, finally starting to cool down in the blasting cold air. After several minutes, he moved forward and told Eddy “let’s get off at the next exit, I want to visit that flower place we found yesterday.”
“What you want to go back over there for? There’s nothing over there…” began Eddy. But The Mayor cut him off.
“Just get me there Eddy, and wait for me in the limo, I have to talk to the man there, Enos,” replied The Mayor, in a tone that meant no more questions.
Eddy pulled up to the driveway of the only occupied lot on the city block. “Wait here, Eddy, I’ll be right back,” said The Mayor.
“You want the gun,” asked Eddy, always thoroughly interested in The Mayor’s safety and well being.
“No, I don’t want no damn gun, Eddy, what do you think? I’m going to shoot some homeowners? That’s the last damn thing I wanna do,” replied The Mayor, frustrated by Eddy’s single mindedness.
“You could give him a good scare,” offered Eddy in his defense.
‘It’s not worthy of an answer’, The Mayor thought. He exited the limo and walked up the driveway. Enos saw him approach from his chair under the tree. He put aside his sandwich and walked over to meet The Mayor. They stood together, one on either side of the gate and talked, a lively back and forth. They shook hands and then The Mayor walked back and got into the limo.
“Ok, Eddy, let’s get back to the office,” said The Mayor, in a low thoughtful voice.
Finally, after several minutes, they pulled into the parking garage of the One City building. Eddy could wait no longer. “What the hell happened up there at the gate?” he asked, parking in The Mayor’s reserved spot.
“I agreed to 15 lots for $5 each with a man who was probably born a sharecropper’s son, came north and will now own 16 lots on a city block,” replied The Mayor.
Eddy quickly did the math on his phone. “$75 bucks for 15 lots?,” asked Eddy, in disbelief.
“Enos ran a hard bargain,” answered The Mayor, dejectedly.
“What was that about? asked Dottie when Enos returned to finish lunch.
“The Mayor offered those 15 lots we’re using for $75,” answered Enos.
“And you decided to buy them?”
“Well, he offered to pay for them, too, so yes, I did.” answered Enos.
Another great story. Thank you!