Free The Big Ask by Shane Maloney Page B

Liberals. She modestly concealed these attributes behind a flip manner and a technocratic fascination with the intricacies of bureaucratic procedure. She had full, luscious lips and tight curly hair.
    How I longed to federate with her, to capture her preferences, to scrutinise her affiliations. To man her booth, to poll her quorum, to table her amendments, to join her in congress, to have her sit on my administrative committee.
    She swivelled in her seat to survey the room. Her green, cat-like eyes caught mine and she tipped me a conspiratorial wink. I replied with a little salute and we turned our faces back to the microphone. To Angelo, our boss and our cross.
    He wore a sports coat and striped tie, neither too formal nor too casual. Just one of the folks, if a slightly more important one. His speech was mercifully brief. He praised the creativity of the local community, referred modestly to his own role in getting the centre funded, thanked all the right people. He read from cue cards, doubtless prepared by Lyndal.
    Ange’s address concluded the formalities. Lyndal swooped, escorting the distinguished couple to the door, whispering names in his ear as Angelo pressed the flesh. People stood, stretched, hailed friends. A choir filed onto the stage. I nodded to some familiar faces and drifted outside.
    Lyndal was standing on the auditorium steps, observing Agnelli as he mingled with the punters, handing out the howdy-doodies. I propped beside her, shoulder-to-shoulder. Our heights were almost equal and it was all I could do not to step behind her, wrap my arms around her waist and scratch my itch on the small of her back.
    Angelo had stopped to chat at one of the food stalls. Somebody handed him a sausage in a bread roll. Mustard squirted onto his tie when he bit into it, and he jumped backwards like the victim of an unwelcome practical joke.
    â€˜He’s never been very comfortable with his constituents,’ said Lyndal. ‘But I’ve never seen him this edgy. Any idea what’s spooking him?’
    â€˜He’s had a recent visit from the Haulers,’ I said. ‘They threatened to jeopardise his preselection.’
    â€˜The Haulers are a very spooky outfit,’ she said, ‘but they don’t have any influence out here. Angelo should know that.’
    Choral keening erupted inside the auditorium in an unfamiliar language. English, probably.
    â€˜I’m sure he does,’ I said. ‘But I’m beginning to suspect that our employer has finally been promoted beyond the level of his incompetence. He could barely handle the burden of his minor portfolios. Transport’s a major nightmare and he may not be able to cope.’
    Lyndal considered this information for a while. It seemed to reassure her. ‘So it’s just general anxiety, then? He doesn’t have some specific suspicion?’
    â€˜All I know is that he needs a lot of hand-holding at the moment,’ I said. ‘Although I’d prefer if it was my hand being held. By you. Where’s Nick, by the way?’
    â€˜On the road as usual,’ she said. ‘Warracknabeal, Ararat, Horsham. Doing a membership sweep of the country racetracks.’
    If this woman was mine, I’d be superglued to her, not chasing turnstile attendants in the boondocks. ‘Great,’ I said. ‘Then there’s nothing to stop you flirting outrageously with me.’
    â€˜Nothing but that man down there,’ she said, nodding towards Angelo.
    A cluster of constituents had captured their representative and were getting into his ear. A problem with domiciliary nursing-care benefits, possibly, or a wrangle with the office of Consumer Affairs, the Liquor Licensing Commission or the land valuation board of review. A matter, in any case, either beneath Angelo’s dignity or beyond his capacity. He put his hand up and started waving in our direction like a drowning man signalling a lifeguard.
    We started down the