Free The Dogs of Littlefield by Suzanne Berne Page B

over the furniture. She tried to catch his eye, intending to give him a brief wave, neither friendly nor unfriendly, but George was talking to the blonde and did not look up.
    Sybil found them seats to one side of the hall, next to a gentleman with scanty hair dyed the color of aged cordovan; he wore a red and white diamond-paned sweater over plaid slacks and a pair of sneakers.
    â€œSteven,” cried Sybil. “Betsy, it’s Steven Karpinski. Carolyn’s husband.”
    Carolyn Karpinski had been a member of the Littlefield Women’s Club Executive Flower Committee, on which Mrs. Beale served for two years as president. An enthusiastic but lazy gardener. Fond of big, blowsy, sentimental flowers, peonies, cabbage roses, which in their pale, fatheaded way resembled Carolyn herself. Weedy garden. Aphid problems, Mrs. Beale recalled.
    Clasping her hand between both of his, Steven Karpinski leaned over and bussed her damply on the cheek. “Ceci’s dear friend! How she would have loved to be here.”
    â€œSuch a loss,” muttered Mrs. Beale, withdrawing her hand with difficulty. “Are you here tonight, Steven, because you have a dog? Or are you of the other persuasion?”
    â€œHah?” said Steven.
    â€œWe’re talking about dogs,” shouted Sybil.
    â€œIt’s a dog’s life,” he agreed in a loud, triumphant voice. “We’re all going to the dogs! You bet!”
    Mrs. Beale looked at him with disapproval. “We are not going to the dogs,” she said, “if I can help it.”
    A woman sat down on the other side of her. A black woman wearing an orange turban and a long greenish raincoat of some sort of iridescent material that gleamed like beetle wings.
    Mrs. Beale greeted her cautiously. “Pro or anti dog?”
    The woman fixed her with a brilliant smile. “Impartial observer.”
    â€œHah?” said Steven.
    â€œWe’re talking about the hearing,” snapped Mrs. Beale.
    â€œMy hearing’s fine! It’s a dog’s life, that’s all I’m saying! I bet you agree with me.” He winked at the woman in the turban.
    All the chairs were taken, and people lined the walls by the time six aldermen filed onto the dais from a side door. They settled into the padded swivel chairs, fiddling importantly with their red or blue striped ties, sipping coffee or nodding to people they knew. One of them grinned and cocked his finger at someone. Mrs. Beale eyed his expensively cut gray hair, large brown eyes, and long, straight nose; he resembled a lanky television actor she’d seen in truck commercials. While the other aldermen glanced through their notes, this one lounged in his swivel chair, chewing a toothpick, a small American flag pin affixed to the lapel of his dark suit.
    Politicians, she thought, are an indulgence.
    â€” —
    By seven o’clock the doors were shut. One of the aldermen, a dark, sorrowful-looking man with eyebrows like Leonid Brezhnev’s, announced that the hearing was now under way and that the topic was Baldwin Park. After reading aloud a police report on the poisonings at the park, then a description of the proposed ban “on all canine visitors,” as well as the ordinance for a designated off-leash area, he invited residents to state their support or opposition to either one. Chair legs scraped against the floor as people left their seats and waded into the aisle, lining up for their turns at the microphone, Mrs. Beale last among them. She was startled to see George in line five or six people ahead of her.
    The first speaker, a white-haired woman in a magenta, sequined sweater, identified herself as a resident of Avalon Towers and began by saying she loved dogs and was appalled by recent events, but that she felt the park should be for everyone and not just dogs. A few boos sounded from the audience.
    â€œDogs often don’t come when they are called,” insisted the woman