I believe it was the great Mary Chapin Carpenter who once sang “sometimes you’re the windshield, sometimes you’re the bug.”
These days, I am, of course, a windshield.
Which is why Wanda has agreed to meet with me today. The future Mayor of Middle Valley (or am I getting ahead of myself … ha) knows where the power lies around here.
She has never liked that monstrosity of a statue. And the way it was just plunked in the middle of the river bank, a damp section of ground that, every time visitors traipse through there, yields wet, muddy footprints and, as in the case of the other night, a faint smell of weed and grain alcohol.
I get to the Riverside early so I could pick a wine. (For whatever reason, Wanda enjoys Merlot, so I, for whatever reason, went with that.) Cassie gives us a window seat that stretches across the front of the dining room – a beautiful view of the busy lunchtime streets.
I can see Wanda parking her car at the curb. Three back-ups and she finally nails it. She waves in the window and I pour her a glass.
“A toast!” I say as she sidles her way into the booth. “To saying adios to one Mick Righteous and what lunacy he has brought to our town.”
Wanda smiles. “A toast to you,” she says, “and guess what? I have a plan!”
I can’t help but roll my eyes. “Sweetie, you always have a plan!”
I feel compelled to butter her up a little as I have zero plan.
“What do you have in mind?” I lean back, feeling the need to brace myself.
“Well, all of those confederate statues they’ve been moving, you know? Turns out Stu’s nephew does exactly that sort of work.”
I am floored. ‘Wow, so this really could happen.”
Wanda nods, glancing through the menu. “Oh I’ve already called him. We just need to give him a date.”
In that moment, Cassie returns to take our order. With no thought, I order a large tossed salad with garlic dressing and turn my attention back to Wanda.
“So where are we telling him to take it?”
Wanda sips her wine. “I think that one is up to you.”
And then it hit me: The Rock & Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland.
“Of course!” Wanda said. “Perfect!”
The process to donate, it seems, is pretty straightforward – reach out to the museum, see if they’ll take it, then arrange for pick-up and delivery.
“No problem!” I say as Cassie approaches the table with our food. “We can have it done in a week. Cassie, we’ll have another – this time make it a cab.”
“Actually,” Wanda says, “make it a pinot grigio. And there’s no way we’ll get this done in a week. What do you think? We’re gonna bring in these guys and get it out of here under cover of darkness? … People will know.”
And I realized, suddenly, that Wanda was right. What about the donors?
“You let me handle them,” I tell her. “The people, I mean … you handle the museum.”
With that, we were one step closer to sending Mick off into the sunset.
Jenny Page