Balancing Act

Balancing Act

“You’re all so insular here!” Zinnia fumed. “City people are much more open minded!” 

Darius pushed back. Jumping to his feet, he slapped his palms against the horseshoe-shaped table.

“This is an outrage!” 

He glared around at the other Councilmembers in turn, his mutton-chop side whiskers trembling. 

“Great-Grandpa would spin in his grave if he heard about this!”

There was an immediate hum of agreement, all eyes instinctively turning to the portraits of the town’s founding fathers. 

Darius Wickersham IV was the spittin’ image of his great-grandpa, whose dour stare surveyed the room from within a gilded frame. 

Mayor McNear brought the gavel down. “The Council will come to order!” she commanded.

The room fell silent. The mayor was a King by birth, with a pedigree that meant something to locals.

She pursed her lips and looked over her glasses.

“Mister Wickersham, you will please sit down and allow Mrs. Neukommer to continue.” 

Moving her gaze to the Public Art Committee president, she ordered,

“And, ma’am, please refrain from inflammatory remarks. Continue.”

Darius sat, huffing. Teresa McNear was his father’s cousin. He knew her opinions. He was also aware that she strove not to show partiality in the Council.

In other words: she didn’t want to jeopardize her place. The hypocrisy irritated him.

His jowls quivered as Zinnia Neukommer smirked. The light bouncing off her shiny yellow blouse was bright enough to blind him.

Arrogant, obnoxious woman! How dare she come into this town, his town, and try to alter its charm with — 

“The tubs will be displayed on poles above the River Promenade — ”

Tubs. Bathtubs. That’s what the art committee woman was announcing. Five full-sized Victorian claw foot bathtubs, mounted atop thirty-foot reinforced steel poles, to be displayed above the pretentiously named River Promenade. Which used to be called the Water Street parking lot.

Even dressed up, Water Street wasn’t much of a street. It was a narrow strip of asphalt between the backsides of commercial buildings and the river-which-was-really-a-slough. 

Darius imagined a new brochure for the Chamber of Commerce:

“Picture yourself dining alongside our dubious waterway, with its inimitable brand of ambience: Below, murky, brackish water slops gently in the flowing tide. Above, the grotesque display of old-fashioned bathtubs hovers ominously.”

“ — will have high visibility across the Town, and will be sure to draw tourism!” Zinnia concluded, and waited for applause.

She was awarded heavy silence.

Darius jerked his mind back to the meeting.  His own indignant thoughts and emotions had distracted him from listening, and he’d missed some of the crucial points. 

Homework, he thought. Read the meeting’s minutes closely…

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But first, as always, there was a meeting-after-the-meeting. 

While the newbies circulated through the trendy spots that popped up and folded with the regularity of the tide, Tradition demanded that The Old Guard should gather at Clancy’s Diner.  

“Well, how’d it go?”

Clancy Pacheco came out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on his apron.

“Didja send her on her way?”  He grabbed a carafe of coffee and plunked it down in the middle of the long table. “Fresh brewed.”

“No.” Teresa McNear’s abrupt answer let slip some of her true feelings. She poured herself a cup of coffee before continuing. 

“We can’t, Clancy. The PAC was set up by a previous Council and is fairly autonomous. The artist has already been given half the money, and presentation of proposed projects is mostly formality.”

Clancy snorted. 

“Ridic’lous. Can’t we overturn it? They’re spending money on foolishness!”

Amy Burdell cleared her throat.

“Clancy!” warned Maxine, elbowing her spouse none too discreetly. 

“Oh, no worries!” Amy laughed. “I’m on the committee as a token, and kind of — for my own part — to keep a little balance. Pardon the pun; you know the project is called Balancing Act… I don’t have a lot of say, unfortunately. I was not in favor, but I was outvoted.”

Mass indignation created a buzz of electricity in the small eatery.

“Our tax dollars should go to repairing the roads! We have the worst in the county!”

“And what about the schools?”

“And who voted for this? We didn’t! We never had the opportunity!”

Mayor McNear had no gavel here, so she knocked on the table. It worked just as well.

“Hhm! Excuse me. I’d like to reiterate, unofficially — just so everyone understands — that the PAC is a more or less independent group that oversees purchase and display of public art. 

“The funding comes, not from taxes, but from developer’s fees. A percentage of all the monies spent on building and development must go to the public art fund, for the intended enhancement of our town.”

Darius snorted. Teresa gave him the stink eye. She hadn’t done that to Clancy. That’s the privilege of kinship.

He kept his mouth shut and let others express their concerns.

“Did they do an environmental impact study?”

“Who’s going to take care of maintenance?” 

“Yeah. You know, for one thing, every pigeon in town will use the tubs — for toilets!”

“Ha! Imagine the mess. That will sure be a draw for tourists.”

“Someone will have to go up there and clean out the bird poop regularly. That sounds like an accident waiting to happen!”

“What about kids being tempted to climb the poles? We’re bound to have an epidemic of stupidity.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that! The homeless people living under the bridge won’t let them near!”

“Listen — ” Teresa tried tapping the table again,  but she was drowned out by her constituency.

“Can't we have a say at all? We’re the ones who end up having to look at this garbage every day!”

“They could at least pay a local artist to do something meaningful!”

“Yes, what we oughta do is, hire Andrea Simonescu to do another mural! Now that’s real art. A mural of a historical scene, like the one she did on the parking garage wall.”

Amy lifted her hand, and Teresa nodded. “Go ahead, Amy.”

For a wonder, the crowd quieted and allowed the young woman to speak.

She smiled nervously and raised her voice. 

“Well… Andrea’s work is wonderful! Yes, it would be great to have another of her historical scenes, but — we need variety. Murals are usually one-dimensional, and the Balancing Act project is three-dimensional. That’s the kind of thing PAC looks for…”

“We live in a 3D world!” Darius burst out. “Do we need our art to be 3D? Why do we even need public art at all?”

“Calm down, Darius,” advised Teresa. “You’re acting like an old fogey, and at this rate you’ll have a heart attack before you’re thirty! 

“The issue here is not whether we do or don’t need public art. The PAC was established twenty years ago, and it’s probably here to stay. It’s also responsible for maintenance of the art pieces, to answer one of the concerns.Thing is, the art — up until recently — has been innocuous and non-controversial. The current committee, present member excepted, seems to be intent on shaking up the community.”

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Amy was mulling over the mayor’s “unofficial” words as she dusted a small abstract sculpture. She’d taken the job at Galeria Zinnia because she was passionate about art, and she’d thought it would be ideal. But it seemed that every little thing about Zinnia Neukommer grated on Amy’s nerves. 

The woman was full of herself and her ideas of how the town should be. She was an outsider who knew nothing of local history. She had “jumped in with all four feet”, as Amy’s Great-Grandma Burdell would have said. “Big toad in a small puddle!” she would have also said.

Amy’s mind conjured up an image of a large toad dressed in flashy clothing, sitting smugly in a mud puddle.

Hmm… Zinnia had asked her to display some of her own work in the gallery. Maybe she’d create a custom piece. What media would be most effective? Probably some sort of sculpture.

Zinnia’s phone interrupted Amy’s musings, sounding the first bar of Moussorgsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition.

“Hello — Oh, Rob. Hi. Just a sec… No, I’m in my office. Hold on!… OK, go ahead.”

Rob. The artist of Balancing Act. 

Amy stood still, hoping for no interruptions. The office door was open a few inches.  She couldn’t miss an opportunity to hear Zinnia’s spin on the tub fiasco.

“Oh, well — I’ve told you how hard it is to get these people to accept new ideas. I’m having a little trouble getting them on board with it, but we’re just going to push it through as is. I’m sure everyone will love the project, once they’re used to it.”

Amy almost gasped. She pressed her hand to her mouth to keep back any sound that threatened to escape.

“No, don’t offer to compromise. These people just need to learn to accept new ideas…”

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“Everything is changing!” Darius grumbled, glumly staring at his untouched burger. Gianna put hers back on the plastic tray and reached across the table to tap his arm.

“Hey,” she scolded. “Try to see the humor! I know — the whole tub thing is a dumb idea, but it’s kinda funny if you think about it, you know.”

Darius sat back and crossed his arms.

“Gianna! I am thinking about it! I’m thinking about it! I’m thinking about how this town will be a laughingstock. I guess you don’t understand, because you’re not a townie.”

He picked up his fork and jabbed it into the scoop of potato salad.

Crack! 

“Great. Now I’ve got a plastic tine in there.”

“Use your spoon to find it,” Gianna suggested. “Got something to tell you.”

“Better be something good,” he replied sourly.

Gianna leaned forward. A piece of hay fell out of her hair and floated to the table. She brushed it away.

“Sorry — I was feeding the cows just before I headed into town… Anyway, here’s the thing.  Amy overheard Zinnia talking to the tub guy, and it sounds like he’d be willing to make some sort of concession. She was trying to convince him not to.”

“So?”

“So, maybe you — now that you know that — can make some sort of motion in the Council, to have a discussion with the artist.”

“I’m just a junior councilman. Fat chance they’ll listen to me.”

“Darius. You’re a Wickersham!”

He inhaled deeply and let the air out slowly.

“All right.”

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They did listen. 

Darius had covertly tipped off Madam Mayor (did that qualify as nepotism? He rather thought it did, but he counted it as his turn to use family privilege). She allowed him to make a motion. It was quickly seconded and unanimously voted upon.

“Motion approved,” said the mayor, tapping lightly with her gavel. “The Council will request all members of the PAC and Robert Paxton, the artist of Balancing Act, to be present at a special Council Meeting which will convene on the River Promenade, at the site of the proposed installation.” 

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Zinnia Neukommer was not happy. She was not happy with the Council for suggesting this meeting. She was not happy with the mayor for approving it. She was not happy with Rob Paxton for agreeing to it.

Rob was too easy going to suit her. He actually listened to the concerns of the Council and bent to their suggestions. 

“You know, I see the point. The display would obstruct a high-traffic area. And I think the tubs might be better viewed from a distance anyway. I’m so enthused to share this project with your community, I’m open to any and all suggestions for a revised location. We’ll make it work!”

That, to borrow another saying from Amy’s Great-Grandma Burdell, opened a whole new can of worms. The matter of location was put to the citizenry. 

“Two weeks,” the mayor decided. “We will give two weeks to submit suggestions for modification.”

Cyrus Wickersham, younger brother of Darius, was head of the town’s IT department. As a matter of fact, he was the entire IT department. He set up a special link on the Town Hall website, where the populace could offer ideas. 

There was so much traffic, the entire site crashed and they had to resort to an old-fashioned drop box in the lobby. 

Maxine Pacheco rang the bell at the Town Clerk’s desk.

 “The box is stuffed full and overflowing. I can’t get our forms in.”

“Ay-yi-yi!” Teresa McNear groaned. “Look at all these! How are we going to sort through them?”

“High school students.”

“You’re kidding — right?”

“I’m serious.”

Teresa grimaced. “Oh, come on, Darius. How do you think we’d persuade a group of high schoolers to help with that?”

“All we have to do,” Darius explained, with unusual patience, “is convince the civics and algebra teachers to make it an assignment. The students will be part of the process.”

“Darius, that’s brilliant! Why didn’t I think of that?”

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A week later, the results had been tabulated and neatly graphed on a spreadsheet. 

“Float them in the turning basin… Put them on the peninsula… Town Hall roof… South Landing… ” The mayor ran her finger down the printout as she read. “A few of these might actually be workable.”

The technology students designed ranked-choice ballots with the three top options, and handed them out at the historic standing-room-only Council meeting.

Zinnia Neukommer was furious that she didn’t get her way. 

Some things never change.

 ><><

Several months later —

Darius led Gianna through the back door of Clancy’s, to the Water Street parking lot. They leaned against the railing and each other, gazing downstream to the new landmark. Below, murky, brackish water slopped gently in the ebbing tide. 

He chuckled.

“What?”

“This town is changing. It has to, I guess… Great-Grandpa wouldn’t recognize it, would he?”

“Nope. Darius?” Gianna wrinkled her nose. “Um… this isn’t the most romantic spot. The muck down there is kinda smelly.”

“Yeah, sorry. Let’s take a walk.”

They ended up at King’s Landing Park, beneath the silhouettes of two old-fashioned bathtubs wading awkwardly on their spindly legs like a pair of prehistoric shorebirds. 

“Ah… I could get used to this!” Darius slung an arm around Gianna and pulled her close. She looked up at him, but couldn’t read his expression in the gathering dusk.

“Us?” she asked.

He waved his other arm at the artistically tilted tubs. “Them.”

She swatted him.

“Oh — and us.”