— Eye on Everett —

The Blue Suit goes inside — “Mirror, mirror on the wall”

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“I had to go out with him the other day,” the mayor’s blue suit told me.

“He makes a bit of a fuss over himself before he leaves the house. I know. I’ve been with him for years.”

“When he decides to wear me, he takes me from the closet and lays me on his big bed in his master bedroom. Then he goes to his closet again and picks out just the right shirt and tie, which he lays neatly on top of me.

In the master bedroom’s en suite bathroom, (all polished marble and stainless steal donated to his cause by folks wishing to do business with the city) he usually shaves. He splashes on a bit of cologne when finished. He puts some gel in his hair and combs it back neatly. He loves when his black hair glistens in the light. During this ritual he is staring at himself in the mirror. He enjoys staring at himself. Truth be known, at times like these, he stares endlessly at himself, moving this way and that, pulling in his stomach for just the right look. He admirers himself, changing his facial expressions. He pivots right and left as though he’s former Gov. Chris Christi, before he had a stomach tuck, preparing for an engagement. At other times I can assure you, he hates himself and can’t stand what he sees of himself when he looks into his reflection in his bathroom mirror,” the Blue Suit told me about the mayor.

“Dressing is easy. He slips me on over his legs. He puts on dark socks and those crusty leather shoes of his that he loves so much. He puts on the shirt and tie. He buckles the belt. Then comes the big moment. He stands in front of the mirror and admires himself. I know what he thinks when he’s looking at himself in the mirror, when he turns just so to gain an image of himself from an angle, or when he smiles as if practicing the smile, or when he extends his arm and points his index finger at the mirror as if to say, ‘Now you listen to me. I’m the mayor. I run the city. I own the city. It is mine’” the Blue Suit said he heard him say.

“He does that a lot,” added the Blue Suit.

“He returns to the huge bed, picks up the jacket and puts me on. There are times I float a bit because he’s taken some weight off. There are other times he tries buttoning me. It is as if I am suffocating or he’s going to split or tear me.”

“Anyway, we had to go out over the weekend to pay our respects,” the Blue Suit said.

“The mayor paid his respects. I’m always pleased at those times because there’s not as much in my face yelling and complaining or political backbiting. Plus, with the cool weather, he wasn’t sweating. I could breath. He didn’t sit down – another blessing,” the Blue Suit told me about the mayor.

“There have been times when I am being worn by him and we are paying respects when people who don’t care for him or who he threw under the bus don’t take lightly to him when he is trying to pretend, he remains their friend.

“They go nose to nose with him. Thy tell him to go to … you know what I’m saying?”

“Yes. I understand,” I said to the mayor’s Blue Suit. “He’s just a small city bully who backs down every time he’s vigorously challenged. He’d never fight because he’d be too afraid, he’d be sued, that’s the level of his personal courage,” I added.

The Blue Suit described getting home after paying respects, which went smoothly.

When he got home, he took me off. He hung me up neatly on a hanger. He removed his shoes. He got on his cell phone. He spoke to four different people while laying on his bed. You wouldn’t believe what he was talking about.”

“What do you mean? “I asked the Blue Suit. “Come out with it. Who did he speak with and what did they talk about?” I asked.

“One call went like this,” the Blue Suit told me.

The mayor listened for a moment. As soon as he recognized the voice, he shouted.

“Don’t call me again. Leave me alone. You never call me again. I’ll call you,” the mayor said, the Blue Suit told me.

“He gets a number of calls like that. He hates them. He hates a lot of what he has to do and who he must speak with everyday. “He is tired of it. It bores him. At this point in his mayoralty, he’s a harried a guy who knows how to do only one dance step. I’m saying he’s a one step dancer performing to the same old tune everyday,” the Blue Suit added.

The second call he made concerned the donut shops. I don’t know exactly who he was talking with, but I heard him say business is really bad and the shops will likely be out of business shortly. He said to the guy he was speaking with: “I can’t possibly pay the rent.”

The third call he hushed his voice just a bit. I don’t think he knew I was listening in.

“Can you help me out?” I heard him ask. “I need some dough. I’m broke. This virus is killing everything I have. People aren’t paying their rents. I can’t pay my own. And I have my mortgages to pay. Can you help me out?” I heard him ask, the Blue Suit told me.

“Get back to me, please,” he asked. “I’m running out of time. Something’s going to give.”

“Did he really say that?” I asked.

“Every word of it,” the Blue Suit answered.

“The last call was to a money lender/investor who has decided to give the mayor and two others a big private loan for an investment the mayor has made with a very well known Everett man on the rise, about which no one is supposed to be aware,” the Blue Suit said to me.

“I know his name but that’s for you to figure out, Josh,” the Blue Suit said to me.

“How sure are you that I don’t already know that investor’s name – and all the investors names?” I asked the Blue Suit.

The Blue Suit didn’t answer.

He heard the mayor approaching the closet.

End of discussion.

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