“We’re small-government folks down here,” he said. “I’ve found it’s a radical concept to West Coast types, no disrespect.”

“None taken.”

“If you have certain inclinations, let’s say, certain tendencies, no one’s going to stop you from living them out. That’s your right. If you want to get carried away, then you can damn well get carried away. But that doesn’t mean we don’t take care of our own.”

“With initiatives like Common Dreams?”

“Now you’re getting it.”

“The south side is changing,” I observed. “The Glades, for instance.”

“I’m glad you asked about that.”

He got up and motioned for me to follow him to a table on the other side of the office. A color-coded map of Retreat was laid out, labeled Klausmeyer Administration Major Economic Development Initiatives.

“We call it Retreat 2010,” he told me, “a broadscale revitalization plan for the city. By the next decade, I want Retreat to be the premier real estate market on the Gulf coast.”

“Ambitious.”

“I play to win.”

He touched the small of my back and indicated sections on the map. The south side was entirely purple.

“Target areas,” he said. “The Glades are pioneers, but they’re only the beginning. You might not be able to see it right now, but that’s some of the most beautiful land in Retreat. We’ve got developers chomping at the bit to get their bids in, and a whole smorgasbord of restaurateurs just waiting to transform the area.”

“What about the people who live there,” I said, “the ones with certain tendencies?”

“Development has to be consistent with neighborhood character,” said the mayor. “We have to balance growth and preservation. But we can’t artificially hold back market forces, we have to let them work. That’s the ticket I ran on, and in fact I carried the south side by a terrific margin.”

“The homeless vote?”

“I work for all voters,” he said.

The phone rang on the desk. After he hung up, he splashed me with a smile. “I’ve got a busy day ahead, Whitney, but this has been a treat.”

I flipped my notebook shut and picked up my recorder.

He said, “I hope you’ll find room in your piece for Retreat 2010.”

“You never know.”

As he showed me to the door, two fingers on my ribs, he said, “What are you doing tonight? My sons are having a yacht party off Pelican Key. I’m making the punch. I’d love them to meet a girl of your sophistication.”

“I have plans, but thanks.”

“Just promise me one thing, Whitney.”

“What’s that?”

“Get your butt down to the Stowaway on Marble Beach and try the surf ’n’ turf. Tell them Benny sent you.”

8.

Dr. Kriss must’ve flown back from Arcade that night, because the next morning I received an invitation over the phone: “Do you play tennis, Whitney?”