Famous Last Meals Read Online Free

blocked the view of the river, an antique sofa upholstered in red velvet, and teetering buttes of books piled on the floor.
    They were all talking at once, gesturing with beer bottles and free hands. Not wishing to appear clannish by moving immediately through to the other room, where the English-speakers had gathered, Adam stayed near the kitchen door and listened. He understood more than he expected he would. The gist was that Don Feeney, the PM ’s former Principal Secretary, was running for Parliament in a by-election in the riding of Halifax Citadel, and the intern office was now a de facto campaign force.
    Pookie came in from the other room, slipped her arm under Gilles’ and gave him a nuzzling kiss under one ear. Smug bastard, thought Adam, you hardly acknowledge her presence. She was clearly gone on the boy, who didn’t deserve her despite the evidence of breeding in his strong nose, sharp cheekbones and expensive clothes: pressed tan slacks, sky-blue shirt of Oxford broadcloth with a button-down collar open at the neck, and brown leather deck shoes. He had one hand thrust into a roomy pocket. He said something that sounded, after translation, like, “Pigs don’t swim unless called upon to
do so.”
    Pookie came over to say hello to Adam. “You’ve heard?”
    â€œIt explains Feeney, Manitoba. What’s he going to do, give a speech there?”
    â€œHe’s launching the campaign there, actually. As far as anyone knows, he has no connection to the town, wasn’t born there, hasn’t any family there. Not an impediment to the plan, apparently.”
    â€œSo he’ll get up on his hind legs in the Feeney Legion Hall and tell them all just how impoverished their lives would be without federal government programs.”
    â€œ Quelque-chose comme ça, oui .”
    â€œAre we all supposed to go?” He pictured the two of them canvassing together, stopping for a beer and a bowl of clam chowder on the waterfront, telling each other things they had never told anyone else.
    â€œI’m not sure. Nobody’s heard anything official yet. Just what Ben knows.” Ben, still in high school, worked in the Labour Minister’s office and had heard about Feeney’s imminent announcement from one of the secretaries there.
    â€œDon’t you feel—I don’t know—used? All that work you put into that survey. It seems sneaky.”
    â€œDuplicitous.”
    â€œManipulative.”
    â€œUnderhanded.”
    â€œ Heavy -handed!”
    â€œYou really are naïve, aren’t you, Adam. I knew I wasn’t conducting a census.”
    â€œYou didn’t tell them who you really were.”
    â€œThis is politics. What did you think we were doing here, candy-striping?”
    â€œNo, I didn’t think that. It’s just...I thought the PMO would be involved in...”
    â€œMatters of state, diplomacy, drafting high-minded legislation.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œMy dear green-gilled boy. You can’t do any of that if you’re not in power, and you stay in power by holding onto more seats than your opponents.”
    Why Halifax? It was timely, she said. The incumbent was retiring for health reasons and the by-election would be held in time for the winner to be inducted at the beginning of the fall session of the House. And it was a safe seat.
    â€œA shoo-in,” she said. “A lot of new immigrants have moved into that riding recently. They see the Party name and they think “freedom.” Right away they’re embracing us. Think about it. For most of them, anything is better than what they left back home. They come here, they think, “I will become a new Canadian, I will exercise my franchise, I may even join this here political club, although, remembering who tends to get rounded up in the middle of the night, most of them forgo membership. They wave a flag on July 1st, pay their taxes on time, send as much