It had been a long day. Tensions continued to rise as employment levels continued to fall. High emotions and low wages meant that Jack rarely, if ever, got to enjoy a quiet meal with Phryne these days.
He pulled up in front of Wardlow. It was still a shining jewel in a neighborhood increasingly tarnished by economic depression. Many of the other jewels were starting to lose their luster, but Wardlow still shone.
Shone quite literally at the moment, he noted as he looked at his home of the past five years. The bright interior lights were a sharp contrast to the dark night. As he walked toward the house he heard raucous talking and laughter. He let loose a full-body sigh. She hadn't told him she was having a party. After the day he had, he wanted nothing more than to have a quiet meal, a hot soak in the delightfully deep tub with a side of whisky, and to end it all drifting to sleep over the latest pulp fiction. He wondered if he could slip past the revelers unnoticed and get a psychic message to Mr. Butler to deliver his meal to their bedroom.
He paused at the front door, mentally preparing himself for whatever he was about to face. He knew on some level this was a fool's errand, but he still made the attempt every time he was faced with amazing new "Acts of Phryne".
He stepped into the foyer, hanging his hat and coat on the rack to his left, but not yet looking into either the parlor or the dining room. If he stayed focused on the stairs he just might make…
"Jack!" Damn.
Phryne came out of the parlor with a wide smile on her face. She moved quickly to him, greeting him with arms snaked around his waist and a firm, but brief, kiss. It dimly registered in his mind that she was wearing trousers and a blouse, and her makeup was not her "party" makeup.
"Hello. Having a party?" Jack asked as she looked up at him.
She pulled back, "Oh… No, Jack… I didn't tell you? Come see!"
He rolled his eyes, "Phryne, I've had a very long day. I just want to relax."
"Just for a minute," she pleaded with him. He sighed heavily. It was hopeless to resist her. It always was.
She led him through to the parlor. It wasn't what he expected. He immediately spotted his own newly promoted Sergeant Collins and his wife Dot. He next spotted Dr. MacMillan… and then Mr. Johnson and Mr. Yates… Aunt Prudence was here, as well. Was that… Rose Weston? He hadn't seen her in years. No one was drinking cocktails… okay… Mac was drinking… but everyone else was drinking tea. At half nine on a Saturday night.
Jack blinked. What? "What?... what is going on, Miss Fisher?"
"Isn't it exciting, Jack!" she placed her hand on his chest, "I'm running for City Council!"
He turned to her, gaping, "You're what?"
"Running for City Council, Jack!" she swept her arm toward the parlor. He now realized that the folks in the room were all stuffing letters in envelopes or writing addresses or checking names off checklists. This wasn't a party, this was a campaign meeting.
"I see," Jack said carefully. He turned towards her, "Why? This seems a little unlike you. You've never wanted to get directly involved before."
"True, Jack… but the other candidates are not addressing the issues! And they are talking about cutting funding for the key services… including the police," she was getting fired up. There was no stopping a fired-up Phryne, "they wouldn't talk to me about it, so I'm finding another way to be heard."
"Funds are tight everywhere," Jack noted, "They are just calling for what their constituents want."
"Yes, I know. But, Jack… there are limits to what should be cut. We still need the police. We still need Rose's sanctuary." Rose Weston had recently converted her late grandfather's house into a sanctuary for abused women and runaway children. The city had given her some grant money for it, but now that funding was in danger. She had come so far since they'd met her.
"This won't be easy. The other candidates are pretty well connected," he pointed out.
"Nevertheless... when do I choose the easy path, Jack?" she scolded him lightly, "And… this matters."
He tilted his head, smiling softly in acknowledgement. He watched the action and conversation of the room for a minute before he voiced his real concern.
"Phryne, I know you can do anything… you've proven that time and time again… but, what if you lose? You can't control all the variables of an election. And our—relationship—is still something of a scandal in certain circles," Jack really didn't want her to get her hopes up. People had mostly moved on from gossiping about their living arrangement when it was clear that it wasn't going to change and that it was more stabilizing than scandalizing for Melbourne's most talked about heiress. But putting herself out there as a politician was likely to dredge up those past scandals.
"If I lose, I lose. At least by running I'm forcing them to pay attention to the issues that are important and giving those issues a voice! Someone has to be persistent," her voice had risen in volume to the point that the commotion from the parlor died down and all eyes turned to them.
Jack looked at her with absolute love and admiration. This woman was a force of nature and God help anyone who got in her way.
He smiled warmly at her as the conversation resumed in the adjoining room, "And what if you win?"
She laughed, "That's the terrifying part. I guess I'll have to figure it out as I go."
Jack nodded at her in response. Suddenly, he pulled her close and kissed her soundly. "You've got my vote," he informed her as he pulled away.
He released her from his embrace, took off his suit jacket, and rolled up his shirtsleeves, "Alright, Miss Fisher. What do we need to do?"
"I thought you were exhausted?" she shooting him a confused expression.
He shrugged, "We're partners. We're in this together."
She beamed at him, "Jack Robinson, what am I going to do with you,"
"Hand me some envelopes."