School Board Fundraiser

Dr. Marcus Allen spent most of his late teens and early twenties in school, attending Lousiana State University, LSU, for his undergraduate degree in education. Then, he continued his pursuit of education, obtaining a graduate degree at the University of Florida. Education wasn’t demanding. Not for him. Neither was writing or editing academic papers. For Marcus, writing in dense, verbose language gave him comfort. Working hard gave him a sense of satisfaction. For him, teaching and working in academia meant a legacy of leading and guiding young people through a learning institution, an institution Marcus valued.

Marcus and Tabitha met after graduation at either a fundraiser or a mixer for teachers. He couldn’t remember, not after five glasses of Pinot Noir. Was Marcus a lightweight? In the opinion of the other teachers, yes. It was rare for him to drink anything more potent than a Coke if he did that. Water was his go-to drink, netting him more than a bit of teasing, especially at fundraisers and social functions. Tabitha’s girlfriends knew Marcus was an attractive man and single. A teacher. Single. In his early thirties. Living in a small town, Macon, Montana? Rumors abound of his sexual orientation and preference, many assuming, albeit incorrectly, that he didn’t like women. That rumor stuck with him for a few years when he started teaching junior high English and ramped up when he took a job joining the high school’s advanced English courses.

Tabitha never went to college. One of her girlfriends, Michelle, suggested going to cosmetology school. Michelle’s thinking? “It’d be a good way for her to use her mouth,” Michelle confided to her stylist, Cheryl. Tabitha could spread rumors faster than formula going through a newborn. She didn’t care who she hurt. The only one who mattered in Tabitha’s life was her.

Cheryl disagreed with Michelle. “Uh, no, Michelle. She talks too much and doesn’t listen enough. Getting through clinicals? The instructors would destroy her! If there’s one thing instructors don’t, and I mean do not put up with? B.S. from any girl.” She ran her fingers through Michelle’s hair, then added, “Or any man.”

“Yeah. You’re right, Cheryl,” Michelle sighed. The last thing Michelle or Cheryl expected was for Tabitha to get involved with all the schools strictly as a volunteer. That way, she only worked as hard as she wanted. No paycheck? And zero responsibility? And on the plus side, for her anyway, is her Daddy. He spent his entire life on a cattle ranch, buying and selling steers, cows, and bulls, until he had more owned acreage leased to cattle ranchers all over Montana. The pricing for the land was inexpensive enough for the ranchers to afford it, and if they couldn’t? Wayne took over their ranch, selling it off to the highest bidder. He hated to do that and when at all possible, he allowed the owners to repurchase it. Many owners couldn’t do the buy-back, but no one had anything unkind to say about Wayne and his business dealings.

Tabitha grew up as a well-adjusted girl. Well, about as well as you could expect, with her Daddy giving her everything her heart desired. It was hard to discipline a young teenager who had no mother. Wayne buried his wife when Tabitha was a toddler. Grieving was tough, but taking care of his daughter? was fresh in his mind. Tabitha didn’t remember. Wayne did, including her three straight weeks of crying for Mama.

“You know,” is how most of her sentences started, “what you should do is,” and that’s when people would take offense. If it was once or twice? That’d be one thing. But for Tabitha, ‘what you should do’ morphed into, “you really should consider.” And her natural ability to sell people on an idea got her into politics, specifically those running for school board seats.
Marcus met Tabitha at one of the fundraising events for Scott Gerald. Scott was the youngest board member, an oddity for Macon. It wasn’t that he managed to get enough votes. Or that Scott was the youngest board member, elected at age 32. It wasn’t that he was the newest member of the Macon Baptist Church or that the church staff felt he had enough experience and wisdom to be a lay leader, giving him the authority to preach sermons once a month. Scott had money. Scott had a lot of money, having migrated from Chicago as a day trader who made his fortune with a few very lucrative trades, netting him more than sixteen million dollars in commissions, not to mention his own portfolio, which was also doing well. All of which meant he’d never have to work another day in his life – if he chose to. No one in the small town knew about his wealth or status besides the large plot of land and massive ranch-style home he bought from another successful rancher who wanted to travel. Scott drove a beat-up pickup truck to blend in with the locals. All of it worked, the locals believing he needed to work the school board job.

Scott was a lovely man, always smiling, not meeting a stranger. He hadn’t yet found a bride, dating a handful of women who wanted nothing more than his money. Two told him as much, and the third? The third woman? That date was so bad Scott swore off dating for at least six months. His dating hiatus found him in Macon, Montana. That’s when he saw God’s country.

He didn’t need a fundraiser. Scott could buy the election without lifting a finger, clinching his board seat. But in terms of fair, he wasn’t about to cheat or not play by the rules of the culture of Macon, choosing Montana culture over Chicago culture. The alcohol? Not his idea, but his campaign manager – Tabitha.

Tabitha was just as clueless as the other townfolk of Macon about Scott’s money. If she knew, she might have tried to date and marry him. Well, maybe not date. But marry? Absolutely! And it would solidify her wealth. But Scott wasn’t all that handsome. Most women wouldn’t look twice at him, which is how he knew the money was getting in his way regarding dating.

But Marcus was taller than most of the Macon residents, slightly tan, with dark brown eyes, the kind the right woman would get lost in. Until now, Marcus hadn’t paid much attention to Tabitha or any other woman in town, instead focusing on running the high school.

The fundraiser was as dull as expected, with many of those in attendance drunk in under two hours. Scott did not want to be remembered for it, even though Tabitha guaranteed it would be unforgettable when voting for those to serve on the school board. Those on the board would be elected again and again, over and over, until they died or moved from Macon. And moving from this part of Montana was rare.