“The usual. Use of local labor for construction and transportation improvements because Chinatown is already impacted by surrounding developments.”’
“We’ve had three pedestrian injuries this quarter.”
“I almost told Dawson his childcare center proposal was a non-starter, but I know his support means a lot in the mayoral race.”
“You do what you have to do. I was thinking of his support when I asked you to meet with him, but that was selfish of me. I should not be a consideration. You have to act in the best interest of the Lee Corporation.”
“You’re family, Uncle Gordon.”
“I appreciate that, but you know that it wasn’t my idea to run for mayor.”
Kimani had read in the paper that more moderately liberal politicians and the business community had pushed him to run because the other candidates were considered too radical for them. She kept quiet as she scarfed down the food.
“If I don’t win the election, I go back to the life I know, which is a pretty good one.”
At that moment, a petite elderly woman approached the table. “Gordon Lee, why aren’t you sitting at a table?”
“Because I can stand perfectly well,” Gordon replied, giving the woman a hug. “Maybelle, this is my nephew, Ben. And this is his guest, Montana.”
Maybelle shook hands with them before returning to Gordon. “You know there’s always a table at Maybelle’s for you.” She turned to Ben and Kimani. “This man saved my life.”
“I did nothing of the sort,” Gordon insisted.
“Without him, I would have been evicted from my apartment while I was recovering from cancer treatment. The landlord was trying to get rid of his Section 8 tenants. Gordon took us on as clients pro bono. Which was good, because I could afford next to nothing. I thought I was going to lose it all: my home, my business.”
So that’s why he’s treated as royalt
y here. Kimani took in the affection beaming from the proprietress’ face as she looked upon the mayoral candidate.
Clearly trying to steer the attention off himself, Gordon said, “Maybelle, how are you doing these days?”
“Thinking to open up a second location. Maybe in Oakland. Wish you could come over here and run for mayor so I could vote for you. Hope you still come to see me if you get elected mayor of Oakland.”
“Nothing would stop me from coming, Maybelle. Your sweet potato pie is too good.”
“It’s to die for,” Kimani added.
“Then I’m sending you all home with an extra helping.”
After Maybelle left to chat with another table, Kimani couldn’t resist asking Gordon what sort of law he practiced.
“I started out in housing and employment,” he answered, “usually discrimination cases.”
Ben grinned. “Father said he was an oxymoron: a penniless lawyer. He thought it was a waste of a law degree, doing what you did.”
“Your father came from humble beginnings. He should know that not everyone’s cut out to be a billionaire businessman.”
“I’m sure your work must have been very rewarding,” Kimani said to Gordon.
“It is,” Gordon acknowledged.
Kimani returned his smile. Shoot. She liked the guy. A lot. The few times she had seen him on television, he hadn’t come across as very charismatic or well spoken. His demeanor suggested he was more bureaucrat than politician. But up close and personal, his sincerity and affability radiated.
“I don’t want to dwell too much on Dawson,” Gordon said, returning to their prior topic, “but you know it’s hard to get past the commission without the support of APCA.”
“I’ve been in conversation with all the commissioners. I think we could get the votes. Williams, De Reyes, and O’Conner.”
“You’re not supposed to tell me that kind of stuff. It’s against the Brown Act.”