"Esther M. Friesner - Jesus at Bat" - читать интересную книгу автора (Friesner Esther M)

and the Millers next door have already gone four times!

Of the bricks of such marital differences are the divorce courts of this fair
nation built. So, too, the occasional ax-murder-with-P.M.S.-defense case. On
the
surface it would seem that a miracle would be necessary to save Victor Harris'
neck from the chop. That was where the Brothers' Meeting Little League came
in.
No, really.

And that was why, with luck, there would forever be one less used car salesman
at Four Comers and never a moment's peace for the Harris family at the Sharon
Valley Regional Elementary School P.T.A. spring picnic.

"Barb, hon, you look just gorgeous!" Sally McClellan swept down on Barb like a
tornado on a trailer park.

The McClellans and the Harrises didn't usually move in the same circles.
Victor
Harris moved in circles pretty constantly, while Phil McClellan moved solely
in
a steep, straight line of ascent to the windswept heights of financial success
whence he might safely piss on the upturned faces of those below.

However, when the first sweet shoots of spring green burst through the hard
Sharon Valley earth, Phil McClellan graciously maintained temporary bladder
control so far as Victor's face went. As he told The Little Woman, if kissing
Victor Harris' skinny ass was called for to achieve your goals, then by God
and
Ted Turner Industries, Phil McClellan would take a back seat to no one when it
came to posterior pucker-ups. The Little Woman conducted herself accordingly
as
regarded Mrs. Victor Harris' more shapely buns, indeed.

Barb was nobody's fool except Victor's and he'd had to marry her for that
privilege. She knew just what Sally was after and she sat back on the picnic
table bench with all the smirking superiority of a Renaissance prince
contemplating where to insert his next dagger. "Sally, darling" she purred.
Cheeks brushed. Kissy-kissy mwah-mwahs were uttered. "When are you gonna come
around to the La Belle so I can get my hands on your hair?" (La Belle being
the
town aesthetorium where Barb currently aestheted.)

Sally gave a nervous little giggle and fluffed her golden pour of curls with
no
apparent need. "Oh, I'll be around. I don't think I'm due for a trim just
yet."

"Every six weeks." Relentless, that was Barb in the spring. "And I know I
haven't seen you since last September." Somewhere a ghostly poniard glittered.