"03 - Much Ado in Maggody" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hess Joan)

"Wait a minute, Johnna Mae. I thought you were talking about some newcomer to the branch, butЧ"

"Mr. Oliver is the one who gave Brandon Bernswallow all those things I struggled for and slaved for and earned through good, honest sweat, not to mention eleven years of dedication to the bank. Now this Bernswallow fellow sashays in, and Mr. Oliver gives me some cockeyed story about how his father is on the board of directors of the bank and how Bernswallow was sent to our branch to learn the ropes so he could end up being president some day down the road."

"I can't arrest him for playing politics," I said, holding up my hands and wishing the air conditioner would blow hard enough to do something about Johnna Mae's tuna fish breath. "If the main bank sent in a scion to learn the business, that's for you, them, and Sherman Oliver to work out. There's nothing criminal about it."

"But there is! Last year when I was visiting my older sister and her good-for-nothing husband what live down near Pine Bluff, she dragged me to this seminar about women's rights in the workplace. This woman with a hyphenated name was right eloquent, even though I must say I never did understand about the hyphen. Do you know what I learned there, Arly? Do you?"

"Not right off hand," I admitted as I picked up a scratch pad and tried to ward off the attack of the killer tuna sandwich.

To my heartfelt relief, she sank back and sighed. "Well, for one thing, it is illegal to harrass women in the office. That means some jerk of a hotshot executive is not supposed to play grab-ass with his secretary unless she doesn't mind. And if he does it anyway, she can file a complaint with some office at the state capital and they'll make him regret the day he even thought about grabbing her ass or pinching her breast or making lewd remarks."

"You're not telling me that Sherman Oliver was trying anything with you, are you? He's at least sixty if he's a day, and hardly the sort to chase anyone around the desk like a silver-haired satyr."

"I wouldn't know what that happens to be," she said with a sniff. "And I am not accusing Mr. Oliver of having lustful thoughts in his heart, or the wherewithal to catch me, or even Miss Una, if'n he did. He has been nothing but a gentleman for all my eleven years at the bank. He is a deacon at the Voice of the Almighty Lord and has been teaching the men's Bible study class on Sundays since God made little green apples. His wife is the president of the missionary society and does a Sunday school class herself. She's the only one who'll even go into the room with the seven- and eight-year-old boys on a regular basis."

My stomach made a suggestive comment about the possibility of fried pork chops and peach cobbler. "That's a real comfort to know, Johnna Mae," I said as I gazed longingly at the door. "I'm glad to know you have such respect for Mr. and Mrs. Oliver. However, there's nothing either of us can do about this interloper. Give him a few months and he'll be gone, and then you can have your position back, along with potted plants and photographs on your desk. Now, if you don't mind, I have toЧ"

"I want you to arrest Mr. Oliver and have him put in jail."

"We just went over that, and I explained that whatever happened was not a criminal matter."

"Sexual discrimination is against the law, Arly Hanks. In that you've sworn to uphold the law in Maggody, it's up to you to do something. If Putter hadn't been unemployed these last three years due to a ruptured disc in his back, it wouldn't be quite so serious. But we just can't pay the rent on the mobile home, make payments to the doctor and the hospital, keep our children in shoes, and put food on the table every night if I'm making minimum wage. How'd you like to feed a family of five on three dollars and thirty-five cents an hourЧbefore withholding and all of that?"

"You were dropped to minimum wage after eleven years at the bank?" I asked despite myself.

Her eyes filled with tears. "That's the honest to God truth, Arly, and you know me well enough to realize I'm not some sniveling crybaby who ran to the teacher any time a boy snapped my bra on the playground. But I learned at this seminar that it's illegal to demote a woman because she takes maternity leave. Women are supposed to have babies. That's why God gave them wombs."

"It might be a violation of the Civil Rights Act, but it's still not a criminal matter, Johnna Mae. I agree that you've been treated shabbily. I wish I could do something to help, but I can't. You need to find a lawyer who specializes in this kind of discrimination."

"Now, how am I supposed to find some lawyer, much less pay him, when I can't feed my family meat more than once a week?"

I didn't have a good answer for that one. We talked a while longer, then I gently shooed her out the door and walked down the highway to Ruby Bee's, where at least it would be dark and cool. To my delight, it was also deserted, except for one comatose character in a far booth. Several empty pitchers both explained and attested to the depth of the coma, but I didn't even raise an eyebrow. Too hot for facial aerobics.

I perched on a barstool and allowed the lovely breeze to wash over me. I was still evaporating when the proprietor came through the kitchen door and shot me a beady look.

"I suppose you want something to eat," Ruby Bee said in a most unfriendly voice.

"I was hoping."

"And you didn't stop to think for one minute about how I'd have to stand over a hot stove to fix it for you, did you? Didn't think about how the vents in the kitchen don't work and it's hotter than a fire in a pepper mill, did you? All you think about is your innards, missy. If you paid half as much attention to other folks, you'd think twice before insisting on someone having to slave and perspire so's you could gulp it down and prance away without so much as a thank you kindly." Did I mention that Ruby Bee is my mother?

I pondered my options for a moment. "I am always most grateful when you make such sacrifices for your only child," I said meekly, sucking in my cheeks and widening my eyes in true Oliver Twist fashion. "I'd have gone over to the Dairee Dee-Lishus for a cheeseburger, but your cooking is the best in the county. However, I cringe to think of all that slavery going on over a hot stove, so I'll just head back down the road."

"Haven't I taught you anything about eating well-balanced meals?" she snapped, looking pissed enough to come across the bar and turn me over her knee. It would make an amusing scene, to say the least. To begin with, I'm five foot ten and she's five foot period. She has brassy blond hair, courtesy of her friend Estelle Oppers, owner and sole operator of Estelle's Hair Fantasies. Despite the waves of pink eye shadow and the inch or so of powder, Ruby Bee resembles everyone's granny, from her angelic smile to her clean white apron and support stockings. If the woman knocked on your door, you'd invite her in to make cookies in your kitchen. You'd beg her to watch the kids while you ran out for a package of chocolate morsels. Truth. Then again, there are a lot of smirky, smart-ass rednecks who've learned the wisdom of backing off when Ruby Bee gets a certain tightness to her mouth.

So had I, and I was backing off fast, although in a metaphorical sense. "I'll do whatever you want, Ruby Bee. I'll eat here. I'll eat at the Dairee Dee-Lishus. I'll trot home and eat a can of chicken soup. I won't eat anything at all."

"You already look as scrawny as a heifer what's caught the eye of the resident bull. There's no way you're ever going to find yourself a man if you don't put on a little weight."