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

"And it wouldn't hurt none to do something with your hair," Estelle contributed as she came across the tiny dance floor and sat down beside me. "Wearing it in a bun like that isn't exactly the fashion rage these days. I keep thinking that a delicate auburn rinse might bring out some highlights, Arly. Then, with a perm and a few wisps to frame your face, you'd look just like a June bride." This from a woman with a foot-high beehive of fire-engine-red hair, which gave her an overall upright dimension of six feet plus.

Ruby Bee clasped her hands to her bosom and gave me a misty look. "Why, I can just see you in a lacy veil, all trembly with excitement, waiting at the top of the aisle while some sweet little girl scatters rose petals in your path."

"Ruby Bee right there in the first pew, wearing her blue silk dress," Estelle added in a husky voice. "I'd be sitting beside her in my aquamarine suit with the seed pearl buttons, just dabbing like crazy with a hankie while the tears streamed down my cheeks."

"Your aquamarine?" Ruby Bee chewed off a quarter inch of lipstick. "I do believe it might clash with my blue silk. How about that pale pink suit of yours? It's dressy enough."

"The aquamarine enhances my complexion. Why don't you wear that beige linen if you're so all-fired worried about clashing?" Estelle countered.

"Because it's my flesh and blood getting married, that's why."

"And I'm supposed to look all sallow? Is that what you want, Miss Selfish Mother of the Bride?"

I reminded myself that the PD was about as warm as an August day in Manhattan. I listened to my stomach rumbling. I envisioned a heaping plate of pork chops and creamed potatoes. And a square of peach cobbler with vanilla ice cream oozing over the edges. All washed down with a big glass of icy cold sweet milk, the droplets condensing on the outside of the glass like seed pearl buttons.

All that kept me occupied until the two stop squawking long enough for me to hop in. "But I'm not getting married," I said brightly. "I tried it once and I didn't much like it."

Ruby Bee rolled her eyes. "That's because you married that awful man and went to live in Noo Yark City. If you'd married some nice young fellow from these parts, you wouldn't be wearing a gun or hiding behind a billboard to arrest speeders. You'd be home where you belonged, raising my grandchildren and keeping house and cooking well-balanced meals for your husband so he could have supper when he came home from work every afternoon at five o'clock, regular as clockwork."

"Like Johnna Mae Nookim?" I said with a sweet smile.

Ruby Bee was blinking in confusion, but Estelle intercepted the ball and ran with it. "Isn't that the most awful thing you ever heard of? I can't imagine what came over Sherman Oliver to do such a thing to that nice girl what has to support her husband and three children. Putter can barely get around these days, much less go back to roofing. Elsie McMay says she saw him going into the Emporium just the other day, and he was moving so slowly she couldn't help but think of Ike Wiggins after his hemorrhoid surgery."

"Johnna Mae came by to discuss it with me," I said, trying not to stare at a wedge of cherry pie under a glass dome. "It sounds like a pretty nasty business, but I can't do anything to help her. I hope she can find a lawyer."

Ruby Bee snorted. "Lawyers ain't good for a blessed thing, except spouting jibbensh at each other so they can run up a big fat bill. Someone ought to round 'em up and put 'em on a desert island where they can sue each other till the cows come home." She let rip another snort, then calmed down enough to push a glass of sherry across the bar to Estelle. "Do you recollect how big Johnna Mae's baby was, Estelle? It seems to me it was on the scrawny side. I hope this awful heat's not too much for the little thing."

"Seven pounds, twelve ounces," Estelle answered promptly. "According to Joyce, who heard it from Earl's wife, who has a cousin who works at the hospital in the records department, when the doctor started grabbing around inside Johnna Mae's privates, Putter turned greener than a bowl of spinach and they had to hold his head between his knees the whole time."

I slid off the barstool and wandered off to make myself a can of chicken soup, thus saving my mother from all the slavery over a hot stove, Estelle from all those wild notions about my hair, and yours truly from what was likely to be a marathon of medical misinformation.

...

Carolyn McCoy-Grunders dug her fingernails into her thighs and ordered herself to count to ten. Long about three, however, she heard herself say, "Did it occur to you to mention this four and a half months ago, Monty? Perhaps before you came by to drop off a legal brief and ended up dropping your designer briefs on my bedroom floor?"

It came out calmly, with a satisfying hint of iciness that rather surprised her. She picked up her martini and took a long drink, then set it down without so much as a tiny clink.

"Now, Carolyn," Monty murmured, reaching across the table to pat her hand as if she were some mindless dog in heat, "we're both adults. We both consented to the seduction, which was delightful, and you were fully aware of my delicate situation at home. I never promised or even implied that, at some time in the future, I might divorce Elizabeth. Although I care very deeply about you, I must consider the consequences. What would happen to the poor woman should I ever leave her?"

Carolyn downed the martini and curled a finger at the waiter, who was hovering nearby on the off chance he might overhear one of those incredibly amusing conversations. "Another of these, Roberto, and screw the vermouth." Once Roberto had moved away, she propped her elbows on the table and gave Monty a sultry smile. "Oh, yes, I'd almost forgotten how responsible you feel for the poor woman, whose father, coincidentally, is a senior partner at your law firm. Why, you were so considerate that you called her every night from our hotel room in Acapulco, didn't you? And all those nights you were supposedly slaving away at the office while in fact you were indulging your carnal desires in my bed, you never once forgot to call and let her know you'd be late. You are a prince, Monty."

"Carolyn, Carolyn, don't work yourself up into such a lather. We both knew this was to be a brief encounter, as if we were but ships passing in the night. Two souls inexplicably drawn together for a moment of ectasy."

Roberto swooped in with a martini glass on a silver tray. "Here you are, darling. And how about your friend? Would he care for another drink? I would be simply thrilled to bring it to him tout de suite."

"Perhaps a towel," Carolyn replied. "I do believe he's drowning in bullshit, and we don't want him to have to go to court looking untidy."

Monty's smile slipped. "Stop it, Carolyn. This is between you and me. Neither one of us wants to have our reputations maligned in the kitchen by a swishy waiter and a hairy dishwasher."