her salaried skim, she flipped through magazines and consulted an
expert in feng shui. Her pronunciation made it rhyme with chop suey.
The trophy wife prattled on, making googly eyes at Nickel.
“Here I am blessed with the name Bea, and bees scare me silly. I’ve been
telling Gator we need to defecate all the bees on Dear—right along with those
nasty red fire ants. I’m allergic to them, too.”
Janie kicked my shin when my giggles bubbled to the surface.
I assumed the woman wanted to decimate the bee population.
“I told our new chef not to use any peanuts. If a food even
touches peanut oil, I could die. It’s a curse, havin’ my delicate
constitution.” Bea batted her eyelids with a fervor that stirred more air than
the room’s ceiling fans.
“Unless we find a new pollination scheme, bees and flowers
go hand-in-hand,” I said, trying to filter my sarcasm. “But I’m no fan of fire
ants. I didn’t realize a single ant could sting repeatedly until I stumbled on
a mound.”
Janie shuddered. “Yeah, fire ants set anchors in your skin
so they can swivel their stingers and inject venom again and again. Hurts like
hell. That’s one reason I don’t go tramping around Beach West. I saw one fire
ant hill that looked like an elephant took a dump. It had to be three feet
high.”
I nudged my tablemate. “A great image to help digestion.”
Conversation faded as the tuxedoed wait staff cleared dessert
dishes and refilled coffee cups. Then Sally resumed her emcee duties. Gator
always ceded public speaking to the pixyish blonde. A natural orator, she
wasn’t bad to look at either. Just a smidgen over five foot two, Sally had an
hourglass figure and dressed to emphasize it. She wore stilettos and, though
her silk suits were tasteful, their plunging necklines showcased ample
décolletage. Her snug skirts hugged buns of steel.
“On behalf of our agents, I’m delighted to present bouquets
to the ‘flowers’ of our operation—our delightful secretaries. These ladies put
the bloom on the rose of Dear sales,” Sally cooed and clapped daintily to
initiate a round of applause. “Come on up, ladies.”
“Good thing Sally’s not diabetic,” I muttered to Janie.
Sally air-kissed the admin trio as they crushed oversized
arrangements of orchids, roses and baby’s breath to their bosoms.
“It’s worse than you think,” my friend whispered back. “See
beaming Bonnie? She gets the axe Monday.”
“You’re kidding. Isn’t there some rule against cruel and
unusual termination?”
Janie shrugged. “Not the way Gator and Sally see it. The
firing’s not personal. Besides, it’ll be my job to let Bonnie go. If Gator sees
Bonnie a month from now he’ll act as if she’s his long lost friend. What’s
amazing is he’ll truly be hurt if she doesn’t reciprocate.”
“So what award are you getting? Do you have crib notes for
your acceptance speech?”
“Hell, no,” Janie replied. “I threatened bodily harm if
anyone called me to the stage.”
With no interest in Sally’s pat-on-the-back poppycock, I let
my mind and my gaze roam. Grace Cuthbert and boyfriend Hugh were seated two
tables away. Grace was not yet fifty—a couple years younger than me. Her placid
cow eyes gave me the willies. They were bloodshot and blank. The wrinkled flesh
on her neck and arms looked like a chicken’s gullet, basted in sun, tobacco
fumes and liquor.
Having heard about the couple’s odd relationship, I wasn’t
surprised to watch Grace slurp wine from a glass her helpmate kept filled to
the brim. An indiscriminate sommelier, Hugh poured from whatever bottle was
handy. Red one time, white the next. While the jewelry-encrusted Hugh was only
ten years younger than Grace, the worn-out lady looked like his mother.
“And what can we say about Grace Cuthbert’s vision and
generosity…” Sally said.
When Grace missed her cue for a queenly wave, Hugh nudged
the heiress to start her bobble-head nodding. Unfortunately the
expert in feng shui. Her pronunciation made it rhyme with chop suey.
The trophy wife prattled on, making googly eyes at Nickel.
“Here I am blessed with the name Bea, and bees scare me silly. I’ve been
telling Gator we need to defecate all the bees on Dear—right along with those
nasty red fire ants. I’m allergic to them, too.”
Janie kicked my shin when my giggles bubbled to the surface.
I assumed the woman wanted to decimate the bee population.
“I told our new chef not to use any peanuts. If a food even
touches peanut oil, I could die. It’s a curse, havin’ my delicate
constitution.” Bea batted her eyelids with a fervor that stirred more air than
the room’s ceiling fans.
“Unless we find a new pollination scheme, bees and flowers
go hand-in-hand,” I said, trying to filter my sarcasm. “But I’m no fan of fire
ants. I didn’t realize a single ant could sting repeatedly until I stumbled on
a mound.”
Janie shuddered. “Yeah, fire ants set anchors in your skin
so they can swivel their stingers and inject venom again and again. Hurts like
hell. That’s one reason I don’t go tramping around Beach West. I saw one fire
ant hill that looked like an elephant took a dump. It had to be three feet
high.”
I nudged my tablemate. “A great image to help digestion.”
Conversation faded as the tuxedoed wait staff cleared dessert
dishes and refilled coffee cups. Then Sally resumed her emcee duties. Gator
always ceded public speaking to the pixyish blonde. A natural orator, she
wasn’t bad to look at either. Just a smidgen over five foot two, Sally had an
hourglass figure and dressed to emphasize it. She wore stilettos and, though
her silk suits were tasteful, their plunging necklines showcased ample
décolletage. Her snug skirts hugged buns of steel.
“On behalf of our agents, I’m delighted to present bouquets
to the ‘flowers’ of our operation—our delightful secretaries. These ladies put
the bloom on the rose of Dear sales,” Sally cooed and clapped daintily to
initiate a round of applause. “Come on up, ladies.”
“Good thing Sally’s not diabetic,” I muttered to Janie.
Sally air-kissed the admin trio as they crushed oversized
arrangements of orchids, roses and baby’s breath to their bosoms.
“It’s worse than you think,” my friend whispered back. “See
beaming Bonnie? She gets the axe Monday.”
“You’re kidding. Isn’t there some rule against cruel and
unusual termination?”
Janie shrugged. “Not the way Gator and Sally see it. The
firing’s not personal. Besides, it’ll be my job to let Bonnie go. If Gator sees
Bonnie a month from now he’ll act as if she’s his long lost friend. What’s
amazing is he’ll truly be hurt if she doesn’t reciprocate.”
“So what award are you getting? Do you have crib notes for
your acceptance speech?”
“Hell, no,” Janie replied. “I threatened bodily harm if
anyone called me to the stage.”
With no interest in Sally’s pat-on-the-back poppycock, I let
my mind and my gaze roam. Grace Cuthbert and boyfriend Hugh were seated two
tables away. Grace was not yet fifty—a couple years younger than me. Her placid
cow eyes gave me the willies. They were bloodshot and blank. The wrinkled flesh
on her neck and arms looked like a chicken’s gullet, basted in sun, tobacco
fumes and liquor.
Having heard about the couple’s odd relationship, I wasn’t
surprised to watch Grace slurp wine from a glass her helpmate kept filled to
the brim. An indiscriminate sommelier, Hugh poured from whatever bottle was
handy. Red one time, white the next. While the jewelry-encrusted Hugh was only
ten years younger than Grace, the worn-out lady looked like his mother.
“And what can we say about Grace Cuthbert’s vision and
generosity…” Sally said.
When Grace missed her cue for a queenly wave, Hugh nudged
the heiress to start her bobble-head nodding. Unfortunately the
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