“Liar.” Sean poked his brother. “You drove before you had your license.”
“Not a float.”
“If Dad were here he'd settle this.”
“Well, he's not.” Roger smacked Harry on the small of her back. “Talk to Lottie for me.”
“Why?”
“She's playing hard to get.”
“Smart girl.” Sean laughed.
Roger growled at him, baring his teeth as fangs. It startled Tucker, who growled back. “I want her to be my date at the Wrecker's Ball.”
“You're upsetting my dog,” Harry said to Roger.
“Same effect he has on Lottie.”
“Sean.” Roger threw up his hands in mock despair. “What do women want?”
“Ask us one at a time,” Harry swiftly replied.
Roger laughed, “Good answer.”
Sean spoke to Roger. “Be persistent and send presents. Always works for me.”
“Oh? Since when?” Roger pulled Sean's ponytail.
“You're driving her float. That ought to spike your hormones.” Sean readjusted his ponytail. “Make her special.”
“Guys, would you like me to leave?”
“I said hormones. I didn't mention his sperm count.” Sean smirked. “No help for that.”
Harry threw up her hands. “Too much information! Go back to your respective floats.”
“You're worse with women than I am,” Roger swirled right back at his brother.
“Well?” Harry crossed her arms over her chest.
“I'm going.” Roger turned on his heel.
“I'm not.” Waiting until his brother was out of earshot, Sean whispered, “Do you think it would do any good if you spoke to Lottie?”
“Hell, no. She's pissed because BoomBoom fixed me up with someone she wanted to go to the dance with.”
“Who?”
“I don't know. A friend from Washington. Lottie doesn't know him either but he's new and he has a good position at an embassy. Guess the idea excited her. Anyway, she won't listen to me. Ask Little Mim to help you, since Lottie's been working with her for the festival. Worth a try.”
Sean smiled weakly. “Thanks, Har.” He took a few steps, then turned back to her. “He's an okay guy, a little rough around the edges. Typical motorhead.”
“I know.” She winked as Sean set out to find Little Mim.
Harry checked her watch, then her clipboard. She scanned the floats. The O'Bannon Salvage float was an elaborate reconstruction of Monticello made out of salvage.
“They'll win the prize for sure,” Reverend Herb whispered in her ear, coming up behind her.
Harry returned to her list. “Herb, you look terrific and you'll pull out in about fifteen minutes. We've got the St. Elizabeth band right behind you and the Mah-Jongg Club.”
The Mah-Jongg ladies, most of them in rickshaws being pulled by sturdy-legged youngsters, wore Chinese clothes. The club had been running strong since the 1920s and these were the survivors, Aunt Tally Urquhart among them in an electric-blue dress.
Harry grabbed the bullhorn as she ascended the three-foot-square wooden stand that served as her command post. “Hey, gang.” They chattered still. “Earth to parade. Earth to parade.” Slowly the assembled, perhaps five hundred strong, quieted. “We are ten minutes from blastoff. If you have to go to the bathroom, do it now.” A titter of laughter followed. “Remember, the parade always takes longer than we think it will. There are people with buckets filled with ice, bottled water, Gatorade, along the route. They are there for you. If you feel even a tiny bit thirsty, call out and they'll bring you your drink.”
“Scotch on the rocks,” Aunt Tally hollered, her voice strong and youthful for a woman in her nineties.
“Oh, you spoiled my present.” Reverend Herb Jones trotted over, handing her a bottle of good scotch as everyone around screamed with laughter and the news was passed down the line, with more laughter following in ripples.
“I could use some catnip.” Pewter was grateful that Harry had put a huge bowl of water in the truck as well as crunchies but she wanted catnip, too.
“Get in a rickshaw then. Your chances will improve.” Murphy laughed.
“I just might.” The gray cat leaned over the edge of the truck.
Harry checked her watch again. “Eight minutes.”
An athletic figure jogged alongside the assembled floats.
“Welcome home!” Harry beamed, seeing Tracy Raz.
“Hey, girl.” He kissed her as she leaned down. “I'll catch up with you later. Cuddles is nervous. I think she's blown every note on her pitch pipe.” He laughed at Miranda, whom he sometimes called Cuddles, her high-school nickname.
Miranda was the lead singer for the Church of the Holy Light and the choir was arranged on a float called Stairway to Paradise, which was just what you would expect.
“Have you seen Boom?”
“I did a minute ago. Primping.” He smiled.
“Big surprise. Hey, you'll be at the tea dance. I'll find you there.”
“You got it.” He kissed her again and jogged back down the line, where Miranda could be seen in her choir robes, her back turned toward Harry. The other choir members were taking their places on the stairway to paradise. A few appeared as though their Maker might call them soon enough.
“Mom, don't forget to drink water yourself,” Tucker, ever solicitous, barked.
Harry stepped down, lifted the dog, and climbed back up. She didn't understand a word the corgi had said.
Jim Sanburne and Little Mim sat in an open convertible behind Herb's float.
Harry smiled at them and they smiled back. “Little Mim, Sean's looking for you.”
“He found me. I'll do what I can,” came the unenthusiastic reply.
Lottie was on the third float, Daughters of Time, sponsored by the United Daughters of the Confederacy. Lottie's hoopskirt was so big a stiff wind would send her airborne. Roger was driving that float while Sean was driving the O'Bannon float.
“Four minutes,” Harry called out.
A tug at her jeans behind her turned her around. BoomBoom, dressed as a 1920s flapper for the Heart Fund float, said, “I want you to meet Diego before the tea. Mary Minor Haristeen, please meet Diego Aybar.”
Harry's mouth moved but nothing came out. She was staring into the liquid brown eyes of one of the most gorgeous men she had ever seen. “Uh—welcome to Crozet.”
“My pleasure. BoomBoom tells me I should meet you at Aunt Tally's”—he said “Aunt Tally's” with a Spanish accent and a hint of good humor—“garden. She says everyone falls in love in the garden.”
“With the garden.” Harry smiled.
“No, in the garden,” BoomBoom corrected. “Listen, I've got to get back on my float. Diego, the two best places to see the parade are from the back of Harry's truck or on the corner of Route 240 and Whitehall Road.”
“Try the truck,” Harry stammered. “The two cats are good companions.”
The two cats at that very moment were laughing at their mother, who was in a state. Neither could ever remember seeing Harry like that.
“The best friends come on four feet,” he said in his beguiling light baritone.
“Now there's a man with sense.” Mrs. Murphy walked forward to greet him as he gracefully bounded into the truck bed.
“One minute,” Harry called into the bullhorn.
Reverend Herb Jones straightened up, took a deep breath. In the car behind him, Little Mim leaned over and kissed her father on the cheek. The drivers started their motors. Some band members threw back their shoulders, others licked their reeds, while the drummers spun their drumsticks in anticipation.
“Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one—showtime!” Harry called.
The drummers clicked their sticks in rhythm. The four different high-school bands interspersed throughout the parade marched in place. The Reverend Jones cruised first, slowly out of the school lot. The St. Elizabeth band, first with the music, initially walked out to bass drums only, boom, boom, boom; then the snare drums kicked in and within a minute they all burst forth with the ever-popular theme song from Rocky.