“Damn.” Harry shot a postcard into Market Shiflett’s box.
“I imagine those people being handed their pink slips are saying worse than that.”
The news continued after a commercial break for the new Dodge Ram. The deep voice intoned, “Threadneedle, the feared computer virus, was already striking early this morning. Leggett’s department store has reported some small problems, as has Albemarle Savings and Loan. The full extent of the scramble won’t be known until the business day gets under way. But the early birds are reporting light trouble.”
“You know, if some computer genius out there really wanted to perform a service for America, he or she would destroy the IRS.”
“We are overtaxed, Harry, but you’re becoming an anarchist.” Miranda wiped a bit of vanilla icing that dripped off her lips, hot coral today to match her square hot coral earrings. Mrs. H. believed in dressing for success, fifties style.
“Ten percent across the board if you make over one hundred thousand and five percent if you make under. Anyone making less than twenty-five thousand a year shouldn’t have to pay tax. If we can’t run the country on that, then maybe we’d better restructure the country—like FI, we’re becoming a dinosaur… Too big to survive. We trip over our own big feet.”
Mrs. Hogendobber flipped up another bag. “I don’t know— but I do agree we’re making a mess of things. Now, what’s she doing here?” She saw Kerry McCray coming through the door.
“Hope you don’t need your mail,” Mrs. Hogendobber called out.
“Itore it up anyway. “Mrs. Murphy licked her lips.
“Didyou really?” Pewter was impressed.
“Sure, look at this.” Mrs. Murphy pushed over an envelope bearing neat fang marks on the upper and lower corners.
“Bet it’s a federal offense,” the gray cat sagely noted.
“Hope so, “Mrs. Murphy saucily replied.
“I’m not here for the mail,” Kerry said. “Just wanted to tell you that the Light Opera series at Ash Lawn is doingDon Giovanni on Saturday and really, you’ve got to come. The lead has such a clear voice. I don’t know music like you do, Mrs. Hogendobber, but he is good.”
“Why, thank you for thinking of me, Kerry. I will try to swing by.”
Harry stuck her head around the mailboxes. “So, Kerry, you been out with the lead singer yet?”
Kerry blushed. “I did show him the University of Virginia.”
“You just keep being yourself, honey. He’ll soon fall head over heels.”
Kerry blushed again, then left, crossing the street to the bank.
“Where does the time go?” Harry shot envelopes into the boxes a bit faster.
“You’re too young to worry about time. That’s my job.”
Harry snagged another cinnamon bun. Pewter had the same idea. “Hey, piggy. That’s mine.”
“Oh, give her a bite.”
“Miranda, you were the person who didn’t like cats. The one who thought they were spoiled and sneaky and, as I recall, speaking of time, this was not but two years ago.”
Pewter, golden eyes glowing, trilled at Miranda’s feet, open-toed wedgies today a la Joan Crawford. “Oh, Mrs. Hogendobber, I loooveyou.”
“I’m gonna puke, “Mrs. Murphy growled.
“Now this little darling wants the tiniest nibble.” Mrs. Hogendobber pinched off some sweet, flaky dough liberally covered with vanilla icing. The cinnamon scent flooded the room as the bun was broken open. “Here, Pewter. What about you, Mrs. Murphy?”
“I’m a carnivore, “Mrs. Murphy declined. “But thank you.”
“I’ll eat anything. “Tailless Tucker wagged her rear end furiously.
Mrs. Hogendobber held a bit aloft, and Tucker stood on her hind feet, not easy for a corgi. She gobbled her reward.
The rest of the day held the usual round of comings and goings, everyone expressed an opinion on the Threadneedle virus, which like so many things reported on television was a fizzle. People also expressed opinions on whether or not BoomBoom Craycroft, the sultry siren of Crozet, would set her cap again for Blair Bainbridge now that he had returned from Africa and she from Montana.
At five to five Mrs. Sanburne reappeared. She’d stopped by at eight-thirty A.M., her usual. Post offices close at five, but this was Crozet, and if anyone needed something, either Harry or Mrs. Hogendobber would stay late.
“Girls,” Mim’s imperious voice rang out, “Crozet National Bank was infected with the virus.”
“Our little bank?” Harry couldn’t believe it.
“I ran into Norman Cramer, and he said the darned thing kept inserting information from other companies, feed store companies. Dumb stuff, but they immediately countered with the void commands and wiped it out quickly.”
“He’s a smart one, that Norman,” Mrs. Hogendobber said.
“Sure fell hook, line, and sinker for Aysha. How smart can he be?” Harry giggled.
“I’ve never seen a womanwork so hard to land a man. You’d have thought he was a whale instead of a”—she thought for a minute—“small-mouthed bass.”
“Three points, Mrs. Sanburne,” Harry whooped.
“My favorite moment was when I played through on the eleventh at Farmington. Aysha, who never so much as looked at a golf club in her life, was caddying for Norman and his golf partner, that good-looking accountant fellow, David Wheeler. Anyway, there she was at the water fountain. She put the golf balls in the fountain. I said, Aysha, what are you doing?’ and she replied, ‘Oh, washing Norman’s balls. They get so grass stained.’”
With that the three women nearly doubled over.
Pewter lifted her head as she lay on the back table. Mrs. Murphy was curled next to her, but her eyes were open.
“What do you think of Norman Cramer?”
Mrs. Murphy shot back, “A twerp.”
“Then why wasAysha so hot to have him?“Tucket, on the floor, asked.
“Good family. Aysha wants to be the queen of White Hall Road by the time she’s forty.”
“Better make it fifty, Murphy, she’s got to be in her middle thirties now.” Pewter touched the tiger with her hind paw. Murphy pushed her back.
“Have you seenDon Giovanni yet?” Mrs. Hogendobber inquired of Mim. “I was thinking about going tomorrow, Friday.”
“Loved it! Little Marilyn can’t stand opera, but she did endure. Jim fell asleep, of course. When I woke him he said his duties as mayor of our fair town had worn him out. The only event Jim Sanburne doesn’t sleep through that involves music is the Marine Corps band. The piccolo always jolts him awake. Well, I’ve got a bridge party tonight—”
“Wait, one question. What’s the lead singer look like?” Harry was curious.
“She was wearing a wig—”
“I mean the male lead.”
“Oh, good-looking. Now, Harry, don’t even think about it. You’ve got two men crazy over you. Your ex-husband and Blair Bainbridge, who I must say is the best-looking man I’ve ever seen in my life except for Clark Gable and Gary Cooper.”
Harry waved off Mim. “Crazy for me? I see Fair from time to time and Blair’s my neighbor. Don’t whip up a romance. They’re just friends.”
“We’ll see,” came the measured reply. With that she left.
Harry washed her hands. The maroon post office ink was smeared into her fingertips. “We should change our ink color every year. I get bored with this.”
“And you complain about taxes… think what it would cost.”
“That’s true, but I look at stamps from other countries and the postmark inks, and some of them are so pretty.”
“Long as the mail gets there on time,” Miranda said. “And when you consider how much mail the U.S. Postal Service moves in one day, one regular business day, it’s amazing.”
“Okay. Okay.” Harry laughed and held up her hands for inspection. “I wouldn’t want to waste any valuable ink on my fingers.”
“Let’s say you have rosy fingertips of a color not found in nature.”
“Okay, I’m out of here.”
5
The battery flickered on Harry’s truck, so she stopped by the old Amoco service station which, a long time ago, was a Mobil station. The ancient Coke machine beckoned. She slipped the coins in and then “walked” the curvaceous bottle through to the end, where the metal jaws opened as she pulled the botde to freedom. She liked the old machines because you could lift the top up and put your hand into the cool chest. Also, the new soda dispensers were so bright and full of light, she felt she ought to wear sunglasses to use them. A nickle bought a Coke when she was tiny. Then it jumped to a dime when she was in grade school. Now they cost fifty cents, but if one traveled to a big city, the price tag was easily seventy-five. If this was progress, Harry found it deeply depressing.