Bingo by Rita Mae Brown Read Free Book Online Page A

complexions, some of which resembled a road map. Current music piped throughout the place, George Benson, DaveSanborn, and Al Jarreau. The music was soothing and hip at the same time.
    As you entered, you encountered a receptionist behind a curving, glossy counter. The enviable task of being at the center of Runnymede’s female nerve center fell to Verna’s oldest daughter, Georgette. When Georgette was young she used so much spray starch on her hair it looked like lasagna. People swore she would die of scalp infection. Mr. Pierre changed all that, and Georgette’s hair was worn soft and shoulder-length. Georgette, like her mother, was determined to live life as a blonde. A glorious floral arrangement commanded one corner of the counter despite the season. In the bowels of winter, Mr. Pierre could produce calla lillies. He swore he’d die before he revealed his source. It was Millard Huffstetler, Peepbean’s gay uncle and Saint Rose’s business manager, but possession of this secret was so important to Mr. Pierre and I guess to Millard that we let it lie.
    I pushed through the door and was awash in the low buzz of neon. Goodyear, a saucy yellow bow on his collar, was flopped in the middle of the room.
    “
Ma cherie!
” Pierre waved. “How’d the interview go at the bank?”
    “God, Mom must have blabbed everything.”
    “She’s in the back getting her hair washed.”
    “Maybe you could hold her under just a tiny bit longer.”
    “
Quelle honte!
Shame on you. Julia’s concerned that you get the paper and I, naturally, agree. You should own the
Clarion.
”
    “Why, thank you, Mr. Pierre.”
    “I think so too.” Louise’s voice boomed out from the back.
    I lowered my voice. “They’re back there at the same time—after Friday night?”
    Sotto voce, he answered. “They’re being overpoweringly polite to each other.”
    “I don’t like it,” I whispered.
    “Neither do I. You remember what happened the last timethey were this polite. How Julia talked Jackson Frost into letting her endorse his candidacy for mayor on television I will never, ever know.”
    I smiled. “Jackson’s got resonance where his brains should be.”
    That was a trifle nasty, because Jackson wasn’t really dumb but he couldn’t resist a woman’s entreaties. And Mother had never lost her ability to wrap men around her little finger. It wasn’t that she did not give a good endorsement, playing her part as an elderly person who would benefit by Jackson’s policies. It was that Louise ran into the midst of the show, loudly refuted her sister, and then wrecked the set. Well, they both wrecked the set. Jackson won in a landslide, probably because he had provided the town with such delicious entertainment. The perversity was that Louise voted for Jackson anyway. Ideology did not motivate my honorable aunt. It was always personal gain or personal animosity and she seethed with animosity because Julia, not her, was chosen for the political endorsement.
    Mother emerged from the washroom, her little silver curls hanging limply around her head. Sometimes when the humidity was high it looked as though she had popcorn balls stuck over her head. Louise was on Mom’s heels. Aunt Wheeze went in for the stately image. Her hair, snow-white, was long, and she’d piled it up on her head like a Gibson girl. Her hair was gorgeous and it nicely framed her face when she wore a bun on the top like that. Both sisters had lustrous gray eyes, astonishing eyes. Mother had a fuller mouth but Louise had a better chin. Of course, now she had many chins.
    “What happened?” Mother clambered up on the chair.
    Before I could answer she made Mr. Pierre raise and lower the chair. She enjoyed the ride. Louise, more gracefully, positioned herself in the chair next to Juts. The two eyed each other in the mirror.
    I walked between them and leaned against the counter so they’d have to focus on me, not on each other. Mr. Pierre skillfullybegan working on