Bingo by Rita Mae Brown Read Free Book Online Page B

Mother’s head while Kim Spangler, of the poor branch of the Spangler clan, came out from the back. She did the washing and gave Louise a head massage. The entire town knew of Friday’s skirmish and everyone was humoring the Hunsenmeir girls.
    “Charles came with me. I talked for about a half hour to Foster Adams and then I presented my financial statement.”
    “Did he say anything?” Wheezie’s eyes were closed in pleasure.
    “Bankers,” Mr. Pierre sighed.
    “He was friendly—”
    Mother interrupted. “Of course he’s friendly. He’s known you since you were born.”
    “He’s going to review my statement. He knows Charles is behind me, although Charles is free to keep talking to the other companies. It’s a lot of money for him. Anyway, I’ll know soon.”
    “I don’t think he has any real power,” Mother said.
    Louise’s eyes opened wide. “He’s the president of the bank. That’s power.”
    “That used to be power.” Mother was smug. “When Runnymede Bank and Trust was bought up by Chesapeake-Potomac Bank he became a cog in a big wheel.”
    “He knows us better than some college-educated ass in Baltimore.”
    “I don’t doubt that,” Mother replied, “but I don’t think he can approve a loan all by himself.”
    “You might be right but he’s got some discretion.”
    “When you get the paper, Nickel, I’ve been thinking about a column. You know, something with local color.” Wheezie’s eyes brightened. “I’ll call it ‘Was My Face Red’ and I’ll put in there all the gossip of the town. You know, a kind of Cholly Knickerbocker of Runnymede. I know everybody and I’ll get the truth. Or maybe I’ll write about Runnymede the way it used to be. The good old days.”
    Mother turned her head to gaze directly at Louise, swooning in her literary rapture. “You can barely sign your name, much less write a column.”
    “Don’t be nasty, Julia. I hate it when you’re nasty. You know perfectly well I made A’s in English and Miss Kunstler told Mother I was a star pupil.”
    Juts swiveled in her chair without Mr. Pierre’s help. He stopped working on her. I caught a glimpse of the dreaded Chesterfield pack in her voluminous purse. So it wasn’t just a puff now and then; she was back on hot and heavy. I wondered when she’d break down and smoke one in front of me. I don’t smoke, drink, or take drugs, which makes me an oddity in Runnymede, possibly in America. I lashed Mother daily on the subject of tar, nicotine, and bad teeth until she gave in and stopped smoking. That was my Christmas present from her. That and a quilt, blue and white, that my great-grandmother had made way back in 1892. Mother’s curls were beginning to puff up. She looked like a silver poodle.
    “Miss Kunstler was scared to death of you because you threw a fake epileptic fit when you didn’t know the difference between a noun and a verb.”
    Louise smiled. Normally she’d tear off Mom’s head but her self-control was remarkable. “Who told you such a fib?”
    “Orrie Tadia, your very best friend.” Mother emphasized “very best friend.”
    “Julia, turn around. If your hair dries any more I won’t be able to do a thing with it,” Mr. Pierre fussed. Her vanity got the better of her anger and she obeyed.
    “Orrie has imagination,” came the weak retort.
    “Well, I do wish she’d get back from Fort Lauderdale. Why she goes there with all that riffraff I’ll never know. It’s not like it used to be.”
    “Nothing is like it used to be.” Mr. Pierre’s hands wrapped the curls into perfect shape.
    “Mom and Wheezie are the same.” I noticed in the mirror on the other side of the room that my hair could stand a trim too.
    “Not the same. Older,” Mother said.
    “If I had known I was going to live this long I would have taken better care of myself.” Louise gave a fake sigh.
    “Darling, you look divine.” Mr. Pierre meant it.
    “Yeah, not a day over one hundred.”
    “Oh, Julia, you can