HardScape by Justin Scott Read Free Book Online

with billowy flourishes to general applause. Poor Rick started some sort of grease fire that brought the firemen running with a high-pressure hose. Then I had a little fire, which I was knocking down with a water spray bottle, when I heard a harried Scooter say, “Rare? See my colleague at the nine-dollar grill.”
    I heard Pinkerton Chevalley, Renny’s big brother, snicker, “She can have mine rare anytime,” and I looked up into the smiling face of Rita Long, who said, “They tell me you’re a rare man.”

Chapter 5
    Hard to tell how long I stood staring at her.
    She asked, “Wha’d I say?” and the fire I’d just put out flared up between us, prompting shouts from Scooter and Rick—who were still downwind—and a threatening advance by the high-pressure hose men, who had apparently found some beer someplace.
    â€œRare,” I said, spatula-ing my best burger onto her bun with my left hand while extending my right to introduce myself. “Ben Abbott. I don’t believe we’ve met.”
    She had a diet Pepsi in her other hand, but she extended an elbow with a grin, saying, “Rita Long. We’re new in town.”
    â€œOh, yes. Fred Gleason found your property.”
    â€œAre you a realtor, too? Right, right. I’ve seen your sign. You have that lovely Georgian house near the flagpole.”
    I like newcomers. They don’t say hello thinking, Bertram Abbott’s kid. The one who…She just took me as the guy who lived in the Georgian house near the flagpole. God, she was beautiful, lovely as I had seen last night, but now—dressed in pleated khaki pants and a faded workshirt—very much the married lady, friendly, but not flirting. Had I met her this way for the first time I’d have thought, Gorgeous, pleasant, and totally unavailable. Knowing what I did know, I thought, Loyal to her boyfriend, gorgeous, pleasant, and totally unavailable, a woman not about to run around on more than one man.
    She asked, “Do you do appraisals?”
    â€œSame as Fred. We’re not bank appraisers, but we can certainly recommend a price range. Do you have a friend looking?”
    Before she could answer, a greasy hand thrust a hamburger bun between us—Pinkerton Chevalley, availing himself of thirds, and a look down Mrs. Long’s shirt. I dripped hot grease on his thumb, but it apparently didn’t penetrate the calluses. Mrs. Long had backed away, and now she wandered toward the ketchup table. Pink demolished his third and reached for fourths.
    I saw Rita Long look across the lawn with a secret smile, followed her gaze, and there was the boyfriend, munching a hot dog. He flashed a grin and circled through the crowd, pausing to investigate the new pumper, glancing repeatedly in her direction as she moseyed about. I decided they were recent lovers, deep in the eros stage, where every utterance was eloquent, and every motion erotic. And, just as last night, I admired their fun. They must have laughed themselves silly in bed.
    He looked maybe a little older than he had in the buff. He wore chinos and a pinstriped shirt with the sleeves rolled up and had an air of being very much in charge of something. He reminded me of a type I’d met when I was working the Street—guys who started a medium-sized business and were looking to raise money to expand; or hotshot managers working a buyout. Only this one was smiling, like he’d already closed his deal. Once when he looked across the lawn at her she was watching some kids, and his face practically melted. In fact a video of his expression would have doomed them worse than last night’s. He was nuts for the woman, which I found understandable. She seemed nuts for him too, which meant they had problems. I wondered if they had any inkling that her husband knew.
    Mrs. Long came back.
    â€œAnother?”
    â€œNo thanks, that was great. Listen, do you have time to come out and