Talk of the Town by Mary Kay McComas Read Free Book Online

. well, yes, maybe I am afraid of failure. But why bother taking that step at all if you're not going to put your best foot forward?"
    "You could show the little ones. Like the one you gave me," Gary suggested in a hissing whisper to her back, boldly listening to her conversation—which in his book wasn't the same or as sneaky as eavesdropping. "They're incredible."
    Rose didn't care which book he lived by, his behavior was extremely annoying. She turned to glare at him, but he had his head turned, listening to Lucy, who was saying, "She gave you one of her sculptures? My oh my. You hang on to it, young fellah. It's going to be worth a lot of money someday, you mark my words. We raffled one off at the Christmas bazaar this past winter at the church. We got seven hundred sixty-four dollars and fifty cents for it. It was our biggest moneymaker. I keep telling her to take some of them down to the big cities, to San Francisco or Los Angeles or even up to Portland and sell them. She could get herself a new used pickup truck. Get her old granddaddy a hearing aid. But she won't listen to nobody but that fancy art fellah," she said, and then, leaning close, she confided, "Martin, my husband, doesn't think that fellah could find his ass with both hands." She laughed. "That's what he said to me."
    Rose palmed the receiver, then stuck it on her hip and growled through her teeth. "Will you two stop discussing my private affairs? They're none of your business in the first place, and in the second place, Justin just happens to own one of the most respected art galleries in San Francisco and he knows more about metallic sculpture than anyone else around and . . . and Earl doesn't need a hearing aid. The old poop hears better than I do." She ended her sentence with a jerk of her head, marking the end of her conversation and theirs.
    Gary and Lucy raised their brows at each other and tried to look duly chastised. But when Gary winked his agreement to the old lady, she couldn't hold back the waggish roll of her shoulders or the upward curl of her lips.
    "Justin? I'll have to call you back, my— What?" she asked, her shoulders drooping. She raised her eyes to Gary, then to Lucy and said, "Justin says he doesn't need to find his ass. He keeps his money in the breast pockets of his silk suits and to ... to put that in your pipe and smoke it." She paused. "I know that's not what you said, but I'm not going to repeat that. Because I don't want to move to San Francisco. I like Redgrove. Look. I'll see what I can manage with the money for the Patrons' Ball, and we can talk later about showing my pieces. I have to go. Okay, I will. Bye."
    "My oh my," Lucy said when Rose turned to them with thoughts of salmonella and botulism clearly on her mind. The gray-haired lady looked at her bare wrist, forgetting that she hadn't worn her watch that day. "Look at the time. I'd better get back to the shop. I need to keep an eye on Martin. He hands out all my prettiest buttons to the children if they're good while their mothers shop." She bent toward Gary again, patting his arm. "You're a nice young fellah. You can come back and eat here anytime," she said as if she owned the diner too.
    "Thank you, ma'am. I will. I like the company," he said, using his grin to make her blush and titter as she walked away.
    "I hope you're happy," Rose said as the bells tinkled over the door. She plopped a glass of ice water down in front of him from habit. "Justin's upset and now all of Redgrove will know I gave you one of my sculptures."
    "What's wrong with that?"
    "What's wrong with that? I thought you understood that I'm counting on Justin to help me show my work. He doesn't have to help me, you know. He thinks I have talent. He's been nothing but good to me and—"
    "No, I meant, what's wrong with giving your sculptures away? They don't mean anything, do they? Those little ones?"
    "No. Nothing. Except to me. But I don't usually give them away . . . except to certain people ...