Joan Hess - Madness In Maggody

"She can't walk on water, either, but she'll be the last to admit it," I said. "Just how did she hear about this team and the name of the coach?"

"How would I know?" Ruby Bee said, retreating.

"Because," I said, advancing, "having her tell me I can't coach is about the only incentive that might make me change my mind."

"Is that so?"

"And you damn well know it," I continued. "This is a really cheap trick, and-"

"Yanking his pud?" Hammet said, giving me a puzzled frown. "Is that what she was so all-fired mad about?"

From the expressions on Ruby Bee's and Estelle's faces, I sensed it was time to leave for greener pastures. "Hey, I've got a box with three real bullets in it, Hammet. Let's stop at the PD to play with them before we go after the speeders."

"If'n all he was doin' was yanking his-"

"Ciao," I said brightly.

"You realize you can't repeat a word of this," Elsie McMay began, giving Millicent McIlhaney a serious look. "It was told to me in the strictest confidence, and it can't go any further. You've got to promise me, Millicent."

"I promise," Millicent said obediently. "In fact, let me make sure Darla Jean's still on the telephone. Those girls do nothing but gossip from dawn till dark; you'd think they could find something better to do with their time. Help yourself to more coffee, Elsie. I'll be back in a minute."

She tiptoed to the top of the stairs. She could hear Darla Jean's voice through the closed door, just bubbling away like a creek, and it wasn't difficult to hear what she was saying, especially if you put your ear against the door.

Millicent was frowning as she came back into the kitchen and sat down across from Elsie. "I swear," she said, shaking her head, "I just don't know what gets into those girls. Sometimes I want to turn Darla Jean over my knee and spank her like she was back in pigtails. She's up there repeating the nastiest stories about folks, and she knows perfectly well that half of what she's saying is nothing more than lies."

"School starts up pretty soon, and she'll be more interested in clothes and football games and the new television shows," Elsie said. Even though there was no need for it, she leaned forward and lowered her voice. "Lottie told me the most horrifying story the other day. I was so upset, I couldn't stop thinking about it half the night. I tossed and turned like I was in a clothes dryer, and my sheets were damp the next morning."

"You'd better tell me, then. It'll do you a world of good to share your burden."

"Remember, this is just between you and me. Not one word to anybody."

"I already promised, Elsie," Millicent said impatiently. "Not one word will ever leave this room."

The officially tentative lineup of the Ruby Bee's Flamingos-because, as we've all been told since birth, you can't tell the players without a scorecard:

Pitcher: Raimundo "Ray" Mandozes, the only team member who can throw the ball in the general direction he intends. Ray does not speak any English whatsoever (we're talking nada) but did recognize the word spic and promptly convinced Georgie McMay of his folly in saying it aloud.

Catcher: Saralee Chewink, the only team member to have caught the ball thus far. Saralee is on the chunky side, with tight yellow braids, glasses, and glittering braces. She spent a good deal of time casting thoughtful looks at Hammet. She persuaded Georgie to avoid sexist slurs in the future.

First Base: Hammet Buchanon, who can neither throw nor catch but has enthusiasm. He actively discouraged Georgie from discussing the delicate issue of illegitimacy in Stump County. Hammet spent most of the first practice blushing whenever he caught Saralee looking at him. There may be romance brewing in the infield, folks.

Second Base: Earl Boy Nookim, who is mute and surly, and simply went to the base (a burlap bag) and stood on it. Why not?

Third Base: Enoch McMay, a runty whiner with a runny nose and a fierce preference for watching television at his granny's house. This preference was aired every thirty seconds or so for two solid hours.

Shortstop: Martin Milvin, who at least put his glove on the correct hand and assumed a professional posture. He is soft-spoken and very sober, and we can't have anyone playing the vital position on a bellyful of root beer.

Left Field: Georgie McMay, for his own protection. Were it not for the black eye, swollen lip, and twenty excess pounds of adipose tissue, he would not be an unattractive child. Maybe.

Center Field: Lissie Milvin, in hopes nothing will be hit that far. Lissie made a lovely chain of dandelions, and it looked quite striking in contrast with her auburn hair and dark, timid eyes. She caught a tiny purple butterfly, whispered to it, and gently released it. Later she discovered a mysterious hole, but even after twenty minutes of poking with a stick, she could not persuade its occupant to show itself. There is much to occupy Lissie in center field.

Right Field: Jackie Sattering, as above. He has all of his father's clumsiness and none of his mother's common sense. On the other hand, he was as gentle as Lissie with the butterflies and went to extremes not to step on the honeybees in the clover.

Head Coach: Take a wild guess.

Assistant Coach #1: Take another one.

Assistant Coach #2: Ditto.

"Say what?" Jim Bob said, gaping at Lamont as if he were a zoo animal screwing right there in the cage. "That ain't what you said earlier, Lamont. Jesus H. Christ!"

Lamont filled Jim Bob's glass half full of the cheaper whiskey he'd had the foresight to bring, then went over to the mirror and inspected his hair. The motel room seemed a sight more cramped now that the air was thick with Jim Bob's sweat. "I feel real bad, but the boys at the bank dumped it on me this morning, and they call the shots," he murmured as he licked his finger and smoothed down a stray hair. "I'm going to have to do some scrambling of my own, but we're both obligated to come up with whatever cash is required to close the loan next week."

"If I can't?"

"It's explained in great detail in the various documents that comprise the partnership agreement. You did read it all before you signed it, didn't you?"

"Yeah, but I couldn't make heads or tails of a lot of it. All that shit about parties of the first part and second part and the devil knows what other parts. I thought the money was arranged down to the last penny. Now you're saying we have to pay four points on Thursday. We're talking nigh on to a million dollars. Four points is…forty thousand dollars." Jim Bob sank down on the bed and drained the glass.

"But you'll only have to come up with half. Surely that's not a problem?"

"No fuckin' problem at all, Lamont. I got my checkbook in my pocket. I'll just write a check for my share. I always keep twenty or thirty thousand bucks in the account in case I want to make a down payment on fuckin' Buckingham Palace."

"And don't forget we have to cover twenty percent of the initial inventory. The wholesalers usually want cash on delivery, but they're giving us a break because of my existing accounts. Your share of that'll be around twenty thousand, too."

"Oh, swell. You do realize I haven't had any income since we started construction six months ago, don't you? I had to get a second on the house just to get along all this time, and Mrs. Jim Bob decided out of the blue to redecorate the entire downstairs. How am I supposed to come up with that kind of money?"

"I'm sure you can think of some outside resources, Jim Bob. After all, we're partners in this venture. You've put as much time and energy in it as I have, and I would be terribly distressed if you were unable to meet your commitments as spelled out in the binding legal documents you signed."