Jill Churchill: The Merchant of Menace

It took Shelley a surprisingly long time to return. "Assholes," Shelley said, rattling paper furiously.

“What took you so long?" Jane asked.

“I ran out the sidewalk to see if the perps of this trash were still on the street. They weren't.”

“I could have told you that. This is a 'dark of the night' communication."

“So what do we do about it?"

“Well, we certainly don't want to violate any constitutional rights," Jane sneered. "But there's a section urging neighbors to call city hall and make their feelings known. I suggest we organize people to do just that. I'll call the people on this side of the block, you call the other side.”

Before she called any neighbors, she called city hall herself. She gave her name and address and said, "I'd like to make known my feelings about the house decorations next door to me."

“Yes?" the city clerk said wearily. "I've gotten several calls."

“I like the decorations." This was an outright lie, but Jane's constitutional rights provided for free speech, which included lying for a good reason, she figured. "And I like the Johnsons.

And I dislike the mean-spirited jerks who put this note in my door.”

There was a brief silence, then the clerk said, much more cheerfully, "Thank you, Mrs. Jeffry. I'll see that your comments are passed up the line.”

Jane called Suzie Williams next, who said, "I'm just on my way to work, Jane, but I'll call the city clerk when I get there. That house looks like a combination of Disneyworld and a train wreck, but it's their house and the Nazi busybodies haven't got any damned business interfering."

“Hey, Suzie, before you go, do you happen to know Sam Dwyer? Down the block. Single. Has an owlish-looking little girl?"

“You bet I do," Suzie said with a rich chuckle. "Gotta go spend another fulfilling day stuffing little old ladies into corsets. Tell you about him later.”

Jane got out her address book and called everyone else on her side of the block that she knew. Two of them tried to convince her that the note was perfectly correct and Something Must Be Done. Another two were as outraged as she and thanked her for suggesting they call the city offices. The rest were either neutral or not answering. She thought she'd won over a couple of the neutral parties.

Her last call was to Sharon Wilhite. "Not to worry," Sharon said. "It would take years of legal wrangling to impose somebody else's standards on the Johnsons. Since they're renters, only their landlord could stop them."

“I wonder who the owner of the house is?" Jane said.

“Me," Sharon said with a laugh. "I bought it as rental property a couple years ago. And I don't much like people trying to use the Constitution to be rude. I'll call the city before I go to work and make sure they know it's okay with me.”

Jane hung up. "Constitutionalize this!" she said, wadding the pink paper up and throwing it in the trash. Then she fished it back out and left it on the counter so that the Concerned Citizen, who was sure to be one of her guests this evening, would see what her opinion was.

She suddenly realized that she hadn't ever invited the Johnsons to the party. That was really rude, having a block party next door and ignoring them. She didn't have a telephone number for them, so she threw on a coat and boots and went next door. Though she could hear a television newscast, it took a long time for anyone to answer the doorbell and she was about to give up when Tiffany opened the door. "Oh, Miz Jeffry, come on in," she said. She was wearing a new-looking, but tacky robe — fluorescent pink with little white bobbles outlining the yoke.

Jane followed her into the house and they were just sitting down as the sound of a computer printer started up. Tiffany looked startled, then trotted to a door at the back of the living room and said, "Billy, Miz Jeffry's here to visit." She shut the door firmly. "Billy plays them computer games and sometimes prints out hints and stuff," she said.

Why's she explaining? Jane wondered. Andthen had the realization that Tiffany was lying. Billy was printing out something else entirely. She was sure of it. Maybe someone had put the Concerned Neighbor note on their door, too, and he was writing a rebuttal to pass out.

Jane explained about the neighborhood caroling party and suggested tactfully that the John-sons join the others and perhaps could turn off their own sound system tonight. "It's hard enough for some of us to carry a tune at all, without hearing something else at the same time," she said. "Then everybody's coming to my house for a supper. Nothing fancy."

“That's real nice, Miz Jeffry—"

“Please, call me Jane."

“Okay, Jane. Can I bring something to the dinner? I could do up some hog jowls and beans. Or a mess of beets—?"

“No," Jane said more forcefully than she intended. "I've got everything taken care of. All we need is you and Billy to join us."

“We'd be proud to," Tiffany said.

In for a penny, in for a pound, Jane thought dismally. "Then tomorrow, I'm hosting a cookie party and I'd like for you to come to that, too. Just you. It's a girl thing."

“What's a cookie party?"

“Everybody brings two dozen of their best cookie recipe," Jane explained. "All the plates are put out and then everyone goes around and chooses two dozen of other people's cookies. That way, everyone goes home with a nice variety. Sometimes the ladies make up pretty little recipe cards to go with their contribution. But you don't have to. Some like to keep their recipe a secret and that's okay."

“Oh, Mi— Jane, what a nice neighborly idea. I'd love to come. I got a real good recipe for my granny's tarts. That's okay, isn't it, if they ain't exactly cookies? Or maybe I could make some of them little fluffy things.”

Jane had visions of bottled marshmallow dip slathered on graham crackers. "That's fine, Tiffany. Just so it's not a cake or pie that has to be cut. Now I better get going. I've got a lot to do today.”

Jane was as good as her word. Purse-sized notebook in hand, she started with the grocery store. She'd been so compulsive that she had several lists. First, the list of dishes she was serving, with the ingredients as subheadings, then she'd rearranged the individual items into shopping aisles so she wouldn't have to go back for celery when she already had the onions. I'm so well organized, she preened silently, Shelley would be proud.

She was able to get her groceries in record time and even made it home before the bags of ice started melting. To her surprise, Mike was awake, dressed, and watching for her. He brought in the bags of food and put the ice in the basement freezer while she set everything out in the order she was going to need it. "Mike, I need a favor. I have two hams ordered and ready to be picked up. I've already paid for them. Could you run and get them from the ham shop?”

While he was gone, she started cooking. She filled several disposable aluminum pans withpackaged scalloped potato mix, added thinly sliced red and green pepper rounds, and topped them off with extra cheese. No room in thefridge for them until it was time to put them in the oven, but she'd cleared a space in the garage, put down brown paper, and they could sit there under foil keeping cool until later. She threw together the five-bean salad, tossed it with the dressing, and added the big bowl to the garage stash of food.

The cats were charmed by this unusual activity. Jane noticed them watching her and laid a cardboard box over the food.

When Mike returned with the hams, she asked him to take them to Shelley's. "They're going in her oven this afternoon since I don't have room," she explained. "Oh, and take along the parsley to decorate the plates. God, I'm good, aren't I?”