ready to start work on this art gallery,” Marc said after the usual round of greetings. “It’s very exciting to hear that we’ll have some more new blood here on The Square. Especially the kind that will contribute to Second Creek’s cultural life. Michael and I have made it our mission not to let that languish, and we both wanted you to know we’re behind you one hundred percent. Oh, and congratulations on your engagement.” He paused briefly, looking slightly embarrassed.
“I didn’t mean to make that sound like an afterthought. It seems to be the talk of the town. We pretty much figured out you two were going to become a permanent item by the way you hit it off during that extravaganza at the Victorian Tea Room over the summer.” Then he quickly turned toward Michael. “ ‘Betcha anything they’re a match!’ I said to you, didn’t I?”
“You did, and they were. Just like the two of us.”
Meta seemed particularly charmed by their banter. “There’s no doubt about that. And as for your support of my gallery, I would expect nothing less from a son of a Nitwitt.”
Everyone laughed as Marc continued. “All roads do seem to lead back to that dear group of ladies, don’t they? I even get the feeling that everyone in Second Creek is somehow related to one of the Nitwitts.”
“That would include me now, as a matter of fact,” Petey added. “My mother’s a full-fledged member, too.”
“Ah, yes!” Michael chimed in, his broad face beaming. “The very glamorous and energetic Mayor’s wife. We have nothing but good things to say about the new administration and all of their original ideas. We also can’t wait for Caroling in The Square on Christmas Eve.”
“Absolutely!” Meta exclaimed. “We’re hoping to get the gallery up and running in time for that, though it could be a tight squeeze.”
Michael managed an exaggerated little shiver and said: “That would be fantastic if you can swing it. Meanwhile, may I suggest that we not continue this conversation any further without benefit of a little warmth. It’s a bit raw today. Besides, we’ve had our ‘out to lunch—back soon’ sign in the window long enough. We don’t want our customers beating down the door for our bushes and ferns. So, why don’t we head across to our place and take the chill off with a cup of coffee or two?”
A few minutes later, they were all contentedly sipping away around a long table flanked by huge potted ficus plants with special sale price tags hanging from them. Sufficiently warmed now, Meta resumed her earlier train of thought in earnest. “My mother tells me she’s been working on the publicity campaign with Miz Myrtis, Miz Denver Lee, and Mr. Powell Hampton, and they’ve already got three church buses from Greenwood signed up to come over on Christmas Eve. All the Nitwitts are saying that this will overtake the Miss Delta Floozie Contest in popularity as an annual event in The Square.”
Marc was stirring his coffee, looking slightly distant. “I fervently hope so. It’s not that The Square is on its last leg or anything like that, although you can see for yourselves that we’ve got a few vacancies, so to speak. They say the MegaMart and all those other stores out on the Bypass keep taking their toll. Those of us who are sticking it out downtown have generally been rewarded by the locals, though. In the short time since Michael and I moved from San Francisco, we’ve discovered that Second Creekers are fiercely loyal to their own. That’s where the Nitwitt connection comes in. But it would still be nice to get a fresh infusion of out-oftowners to pad our coffers.”
“So how’s things at How’s Plants?, if you’ll excuse the grammar?” Meta said.
This time, it was Michael who stepped in with a tinge of resignation in his voice. “Oh, we made a big enough splash over the summer, thanks to Marc’s mother and her friends. It got to where the first thing out of a customer’s mouth was,
“I didn’t mean to make that sound like an afterthought. It seems to be the talk of the town. We pretty much figured out you two were going to become a permanent item by the way you hit it off during that extravaganza at the Victorian Tea Room over the summer.” Then he quickly turned toward Michael. “ ‘Betcha anything they’re a match!’ I said to you, didn’t I?”
“You did, and they were. Just like the two of us.”
Meta seemed particularly charmed by their banter. “There’s no doubt about that. And as for your support of my gallery, I would expect nothing less from a son of a Nitwitt.”
Everyone laughed as Marc continued. “All roads do seem to lead back to that dear group of ladies, don’t they? I even get the feeling that everyone in Second Creek is somehow related to one of the Nitwitts.”
“That would include me now, as a matter of fact,” Petey added. “My mother’s a full-fledged member, too.”
“Ah, yes!” Michael chimed in, his broad face beaming. “The very glamorous and energetic Mayor’s wife. We have nothing but good things to say about the new administration and all of their original ideas. We also can’t wait for Caroling in The Square on Christmas Eve.”
“Absolutely!” Meta exclaimed. “We’re hoping to get the gallery up and running in time for that, though it could be a tight squeeze.”
Michael managed an exaggerated little shiver and said: “That would be fantastic if you can swing it. Meanwhile, may I suggest that we not continue this conversation any further without benefit of a little warmth. It’s a bit raw today. Besides, we’ve had our ‘out to lunch—back soon’ sign in the window long enough. We don’t want our customers beating down the door for our bushes and ferns. So, why don’t we head across to our place and take the chill off with a cup of coffee or two?”
A few minutes later, they were all contentedly sipping away around a long table flanked by huge potted ficus plants with special sale price tags hanging from them. Sufficiently warmed now, Meta resumed her earlier train of thought in earnest. “My mother tells me she’s been working on the publicity campaign with Miz Myrtis, Miz Denver Lee, and Mr. Powell Hampton, and they’ve already got three church buses from Greenwood signed up to come over on Christmas Eve. All the Nitwitts are saying that this will overtake the Miss Delta Floozie Contest in popularity as an annual event in The Square.”
Marc was stirring his coffee, looking slightly distant. “I fervently hope so. It’s not that The Square is on its last leg or anything like that, although you can see for yourselves that we’ve got a few vacancies, so to speak. They say the MegaMart and all those other stores out on the Bypass keep taking their toll. Those of us who are sticking it out downtown have generally been rewarded by the locals, though. In the short time since Michael and I moved from San Francisco, we’ve discovered that Second Creekers are fiercely loyal to their own. That’s where the Nitwitt connection comes in. But it would still be nice to get a fresh infusion of out-oftowners to pad our coffers.”
“So how’s things at How’s Plants?, if you’ll excuse the grammar?” Meta said.
This time, it was Michael who stepped in with a tinge of resignation in his voice. “Oh, we made a big enough splash over the summer, thanks to Marc’s mother and her friends. It got to where the first thing out of a customer’s mouth was,
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