meetings.”
“Sketches?”
“The doodling you do when you’re supposed to be taking the minutes. I saw that one you did a couple of years ago of me chasing Elmer with a Whac-a-Mole mallet.”
“You did? How did …”
“You leave the sketch pad laying on the conference table half the time. Everybody knows to look for those cartoons. Anyhow. The Whac-a Mole one was cute. Except I’m not that fat. I was thinking if you did the same kind of doodle, only it’s me sitting on Elmer, not whacking him with the mallet, it would make that tote stand out, for sure. You know, you could draw him wriggling and screaming like. It would give a what-do-you-call-it, double meaning to the slogan. ‘Park It Here’ on the ballot, so it’s like ‘vote for me,’ and ‘Park It Here’ with me squashing Elmer. Like, ‘get rid of this mayor.’”
Quill grabbed her hair with both hands and tugged at it.
“Harland’s all for it, of course.” Then, her cheeks slightly pink, she said. “Seems to think it’s creative. Says he’s never heard of anything like it before. You aren’t eating your eggs. Something wrong with ’em?”
Quill picked up her fork and began to eat her eggs. “Terrific,” she said, through a mouthful of hollandaise.
“Anyway, we need to get started right away.”
Quill swallowed. “If we could just set that aside for the moment, I was wondering what you’d think about starting a restaurant owners group.”
“Don’t have time for it. Don’t see a need for it, anyways.”
“Well, with all of the growth in town, I was thinking it might be good if we had an association of our own. Those of us in the food business, you see, have a lot of common interests.”
Marge grunted.
“And we aren’t very well represented in a … governmental sort of way. There’s a Realtors association, and you’re president of that, and Tompkins County insurance group, and you’re president of that. I think you’d make a splendid president of a restaurant owners group. We could call it the Village Restaurant Association.”
“Doesn’t have a lot of zing to it.”
“I’m sure you could think of something better. But this organization could act as a go-between with oh, say, the New York State food inspectors, the USDA, that kind of thing.”
“I’ll think about it.” Marge looked at her watch. “It’s getting on toward ten. You going down to the high school for the auditions?”
“I told Rose Ellen I’d be there, yes. But if you wanted to talk more about this association idea I have …”
“I figure the shoot’s as good a place as any to start letting folks know about my campaign. That’s what they call it, right? A shoot?”
“It’s just the assessors checking out the items to be evaluated. It’s quite pleasant here, Marge, and we could sort of sketch out a battle plan for this restaurant thing.”
“Everybody in town’s bound to be there.”
“This association could take a firm stand, a very firm stand, on some of the more unreasonable demands of, say, the food inspectors.”
“Bets never has problems with the food inspectors. Keeps the cleanest kitchen in Tompkins County. C’mon. I want to get to the auditions.” Marge slid out of the booth and stood up. “Harland went through the old barn and found a whole bunch of stuff his grandpa used to farm back before the war. Some of those tools are pretty interesting. Might be valuable, too. You and Meg dig anything up?”
“Actually, since Myles and I were out of town in August, I forgot all about it. To tell you the truth I can’t think of anything that’d be suitable anyway. Honestly, Marge, the real problem behind the …”
Marge grabbed her by the elbow and hauled her to her feet. “You drive down from the Inn or did you walk? Walked, I bet. Come on and hop in. You can ride with me. I brought the farm pickup to carry the old tools. You can help me unload ’em.”
Quill gave up and followed Marge to her pickup truck.
It was
“Sketches?”
“The doodling you do when you’re supposed to be taking the minutes. I saw that one you did a couple of years ago of me chasing Elmer with a Whac-a-Mole mallet.”
“You did? How did …”
“You leave the sketch pad laying on the conference table half the time. Everybody knows to look for those cartoons. Anyhow. The Whac-a Mole one was cute. Except I’m not that fat. I was thinking if you did the same kind of doodle, only it’s me sitting on Elmer, not whacking him with the mallet, it would make that tote stand out, for sure. You know, you could draw him wriggling and screaming like. It would give a what-do-you-call-it, double meaning to the slogan. ‘Park It Here’ on the ballot, so it’s like ‘vote for me,’ and ‘Park It Here’ with me squashing Elmer. Like, ‘get rid of this mayor.’”
Quill grabbed her hair with both hands and tugged at it.
“Harland’s all for it, of course.” Then, her cheeks slightly pink, she said. “Seems to think it’s creative. Says he’s never heard of anything like it before. You aren’t eating your eggs. Something wrong with ’em?”
Quill picked up her fork and began to eat her eggs. “Terrific,” she said, through a mouthful of hollandaise.
“Anyway, we need to get started right away.”
Quill swallowed. “If we could just set that aside for the moment, I was wondering what you’d think about starting a restaurant owners group.”
“Don’t have time for it. Don’t see a need for it, anyways.”
“Well, with all of the growth in town, I was thinking it might be good if we had an association of our own. Those of us in the food business, you see, have a lot of common interests.”
Marge grunted.
“And we aren’t very well represented in a … governmental sort of way. There’s a Realtors association, and you’re president of that, and Tompkins County insurance group, and you’re president of that. I think you’d make a splendid president of a restaurant owners group. We could call it the Village Restaurant Association.”
“Doesn’t have a lot of zing to it.”
“I’m sure you could think of something better. But this organization could act as a go-between with oh, say, the New York State food inspectors, the USDA, that kind of thing.”
“I’ll think about it.” Marge looked at her watch. “It’s getting on toward ten. You going down to the high school for the auditions?”
“I told Rose Ellen I’d be there, yes. But if you wanted to talk more about this association idea I have …”
“I figure the shoot’s as good a place as any to start letting folks know about my campaign. That’s what they call it, right? A shoot?”
“It’s just the assessors checking out the items to be evaluated. It’s quite pleasant here, Marge, and we could sort of sketch out a battle plan for this restaurant thing.”
“Everybody in town’s bound to be there.”
“This association could take a firm stand, a very firm stand, on some of the more unreasonable demands of, say, the food inspectors.”
“Bets never has problems with the food inspectors. Keeps the cleanest kitchen in Tompkins County. C’mon. I want to get to the auditions.” Marge slid out of the booth and stood up. “Harland went through the old barn and found a whole bunch of stuff his grandpa used to farm back before the war. Some of those tools are pretty interesting. Might be valuable, too. You and Meg dig anything up?”
“Actually, since Myles and I were out of town in August, I forgot all about it. To tell you the truth I can’t think of anything that’d be suitable anyway. Honestly, Marge, the real problem behind the …”
Marge grabbed her by the elbow and hauled her to her feet. “You drive down from the Inn or did you walk? Walked, I bet. Come on and hop in. You can ride with me. I brought the farm pickup to carry the old tools. You can help me unload ’em.”
Quill gave up and followed Marge to her pickup truck.
It was
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