restaurants, I get all kinds of grief, as if I’d gotten my reservations under false pretenses!” He waved a Heineken at me. “I can’t help what my parents named me. Besides”—he leaned closer, until his mouth was almost touching my ear—“the mayor’s thirty years my junior, so it’s he who should be apologizing to me for the inconvenience!”
“What do you do, Mr. O’Malley?”
“Nothing, my dear. Absolutely nothing.” He cackled. “I’m retired.”
Virginia Prentice, accompanied by a youngish woman in a silver, bead-encrusted sheath, joined the growing knot of people clustered in front of the drinks table. “Nonsense! You’re the busiest person I know, Marty.”
Marty ran his thumbs up and down the inside of his suspenders. “Not during the winter, I’m not. Been reading a lot, though, Virginia.”
“Have you read The Perfect Storm ?” Virginia wanted to know.
The young woman, who was introduced as Eileen, shivered inside her silver sheath. “No, and I don’t intend to. I might never go sailing again! No, I’m reading that new book by Phyllis Talmadge, Flex Your Psychic Muscles. ”
Marty puffed air noisily out through his lips. “Who believes in all that crap? Might as well waste your money on the psychic hot line.”
Eileen bristled. “ I believe in it.”
“I looked for that Talmadge book in the Compleat Bookseller the other day, but they were all sold out,” Darlene complained.
“I bought my copy from Amazon dot com,” Eileen said.
“No, thank you!” Marty’s eyes narrowed. “I prefer to support the independents.”
“But the Internet is so convenient,” Eileen insisted. “In a couple of days—bingo! It appears in your mailbox.”
“I get my contact lenses by mail,” Darlene said.
“That’s different,” said Marty. “That’s medical. I’m retired and I get my vitamins, blood pressure medicine, you name it, by mail.”
Virginia waved an opal ring in front of Marty’s face. “I got this ring yesterday. Only sixty-nine ninety-nine.”
Marty caught her flailing hand and squinted at the ring. “You should own stock in the Home Shopping Network, Virginia. Didn’t you just buy a necklace and some fancy no-fat cooking grill?”
Virginia reclaimed her hand and turned it back and forth so that the stone caught the light.
“Weren’t you afraid someone would steal it out of your mailbox?” Daddy inquired, eyeing the ring.
Virginia shook her head. “Pshaw! Not in Chestertown!”
“Pshaw? Pshaw? You sound just like my great-aunt Matilda,” said Marty.
Virginia blushed to her silver roots.
I decided to stick in my oar. “I try to buy everything locally. By the time you pay for shipping and handling on that mail-order stuff, you eat up all the money you might have saved.”
It wasn’t until she spoke that I realized that LouElla had been standing just behind me, listening to the conversation. “The CIA was always rifling through my mail. That’s why I had to get a post office box.”
“LouElla!”
“Well, it’s true.”
Darlene ladled herself another eggnog. “I don’t know about the CIA, LouElla, but my mailbox was so stuffed with junk mail that I had to get a bigger one.”
Marty seemed to be the expert in these matters. “I told you not to order all that stuff from mail-order catalogs. All it takes is one order and— ka-ching !—you’re on every mailing list from here to the planet Pluto.”
Daddy had been staring, apparently bored, at a spot just over my left shoulder, but he suddenly joined theconversation. “I heard that the DMV even sells their mailing list.”
“There oughta be a law,” said Eileen.
While Darlene argued cheerfully with LouElla over the United States government’s peculiar interest in the contents of her, LouElla’s, mailbox, I took the opportunity to drift away. I cornered Deirdre next to the fruit punch and introduced myself. “I guess we’ll be seeing more of each other now.”
She topped off her cup
“What do you do, Mr. O’Malley?”
“Nothing, my dear. Absolutely nothing.” He cackled. “I’m retired.”
Virginia Prentice, accompanied by a youngish woman in a silver, bead-encrusted sheath, joined the growing knot of people clustered in front of the drinks table. “Nonsense! You’re the busiest person I know, Marty.”
Marty ran his thumbs up and down the inside of his suspenders. “Not during the winter, I’m not. Been reading a lot, though, Virginia.”
“Have you read The Perfect Storm ?” Virginia wanted to know.
The young woman, who was introduced as Eileen, shivered inside her silver sheath. “No, and I don’t intend to. I might never go sailing again! No, I’m reading that new book by Phyllis Talmadge, Flex Your Psychic Muscles. ”
Marty puffed air noisily out through his lips. “Who believes in all that crap? Might as well waste your money on the psychic hot line.”
Eileen bristled. “ I believe in it.”
“I looked for that Talmadge book in the Compleat Bookseller the other day, but they were all sold out,” Darlene complained.
“I bought my copy from Amazon dot com,” Eileen said.
“No, thank you!” Marty’s eyes narrowed. “I prefer to support the independents.”
“But the Internet is so convenient,” Eileen insisted. “In a couple of days—bingo! It appears in your mailbox.”
“I get my contact lenses by mail,” Darlene said.
“That’s different,” said Marty. “That’s medical. I’m retired and I get my vitamins, blood pressure medicine, you name it, by mail.”
Virginia waved an opal ring in front of Marty’s face. “I got this ring yesterday. Only sixty-nine ninety-nine.”
Marty caught her flailing hand and squinted at the ring. “You should own stock in the Home Shopping Network, Virginia. Didn’t you just buy a necklace and some fancy no-fat cooking grill?”
Virginia reclaimed her hand and turned it back and forth so that the stone caught the light.
“Weren’t you afraid someone would steal it out of your mailbox?” Daddy inquired, eyeing the ring.
Virginia shook her head. “Pshaw! Not in Chestertown!”
“Pshaw? Pshaw? You sound just like my great-aunt Matilda,” said Marty.
Virginia blushed to her silver roots.
I decided to stick in my oar. “I try to buy everything locally. By the time you pay for shipping and handling on that mail-order stuff, you eat up all the money you might have saved.”
It wasn’t until she spoke that I realized that LouElla had been standing just behind me, listening to the conversation. “The CIA was always rifling through my mail. That’s why I had to get a post office box.”
“LouElla!”
“Well, it’s true.”
Darlene ladled herself another eggnog. “I don’t know about the CIA, LouElla, but my mailbox was so stuffed with junk mail that I had to get a bigger one.”
Marty seemed to be the expert in these matters. “I told you not to order all that stuff from mail-order catalogs. All it takes is one order and— ka-ching !—you’re on every mailing list from here to the planet Pluto.”
Daddy had been staring, apparently bored, at a spot just over my left shoulder, but he suddenly joined theconversation. “I heard that the DMV even sells their mailing list.”
“There oughta be a law,” said Eileen.
While Darlene argued cheerfully with LouElla over the United States government’s peculiar interest in the contents of her, LouElla’s, mailbox, I took the opportunity to drift away. I cornered Deirdre next to the fruit punch and introduced myself. “I guess we’ll be seeing more of each other now.”
She topped off her cup
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