The first time anybody saw Esmeralda’s 1961 Impala drive into town it was retired Coach Gruder and his two companions sitting on the park bench in front of Town Hall having another dejected moment. “The trouble is,” Ruth Megillity was saying, “That Clem Hoolahan acts like he’s some kind of moneybags, bossing everybody around and trying to get people to kowtow, but …” here her voice lowered to a loud whisper, “Dorothy Burdock over at the bank tells me that he hardly has a pot to … well, you know what, and all his noise is just for show.”
As the three sat there, each lost in thought of the eminent demise of Jerkwater, the sparkling red and white car pulled up in front of them and the tinted back window rolled down, exposing a young woman with red rhinestone sunglasses which were far too large for her small, heart-shaped face but matched her lipstick to a ‘T’.
Her pouty lips broke into a fetching smile (even Berta Kaplowski, the spinster organ player thought so) and exposing shiny white, perfectly straight teeth. As she leaned out the window the breeze lifted a lock of blond curls in a swirl, and she reached up to tuck it behind her ear.
“Hi there,” she giggled. ”Which way to the Mercantile, particularly the Dry Goods Store? I just bought it!”
No comments:
Post a Comment