Free The Rejected Writers' Book Club (Southlea Bay) by Suzanne Kelman

you know, the salad is looking real good today,” she said, winking at me.
    “I would like a patty melt,” said Doris, ignoring her, “with french fries and an iced tea.”
    “Me too,” said Ethel.
    “What a surprise,” muttered Gladys.
    “Lottie and I already ate,” said Lavinia, “but I’m sure we would both love an iced tea too.”
    Lottie agreed. Gladys wrote it down as Annie ordered a chicken salad sandwich, and Flora ordered a green salad.
    “What about you?” she asked, pointing her pencil in my direction without looking up.
    “A cup of your tomato soup and half a turkey sandwich.”
    Gladys trundled off to put in our order, and Doris resumed her conversation in a hushed tone.
    “Let me get straight to the point,” she said, bowing her head close to us all again. “We have our rejection group to save, and I have invited Janet here because she has offered to help us in any way she can.”
    I suddenly felt unusually warm.
    Ruby arrived at the table, windswept and breathless. She was adorned in a full tie-dyed kaftan with huge pink and orange splotches that was cinched at her waist with a faux-alligator belt. Her hair was scooped up high into a beehive knot, a silk green-and-pink scarf woven through it creatively. From her ears dangled long, feathery pink flamingos that matched her shell-pink nail varnish and lipstick, and around her neck, an oversized silver peace symbol hung to her navel.
    “Sorry I’m late,” she said, grabbing a chair and joining the end of the booth. “Big rush on scarf and glove patterns today. Cold weather’s coming in.” She looked around the table. “Is your momma coming?”
    “Momma is resting,” said Doris.
    “Recovering from the Island Lurgy,” stated Lottie.
    “Ohhh,” said the rest of us, nodding in unison, acknowledging the Southlea Bay nickname for the flu that was sweeping through the island faster than a California wildfire.
    As Gladys approached the table with our drinks, she stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Ruby and didn’t hide the fact that she was checking her out with disgust. “Will you be requiring anything?” she asked with obvious annoyance at the growing table. “Like maybe a mirror or something,” she added sarcastically.
    Ruby ignored her comment. “Water is all I need. Oh, unless the chef has those little nut cutlets and the beansprout salad on the menu.”
    “I’ll check. I’m not sure if we’re catering to the hippies today.”
    Gladys left.
    Doris whispered, “This is the plan.”
    Gladys shuffled back with Ruby’s water, and Doris slammed her hand down on the table with an exaggerated, “Shhh.”
    Gladys didn’t skip a beat. She glared at Doris. “If you and Sundance”—she gestured at Ethel with her pencil—“and the rest of the Hole in the Wall Gang are planning on robbing the place, I should let you know it’s been a slow morning. There’s only about sixty-seven dollars in the till.” She sucked in her cheeks and hitched up her nylons with her free hand. “Plus, I get off in twenty minutes. If you could wait to rob the place till after that, it’s more of an even fight with Geraldine. She’s younger and enjoys the drama.”
    Doris, unruffled, ignored her comment and sipped her iced tea. “Could I get some extra sugar? I like my tea a little on the sweet side.”
    Gladys sniffed, pulled some sugar packets out of her well-worn apron pocket, and dropped them in the center of the table. “Your wish is my command, your ladyship!” Then, without so much as a backward glance, she shuffled off again, mumbling to herself.
    Doris beckoned us back in closer once again. “We all know how much anguish this most unfortunate incident has caused our little group.”
    “I haven’t slept for days,” said Lottie.
    “Me neither,” said Annie over the clack of her knitting needles.
    “Exactly,” said Doris. “It’s like all these years we’ve been bonded in our failure, and now that’s all in jeopardy!”
    She