Free Shop Talk by Carolyn Haines Page B

manuscripts.”
    Iris flicked her lighter and started a cigarette in the silence that followed Mona’s announcement.
    “Is that what Lucille said?” Bo gave his sister a long look.
    “Bo, I didn’t get a chance to talk with you, but what would it hurt? The shop is empty. You and Iris are in the back. We wouldn’t hurt a thing. We’d just need a table and some chairs.”
    A long, thin stream of smoke reached out from Iris to Lucille, almost a touch. “Wednesday night. Sort of like prayer meeting. I don’t suppose y’all sing and handle snakes, do you?”
    “Iris!” Lucille turned a pleading look on her sister-in-law. “We’re writers. We’re professionals. We aren’t kooks.”
    Iris blew another puff of smoke. She saw the tall, thin woman take up a sleepy-eyed position in front of a soundless television, watching the images flicker back and forth as if she were hypnotized. Or a lip reader. Iris ruled her as harmless. It was the whip lady who bore scrutiny.
    Aware of Iris’ surveillance, Mona wasn’t put off. She visually measured the distance between Bo’s shoulder blades, an infallible indication of the size of his endowment. Yes, indeed, he was a full grown man. His butt was a little flat, but put him on bottom, let him work those gluteus maximus in a mutually satisfying exercise, and he’d round out.
    “Lucille, I don’t think this writers’ meeting is such a good idea.” Bo picked up his screwdriver. He didn’t want a bunch of flaky writers running amok in his shop, not even one night a week. Driskell was bad enough. It was like having a large rodent in the shop at night. A talented rodent, to be sure. The man could repair televisions and VCRs, averaging ten a night. He was the best help Bo had found in the seven years he’d owned the business. Good enough so that he and Iris were thinking about taking a vacation. A real trip. Iris had been talking for years about the wax museum down in St. Augustine, Florida. There were figures from history
and
television personalities. And they might even make a swing by Universal Studios in Orlando and see some of the sets. But the entire trip hinged on whether Driskell LaMont stayed on to work. The one thing Bo didn’t want was Lucille and her crazy friends making life uncomfortable for Driskell.
    “Bo, this is important to me.” Lucille put her hand on his arm. “Really important.”
    Bo could feel her trembling. Lucille, who didn’t bat an eye at being fired or thrown out of her apartment. Lucille, who thought nothing about driving without a license or forgetting to buy a new car tag. Hell, Lucille didn’t worry about insurance. The last time she got fired from a job as a receptionist at a home health care group, she’d lost not only her paycheck, but her medical coverage. She had been totally unfazed. Why was it that she wanted this instead of something sensible?
    “Bo.” Her voice trembled and her lip quivered. “Bo, this is the most important thing in the world to me. I’m begging you. Remember the day Daddy died, when he called you in the room and made you promise that you’d look after me? He said that we were special, the two of us. That you were my big brother, and that no one could take care of one Hare the way another Hare could.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “That you should take care of me and Mama.”
    Bo refused to close his eyes, but even with them wide open and focused on Mona d’la Quirt’s robustly rounded backside, he couldn’t shut out the scene Lucille described. Happy Hare had called him into the bedroom, a big room with three windows where the sun slanted in through the venetian blinds creating a pattern of black and white across the dark green bedspread, a zebra pattern across Happy Hare’s pale face. Even at the time, Bo had thought it significant. Happy was a man of sharp contrasts. So good natured, always ready with a laugh, until he went into one of his dark spells. So alive and vital, until the