wantin’ to drink liquor on the job?”
“You never drank no liquor on the job? What you call that little bitty bottle I seen in the bottom of your pocketbook there, Miss Thing?” Baby retorted.
“That’s my nerve medicine,” Sister said serenely.
“You got a nerve callin’ it medicine, and that’s a fact,” Baby said, getting huffy. She leaned forward in her seat and tapped me on the shoulder. “Callahan, sugar, ask Miss Thing how come her nerve medicine looks and tastes just like King Cotton Peach Brandy?”
“No, Callahan,” Sister said softly, whispering. “Ask Miss Baby Easterbrooks how come a girl got saved when she twelve years old knows so much about liquor and such like that. While you at it, why don’t you ask Miss High and Mighty what Mama saw that time she come home early from Wednesday night Junior Ambassadors meeting and caught Miss Baby in the parlor sittin’ in the pastor’s son’s lap, and I’m not talking like it was Santy Claus’s lap she was a-sittin’ on.”
“What you say?” Baby hollered. “What she say, Callahan?”
“Girls,” I said, stifling a laugh. “Come on, now. Be sweet. What’s in the bag, Miss Sister?”
Sister brought out a large doughnut-shaped item wrapped tightly in foil and topped with a red satin bow.
“This here is one of my coconut pound cakes. Miss Bettye, she’s a fool for pound cake. When me and Baby worked for her by ourselves, I used to bake her a pound cake every month. Got paid five dollars cash money for it, too. One time, Miss Bettye, she told me, she served that cake at bridge club, told them ladies she made it herself. That’s why she had me keep on makin’ ‘em, ‘cause them ladies loved that cake so good. When Edna called and said we was helpin’ Miss Bettye get ready for a big do, I got out my pan, and I said, ‘Sister, let’s bake a cake.’”
“How nice,” I said. “Bettye Bond will be thrilled. You two are her favorites.”
As promised, Bettye Bond made a big fuss over the Easterbrookses. “Thank God,” she said when Sister handed her the cake. “I could eat this whole thing all by myself, Sister. But I won’t, ‘cause I want to save it for my guests.”
“Huh!” Baby said, glowering. “You wanna eat a cake cooked by an old blind lady? How you know she didn’t put soap powder ‘stead of flour in that cake, like she did last week when she thought she was cookin’ grits and instead fixed up a big ol’ pan of Comet Cleanser for breakfast?”
Sister ignored Baby. “You got plenty of silver polish for me, Miss Bettye? I hope so, ‘cause Baby over there, all she good for is runnin’ her mouth.”
I left them with Bettye, promising her reinforcements would be along soon.
It pissed me off, having to go through a metal detector before I could enter the new police headquarters at City Hall East. It pissed me off even more when the uniformed officer searched my purse for hidden knives, guns, or pipe bombs.
We’re bomb crazy in Atlanta now. All over the South too, I guess. Ever since some right-wing losers started blowing up abortion clinics and gay nightclubs and even Olympic Centennial Park, there’s not a government office in town you can enterwithout being searched. I knew the reason behind it, but it still pissed me off.
I took the elevator up to the criminal investigation offices. A civilian secretary frowned when I told her, no, I didn’t have an appointment to see Major Mackey, and, no, he wasn’t expecting me. She smiled smugly when she looked up from the phone. “He can’t see you right now. He’s with the chief.”
There were two ugly orange plastic chairs pushed against the far wall of the office. I sat down on one of them. “Fine,” I said. “Could you call the major and tell him I said I’ll wait?”
She didn’t like it, but she did it. I’d brought some paperwork along, so I pulled it out of my purse, and started reading the computer printouts. Edna keeps the House Mouse books, and
“You never drank no liquor on the job? What you call that little bitty bottle I seen in the bottom of your pocketbook there, Miss Thing?” Baby retorted.
“That’s my nerve medicine,” Sister said serenely.
“You got a nerve callin’ it medicine, and that’s a fact,” Baby said, getting huffy. She leaned forward in her seat and tapped me on the shoulder. “Callahan, sugar, ask Miss Thing how come her nerve medicine looks and tastes just like King Cotton Peach Brandy?”
“No, Callahan,” Sister said softly, whispering. “Ask Miss Baby Easterbrooks how come a girl got saved when she twelve years old knows so much about liquor and such like that. While you at it, why don’t you ask Miss High and Mighty what Mama saw that time she come home early from Wednesday night Junior Ambassadors meeting and caught Miss Baby in the parlor sittin’ in the pastor’s son’s lap, and I’m not talking like it was Santy Claus’s lap she was a-sittin’ on.”
“What you say?” Baby hollered. “What she say, Callahan?”
“Girls,” I said, stifling a laugh. “Come on, now. Be sweet. What’s in the bag, Miss Sister?”
Sister brought out a large doughnut-shaped item wrapped tightly in foil and topped with a red satin bow.
“This here is one of my coconut pound cakes. Miss Bettye, she’s a fool for pound cake. When me and Baby worked for her by ourselves, I used to bake her a pound cake every month. Got paid five dollars cash money for it, too. One time, Miss Bettye, she told me, she served that cake at bridge club, told them ladies she made it herself. That’s why she had me keep on makin’ ‘em, ‘cause them ladies loved that cake so good. When Edna called and said we was helpin’ Miss Bettye get ready for a big do, I got out my pan, and I said, ‘Sister, let’s bake a cake.’”
“How nice,” I said. “Bettye Bond will be thrilled. You two are her favorites.”
As promised, Bettye Bond made a big fuss over the Easterbrookses. “Thank God,” she said when Sister handed her the cake. “I could eat this whole thing all by myself, Sister. But I won’t, ‘cause I want to save it for my guests.”
“Huh!” Baby said, glowering. “You wanna eat a cake cooked by an old blind lady? How you know she didn’t put soap powder ‘stead of flour in that cake, like she did last week when she thought she was cookin’ grits and instead fixed up a big ol’ pan of Comet Cleanser for breakfast?”
Sister ignored Baby. “You got plenty of silver polish for me, Miss Bettye? I hope so, ‘cause Baby over there, all she good for is runnin’ her mouth.”
I left them with Bettye, promising her reinforcements would be along soon.
It pissed me off, having to go through a metal detector before I could enter the new police headquarters at City Hall East. It pissed me off even more when the uniformed officer searched my purse for hidden knives, guns, or pipe bombs.
We’re bomb crazy in Atlanta now. All over the South too, I guess. Ever since some right-wing losers started blowing up abortion clinics and gay nightclubs and even Olympic Centennial Park, there’s not a government office in town you can enterwithout being searched. I knew the reason behind it, but it still pissed me off.
I took the elevator up to the criminal investigation offices. A civilian secretary frowned when I told her, no, I didn’t have an appointment to see Major Mackey, and, no, he wasn’t expecting me. She smiled smugly when she looked up from the phone. “He can’t see you right now. He’s with the chief.”
There were two ugly orange plastic chairs pushed against the far wall of the office. I sat down on one of them. “Fine,” I said. “Could you call the major and tell him I said I’ll wait?”
She didn’t like it, but she did it. I’d brought some paperwork along, so I pulled it out of my purse, and started reading the computer printouts. Edna keeps the House Mouse books, and
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