"It's just what we thought!" Ruby Bee said before I felt obliged to mention conspiracy, theft, theft by receiving, and so on. "It says we're supposed to enter our local championship team. It doesn't say anywhere that Jim Bob can just put his supermarket's name on the uniforms and send the team out to advertise for him."
"We don't have a local championship team," Joyce contributed.
"Because we can't have a play-off," Ruby Bee said, giving Estelle a sly look. "If there was another team in Maggody, the two teams could have a play-off like they do in the television leagues. Then we'd know which team was champion of Maggody."
The stage was set, but one of the players didn't have a copy of the script. On the other hand, she had a long history of being manipulated by her mother, and she was beginning to catch the drift of the production. "You thinking of sponsoring a team?" I asked.
"What a novel idea," Ruby Bee said, getting slyer by the second. "And that way, Joyce's little niece Saralee could have an equal opportunity to play instead of being made to be a cheerleader. This letter says the players have to be entering fifth or sixth grade this fall. It doesn't say one word about boys; it says players."
"Saralee's going into fifth," Joyce said.
"Hizzoner's not going to like this," I said, shaking my head.
Ruby Bee slapped down the letter so she could get both fists on her hips. "And that's going to keep me awake nights? How about you, Estelle-is that going to keep you awake nights? Joyce, you think you'll lose sleep if Jim Bob Buchanon gets his comeuppance once and for all?"
I climbed off the stool. "All I said was that he wasn't going to like it. I have no objection whatsoever to any scheme that ruffles his tail feathers, ladies. In fact, I'll make myself a tissue-paper pom-pom and sit in the first row of the bleachers. I've got a date now, so I'm going to run along and let you all work on the list of all the things you'll have to do. Ciao!"
I almost made it to the door.
"Just hold your horses, Miss Social Gadabout," Ruby Bee barked. "You come right back here and explain about this list. I'm sponsoring a baseball team, not going into Starley City to shop.
I held my horses, but also my ground. "Okay, for starters, you need a minimum of nine players, and you've got one. You need uniforms, balls, bats, gloves, bases, a league rule book, a field for practice, and a couple of coaches."
Joyce Lambertino slid off the bar stool, mumbled something about the waxy buildup on her kitchen floor, and escaped past me with the look of a homeowner on Elm Street who's just heard about the newest neighbor. Ruby Bee and Estelle stared at me, and I stared right back at them as Joyce's station-wagon door slammed shut and the engine growled to life. We continued to stare as tires ground across the gravel parking lot. We stared some more as tires met hot pavement and squealed away.
"No," I said flatly.
"I am your own flesh and blood," Ruby Bee began, but that's all I heard, because I was out of there and fully intending to stay out of there until the Maggody World Series was decided.
Ivy watched Alex as he took the empty crates from the trunk of the car. At times, he was more trying than their son, she thought with a grimace. Send him to the co-op in town for gunnysacks and fertilizer, wait the best part of the afternoon, and watch him return with crates and a stupid grin. He'd probably gotten lost.
His overalls needed patching, his bootlaces needed tying, his hair and beard needed trimming, and she was fairly sure his eyeglasses needed cleaning, because they always did. It was a miracle he didn't walk into a wall more often.
However, when he offered the crates, she wordlessly took them from him and set them down on one of the big plywood tabletops.
"I saw a scissor-tailed flycatcher on the utility wire," he said.
"Through those smudgy glasses? Give them to me so I can wipe them on my shirttail."
"I could see the distinctive silhouette, Ivy. It's the first one I've seen all summer. It was down by the low-water bridge."
"Good, Alex." She plucked his glasses off his nose and began to clean them, not bothering to point out that the bridge was not between their farm and the co-op. "At the rate business is going these days, we may have to fry it for supper. I don't know what's going to happen when that fancy supermarket opens." She stopped as a dusty white Chevy parked in the nearby shade. "Ruby Bee, how are you today? I put aside some particularly fine tomatoes for you. I was going to call you later so you could come by and get 'em."
"I appreciate it, Ivy," Ruby Bee said, more interested in a list she was glancing at. "Isn't Jackie going into the sixth grade this year?"
"He sure is," Alex said. "Hard to believe, isn't it?"
Ruby Bee went between the tables, nodding appreciatively at the piles of vegetables, and cornered Ivy in front of a stack of shallow wooden crates. "There's something I want to discuss with you," she began.
Geraldo Mandozes sat at a small table in the storeroom of the Dairee Dee-Lishus, the bills fanned out in front of him like a deck of cards. Why was business so bad? He ran his fingers through his disheveled hair as he muttered a few choice Spanish curses. The goddamn deli wasn't even open yet, and already he was feeling a squeeze. He was having to throw away more tamales than he sold.
"Yoo-hoo," called a voice from out front. "Mr. Mandozes? Are you home?" He abandoned the bills and went out to the counter window. "Yes, I am Mandozes. You want to order?"
Estelle hastily looked up at the painted menu above his head. "Why, yes, I believe I'll have a cherry limeade. It's so hot today that my brain is bubbling like a pot of stew."
"You don't want any tamales or some cheeseburgers?"
"In this heat?" Estelle chuckled merrily, then rewarded the foreigner with a right nice smile while he fixed the cherry limeade and put it down on the counter. "Thank you, Mr. Mandozes. I'm sure this will hit the spot. I dropped by earlier, but you were closed up tighter'n a tick."
"I needed supplies, and the wholesaler will no longer deliver such small and insignificant orders."
"Well, imagine that. There's a little something I wanted to ask you, if you don't mind." She hurried on in case he did. "I seem to recall you've got a little boy of about ten or eleven."
"Raimundo is ten," Geraldo said suspiciously. He lit a cigarette and blew a stream of smoke through the screened window. "Has he done a wrong thing?"
"Heavens, no." Estelle took a big slurp of the cherry limeade while she tried to decide how best to continue.
Buzz Milvin popped the top of the beer and grinned at the noise. Weren't nothing finer than to come home to a cool living room, a cold beer, and some peace and quiet, 'cause God knows the factory got louder every day. With the mother-in-law and the kids out back fixing supper, all he had to listen to was the rumble of the window unit. Of course, later he'd have to listen to Lillith bitching at him about smoking too much (he wasn't) and the kids whining about stuff they needed (they didn't), but for the moment he figured he was in heaven, or a damn close fack similar.
The doorbell rang. Buzz put down his beer, climbed out of the recliner, and tried to arrange a neighborly smile as he opened the door.
"Howdy, Buzz," Ruby Bee chirped, the list still in her hand. "Mind if I stop by for a minute?"