A Cup of Jo Read Free Page A

the gallows above us.
    'Don't even think about it.' I started toward him. 'You keep your mitts off my cup.'
    Sarah restrained me. 'Relax, Maggy. He's "harmless", remember?'
    Do not mock me. Never mock me.
    The camera operators – including Jerome – had their lenses focused on our wannabe Marcel Marceau, I guessed for want of anything else to film before the train arrived. Maybe I was being short-sighted: Uncommon Grounds could use the publicity.
    Arms stretched wide and knees bent, the mime made like he was hefting our coffee cup balloon. Then, crooking his right little finger, he turned toward the media and pretended to take a sip for the cameras.
    'Yes!' I called to Sarah, pumping my fist. 'We'll be on every TV newscast in southeastern Wisconsin.'
    My last word was still echoing off the depot wall when the wretched mime spit out our make-believe coffee.
    'Damn that rat-bastard.' I started for him again.
    A train whistle sounded. Everyone turned toward the noise. Everyone, that is, except Mr Mime and me.
    I shook my finger at him.
    He shook his.
    I dropped my hand.
    Ditto.
    'Stop that.' I stamped my foot.
    Guess what?
    Sarah sing-songed from the corner, 'He's rubber, you're glue, whatever you say bounces off him and sticks to . . . you .'
    'Yeah? Well, let's see how he likes being pasted.'
    The mime edged away as the train slid to a halt. Since Sarah was on one end of the porch and I the other, he was trapped like a rat at the foot of the gallows framework that held the cup and saucer.
    I advanced on him as he made for the depot door Kevin had used.
    'Not that way,' I said, catching up with him.
    The mime turned back, or at least his head did. One hand held the beret steady so both it and his body were facing away from me.
    'Cool trick,' Sarah said, apparently feeling braver now that we had him boxed. 'How'd you pull that off?'
    The mime winked one very blue eye at Sarah, looked down at his bulging short pants, and then held his hand to his heart, mirroring the beating with his hand. Thud-thud. Thud-thud.
    Sarah giggled, albeit uneasily.
    The mime batted his eyes and did a coy finger-flutter, even as the doors of the first train car slid back and dignitaries began pouring out on to the platform.
    Mime romance. Sweet. But Sarah and I needed to be on stage to bask in the commuter-rail's reflected glory.
    Anita Hampton stepped off the train. She was even thinner and more fashionable than the last time I'd seen her. Her eyes darted around imperiously and then she seemed to catch sight of someone. She gave a little, beckoning head gesture.
    Following her gaze, I saw Kevin Williams at ground level, but sans our caution tape. The props guy abruptly detoured to Anita's edge of the stage, where she crouched down to speak to him.
    The Grand Inquisitor. Oh, Kevin, wouldn't this be better, wouldn't that be better? And, true to form, she didn't seem happy with any of his answers, sweeping her hand disdainfully toward the spare set-up of our Brookhills' celebration.
    Surveying it myself, I didn't see what she was complaining about. The stage-decorations might consist only of a couple clusters of Mylar balloons, tethering ribbons anchored in pots filled with stones, but the true centerpiece of the event was meant to be the commuter-line. The train itself would provide the backdrop for the television cameras.
    With our giant, strikingly photogenic coffee cup and saucer at stage right.
    Whatever Anita's problem might be, it better not have anything to do with my cup. The conversation between the two ended with a prolonged handshake, Anita holding Kevin's hand hostage as she spouted further instructions or criticisms. Finally released, the props man loped off in the direction of his truck.
    'He'd better be getting that tape for us,' I grumbled to Sarah. 'And before he does Her Majesty's bidding. That woman always has to be first. And where is JoLynne? She's the one who's supposed to be in charge here.'
    'Chillax. She'll show,' Sarah said,