spied some friends out in the middle of the glistening water, the husband, Nordie, at the till of a breathtaking sailboat.
"He'd just go uptown and get a cheeseburger. Ah, I got it." R. J. lifted off the old oarlock.
"Nordie's beyond a spare tire. I mean, it's a tractor tire now. Can you imagine sex with a man with a potbelly? It would be a triumph of physics."
"No, dear."
"No what? It would or would not be a triumph or you can't imagine it in the first place?" She lowered her binoculars.
"Can't imagine sex with Nordie."
"Do you think sex is overrated?"
"Bunny, we've had this discussion before. I believe it started in 1955. The day you turned fourteen."
"I hate that. You were born in an even year and I was born in an odd one. I just hate that. 1938. Now that sounds lovely. But no, I'm 1941. And all anyone remembers about 1941 is the bombing of Pearl Harbor. It's not fair."
"You aren't even forty yet, so don't bitch and moan." R. J. sanded the spot where the old oarlock had been and then placed the new oarlock on the spot. Perfect fit.
"Some days I feel like I'm one hundred," Bunny sighed, swinging her legs over the water.
"Momma said there'd be days like this."
Both sisters then sang the tune.
"You know something, Orgy? I don't know if I want to get old. Momma Catlett has lived too long. And the Wallaces—now, they're demented. I want to go flat out, pedal to the metal." Bunny stared down at the oarlock that R. J. was screwing into place. "You are so or ganized. Protestants are supposed to be organized."
"Bunny, I can usually follow your conversational leaps and non sequiturs, but you are positively scatterbrained today."
"How good of you to notice." Bunny whipped her binoculars to her eyes. "White ibis. Big one."
R. J. slipped the oar into the oarlock and wiggled it around. "Not bad, if I do say so myself."
"That's what men are for."
"If I waited for my husband to do it, it would never get done. I think Frank has mowed the lawn once since we married." R. J. said this without rancor, more in the nature of an accepted fact.
Bunny wondered if perhaps men weren't wiser about these things. The grass would always be there, but a good golf game—now that was worth one's time.
"Donald's dependable about the chores. He always hires someone else to do them." Bunny laughed.
Don made a good living off his combined Dodge/Toyota dealership. At his wife's urging, he had quickly grabbed the Japanese dealership when it became available back in the late sixties, and it had proved a sound move. Dodge was hanging in there so-so, but Toyotas were hot.
R. J. looke.d up at the broad blue sky. "What is it about late after noons? I love them so. The day has fallen into place. When I get up in the morning, I know what my chores are, but the day itself hasn't taken shape. By now it has, and the light is pure gold, golden and rich like cadmium paint. The hours seem lucky, somehow."
"I never thought of it that way."
"I wonder if every hour has its own spirit."
R. J.'s poetic musings delighted Bunny even if she couldn't help teasing her sister about them. Bunny's mind worked in a straight forward manner, rather like a locomotive. She might have ideas, cars hitched to the engine of her desire, but everything was on a track. R. J.'s mind took in everything, but she didn't order it immediately. It was as though she saw the world through the compound eyes of a dragonfly, a series of separate but related images. Unlike her younger sister, R. J. could let her mind wander. She felt no great need to prove anything.
"Who's that?" Bunny peered at a large boat under power, a Chris Craft. She put the glasses to her eyes to read the yacht club flag flying from the back. "Bahia Mar. That's in Fort Lauderdale."
"Probably on the way back down for the winter."
"Winter's a long way off."
"If we're lucky." R. J. sat down, picking up an oar in each hand. "Ready for a spin?"
"Sure." Bunny gracefully dropped into the boat, turned, and untied
"He'd just go uptown and get a cheeseburger. Ah, I got it." R. J. lifted off the old oarlock.
"Nordie's beyond a spare tire. I mean, it's a tractor tire now. Can you imagine sex with a man with a potbelly? It would be a triumph of physics."
"No, dear."
"No what? It would or would not be a triumph or you can't imagine it in the first place?" She lowered her binoculars.
"Can't imagine sex with Nordie."
"Do you think sex is overrated?"
"Bunny, we've had this discussion before. I believe it started in 1955. The day you turned fourteen."
"I hate that. You were born in an even year and I was born in an odd one. I just hate that. 1938. Now that sounds lovely. But no, I'm 1941. And all anyone remembers about 1941 is the bombing of Pearl Harbor. It's not fair."
"You aren't even forty yet, so don't bitch and moan." R. J. sanded the spot where the old oarlock had been and then placed the new oarlock on the spot. Perfect fit.
"Some days I feel like I'm one hundred," Bunny sighed, swinging her legs over the water.
"Momma said there'd be days like this."
Both sisters then sang the tune.
"You know something, Orgy? I don't know if I want to get old. Momma Catlett has lived too long. And the Wallaces—now, they're demented. I want to go flat out, pedal to the metal." Bunny stared down at the oarlock that R. J. was screwing into place. "You are so or ganized. Protestants are supposed to be organized."
"Bunny, I can usually follow your conversational leaps and non sequiturs, but you are positively scatterbrained today."
"How good of you to notice." Bunny whipped her binoculars to her eyes. "White ibis. Big one."
R. J. slipped the oar into the oarlock and wiggled it around. "Not bad, if I do say so myself."
"That's what men are for."
"If I waited for my husband to do it, it would never get done. I think Frank has mowed the lawn once since we married." R. J. said this without rancor, more in the nature of an accepted fact.
Bunny wondered if perhaps men weren't wiser about these things. The grass would always be there, but a good golf game—now that was worth one's time.
"Donald's dependable about the chores. He always hires someone else to do them." Bunny laughed.
Don made a good living off his combined Dodge/Toyota dealership. At his wife's urging, he had quickly grabbed the Japanese dealership when it became available back in the late sixties, and it had proved a sound move. Dodge was hanging in there so-so, but Toyotas were hot.
R. J. looke.d up at the broad blue sky. "What is it about late after noons? I love them so. The day has fallen into place. When I get up in the morning, I know what my chores are, but the day itself hasn't taken shape. By now it has, and the light is pure gold, golden and rich like cadmium paint. The hours seem lucky, somehow."
"I never thought of it that way."
"I wonder if every hour has its own spirit."
R. J.'s poetic musings delighted Bunny even if she couldn't help teasing her sister about them. Bunny's mind worked in a straight forward manner, rather like a locomotive. She might have ideas, cars hitched to the engine of her desire, but everything was on a track. R. J.'s mind took in everything, but she didn't order it immediately. It was as though she saw the world through the compound eyes of a dragonfly, a series of separate but related images. Unlike her younger sister, R. J. could let her mind wander. She felt no great need to prove anything.
"Who's that?" Bunny peered at a large boat under power, a Chris Craft. She put the glasses to her eyes to read the yacht club flag flying from the back. "Bahia Mar. That's in Fort Lauderdale."
"Probably on the way back down for the winter."
"Winter's a long way off."
"If we're lucky." R. J. sat down, picking up an oar in each hand. "Ready for a spin?"
"Sure." Bunny gracefully dropped into the boat, turned, and untied
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