Page 14 of Hello, Summer
The columnist smiled. “Well, I guess if there’s no meeting, Tuffy and I will head on to our next appointment. The Viburnum Garden Club has a guest speaker all the way from Orlando today.”
She turned to leave. “Give your grandmother my love, Grayson. I guess I’ll see her at the women’s circle next week.”
“I’ll do that,” Grayson said.
Rowena pointed her walking stick at Conley. “And who is this, dear? A new reporter?”
“Guess you don’t remember me,” Conley spoke up. “I’m Conley Hawkins.”
“Conley?” The old woman wrinkled her forehead. “I’m sorry, dear, I don’t recognize that name. Are your people from around here?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Conley said, amused. “I’m Lorraine’s granddaughter. And Grayson’s sister.”
“She wasSarahwhen she was growing up here, Rowena,” Grayson explained. “Then she went off and got a job at the paper in Atlanta and started calling herselfConley.”
“Of course!” the columnist said. “Of course you’re a Hawkins.” She leaned in closer, peering up at Conley through glasses with tinted lenses. “Oh my. You even have your grandfather’s distinctive nose.”
“Lucky me,” Conley said.
“So nice to see you again, Sarah,” Rowena said, patting her hand. “Tell your grandmother to bring you to the women’s circle, why don’t you?”
Conley watched the columnist make her way slowly through the newsroom. “Seriously, Grayson? Rowena Meigs is still writing that sappy column of hers? Isn’t she like a hundred and two years old?”
Lillian, who was standing directly behind the boss, rolled her eyes dramatically and nodded in agreement.
“It just so happens that our readers love that sappy stuff. They loveRowena, and they love Hello, Summer,” Grayson said, instantly defensive. “They eat up the church picnics and the sip-and-see teas and all that crap. They eat up the gossipy stuff. But mostly they love seeing their names in the paper.”
Conley picked up Rowena’s column and started reading the pages aloud, in a singsongy, cartoonish Southern accent.
“Hello, Summer!” she trilled, in a dead-on Rowena imitation.
Mrs. Myra Womblefeted her delightful niece Cheyenne on Saturday with a bridal shower at her charming beach house, SAY LA VIE. Mrs. Womble’s sisterSonya (Mrs. G. W.) Rolandwas delighted to have daughterCheyenne Rolandback home in the family “nest” for the weekend, and the younger set who “flocked” to the affair enjoyed a yummy repast, including Crab Puffs a la Myra, congealed 7UP salad, and shrimp “mocktail.” Cheyenne and fiancé,Jerrod Corley,will pledge their troth in June at Silver Bay First United Methodist Church… Speaking of our feathered friends, a little bird tells your correspondent thatCity Clerk Morton Pfansteelwill be honored at a retirement ceremony at City Hall next week at 7:00 p.m. A light repast will be served afterward. Morton tells us he and Anita plan to drive their RV all the way to Maine, stopping in Sumter, SC, to visit with grandchildren… Eagle-eyed locals may be seeing much less of a prominent local jurist who shall remain nameless. Our spies tell us said jurist’s wife put her hubby on a strict diet of salads and unsweetened tea, and they’ve even been spotted jogging at Civitan Park on recent mornings!…The Sojourners Sunday School Classat Silver Bay First Baptistt sponsored a fun-filled summer potluck after services this past Sunday. Entertainment was provided by thePraisesayers Gospel Quartet,who visited from Panama City. And now a personal note: your correspondent has noticed, of late, a shocking tendency for young ladies to be “out and about” in attire better suited for bedtime than public. I refer, of course, to the distasteful trend of “pajama pants.” Mothers, you should be monitoring your children’s wardrobes closer than this. And while I’m on this topic—young men need to be told to wear their trousers securely fastened at the waist with a suitable belt. The world does not need to see your underpants!
“It’s worse than I remembered,” Conley said, chortling. “It’s like a parody. ‘Pledging troth’? When was the last time anybody ever used that phrase?”
Grayson snatched the papers from her hand. “Like it or not, Rowena Meigs is a community fixture. She also happens to be one of G’mama’s oldest buddies.”
“Oldest biddies is more like it,” Lillian put in. “Of course, Miss Grayson, you’re the managing editor, so let’s not forget, you’re not the one who has to retype that mess into something readable. That old lady can’t spell, can’t punctuate, and can’t get her facts straight half the time. Thinks she’s better than everybody else and her shit don’t stink.”
Grayson sighed heavily. “I realize Rowena’s not exactly a crackerjack reporter, but so what? She’s from a different generation.”
Lillian looked from one sister to the other. “This is like beating a dead horse. Look here, Grayson, what do you want to do about that train derailment? I already slotted the hospital board story for the front page, even though they never actually do anything. You want me to bump it to the bottom of the page and hold to see what Michael comes back with?”
Grayson gazed out the window for a moment. “Remind me what else we’ve got on the front?”
“My feature story on Naleeni Coombs. She’s the girl from Plattesville that got the full ride to MIT. First in her family to finish high school, let alone go to college. She’s a real sweet kid. Goes to my church.”
“Leave the feel-good story on the front, below the fold. I’m thinking a twenty-inch hole for the train thing; we jump it if we can get decent photos on the front,” Gray said. “Bump the hospital story inside. Unless we’ve got dead bodies, then we tear up the whole page.”
Grayson picked up the camera bag and looped the strap over her shoulder, then grabbed her pocketbook from the back of her desk chair.
“I’ve got to get over to Varnedoe,” she said, pausing in the doorway.“I guess I can’t stop you from going on out to the beach tomorrow, Conley. I sure as hell can’t stop G’mama, now that she’s got you on her side. Just make sure she takes it easy, okay? She still thinks she’s a thirty-year-old. She overdoes it, then gets sick and there’s hell to pay.”
“Got it,” Conley said. “I’ll give you a call tomorrow, once we get out to the house.”
“Make sure she packs all her meds,” Grayson said. “Winnie knows what all she needs. And keep a lid on her drinking. Two drinks, then you have to take the bottle and hide it.”
“I’ve got it, Gray,” Conley repeated. “Just go cover your train crash, will ya? Nothing’s gonna happen to G’mama or Winnie. Nothing ever happens in Silver Bay.”
