The Cherry Cola Book Club - By Ashton Lee Page 0,21
decided that the group would take a month to read the novel and reconvene on August 17 to discuss it—a straightforward enough proposition.
Councilman Sparks, however, continued to play devil’s advocate. “What if someone else enrolls in a few weeks and doesn’t have enough time to read the book? Will you allow use of CliffsNotes?”
Maura Beth waited for the awkward titters to subside before answering. “This isn’t a course, and we’re not here to be graded, Councilman. We’re here to think, have a good time, and enjoy some good food.” Then she decided it would be best to pull the plug. “So, if there are no other questions . . . I think this organizational meeting will come to an end.”
“And don’t forget, I’ll be giving y’all a call to work out who’s going to bring what to eat,” Becca put in at the last second. “We’ll try to make sure everyone whips up one of their best dishes.”
Maura Beth did not much care for Councilman Sparks lingering behind after everyone else had left. She did not want to hear what he had to say, knowing quite well that it could not possibly be of a constructive nature. Nevertheless, she resumed her position behind the podium, subconsciously viewing it as a means of protection as much as anything else. Then she plastered a grin on her face and looked directly into his eyes as he spoke.
“I admire your organizational skills, Miz Mayhew,” he began. “You run a tight ship just the way I do. But perhaps it’s time you faced up to the possibility that your tight ship is also sinking fast. I’m just wondering if all this furious activity of yours isn’t much ado about nothing. I hope you realize that a handful of people picnicking in the library is not going to alter the equation here. It may end up amusing a few intellectual types in the community, but I can’t see it becoming popular with the masses. I just don’t think that dog will hunt in Cherico.”
Maura Beth frowned. “We’re just getting off the ground. Don’t you think you should cut us a little slack?”
“I know you’re intelligent enough to understand that even if you doubled the number of people you had in here tonight, it wouldn’t be enough to keep the library open when we bear down on the budget,” he said, arching his eyebrows.
But she matched his glibness with sturdy body language of her own, leaning toward him with her chin up. “You’ve made that quite clear. Maybe I have more faith in the public than you do. But never mind that. I still think it’s odd that you just don’t close me down right now, particularly if you’re so sure that nobody will care.”
“Are you daring me to do that, Miz Mayhew?”
She cleared her throat and swallowed hard. “Yes.”
“Impressive,” he answered, turning off his dazzling smile in an instant. “You called my bluff. Chunky and Gopher Joe are way too intimidated to even try something like that. The truth is, if I don’t know anything else, I know my politics. And if by some miracle, you should pack every resident of Cherico into your little library five and a half months from now, I don’t want to be on the outside looking in. I’ll pretend that I knew you’d succeed all the time, and no one will be the wiser. I’ll have my attendance at every one of your meetings as my proof, too. So, thank you very much for the invitation to shutter you sooner rather than later, but I think I’ll keep all my options open. For the time being, that will be my official position.”
Maura Beth took a deep breath, having weathered the latest go-round. “So you’ll be dropping in on our review of Gone with the Wind next month, I take it?”
“I wouldn’t miss it. I’ve always wanted to observe a literary hen fest.”
“We’ll do our best to amuse you,” Maura Beth replied, matching his sarcastic smile. “And maybe Becca Broccoli can even get someone to cook up an omelet just for you. Perhaps a little cheese added to make you feel right at home.”
He leaned over the podium and winked. “Yum, yum!”
As she watched him walk away from her after their perfunctory farewells, Maura Beth steadied herself by grabbing the podium and whispering the phrase she had used earlier in the evening when they’d changed the name of the club. Over and over it came out of her like a