sure you agree. And since he’s mixing fertilizers in geraniums, she’s better off elsewhere. I’m sure Mr. Harris won’t put her in begonias. A nice hosta greenhouse, maybe.”
“Well, then,” said Mrs. Cooper, mollified. “Hostas, perhaps.”
“I gather you don’t work with hostas.”
“No, of course not.”
“Naturally not.” Jeanie retreated slowly, giving Brynna time to evacuate.
Mrs. Cooper followed her, brandishing a finger. “You don’t seem to realize the affront of that young woman’s presence, let alone the temptation to the morals of every man on the premises. Not all men are as gentlemanly as my son, when faced with a prostitute.”
“What makes you think she’s a prostitute?”
“Well, I, um . . .” Mrs. Cooper averted her gaze. “I happened to be in the office one day, when that girl was talking to Mr. Harris. Quite blunt she was, totally unashamed. Well, of course, when I finally had the opportunity, I decided to advise her, give her a helping hand, you know.”
“Ah,” said Jeanie, enlightened. “So your son, really—”
“Humph.” Mrs. Cooper straightened her shoulders in offense. “I was discreet, of course—”
“I beg your pardon?” said Jeanie, anger bubbling up from deep inside her. “That was discreet? Did you ask Jason what happened?”
“I didn’t need to ask him, it was obvious that hussy—” Mrs. Cooper stretched a shaking finger in the direction of the shut door.
“I’m afraid the term ‘hussy’ is outdated.” Jeanie paused as she opened the door. “Some messages work better than others. You can coat them in honey and chocolate, and ease the bitter taste with laughter. Or you can coat them in shards of glass, and force them down with a fire hose. Which message, do you suppose, will digest better? Good day to you. I’m sure you do wonderful work with plants.” Jeanie snapped her mouth shut before anything else escaped. She closed the door on Mrs. Cooper and bumped into Brynna. “Sorry, Brynna. Let’s go see Mr. Harris about a different placement.” Preferably several acres away from any man under sixty.
Brynna folded her arms across her chest, and marched alongside her. “Go ahead, say it!” Her voice shook with rage. “How I should be grateful for this job, and for that jackass back there pawing me. Check the greenhouses, damn it, like Harris does, looking for marijuana and mushrooms.”
Jeanie said nothing. Brynna jumped ahead a couple paces and whirled in front of her, throwing her fists down to her sides. “Go ahead, yell at me,” she screamed, “like everybody else. Do this, don’t do that, mind your tongue, and for God’s sake SMILE at the SOBs. Go on. Ask me what was in the fuckin’ bag I brought to work. You’re thinking it, aren’t you? Go ahead and say it.”
Jeanie looked at the convulsed face. If she really wanted to know what was in the bag, the last thing she’d do was ask Brynna. Tenderness swept over her, as it so often did at inconvenient moments. The silly girl. “Brynna, I wouldn’t know a hallucinogenic mushroom if it bit me on the nose. You have survived in a world that would have flattened me. I respect you, I even like you, and I wish to heaven you’d quit trying to pick fights with me.”
“Heaven? Heaven? What is it with you, Jeanie? Can’t you even cuss? Are you afraid of me?”
“Afraid of you?” Jeanie gave a short laugh. “You think I’m an idiot? Of course, I’m afraid of you. Of you, Sorrel, Tonio, Dillon, and all the people in your lives I’d shiver to meet. Look at this arm of mine. These muscles are made out of Play-Doh. Think I’m going fight? No way, girl. Is that what you’re after? Go ahead, Brynna, hit me. Pull out those claws of yours, and scratch.”
“Hit you?”
“Hit me, Brynna, or give it up, and decide you’re not going to.”
Brynna narrowed her eyes. “If I did, you’d report me to Torrez.”
“Give me a break, Brynna.” Jeanie couldn’t help laughing.
“Well, then,” said Mrs. Cooper, mollified. “Hostas, perhaps.”
“I gather you don’t work with hostas.”
“No, of course not.”
“Naturally not.” Jeanie retreated slowly, giving Brynna time to evacuate.
Mrs. Cooper followed her, brandishing a finger. “You don’t seem to realize the affront of that young woman’s presence, let alone the temptation to the morals of every man on the premises. Not all men are as gentlemanly as my son, when faced with a prostitute.”
“What makes you think she’s a prostitute?”
“Well, I, um . . .” Mrs. Cooper averted her gaze. “I happened to be in the office one day, when that girl was talking to Mr. Harris. Quite blunt she was, totally unashamed. Well, of course, when I finally had the opportunity, I decided to advise her, give her a helping hand, you know.”
“Ah,” said Jeanie, enlightened. “So your son, really—”
“Humph.” Mrs. Cooper straightened her shoulders in offense. “I was discreet, of course—”
“I beg your pardon?” said Jeanie, anger bubbling up from deep inside her. “That was discreet? Did you ask Jason what happened?”
“I didn’t need to ask him, it was obvious that hussy—” Mrs. Cooper stretched a shaking finger in the direction of the shut door.
“I’m afraid the term ‘hussy’ is outdated.” Jeanie paused as she opened the door. “Some messages work better than others. You can coat them in honey and chocolate, and ease the bitter taste with laughter. Or you can coat them in shards of glass, and force them down with a fire hose. Which message, do you suppose, will digest better? Good day to you. I’m sure you do wonderful work with plants.” Jeanie snapped her mouth shut before anything else escaped. She closed the door on Mrs. Cooper and bumped into Brynna. “Sorry, Brynna. Let’s go see Mr. Harris about a different placement.” Preferably several acres away from any man under sixty.
Brynna folded her arms across her chest, and marched alongside her. “Go ahead, say it!” Her voice shook with rage. “How I should be grateful for this job, and for that jackass back there pawing me. Check the greenhouses, damn it, like Harris does, looking for marijuana and mushrooms.”
Jeanie said nothing. Brynna jumped ahead a couple paces and whirled in front of her, throwing her fists down to her sides. “Go ahead, yell at me,” she screamed, “like everybody else. Do this, don’t do that, mind your tongue, and for God’s sake SMILE at the SOBs. Go on. Ask me what was in the fuckin’ bag I brought to work. You’re thinking it, aren’t you? Go ahead and say it.”
Jeanie looked at the convulsed face. If she really wanted to know what was in the bag, the last thing she’d do was ask Brynna. Tenderness swept over her, as it so often did at inconvenient moments. The silly girl. “Brynna, I wouldn’t know a hallucinogenic mushroom if it bit me on the nose. You have survived in a world that would have flattened me. I respect you, I even like you, and I wish to heaven you’d quit trying to pick fights with me.”
“Heaven? Heaven? What is it with you, Jeanie? Can’t you even cuss? Are you afraid of me?”
“Afraid of you?” Jeanie gave a short laugh. “You think I’m an idiot? Of course, I’m afraid of you. Of you, Sorrel, Tonio, Dillon, and all the people in your lives I’d shiver to meet. Look at this arm of mine. These muscles are made out of Play-Doh. Think I’m going fight? No way, girl. Is that what you’re after? Go ahead, Brynna, hit me. Pull out those claws of yours, and scratch.”
“Hit you?”
“Hit me, Brynna, or give it up, and decide you’re not going to.”
Brynna narrowed her eyes. “If I did, you’d report me to Torrez.”
“Give me a break, Brynna.” Jeanie couldn’t help laughing.
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