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professional to another. When she
realized that the library is my one escape from Lanai Gardens, we
became even closer.
    Not only am I designated driver, but I am designated book
chooser. This is no mean feat, since I have to carry around each girl's
list of what she's read before. Heaven help me if I bring home a
repeat. Bella reads only romances in large print. Evvie wants
biographies of the stars. Ida likes the best-sellers, Sophie prefers the
Reader's
Digest
condensations, and Francie reads cookbooks. Happily, nobody
else wants to make the trip, so coming here is like a vacation for me.
    "Come on,
muchacha.
Tell
mamacita
everything."
    "What a day. Those girls are wearing me out. Publix was
bad enough. Going to the cleaners was maddening. It was the bank that
did me in."
    Conchetta leans her arms against the counter, ready to
listen. "Good. A bank story."
    "The bank is always mobbed on Friday. Everyone has checks
to cash. Ida, who hates waiting for anything, gets this brilliant idea.
She sneaks in a slice of her famous pecan coffee cake and slips it to a
teller who knows Ida's cakes. The bribe gets her to the front of the
line. Neither one of them being subtle. And what a
geshrie
from
everyone on line!"
    "Geshrie,
I guess, means an uproar."
    "You got it. Wait 'til you hear what happened next.
Harriet Feder, who's near the front of the line with her mother, lifts
Ida up and carries her bodily, feet dangling, and drops her back at the
end of the line where she belongs. All the while, Ida is hitting her
with her purse, thus emptying the contents all over the floor.
Everyone's hysterical. Ida is mortified. Knowing Ida, she will never
forgive Harriet."
    "And . . . I can tell there's more. . . ."
    "Greta Kronk struck again."
    "Barney, quick. Another Kronk episode."
    A tall, skinny, and proud-to-be-a-nerd young man strides
over. "Fantabulous," Barney Schwartz says. "Our Lady of the Garbage."
    "Our what?"
    "We're having a contest to give Greta a title worthy of
her accomplishments," says Conchetta.
    Barney adds, "I want to publish her poems. I already have
the title of the book:
From Under the Belly of the Alligator.
"
    I burst out laughing. "You guys are so bad!"
    "I especially love 'Hy and Lo put on a show. They make me
throw. Up.' Brilliant," says Barney.
    Conchetta recites her favorites. "'Tessie is fat. That's
that.' And 'Esther's a pest and Harriet can't get no rest, yes.'"
    "They've been benign up to now. Today took a different
turn. She hit on a couple named John and Mary." I recite it for them
and their eyes widen.
    "Wow," says Conchetta. "I think her crazies are
escalating."
    "Is he?" asks Barney. "Gay?"
    "I've always wondered, but how could Greta know?"
    "That woman needs help."
    "We've tried. But to no avail."
    Conchetta is being beckoned. As she moves off to help a
fellow book lover, she calls back, "Typical. The authorities are
waiting for her to hurt somebody."
    I head at last for the mystery section, perturbed by our
exchange. But quickly my mood gentles. I am among my favorite things.
Books.
    A half hour later with a Virginia Lanier, a Barbara
Neely, a Mary Willis Walker and a Ruth Rendell in hand (so many great
women mystery writers these days), I have enough to keep me happy for a
week. I pick out books for the girls. It's nearly dinnertime and I must
gather up the lambs before they turn into lions.
    Conchetta smiles at my customary stack as I check out.
Then she picks up my Barbara Neely. "Like it so much you're gonna read
it again after only two weeks?"
    "What are you muttering about?" I pick up
Blanche
Among the Talented Tenth.
"I didn't read this one. I read her
first and third."
    "Two weeks ago."
    "Oh, yeah, smart stuff, what's this one about?"
    "Blanche sends her kids to a snooty private school and
they start getting attitude."
    I smile sheepishly, and take it off my pile. "Well," I
say, "if I ever get Alzheimer's, I'll only need one book from then on."
    "And we'll be out of business."
    I say my good-byes