found himself backed up against his car, trying to parry the thrusting beak with his leg.
He thought about taking refuge inside the vehicle, but Mary’s other guests gathered on the lawn were all staring now in rapt amusement, and the idea that they would witness his ignoble withdrawal was too humiliating to even consider.
‘Eugene!’ barked Hollis.
‘Don’t,’ said Mary, ‘you’ll scare him.’
‘What!?’
He only took his eyes off the goose for a split second, but it was enough for Eugene to get a good one away—a sharp nip to the thigh.
‘Christ!’
Mary placed herself between Hollis and Eugene.
‘That’s enough,’ she said firmly. ‘Barn.’ She pointed.
Hollis could have sworn Eugene shot him a look before skulking off, one that said: Saved by the bell, buddy.
‘That’s strange,’ said Mary.
‘What?’
‘I’ve never seen him so angry before.’ There was definitely something in the tone of her voice that suggested Hollis was to blame in some way.
‘I didn’t do a thing,’ he bleated.
‘Maybe you didn’t need to. You know what they say about geese.’
‘That they taste damn good with orange sauce?’
‘That’s not funny.’
But she smiled.
Hollis was immediately collared by a large woman in a noisy print dress who proudly announced in a gruff baritone that she was Chairman of the apron booth at the upcoming LVIS summer fair. She also happened to be the Secretary of the Roadside Committee, and proceeded to spend the next half-hour singing the praises of Tufor weedkiller in the Society’s ongoing drive against poison ivy, ragweed and sumac. She wasn’t as alarmed as some about the threat posed to the local verges by the recent surge in the dandelion population.
Hollis was finally rescued by her appetite, the smell of the lamb flame-grilling on the barbecue luring her away. It left him free to fill his glass at the drinks table and survey the gathering. It seemed to be divided into two clear and quite discordant camps—Mary’s associates from the LVIS, and a younger crowd, dressed more casually. Strangely, they seemed to be mingling quite happily.
‘I see you met Barbara.’
Hollis turned.
‘She doesn’t like me,’ continued Mary, filling her glass. ‘She thinks I’m too young to be President.’
‘She didn’t say anything.’
‘She’s far too diplomatic, knows I’ll demote her to the candy-and-cigarette booth if I hear any rumblings.’
For a moment Hollis thought she was being serious, but as she raised the wine glass to her mouth, her lips curled into the faintest of smiles.
‘Why do you do it?’ he asked.
‘It’s easy to laugh, I know, but I think it’s important, where we live, how we live.’ She paused briefly. ‘And it keeps me out of mischief.’
She took another sip of wine then said, ‘I see from your look that you’ve finally done your research.’
She was right—he had. Abel and Lucy had filled him in on the story, or rather the scandal. Mary’s husband, an engineer, had been spared military service because of their son, but had volunteered to help re-tool the machines at the Grumann aircraft plant in Bethpage. During his lengthy absence Mary had struck up an affair with an army liaison officer based out of Camp Hero at Montauk Point where the big guns were. His job, it seemed, was to develop relations with the locals, a task he had clearly taken to heart.
Opinions were divided when it came to the allocation of blame. Mary’s husband was a man known for his fierce temper and his wandering eye.
‘Does it bother you?’ Mary asked.
‘Why should it bother me?’
‘The fallen woman.’
‘Maybe I’m fallen too,’ said Hollis.
The moment was broken by the arrival of a man dressed in a navy blazer and gray flannels. There was a rakish elegance to his colorful bow tie and the matching kerchief gushing from his breast pocket. His silver mustache was flecked with pieces of potato chip.
‘This is my cousin, Edgar,’ said Mary. ‘He’s a keen sailor.’
‘Vice-commodore of the Three Mile Harbor Sailing Club,’ added Edgar, pumping Hollis’ hand.
‘Tom. Tom Hollis.’
‘Tom’s with the Town Police.’
