Depression, a whole slew of newfangled gadgets, going to the
moon, riots, earthquakes, volcanoes, and bathtub gin.
Not to mention your two lunkhead husbands and listening to Aunt Deb talk my ear off on the telephone.”
It almost made sense. It was, in fact, not unlike the
concept of the simple gasman viewing the history of
the world. Judith was speechless.
“So what have you got to say for yourself now,
Toots?” Gertrude demanded, finally picking up a fork
and studying her meal.
“I think it’s . . . terrific,” Judith said at last. “If it all
works out.”
“That nice Southern boy says it will,” Gertrude
replied glibly. “What did he call it? ‘An intimate portrait of the twentieth century.’ See here?” She tapped a
small piece of paper. “I wrote it down so I wouldn’t
forget.”
Judith still had some reservations. “Have you signed
a contract?”
“Nope,” Gertrude said. “But some guy named Vito or
Zito or Tito is writing it up. Still, I figure I’d better get
an agent first. I can’t read all that fine print. Literally.”
Standing up, Judith reached out to hug her mother.
“It sounds promising. I hope everything turns out the
way you hope it will.”
“It will,” Gertrude said complacently. Then she
frowned. “I just hope they hurry.”
“You mean because the Hollywood people may be
leaving soon?”
Gertrude shook her head. “No. Because I may be
leaving soon. Even the Greatest Generation can’t live
forever.”
By the time Judith got back to the house, she was
surprised to see that several guests were sitting down
to breakfast. In the kitchen, Joe was hustling eggs,
bacon, and toast.
“The estimated time of departure is ten-thirty,” he
informed her in a low voice.
Judith gave her husband a startled look. “They’re
leaving? But the fog hasn’t lifted.”
“Vito says the studio has given them the go-ahead,”
Joe replied, placing toast in a rack. “The weather forecast predicts the fog will be gone by noon.”
Judith stood rooted to the spot. “Should we be glad?”
“I don’t know,” Joe replied, heading to the dining
room with the toast. “I couldn’t get a feel one way or
another from Vito.”
When he returned moments later, Judith inquired
after Angela. “Is she going, too?”
“No,” said Joe, pouring more eggs into the pan.
