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The Merchant of Menace
Jane is having a really hectic Christmas season. Besides having a muck-racking reporter invade her neighborhood after-caroling party, she's unexpectedly stuck with Mel's mother, Addie VanDyne, as a house guest. She and Shelley arrange to escape for lunch.
They didn't speak again until they reached a little neighborhood Chinese restaurant that was one of their favorite spots to eat. It was barely eleven-fifteen and they were the first and only customers as yet. Luncheon was a buffet that was just being set out. Shelley ordered jasmine tea for both of them, then leaned forward and said, "Spill the beans, kiddo. What are you so pissed about?"
"She rearranged the sewing room. Actually moved the bed to the other wall and put the sewing table in front of the window."
"Addie moved a bed?"
"It's just a flimsy little bed and it's on rollers. But that's not the point. It's my house. My sewing room. I don't care that there's better light for sewing nearer the window. I had it like I liked it. I can't believe a woman of her sophistication would think that was acceptable guest behavior!"
"Oh, Jane! Get a grip! Of course she knows that. You're missing the point."
"Which is?"
"She's showing you what kind of mother-in-law she could be if you dare to marry her baby boy."
Jane stared at Shelley for a minute, then said, "You're right." Suddenly the whole incident struck her as funny. "She could have done worse. Dyed her hair and destroyed the bathroom. Or washed all my sweaters with bleach. I got off easy, I guess."
"You have to nip this in the bud, Jane, before she thinks of something else."
"Oh, I will," Jane said, grinning like a hyena.
Shelley cocked a shapely eyebrow, but didn't inquire further. She glanced at the buffet table. "Oh, look, they're bringing out that divine spicy beef and scallops thing!"
The two of them hardly talked during lunch, wolfing down their favorite Chinese food in a most unladylike manner. Finally, they sat back, sated and feeling stuffed and greasy.
Jane cracked open her fortune cookie. " ‘The wise man uses his time as if it were a treasure,' " she read. "Phooey! That's not a fortune, it's a homily. I want real fortunes in
fortune cookies. Like, ‘You will inherit vast sums of money in seventeen days' or ‘You daughter will take good care of you when you get old and dotty and want to wear your panties on your head.' What's yours say?"
Shelley unfolded the little white strip of paper. " ‘Your son will get a full scholarship to Harvard.' "
"No! It doesn't say that," Jane exclaimed, snatching at the paper, which Shelley held just beyond her reach.
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