Men of All Seasons Box Set

The Fine Art of Reading Riley-11

Stone’s next door neighbor, Izzy Merlot, hated to read and did not participate as a book club member, although she did enjoy novels made into movies. Once she had said to Stone, “I used to read Daniel Steel and Nora Roberts, but thought it a waste of my time. I could have been doing so many other things.

“Danielle,” Stone had corrected her. “Not Daniel.”

“Whatever. Reading isn’t as pleasurable as I wanted it to be. That’s why I stopped.”

Since that brief encounter and conversation with his neighbor, Stone decided pretty much on the spot he would never enjoy the woman’s company. Never had he bothered her for a cup of sugar when he needed one, and he never borrowed her lawn boy, although Ricky Stanton was a muscled hunk with the most adorable country boy face and piercing green eyes. Stone didn’t even check up on Izzy when she had the flu last February, sick in bed. He knew the woman lived alone, didn’t have any children, and rarely, if ever, have visits from her twin sisters, Marleen and Marianne, who both lived in Sarasota, Florida. Izzy, because of her negativity, was on her own and not his obligation. Had she liked Robert Riley novels, Stone maybe would have changed his mind and went out of his way for her. Then again, he didn’t think so.

Approximately two hours before Stone’s book club members were supposed to arrive, Izzy bounced up to his back door, tapped three times, shook the glass in its wooden frame, and called out, “Stone! Stone Daye! It’s snowing out here. Let me in.”

Stone thought an emergency had unraveled and rushed to the door, pulled it open, and saw a flushed and snow-covered chubby woman dressed in her pink pajamas and matching slippers. Izzy’s oil-hued hair was pulled up in pink curlers, and there was blood, or what resembled blood, on her left cheek.

Alarmed, Stone asked, “What’s wrong, Izzy?”

She lifted her right hand and pointed its index finger at him. “Is it true you’re having a party this evening?”

He nodded. “It’s the monthly book club gathering. It’s my turn to host.”

“Listen to me closely, young man. You will not be too loud like the last party you hosted, and Plimpton 911 will not show up at our houses. Do I make myself clear?” she scolded him as she would a twelve-year-old boy.

He knew she was referring to July; the last time he had hosted the book club. The book of choice ended up being Blue Wonderment by Robert Riley, a comedy about three men, a woman, and their dating fiascos. The book proved lively and filled with much fun. And since the members enjoyed it so much, they laughed and giggled during their analysis and discussion of the book, drinking a little too much.

One club member, Vicky Turner, a middle-aged wife of an architect and the mother of three college freshman boys, had a little too much to drink in too little time. Vicky tripped over her own feet while fetching a fresh glass of Verde champagne and fell to the floor, screaming at the top of her lungs. Unfortunately, the book club member cracked her head open on the corner of Stone’s iron coffee table, passed out, and was eventually whisked away to the hospital after Plimpton 911 was phoned.

Izzy probably saw the flashing red, white, and blue emergency lights from the ambulance and the two Plimpton cruisers that arrived at Stone’s house.

Stone didn’t invite her inside, but did try to appease the woman by saying, “I promise we’ll be on our best behavior.”

She huffed. “I don’t think you and your group of hoodlums know how to behave yourselves.”

“Of course, we do, Izzy,” he said rather politely, ready to go nuclear on the woman, wanting to tell her to go away and mind her own business.

“You’d better, if you know what’s good for you, young man.”

Menial or dangerous threats were something Stone didn’t take lightly. Verbal threats were a type of bullying and uncalled for at any age. In his opinion, bullying was repulsive and accomplished by weaklings, or a flabby woman named Izzy, having no one to lover her. He thought it completely unacceptable. Before spouting off to the fat, cranky, and lonely neighbor, he tried to neutralize the moment.

“The members of our club would love it if you stopped by for drinks and food, Izzy. What do you say?”

Stone invited her because he knew damn well she wouldn’t go out of her way to attend his book party. Hell, he could have played one of the greatest movies of all time, Casablanca, and she still wouldn’t have made an appearance. But his offering came across as a nice gesture on his part as a neighbor, and as a man, even if she maybe knew he loathed her.

“I’m knitting this evening in front of CSI Miami, if you want to know the truth.”

Fuck the truth, he thought. And f**k your knitting. Go back inside your house and eat yourself to death.

Because Stone had always considered himself a gentleman and someone who believed in the theory of loving one’s neighbor, otherwise uninterested in the holy Bible, he told Izzy, “I understand. We all have important things to tend.”

“Just keep your tending down,” she scolded, jabbing her index finger in midair, directing it at him.

“As I have already said, we will.”

Izzy huffed, turned around, and lumbered through the thickening snow, back to her Tudor. Once, she quickly turned around, and Stone waved to her. Of course, she didn’t wave back. She picked up her prickly and pudgy pace and waddled inside her house, closing the door behind her.

Stone noticed the falling snow then, which somewhat worried him. He had hoped all the book club members would show for the meeting. The snow grew thick, falling down from the heavens, and could be troublesome for a few of his guests who were driving, since they lived across town or in the connecting county. Feeling confident, he was pretty sure each of the members would attempt to come, since their book club meetings were never boring and hardly uneventful. In due time, he would learn who was going to show and who wasn’t. Until then, he had other things to prepare for the event. He turned away from Izzy’s Tudor and the icy snow and continued his chores.