A TIP O' THE HAT

When Isabel Curtis speaks most people stop and listen. Of course, I listen to Isabel all of the time. She is so profound and has such a way with words. Honestly she is most brilliant. And really that is only one of her many, many fine traits. I find myself quite proud to be Isabel's best friend. Always has a frothy comment or two to make, and smack dab on point, too. Really, not a thing gets by Isabel. Unlike me, who, according to Isabel, could be sitting next to a pond wondering where the water has gone. But really the point here is that Isabel commands quite a bit of attention when she makes a point.

It was just the other day, over cups of coffee at The Gryphon, that Isabel made a profound statement - and you know, that is exactly what it was, too. A statement. Isabel made this statement to me, Lolly Dejardins and Iggy Braithwait. Iggy had been spending quite a bit of time with Isabel and I ever since I managed to resurrect her fractured sense of self. And Lolly, of course, has been our third since school. Pretty girl, Lolly is. All curls and smiles and smart plaids and very much a backbone sort. Of course, she can't keep up with Isabel on the tennis court, but then again neither can I.

But back to Isabel, sipping and listening as Lolly and Iggy dished on the hats they planned on wearing at the tailgates. Placing her mug on the table and leaning in to emphasize the important nature of what she was about to say, Isabel interrupted the hat talk and spoke.

"I find it quite suspicious that Constance Cortnoy is hosting such a major tailgating event," and with that, Isabel resumed her sipping.

Well, you can imagine the effect that this statement had on the remaining three of us. What were we to think, mind you we're not an overly suspicious set. But I do abide by the principle that Isabel has quite a bit of perception about her. And, since I've become a career gal, and a newspaper person at that, I've acquired quite a keen sense myself. I decided to stay quiet, which is saying a lot to be sure.

Lolly spoke first, wondering if "CC may be making a play for Best Hat?". But Iggy poo pooed that thought straight off, quite convinced she was that no one could beat her in the hat competition.

"I think she's trying to assert herself in the hierarchy," Iggy offered, but Isabel gave a slight roll of her eyes. Very intelligent eyes, she has, too.

Off handedly, Isabel noted that Constance has always been a follower and would stay that way. And that, Isabel said, is what made the whole affair quite suspicious. "Why would she be braking from the tradition that we've always had." You see, the steeplechase races have been a part of life along the Main Line since as long as I think there has been a Main Line. But never, as Isabel now pointed out, did one couple host such a large tailgate all by themselves. Quite typically we'd set off with the couples we are most pleased with, parking along side of our other friends and neighbors and then set off to enjoy a day of strolling from one tailgate to the next. Why, I must admit that there have been some years that I've been quite unaware that a horse race was even on the grounds.

I couldn't help myself, the words just came bubbling out of me before I had the chance to swallow them back in. "She'll never have enough silver wear for the whole lot of us," I nearly shrieked and Iggy and I looked at each other, both remembering the thin, bony frame of Constance Cortnoy hurrying out of The Second Hand. "Poor Mr. Heung doesn't have that much silver wear in his store in an entire year."

"There has to be at least fifty people invited!" Iggy added.

"Well," Lolly harrumphed, "I can tell you, I'm not about to loan her any of my silver wear. I think she's doing this just to ingratiate herself with the committee and curry some favor in the Most Beautiful Hat competition."

And with that, Iggy and Lolly took to a cold stare at one another. I don't even think they noticed that Isabel and I set off on our way.

I often think that it should be Isabel, and not me, that answers the advice letters in The Weekly. But "no", Isabel demurs, she says that I have a sense about me that is quite real and that I "get it", or maybe that I am "getting it" or on the path to "getting it". She is so clever with words, I say. She is oh so good for a giggle, too. And as we said our toodle oohs for the day, Isabel tipped her head and told me "keep an eye on Constance, my dear investigative journalist."

With Isabel in mind, I approached Mr. Petigrew with a question. Well, he barely heard me,running into his office and slamming that door shut the way he always does. I do think that man works too, too much and needs to slow down. Always running. So I slipped a note under his door suggesting that I take on some more writing. Another column, mabye as I really do have a lot to say. I don't think he read my note, though, as I heard him quite loudly shrieking that something was going to "do him in".

Dear Veronica,
My wife keeps pushing me to do things that I don't want to do. I admit, I'm a bit afraid of her. I think I'm in too deep and don't know how to stop it all. I don't want to disappoint her, but I'm really afraid of getting caught.
Night Job

Dear Night,
I know just how you feel. I once spent the entire day making a dinner from scratch for my husband and I insist that there were typographical errors in my recipe book that lead me astray. But Charlie pretended to love it all anyway and I pretended to look away just long enough for him to drop most of the dinner into the trash. Love is lovely and keep up the good work,
Veronica