Michael Malone - Weebly

that supported creative people offensive to the
Establishment, an organization to which Mrs. Canopy
had said innumerable yeses, one of them the summer
home on Lake Pissinowno that Habzi Rabies
accidentally had set on fire with an acetylene torch;
another of them her townhouse in the East Sixties where
the sculptor Louie Daytona was now staying after his
release from prison.
"Really, Tracy," Priss laughed. "You know Beanie
never gave a good g.d. about our Wednesdays. She
slept straight through that wonderful revival of Candida,
and last time we heard a lecture at the Metropolitan,
she wandered out in the park and joined a Puerto Rican
softball game."
The ladies laughed. "Oh, our Beanie!" Tracy sighed.
But then, Beanie wasn't theirs anymore, was she?
Strangely enough, the only time their prosaic friend had
ever stayed (at least stayed awake) through an entire
poetry reading, she had wandered off with the poet.
"Winslow will find her," said Tracy.
"Will he look?"
"Of course he will. What do you mean?"