The Mailwoman: Chapter XI

Hugh Hamilton

Sliding a bony finger beneath the glued fold, Ben succeeded in unhinging the letter and pulling out a disappointingly formal piece of off-white paper.
"What's it say? What's it say?" cried Hugh impatiently.
Ben increased the suspense for a moment then began:
"Dear boys,
Having proved your unreliability by opening this letter, I regret to inform that I will be suspending your pay until further notice. You do, of course, remember the conditions of our contract. Seeing as this is your first time working for me, I will remove some of the slack and give you an opportunity to return to my good books by delivering a second piece of mail for me, this time in your local area. We'll discuss details at Graham's funeral on Friday – I'll be wearing black. Yours truly, The Mailwoman."
And so, after dispensing with the usual questions of how, why and how again, the pair rushed off to the airport and flagged down a low-flying plane. A journey devoid of interest followed and they were soon back in the place where they seem to be a lot and making preparations for bed. But the long flight had exhausted them and neither could be bothered leaving the office.
Friday awoke for them, much to Ben's surprise, at 7:00 am.
"Why the heck did you set the alarm for 7!" screamed Ben.
"Grounded For Life is on at 8," answered Hugh calmly.
"Grounded For Life? You woke me up for a generic American sitcom?"
"Hey, it is not generic – I'll admit it took a few episodes to find its feet but after that it was a definite cut-above."
Ben expressed his indignation with a menacing scowl as Hugh began making coffee.
Eventually, the time reached that of Graham's funeral and a cool, foggy morning saw our inappropriately dressed friends hunched on a vivid green lawn as an oak coffin was lowered into a coffin-shaped hole. Trying to simulate smoke rings with his breath, Hugh missed most of what the small priest was saying and he tried to make up for it by nodding intermittently whenever he caught another's eye. Ben, on the other hand, was busy studying a ladybug on a yellowed leaf that was trying desperately to do something or rather and didn't even bother to look up when the priest spoke. The Mailwoman eventually filled them in about what to do and they headed for home with solemnly indifferent expressions. As they passed a bus stop, something caught Hugh's eye.
"You know what we should do?" he said with a grin.
"No," replied Ben bluntly.
"I think we should see ‘Kiss My Brass’."
"The Bette Midler show?"
"Yes, how 'bout it?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because it's Bette Midler."
"Come on..."
"No."
"It'll be fun."
"It'll be ninety-dollars."
"You've got to spoil yourself sometimes."
"Well I'm not spoiling my evening."
"Come on..."
"No... Alright."
And so it was settled. They met at the relevant time and entered the theatre for a rousing three hours of entertainment.
"That was divine," pointed out Ben.
"No it wasn't, that was Bette Midler," giggled Hugh.
Another night passed before they were back in their office and prepared to do some actual work.