A Quiche Before Dying

school board to impose a full-time eight-o’clock curfew for everybody under twenty-one. Anybody who objects is made to look like a neglectful parent who really wants their children out drinking and having sex all night,“ Shelley said. “She’s a first-class bitch.“
    “She’s a career military wife who really gets into the concept of martial law,“ Jane said to Missy. “And she hates kids.“
    “That’s obvious from her book. Actually, I think she hates everybody—except herself,“ Missy said. “The whole thing is one long, masturbatory—is that a word?—account of her making everybody she’s ever run across do the right thing whether they want to or not. Right according to her, naturally.“
    “If she’s already written a whole autobiography, why is she taking a class in how to do it?“ Shelley asked.
    “Just to show off,“ Missy said. “Her nose is out of joint because I was asked to teach this class instead of her. I think she’s laying on a campaign to wrest control from me. She’s going to be unpleasantly surprised at how difficult that proves to be.“ Missy grinned with anticipation.
    Shelley sat forward. “Is it too late to get into this class?“
    “You want to come?“ Missy said. “Just bring twenty dollars and I’ll give you a form to fill in.“
    “You want to write an autobiography?“ Jane asked. “You’re as boring as I am.“
    “I know I am. But my mother’s been after me for years to organize a trunkful of diaries and pictures of our family. She dumped it on me years ago when she sold the house and moved into an apartment. A collective biography would be pretty much the same rules, wouldn’t it, Missy?“
    “Sure. Come along. Basement. City Hall. Seven-thirty to nine-thirty—unless I bump off Mrs. General by eight. In that case, class would probably get out early.“
    “What else have we got here?“ Jane asked, shuffling through the folders.
    “There’s something from your mother, of course. Then a nice piece from Grady Wells.“
    “I’ll bet he’s not happy to be stuck with Mrs. General.“ Grady Wells was fortyish, a short, florid-faced, and good-natured bachelor who served in the largely honorary position of mayor of their city. At least it was honorary in pay, which was a hundred dollars a year. For that piddling sum he conducted the city council meetings, attended important civic functions like the opening of the new dry cleaner’s, and put up with the troublemakers like Mrs. Pryce. In real life, he was the president of a small company that made playing cards, dice, poker chips, and accessories like bridge score pads. He was a cheerful individual, appropriate to his work.
    “He doesn’t know yet,“ Missy said. “I’m on my way down to his office to give him his stack of manuscripts.“
    “Grady will be fun to have in the group. Who else is there?“ Jane asked.
    “Ruth Rogers and her sister are coming. You know, the ladies who live at the end of the block with the fantastic gardens? I haven’t seen anything from them yet, but Ruth told me they intend to write a joint autobiography. Very interesting concept. They were separated as infants and raised apart. Ruth was in a well-run, compassionate orphanage for a while, then adopted by a nice family. Her sister went to a series of foster homes, most of which were pretty dismal, I believe. They just located each other two years or so ago and want to write a book with sort of alternating chapters about their lives. It could work—if they can write well enough. All too often the people with the most interesting lives are deadly dull writers. And sometimes vice versa. They’ve turned in a rough outline, but no actual writing, so I didn’t copy it to the rest of you.“
    “I like Ruth,“ Jane said, “but she’s one Mrs. General will smash under her heel with no trouble.“
    “I don’t know about that,“ Shelley said. “There’s a tough core deep in that fluffiness. Don’t you remember that incident at the pool six or seven years ago?“
    “Oh, yes! Ruth was sitting there with her umbrella and sun hat and books and cute little beach slippers and all.“
    “I don’t remember this. What happened?“ Missy asked.
    “A kid got in trouble in the deep end of the pool, and before the lifeguards even knew what was happening, Ruth leaped from her vast nest of paraphernalia, flung herself in, and rescued the kid. Really took over. Grady wanted to strike some kind of hero medal for her, but she