Betsy nodded. “Yes, she was trying to show me how to purl when you came in, but wouldn’t slow down enough for me to catch on. Now let’s see if I remember how to open the cash register.”
A few minutes later Betsy was handing over the correct change. “Where’s Margot?” Jill asked, pocketing her money. “I’ve got a question for her.”
“Upstairs having a bowl of soup. She’ll be back any second. Do you want to wait?”
“I can’t, I’m on patrol. Tell her I’ve got a pair of tickets to the Guthrie, and my boyfriend went and switched shifts with someone, so now he can’t go. Ask her if she wants to come with me.”
A new voice asked, “What’s the show?”
They turned; it was Margot, coming in from the back.
“The Taming of the Shrew.”
“Oooooh,” sighed Margot. “When are the tickets for?”
“Tomorrow. I know Wednesdays are your day off, so I was hoping you could make it.”
“The Guthrie!” said Betsy, remembering. “I’ve heard about the Guthrie. It’s been written up in national magazines, hasn’t it? It’s supposed to be a great place to see good plays. I’d forgotten it was way up here in Minneapolis—or is it in St. Paul?”
“Minneapolis,” said Jill, and for some reason there was disapproval again in her voice.
Margot explained, “Minneapolis and St. Paul don’t like being mistaken for one another. Jill, I’m sorry, I can’t go. I promised to make a presentation at our city-council meeting about next year’s art fair tomorrow evening. Debbie Hart’s going to be out of town and I promised her I’d do it. I’m really sorry.”
“Yeah, well, maybe another time. Though I hate to see this ticket go to waste.”
“Why don’t you take Betsy?”
“Me?” They looked at her and Betsy tried to explain the tone of voice that had come out in. “I mean, I like Shakespeare very much, but if this is a grand production, you don’t want to waste that invitation on someone you hardly know. Surely another friend ...”
But some signal must have run between Margot and Jill because the latter said, “Betsy, you’ll have to take a look at what passes for the big city in this part of the world sooner or later. Might as well be tomorrow. So let’s make a night of it; we can have dinner at Buca’s, and you can tell me how awful Italian food is in the upper Midwest. Then we’ll go see how badly our legitimate theater compares to the stuff on the Great White Way.”
Betsy took a breath to say no, but Margot had that look that meant she was hoping Betsy would not be rude, so Betsy turned to Jill and said only a little stiffly, “Well, I’ve only seen one Broadway production, so I hardly think I’m qualified to compare the Guthrie to the Great White Way. But on the other hand, I lived just two blocks away from the best Italian restaurant in Brooklyn, so I’ll be glad to come sneer at what the upper Midwest dares to call Italian food.”