Red Helmet by Homer Hickam Page A

involved. Don’t worry. He’s fine. So is Bashful. George Puckett’s his real name. Everybody around here has a nickname. Bashful is what he’s called because he’s anything but. Always bragging about this and that. Hits on every female in town, even me, who’s old enough to be his mother. Owns a couple of gas drilling rigs and he thinks that makes him a big man. Cable came into the Cardinal this morning for breakfast just as Bashful was holding forth on—ta-da—you. There were no punches thrown, but some pretty loud words were spoken.” Doctor K leaned forward and looked Song in the eye. “Bashful said you were snotty and a pure little witch.”
    Song frowned. “I don’t understand.”
    â€œWell, snotty means aloof. Pure means one hundred percent. Little in your case means, ah, diminutive. Witch means . . .”
    â€œI know what the words mean! But I’ve only met a miner named Bossman, a cook named Rhonda, and her son, Young Henry! How did this Bashful person decide I was one hundred percent or fifty percent or even ten percent a snotty little witch?”
    â€œI understand your confusion,” Doctor K said. “You have to understand in a town like Highcoal, anything anyone does is almost instantly disseminated to nearly everyone else. And, of course, a new someone in town is even more intensely studied. So, here’s the gossip on you. Bossman said he accidentally got your blouse dirty and you went on and on about it to him, then sulked in Cable’s car. Wouldn’t even say good-bye, kiss my foot, or anything else. People around here don’t like it when a newbie insults the top foreman of the mine, and that would be Bossman.”
    Song provided a defense. “But I just told him how much my blouse cost. And I didn’t sulk. He spit tobacco juice and it made me sick.”
    Doctor K provided an encouraging smile. “I believe you, honey. I’m just telling you what’s being said. Part two of the gossip. Rhonda said you didn’t like her food and griped about it.”
    Song was getting angry. “I didn’t gripe. I told her it was too rich for me. Am I supposed to be dishonest?” She shook her head. “So Bossman and Rhonda hate me.”
    â€œNo, honey,” Doctor K said. “They don’t hate you at all. This is just the way Highcoal works. People tell stories on other people. It’s a major part of what passes for entertainment.”
    Song absorbed the information, then asked, “How about Young Henry? What did he say about me?”
    â€œOh, he said you were nice. But he’s just a boy. His opinion doesn’t count.”
    Song processed the situation. “All of a sudden, I feel like I’m under a microscope.”
    Doctor K vigorously nodded. “You are! Being married to Cable, you’re like Caesar’s wife. He’s the most important man in this town and that means you have to be perfect in every way or gossip is going to ensue.”
    â€œThis is so not fair.”
    â€œGossip is never fair, or it wouldn’t be gossip. Now, if you’ll indulge me, I have a few questions for you. Do you mind telling me where you went to college?”
    â€œMIT, then Princeton. But what—?”
    â€œDegree?”
    Song shrugged. “Bachelor’s in physics. Master’s in business administration. How about you?”
    â€œVirginia Tech for premed, Johns Hopkins Medical School. What did you do before you became Cable’s wife?”
    â€œIt’s what I still do. I’m the property and acquisitions manager for HawkinsSong. That’s my father’s investment company. He buys and sells companies, and I choose which ones.”
    â€œEverybody’s heard of Joe Hawkins. Are you any good at your job or just a beneficiary of his nepotism?”
    â€œWithin two years of taking over I streamlined the division, oversaw a dozen new acquisitions, and