Beth Mary MacKenzie adjusted her teeth. (meaning she took them out, looked at them and put them back in again). Then she smiled her thousand dollar smile. “Do you watch videos, Dix? Those sexy ones? Do you interview lots of men? Good-looking ones I bet.” She was talking a mile a minute.
Beth Mary was an odd duck (and being the self-proclaimed queen of the odd duck brace, I know my odd ducks). Instantly, I liked her. She wore her gray hair long and braided down her back. She wore jeans and a plain white shirt that was two sizes too big, and I envied the comfort.
The other two people at the table were Harriet and Wiggie Appleton. In my entire life, I’d never seen anyone sit straighter than Harriet Appleton. And that line of her back was only rivaled by the perfect pleats in her skirt and the creases in her blouse. Man, this was no laundry-out-of-the-dryer chick. But it wasn’t just her appearance, Harriet gave new meaning to the phrase, stiff-upper-lip. It was one straight line across — thin and barely there.
Wiggie, her husband of 40 odd (and, oh, I can believe they were very odd) years, sat beside her. Not so stiffly. Wiggie slouched in his seat, and I would wager the mismatched tracksuit he wore had never seen an iron.
“I’m not so sure I want to hear about … any kind of research a pornography writer would be conducting.” Harriet sniffed the air in a I-know-who-farted manner.
“No one’s forcing you to stay, Harriet,” Mona said, pleasantly. “But this might be fun.”
She sniffed. “If you ask me, people are having a little too much fun around here.”
“Amen on that one!”
Good one, Mother.
Harriet didn’t think it was such a good one. “Humph!”
“I’d like to ask Frankie Morell just how much fun you’ve been having, Katt Dodd. Oh that’s right, he’s gone missing. How convenient.”
“Not convenient for me, Harriet,” Mother said. It unsettled her. I know that it did.
“Oh? And why is that now, Katt? Because you’re a suspect in his disappearance?”
It was officiaclass="underline" I did not like Harriet Appleton.
Mother waved a dismissive hand, “No not that. It’s because I’m horny as hell and this kitty wants to purrrrr.”
Beth Mary’s teeth clacked just before her jaw dropped. Mona snorted a laugh. Tish nodded appreciatively. Mrs. Presley of course, laughed out loud. I was never so proud of my mother.
Harriet Appleton shook her head in disgust.
Out of the corner of his mouth, Wiggie smiled at me. Weakly and slyly, but his eyes sparkled as mother put Harriet in her place.
It was all I could do not to reach over the table and give mother a high five.
On that note, I was bound and determined to give the gals and Wiggie an earful of my best research. I just had to figure out what the hell that was.
“Well,” I said. “Research? Ah yes, research.” I tapped a finger to my temple as if thinking. Then I tapped it again. Once more for good luck….
Did I mention I was pathetic at stalling for time?
“Yes,” I finally said. “Of course I do a lot of research. A great deal of reading of the classics in erotic literature.” I tried to sound authoritative.
“What classics would that be?” Tish asked. She twirled a silver blond lock in her fingers. “I’m quite widely read. Actually, I used to work at a bookstore. Maybe I’ve heard of them.”
Damn, damn, damn. It wasn’t that I didn’t have a good book or two tucked under my mattress. But there was a reason certain pages were dog-eared. Those were the juicy parts. If I tired to elaborate on plot, I’d be screwed.
And not in the good way.
I’d have to make up some new titles.
“Oh you may not have heard of the modern classics.”
“Such as?”
“Yeah.” Mrs. P smiled. “Such as what?”
I couldn’t give her the kind of glare I wanted while staying in character, but I’m sure she interpreted my fierce smile appropriately.
“Well, what firstly comes to mind is the Syvanna Sly series. She’s a wonderful new author. Writes from a women’s point of view. Pure lust. Pure sex. They are hot!” I had to think fast, talk fast, and boy, was I winging it. “The series revolves around the sexual escapades of this middle-aged woman.”
“What’s her name?” Mom asked.
Not helping! Not helping!
“Daphne. Daphne Delicious.”
Okay, now I was just not helping myself.
I continued. “And she’s you know, middle-aged.”
“Got that. Go on.” Tish prodded.
Fine. I would. “So Daphne Delicious is busy in the world finding herself. In every way. She has a new career. Well, not really new. More … more like she finds more independence in her career these days. But she’s also finding a newfound sexuality. But here’s the kicker … she likes men, but she doesn’t exactly trust them. Not anymore. She was burned, burned badly before and be damned if that would happen again. Then into her life comes this young man. Tall. Handsome. Smart and sexy in a smart and sexy kind of way.”
“What’s his name?”
“It’s Dyl … Dilson, Mrs. P. His name is Dilson.”
“Why, that’s an odd name.”
“Yes, it is.” Keep grinning.
“Is he handsome?”
“Yes, Tish, he’s drop dead gorgeous.”
“Does he work for you, Dix?” Mrs. P says. “Oh sorry, I mean does he work for Daphne Delicious?”
I gritted my teeth. “As a matter of fact, he does.”
“Yum. Does she do him?”
Mona swatted my mother. Playfully of course.
But I had to wonder myself….
“Well, she better!” A male voice boomed into the room. “Can’t tease a fellow like that forever, can you, now, ladies?”
Collectively, everyone turned.
Harriet drew herself even straighter and Wiggie gave a friendly wave. Mom smiled. Tish twirled her hair and Beth Mary stuck her fingers in her mouth to readjust her teeth.
“Hey ya, Big Eddie,” Mona called out.
“Hey ya, Mona.”
He came over and kissed her on the cheek. “There’s your birthday kiss!”
“Ah, Eddie,” she gushed. “You know my birthday’s not for three more days. You’ve been laying a kiss on me every day for the last two weeks.”
He winked. “Just practicing up for the real thing.”
He turned his attention to Beth Mary. “All set for our golf lesson, BM?”
“Oh, I don’t know, Eddie,” Beth Mary said. “I don’t seem to be making much progress. I’m just about ready to give up on those balls.”
“I’ve got just the thing then. We’ll use the lucky balls.”
Beth Mary smiled. “The orange ones?”
“The very same. I got a lucky orange one here, I’m warming up for you.” He rolled his hand around a golf ball in his deep pocket (God, I hoped he was rolling his hand around a golf ball deep in his pocket).
They had to be doctored or course. Weighted or some such thing to send them farther. And painted orange to distinguish them from the non-weighted balls. What the hell, wouldn’t hurt. And if Beth Mary thought they brought her luck, then maybe they did.
When he stood upright again, I got a full view of Big Eddie. All five foot two of him — in platform shoes. Wearing heavy socks. I half squinted my eyes as he moved closer. The sun reflecting off the several layers of chains around his neck was almost blinding. Okay, maybe not blinding, but the guy definitely had a thing for bling. The chains he wore were gold — well, gold in color. And he had more trinkets hanging from them as if he was wearing a charm bracelet around his neck. Four leaf clovers, medallions, the obligatory diamond-studded horseshoe. Or, I suspected, diamond-ish. One thing for certain, whoever was pinching the jewels at the Wildoh would not be hitting Big Eddie’s place any time soon.