“Guess you’re not a strict vegetarian.”
“Don’t tell Trevor.” She popped a shrimp into her mouth, not looking terribly guilty.
“Linda-Ann, didn’t you hear anything I said about being true to yourself?”
Marty chimed in. “Mace gave you good advice, honey. You should do things because you believe in them, not because somebody else forces you.”
“Trevor never forced me.”
On the jukebox, Charlie Daniels launched into the loud fiddle solo on “Devil Went Down to Georgia.” Maddie leaned right into Linda-Ann’s face. “You’re telling us you dressed as a pig and scared those poor folks at the Pork Pit because you wanted to? Linda-Ann, I know you were never a top student, but you couldn’t be that dumb.”
I pinched Maddie’s left arm. Marty tugged on her right to drag her from Linda-Ann’s personal space.
“Let’s find a table,” my little sister said.
The lights were only on in half the dining room; the rest of the room was closed. The only empty seats were at Alice Hodges’ table. I led the way across the dance floor.
“Okay if we sit down?” I asked.
Alice nodded without looking at us.
“Are you getting enough to eat?” Marty said. “Can we get you anything?”
The food on her plate looked untouched. A glass of wine, on the other hand, was nearly gone. A second, full glass, awaited.
Alice glanced up. “I’m fine.” Her gaze rested on Linda-Ann. To the younger woman’s credit, she held out her hand.
“I’m Linda-Ann, Mrs. Hodges. I’m real sorry for your loss. I knew Ronnie from when he worked at the feed store. He used to add in a little something extra once in a while for my horse, Lucky. He sure was a nice man.”
Tears sprang to Marty’s eyes. But Alice kept her composure. “Thank you, dear. That’s kind of you to tell me that.”
We took our seats. An awkward moment passed, when none of us seemed to know what to say. But Maddie has never seen a silence she can’t fill.
“We were just talking to Linda-Ann about how she and her boyfriend dressed up like pigs for a protest.”
Alice raised an eyebrow.
“Trevor says we should love animals, not eat them,” Linda-Ann recited. “Trevor says meat is murder.”
She clapped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry, Mrs. Hodges.”
Alice gave her a weak smile.
“Her boyfriend’s beliefs are very passionate,” I explained.
“I’m a vegetarian now, just like Trevor.” Linda-Ann seemed to remember the animal parts crowding her plate. “Well, not a hundred percent.”
Maddie harrumphed. “Trevor sounds like a fanatic, Linda-Ann. How much do you really know about him?”
In her kindest tone, Marty said, “Honey, I’m a vegetarian, too. But it should be enough to do what you think is right. You don’t have to bully everybody else into doing the same.”
Linda-Ann tossed another shrimp in her mouth, chewed and swallowed thoughtfully.
“We never do what I want to do. It’s always protest, protest, protest. To tell the truth, I do feel kind of stupid yelling at people in that pig suit. And the plastic head smells nasty inside.”
She made such a face, my sisters and I laughed. Even Alice smiled. “I can’t imagine dressing up in that costume,” she said. “I grew up on a hog farm. I’ve seen pigs enough to last a lifetime.”
Just as Garth Brooks started up on the jukebox with “Friends in Low Places,” the door flung open. It let in a shaft of light, along with the best-looking cowboy I’d ever seen. Black hat, fitted snap-button shirt with most of the snaps unfastened, and leather chaps that showed off exactly what he was packing in those skin-tight Wranglers.
“Here’s our entertainment, girls.” C’ndee’s shout was part sideshow barker, part Jersey turnpike toll-taker. “Now, get those dollar bills ready and crank up the sexy!”
A funeral home hush fell over the Speckled Perch. Disapproval radiated off most of Mama’s guests. The mouths of the rest of them hung open in shock. On the jukebox, Garth Brooks wound up, leaving the place in complete silence. The sexy cowboy pushed his hat back on his head and frowned.
“This is the place, isn’t it?” he asked C’ndee.
“Surprise, Rosalee!” Aiming for gaiety, C’ndee struck a desperate note instead. “This gorgeous hunk is named Houston.”
Linda-Ann breathed, “Ohmigod! He used to date a girl I went to high school with. He is so hot.”
Whispers spread through the room like ripples in a pond. Panic flickered in Mama’s eyes, but she hadn’t lived through three rotten marriages in the gossip capital of Florida for nothing. She clapped her hands together and plastered on a smile. “C’mon, gals. Houston is here all the way from Texas.”
“He’s from Apopka, Florida,” Linda-Ann said in my ear.
“Let’s show him a warm Himmarshee welcome,” Mama chirped.
“I wouldn’t mind giving him a warm something,” Linda-Ann whispered.
My sisters and I were probably the only ones to detect the pleading in Mama’s voice. Houston leaned down and hit the play button on his boom box. “Boot Scootin’ Boogie” issued forth.
“We’ll start out with something safe. Who wants a line dance lesson? Don’t worry, ladies. I don’t bite.”
“I’m in!” Linda-Ann leaped from her chair, hand raised high.
“Me, too!” That voice belonged to Dab. She’d piled her hair into a pouf on top, like a scarlet-colored feather duster. Her painted-on eyebrows were black question marks. Gold lamé hot pants shimmered as she strutted onto the dance floor, fairly drooling at the sight of Houston.
Poor guy. His bite wasn’t the one he should be worried about. True to his word, Houston kept things G-rated as the women got warmed up, drinking cheap pink wine and dancing the Electric Slide.
But before long, whoops and hollers and bumps and grinds came from the dance floor. As the levity—or maybe the lewdness—intensified, Alice quietly made for the door, leaving by herself. Meanwhile, C’ndee basked in the glow of bringing the perfect gift to the party. I sat on the sidelines, nursing a beer.
“Mace, do you have any singles?”
I nearly toppled off my chair. Maddie’s face was flushed; her hair in sweaty wisps.
“Well, we have to support Mama, don’t we?” she asked.
Oh, what an opportunity to rag on my normally prudish older sister. But in a show of solidarity, I rummaged through my purse, found six singles, and divided them evenly among Maddie, Marty, and me. As we elbowed our way through the crowd on the dance floor, we saw Houston sitting shirtless on a chair. Mama perched on his lap, wearing his cowboy hat at a rakish angle.
“You go, Rosalee!” someone yelled.
“A dollar for a kiss!” came another voice.
“A kiss?” Dab shouted. “Hell, I’ll give ten dollars, but I expect a lot more than a kiss!”
Mama slipped a bill into the waistband of Houston’s tight jeans. He’d just leaned in for a smooch when the hollering and whistling suddenly died. A shaft of daylight shone weakly onto the dance floor. The now silent crowd began moving and jostling, this way and that. Oblivious, Mama and Houston locked lips. When they finished, he gave her bottom a little pat.
“Rosalee!” The roar was like a taunted bear at the Bronx Zoo. “I saw that!”
Mama leaped off Houston’s lap so fast, the force sent him and his chair over backwards. He unconsciously brushed his jeans, like he was wiping dust after getting thrown in the rodeo ring.