“I don’t know his friends, but I can tell you Kenny’s a stand-up guy.’’ Angel spun a cocktail straw like a tiny baton between her index and middle fingers. “He’s a good tipper.’’
Kenny? The same man who used a five-percent-off coupon for a three-dollar peach cobbler at the Pork Pit?
She stopped spinning the straw. “He’s not in any trouble, is he?’’
I thought about Maddie, and what she might do to her cheating husband once she moved past the betrayal stage into rage. “Yeah, you could say Kenny’s in a little trouble.’’
“Well, whatever it is, it’s got nothing to do with the club. This is a family environment.’’
I looked around. Everyone was drinking heavily. Men flirted with anyone but their wives. A clutch of well-preserved women in their fifties surrounded Jason, who’d returned to the bar. One tweaked his nipple through his golf shirt; the rest giggled and urged her on like hormone-addled teenagers.
“Yeah, you’re right, Angel. This place is so wholesome I’m surprised you don’t have a spot in the bar just for Bible study.’’
I slid off the stool, gathered my purse, and headed for home. I’d need a hot shower to wash away the nasty images from the 19th Hole.
twenty-seven
“Ice cream man’s here!’’
Sal bulled his way through the kitchen door at Mama’s house, carrying two sacks filled with quart containers. Himmarshee had a brand new ice cream parlor. After I showered and ate a quick dinner at home, we’d all met up at Mama’s for a late evening sampling of their wares. No one had to twist our arms to help support local business, not when the business featured frozen flavors like Rodeo Red Velvet and Cracker Trail Coffee.
So far as I knew, the parlor had no plans to play off the local Speckled Perch Festival by naming an ice cream Fried-Perch Peach.
I fetched bowls from the cabinets; Marty got the spoons. Mama put out a couple of plates so the scoopers wouldn’t drip all over the table. Sal provided commentary as he lined up the ice cream:
“Here’s Kissimmee Kandy Kane. This one’s Chief Wild Cat Chocolate. Here’s Brahman Butterscotch, Growling Gator Tracks, and vanilla.’’
“Vanilla?’’ Mama said. “Couldn’t they come up with something more exciting?’’
“The girl in the shop told me vanilla is vanilla. No one felt inspired.’’
“Well, Maddie and I both love vanilla. They could have tried a little harder, don’t you think, honey?’’
Mama looked across the table at Maddie. She didn’t seem to realize Mama was waiting for her to chime in on the virtues of vanilla. Maddie stared off into space, tracing her finger around the rim of her empty bowl.
“What say you, Maddie?’’ Sal said. “Can you think of a cute name?’’
“Just a spoonful or two, please. I’m not that hungry.’’
Maddie uninterested in wordplay and not hungry? Silent shrugs were exchanged.
Once all our bowls were filled, I asked Sal, “How was dinner at the golf course?’’
“Delicious! That place might be a little strange, but there’s nothing off about their food.’’
Maddie suddenly went as still as a rabbit when a hawk flies over.
“Strange how?’’ Marty asked. “Mmm-mmm, that chocolate flavor is good.’’
“Well, you can start with all the women with their big bazooms,’’ Mama jumped in before Sal could answer. “That can’t be natural, can it? Fifty-year-olds showing off their boobies like strippers. It’s not right.’’
“Add to that those hideous outfits the men wear to go golfing.’’ I slid a spoonful of Cracker Trail Coffee into my mouth. Heaven.
“Hey, we never complain when you ladies want to mix it up with the jazzy colors and patterns,’’ Sal said. “Golf gives men an excuse to strut our stuff, fashion-wise.’’
“That’s not the only strutting the men are doing out there,’’ Mama tsked.
Maddie was so immobile, I wasn’t sure she was breathing.
“What do you mean?’’ Marty asked.
Mama leveled a stern look at Sal. “Do you want to tell them, or should I?’’
He grabbed for the carton of Brahman Butterscotch. With a pleading look, he held it out to Mama.
“I got this just for you, Rosie. I know how you love your butterscotch.’’
She turned, showing him the back of her head. Mama refusing butterscotch? Would the world soon stop spinning?
“Why don’t you girls ask my husband about men strutting?’’
“Which husband?’’ Marty said.
“I think she means her current one,’’ I offered.
Marty and I raised our eyebrows at Sal. Maddie regarded him seriously.
He waved a hand. “Your mother thinks I have a thing for the barmaid. It’s ridiculous.’’
Mama huffed. “Not so ridiculous when I had to wipe the drool off your chin after you got an eyeful of that mini-midriff she was wearing. Not that you were the only one staring.’’
“Everybody knows I only have eyes for you, Rosie.’’
“That’s true, Mama. It’s common knowledge,’’ Marty said.
Mama snorted. “I know one thing. That gal’s no natural blonde. Not with that olive skin and those dark eyebrows.’’
“Not a natural blonde, huh?’’ I rolled my eyes at Mama, the original peroxide-bottle belle. “The horror.’’
Teensy chose that moment to jump into Mama’s lap. Like furry sprinkles, a dusting of white dog hair settled on the ice-cream scoopers. “Gross!’’ I took them to the sink and rinsed them in super hot water.
“Do you mind, Mama?’’ Marty plucked the little dog off his owner’s lap and deposited him back on the floor. “I prefer my ice cream unadorned with shedding Teensy.’’
“Don’t pay any attention to them, darlin,’” Mama cooed to the dog. “You’ll never forget you’re mama’s baby. You’ll never forget what good care Mama takes of you, will you? Not like some ungrateful daughters I could mention.’’
Maddie finally moved, pushing her chair back. She’d tried just a few bites of ice cream.
“Didn’t you like it, Maddie?’’ Sal peered into her bowl. “There’s no dog hair in there.’’
“I need to make a phone call.’’ She took her cell into the living room.
I tried to steer the conversation back to the golf course again. I wanted to know what Sal thought was strange, because I certainly thought something was. “Sal, about what you said—’’
Mama shushed me. Putting her finger to her lips, she crept to the kitchen doorway to eavesdrop on Maddie. Marty followed. I began again. “The golf course, Sal—”
This time Marty put a finger to her lips; shook her head at me. Mama whispered: “I’m worried about your sister, Mace. Something’s wrong, and I aim to find out what!’’
From the other room, I could hear the faint electronic beeps of Maddie hitting the keypad on her phone. There was a pause. Then she spoke, her voice shaking with anger and frustration.
“Not voice mail again! Where are you? This is ridiculous. We need to talk. You owe me that, at least. I’m leaving another message: ‘Call. Me. Back.’ ’’
The next thing we heard was the door close on the hallway bathroom. The pipes in the old house were noisy. Water running to the sink’s faucets sounded through the wall.
In a hushed voice, Mama asked, “What do you suppose that was all about?’’
She and Marty cocked their heads at me. I shrugged.
“She doesn’t sound happy,’’ Sal said.
“No kidding,’’ Marty said. “She’s not eating, either. Maybe she’s dieting to get into her yellow party dress. Maddie’s always in a bad mood when she diets.’’
“I wish she’d rethink that dress,’’ Mama said. “Very few people can wear bright yellow. I’m lucky I’m one of them.’’
From Maddie’s misery to Mama’s lovely skin tone, another record set.
“What do you suppose Kenny will wear?’’ Marty asked.
“Something new, I bet. Have you noticed he’s lost weight?’’ Mama said. “He looks great.’’