Down and Out in Bugtussle

by Stephanie McAfee

  “That’s why those idiots are filing for bankruptcy,” I tell her. “Because they’re thieves. Thieves never prosper. Well, not for extended periods of time, anyway.” Lilly uses her debit card to purchase the tickets and I write her a check for my part.

  “If this check doesn’t clear my bank within ten business days, then I’m not going.”

  “Okay, you stubborn ass,” she says. “Thanks for doing this. I really appreciate it.”

  “It’s the least I can do, Lilly, and don’t worry, I’ll stay clear of the room so y’all can get freaky-deaky as much as you want before he leaves.” I poke her in the arm. “Just stay off my bed, okay?”

  “Right,” she says.

  “Fort Bragg, here we come!”

  *

  Sunday afternoon, I get a text from Hatter asking if I had a good time last night. I pick up the phone, give him a call, and proceed to tell him all about my barroom adventures with Stacey Dewberry.

  “See,” I say when I’m finished recapping our misadventure. “That’s why I just stay at home. I don’t know how to act, plus I hate coming home mad and embarrassed and smelling like beer and cigarette smoke. I’d rather be on my couch watching Saturday Night Live.”

  “With me, of course,” he says.

  “Of course.” I ask him what he did last night and the vagueness of his response makes me think he was with another woman. I know better than to badger him about it because he’s one of those guys who’d nail his own balls to a burning tree before he told on himself. It doesn’t matter, I think. Keep it casual and don’t be an idiot. We’re just friends…aren’t we? My pep talk does me no good. What the hell is wrong with me? I’m not in love with Logan Hatter. I don’t want to marry Logan Hatter. I don’t even want to date him. So why am I consumed with jealousy and misgivings about what he did last night? Don’t be an idiot! I know that a woman’s instincts are rarely wrong, unless, of course, she’s a psycho. Of all the things I am, I like to think a psycho is one thing I’m not. Or am I? Let it go!

  “Ace?” I hear him say. “Hello? Are you there?”

  “Yes, Logan, I’m sorry. I just, uh—hey, my line is beeping so I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?”

  “Yeah, sure, sweetie. No problem.”

  No problem, indeed!

  Monday, Freddie Dublin is back to his usual self and I’m almost too eager to bask in his attention. Stacey has told him her version of what happened on Saturday night, and he’s eager to hear the juicy details. I want to ask him how things are with his romantic situation, but that would give Stacey away, so I just keep my mouth shut, hoping he might bring it up. He doesn’t.

  The next few days pass by rather quickly and I have an easy day Friday, lounging in the library until lunch, when Chloe summons me to her office.

  “Ace, I have a huge favor to ask you.”

  “Sure, anything. What do you need?”

  “As you know, we have Tate here with us now.”

  “Right. With his fox.”

  “Yes, of course. Tate and his stuffed fox.” She shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “And while the fox appears to be quite content lounging in the corner of the living room, well, Tate just wants to hang around J.J. wherever he is.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “Yeah, so it’s a problem that’s progressively getting worse. Tate used to call J.J. when he was at my house, but now he just comes on over and sits with us awhile. Sometimes without calling first. And he’s so loud and obnoxious. Even you would think so.”

  “Thank you for that.”

  “Ace, he’s tearing up my nerves so bad I can hardly stand it. I think my hormones are out of control. I want to talk to J.J. but just can’t bring myself to say anything about it because what could I say that wouldn’t hurt his feelings?”

  “J.J. is a practical man with a lot of common sense. I think he could handle the conversation, and I think he’d take care of it pronto. I mean, he may think you enjoy Tate’s company.”

  “Surely he doesn’t think that.”

  “Sometimes you don’t realize how nice you are, Chloe. You hide it so well when you’re mad. Well, usually.”

  “Very funny, Ace,” she says with a frown. “So are you busy tonight?”

  “As a matter of fact, I’m not,” I say. Oh please let her set me up on a blind date with Tate Jackson.

  “Would you like to go to Memphis and eat with the three of us tonight?” She crinkles her brow and flashes her sweetest puppy dog eyes. “Please, as a personal favor to me?”

  Shit! Why can’t it be just the two of us? Slow down, crazy train! Chloe mistakes my hesitation for unwillingness.

  “You’ll have a miserable time and I’m so sorry to ask you. I just need some company.” She’s still giving me the ol’ puppy dog stare. “I’m begging you. I’ll be eternally grateful.”

  “Sure, I’ll go.”

  “Really?” she says. “Thank you. And don’t worry, I won’t say a word to Logan Hatter. I promise.”

  “Not that he would care,” I say.

  “Right, but still.”

  “So will your brother-in-law-to-be expect sexual favors from his date? Because I’m not going unless he’s expecting sexual favors.”

  “When’s the last time you saw him?”

  “I don’t know. It’s been a while. But I remember that he was a senior when I was in the eighth grade and he was the holy grail of hotness back then.”

  “You realize that’s been like twenty years ago?” I shrug and she shakes her head. “He’s really not all that attractive now and he wears camouflage all the time when he’s not at work.”

  “I like camouflage,” I lie. “What does he do again?”

  “He sells something. I don’t know what. I don’t care. I work very hard not to hear what he’s saying. I swear, I look at him sometimes and wonder how in the world he came from the same gene pool as J.J. Then I start worrying that our child will come out acting like Uncle Tater.”

  “Uncle what was that again?”

  “Tater,” she says, and throws some backwoods twang on it that cracks me up. “Uncle Tater, gimme summa ’em biscuits-n-gravy!”

  “What are you talking about?” I’m really enjoying this conversation.

  “I’m talking about Uncle Tater,” she says. “That’s what everyone in the family under the age of fifteen calls him.”

  “That just makes me like him more.”

  “I’m going to assume you’re joking about that as well.” She starts fiddling with some file folders. “Ace, I owe you big-time for this. Thank you.”

  “I’m actually looking forward to it,” I say. Chloe stares at me and doesn’t say a word. “Okay, see you tonight.” I walk back to my assigned classroom while thinking about Kevin Jacobs, the big sexy country boy I met in Pelican Cove who gave me the heebie-jeebies every time he came around. Who knows? A good ol’ shotgun-totin’ boot-wearin’ fox-huntin’ redneck might be just what I need.

  When the bell rings at the end of the day, I go straight to the lounge and purchase myself a lukewarm Diet Mountain Dew. I’m joined by Freddie Dublin who, after the other teachers leave the lounge, wants to talk makeovers.

  “I’m going to invite Stacey over tomorrow and not tell her it’s a makeover,” Freddie says.

  “I thought we did my makeover before the concert as an excuse to give her one later.” I look at him. “Was that not the plan?”

  “Oh, but of course it was, sweetheart,” he says with a sly smile. “But I’d like to surprise her just the same. Can you be at my house in the morning at ten a.m.?” I tell him that I can be. Unless I have a late night with Uncle Tater. Ha! Yeah, right. “Okay, great so don’t blow my cover, okay?”

  “Okay, but I don’t see her ever quitting the hot rollers, so I don’t think we should expect any long-term results.”

  “Honey, I never do,” he says, looking down at my moccasins. “But I can’t let that stop me from trying.”

  As he sashays out of the lounge, I think for
a minute that Freddie Dublin might be an asshole. I look out the window at the buses, wishing they’d get on out of here so I could, too. Then I start fantasizing about the date I sort of have with Tate Jackson tonight. Lilly is going to die when I tell her, because back when we were in the eighth grade, we would get hall passes from our seventh-period classes and sneak off to the gym to watch the high school boys practice. Tate Jackson was one of our many favorite players. We were stalkers even back then.

  30

  Friday night, Chloe’s white Lexus SUV pulls into the drive at precisely six fifty-five.

  “Right on time, Chloe.” I check my hair in the living room mirror and hope the slimming fabric in my dress doesn’t take a hike up my thighs at any point during the night. Unless of course I find myself alone with Uncle Tater.

  I see that J.J. is driving and wonder who will be coming to fetch me. Obviously they’re wondering the same thing, because no one gets out of the vehicle. I’m about to save us all some embarrassment and walk out on my own when the rear door flies open and a big fellow with tousled hair gets out of the back.

  “How in the hell did they fit him in there?” I ask Buster Loo, who has jumped onto the back of the love seat to have a look. “Little Man, they’re going to look like they’re hauling moonshine with both of us in the backseat.”

  Tate looks a little bit like J.J., but no one would ever mistake them for twins. I grab my purse and put on a fresh coat of lip gloss. A second later, the doorbell rings.

  I take a deep breath and walk to the door with Buster Loo following close behind. I open the door and check out my date. His checkered button-up polo shirt is rolled up to his elbows and not tucked into his baggy khaki pants. It’s the male equivalent of slimming fabric yet so much more comfortable.

  “Hello, Tate Jackson,” I say, and, just like that, I’m madly in love.

  “Hello, Ms. Jones,” he says. “You look lovely.” I’m about to thank him and return the compliment when Buster Loo makes a break for it. He bounds down the steps and starts running speedy-dog crazy eights at full throttle in the front yard. I step out onto the porch.

  “Buster Loo,” I shout. “What are you doing? Get back in here.” Buster Loo ignores me and keeps on going. I look at Tate. “I’m so sorry.”

  “No problem,” he says, looking out at Buster Loo. “That little dog can move and shake.”

  I’ll show you some moving and shaking, I think. While he’s standing there grinning and watching Buster Loo, I notice the crinkly wrinkles around his eyes. He catches me checking him out and winks at me. I look back at my dog and try to ignore the fluttering of my heart. I am in the deepest of deep shit. Chloe is not going to like this!

  “Buster Loo!” I say. “Please come here!” Buster Loo runs up to a shrub and, still standing on the sidewalk, tinkles all over one of the blooms. “Buster Loo! Are we serious right now? Get in the house. C’mon!” Buster Loo finally prances up the steps, stopping to sniff Tate’s boot. “Don’t even think about it, little dog!” I tell him, holding open the screen door. Buster Loo runs inside, gets in his Coke-bottle stance, and starts begging. I look at Tate and say, “He thinks he deserves a treat.”

  “Well, it was a pretty impressive show,” he says, still smiling. Yay! He’s not a dog hater! I have to force myself to stop gazing into his navy blue eyes. It’s clear to me that Tate Jackson still has what it takes. Twenty years hasn’t tarnished his charisma at all, and I’m almost sure he could charm my big-girl black lace panties right down to my skinny-girl ankles.

  He opens the car door for me and smiles as he slides in on the other side. I hope and pray that this will not be the only time I get to go out with him. I also hope and pray that the rear bumper of this car doesn’t drag the ground when J.J. backs out of my driveway. I’m relieved when it doesn’t. I look at him and he looks at me and I start fantasizing about having buck wild sex with Tate Jackson. Crazy Train Alert! Get off it!

  Tate jabbers all the way to Memphis. J.J. manages to get a comment in every now and then, but Chloe doesn’t say a word. I sit in the backseat and smile because even though I couldn’t care less about duck decoys and turkey calls, I don’t see how I could be any happier than I am right this very second. Careful, nutso! Slow down! When we get to Memphis, Tate is the perfect gentleman, opening doors and putting his hand on the small of my back. My heart is thumping and I can’t remember the last time I had butterflies like this. I start thinking about how happy Chloe would be if he started hanging around with me instead of them all the time. Don’t be a nutcase! When we get to the restaurant, there are only two seats available in the waiting area. Chloe motions for me to sit next to her.

  “He just asked me to go to the bar,” I whisper, and her eyes bug out when I tell her that yes, I do want to go to the bar with him.

  He keeps his hand on my hip as we make our way to the bar and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t love it.

  “So you’re a teacher?” Tate says after we get situated.

  “Worse,” I tell him. “I’m subbing right now.”

  “No shame in that game,” he says. “Chloe tells me you just moved back from Pelican Cove.” The bartender delivers our drinks. I take a sip of draft beer and decide to go with a short answer.

  “Yes,” I say. “I did.”

  “Beautiful place,” he says.

  “It is that,” I tell him. “But I’m very happy to be home.”

  “I know what you mean. I’ve tried living in some of my favorite vacation spots and it didn’t work for me, either. Lived in Hilton Head for a while. Moved out to Durango, Colorado, for a few years. But I always came back home. Or as close as I could get.”

  “Yeah,” I say.

  “It’s just not the same. I mean, you take vacations to get away from your daily routine, but when you live in your vacation spot and it becomes your daily routine, then you get to a point where you want a break from it. Then you realize you have nowhere better to go than where you are and that sucks.” He takes a sip of beer. “At least that’s how it was for me.”

  “My experience was actually very similar to that,” I tell him.

  “I spent the past five years living in Birmingham. You think I’ve always wanted to live in Birmingham? No. I haven’t. But when I got my priorities straight and got my head out of my ass, I knew I wanted to live close to home. And it’s a great place to live. I actually really liked it there, but I’ve got nieces and nephews here.” He nods toward the waiting area. “One on the way. I want to live close to my family now. Be here if they need me. Be here for Sunday dinner at Mama’s.” Be here to drive your future sister-in-law insane! I start to giggle. “What?” he says. “Did I say something funny?”

  “I was just thinking about Chloe,” I say. And how happy she probably is right now that she’s not having to listen to you jabber. “Aren’t they going to have a pretty baby?”

  “But, of course,” Tate says, puffing out his chest. “Coming from this gene pool.”

  And there ain’t a thing wrong with your gene pool, Mr. Uncle Tater, I think. He winks at me again and I just smile. I want to F his brains out.

  *

  “Jackson, party of four. Jackson, party of four.”

  “That’s us,” he says. He puts his hand on my back as we make our way through the crowded bar, and I’m tickled pink to be one of the Jackson party of four. We meet Chloe and J.J. in the lobby, and then follow a ridiculously attractive hostess to our table. We have a pleasant dinner, with Tate cracking jokes and telling stories about when they were kids. J.J. laughs more than I’ve ever seen him laugh. Chloe even manages a chuckle or two and I’m mesmerized by every word that comes out of Tate Jackson’s mouth.

  Tate picks up the entire check for dinner and since I just paid for a fairly pricey plane ticket, I don’t make a huge deal of it. Maybe I can do something nice for him sometime. After dinner, Chloe and I go to the restroom where she accuses me of being flirtatious.

  “You like him,” she says.


  “I don’t not like him,” I say.

  “You want to have sex with him!” she whispers. “I can tell!”

  “I don’t not want to have sex with him.”

  “Oh my goodness! What have I done?”

  “You haven’t done anything,” I say, listening to some little old ladies talk back and forth between the stalls. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “You had better not have sex with him,” she says, staring at me in the mirror.

  “But, Chloe, if I did, then maybe he would start hanging out at my house and wouldn’t be at yours.”

  “Ace Jones! You can’t be serious!”

  “Hey, I’m just trying to help a friend in need.” I smile.

  “You know what?” she says. “I should’ve seen this coming, because if you hated the guys I thought were perfect for you, then, of course, you’re going to love the one I dislike the most. It makes perfect sense in an Ace Jones sort of way.”

  “Exactly,” I say, holding the door open for her. On the way home, Tate spots a beer store with a drive-thru and asks J.J. to turn in. He does and pulls up so Tate can order from the backseat. He buys a six-pack of Dos Equis, which we drink on the way home. By the time J.J. pulls up in my driveway, I’m tipsy and mellow and don’t want the night to end. Tate walks me to the door and when we stop on the porch, I’m dying for a good-night kiss. Instead, I get a hug and a quick peck on the cheek.

  “I’d kiss you, but we have an audience,” he whispers, smiling. I look up at him as my heart skips about six beats. He smells so good.

  “That’s okay,” I tell him. I want to take him inside and have my way with him, but I know I don’t need to do that. “Maybe another time?” he says.

  “Maybe,” I say. Maybe hell! How about a hellz bellz yes! “Good night, Tate Jackson.”

  “Good night, Ace Jones.”

  I walk inside and flop down on the couch, grinning like a goon.

  I think about digging a notebook out of my junk drawer and writing “Ace loves Tater” all over it. I take my phone out of my purse and see a late-night text from Logan Hatter. I silence the ringer and go to bed where I have wonderfully sweet dreams about Tate Jackson.