by Dixie Cash
Her stomach still grumbled from yesterday’s alcohol binge, but hunger overpowered the ache. There was hunger, then there was what she felt this morning, which was way beyond ordinary hunger. Yesterday, she hadn’t eaten any real food all day long.
She showered and dressed early, then took the stairs down to the lobby. She refused to look at the destruction. She was almost unable to bear knowing that something she had done contributed to it. When she passed accidents on the freeway, she deliberately didn’t gawk, so she wouldn’t now, either. Stepping around debris to reach the dining room, she hit the hotel’s complimentary breakfast buffet.
The dining room was untouched by the fire. Once inside, the aromas of breakfast almost overcame the unpleasant odor of melted plastic that saturated the air in the lobby. Avery heaped scrambled eggs, bacon and hash browns onto her plate. On a separate plate, she covered two halved biscuits with country cream gravy and added several sausage links. She added a couple of pastries to a saucer on her tray plus coffee and juice. Several people stared at the amount of food she had crowded onto the tray, but she did her best to ignore them. The truth was she would have included waffles if she had been able to carry them.
She returned to her room with the bounty, but the trill of her cell phone interrupted her breakfast. The caller was Carrie Lynn McPherson, Avery’s best friend from Fort Worth. Avery and Carrie Lynn had graduated from UT at the same time. Becoming bored with jobs that a degree in finance brought her, Carrie Lynn had attended a six-month course to become a licensed masseuse and worked in the spa of a Texas fashion landmark, all the while developing a following. After a year she had opened her own day spa. Then another and another. Carrie Lynn was well on her way to becoming one of the more successful businesswomen in Fort Worth.
As Avery related yesterday’s events that she could remember, Carrie Lynn broke into peals of laughter. Avery laid the phone receiver on the bed and munched on a buttered croissant while she waited for her friend’s chortling to stop. When Avery heard a voice instead of hoots and gasps through the receiver, she picked it up again.
“Why didn’t you call me last night and tell me this?” Carrie Lynn said. “I had a really lousy day yesterday. I could’ve used a laugh.”
“I must have thought that if I crawled into bed, when I woke up I’d find it all had been a bad dream. Those two women I met in Salt Lick are something else. I have to remember to be cautious if they offer me drinks again.”
“You said the guy’s name is Sam and he’s a reporter too, right? Tell me again what he looks like. I have a client who works at the Dallas Morning News. I could do a little snooping.”
“No! No questioning anyone. No checking things out. If he found out I was asking questions, he might think I’m interested.”
“But you are interested, right? He won’t find out. I’ll be discreet. Look, my customer hasn’t been in for a long time. She’d expect me to make a courtesy call. I’ll simply ask her if there were any problems the last time she was in, then I’ll ask her some casual questions about this guy.”
Avery frowned. “I don’t know, Carrie Lynn—”
“Oh, you know me. I can get a melon to tell me if it’s ripe. Forgodsake, Avery, this is the first time I’ve heard you excited about a man since you thought you saw Brad Pitt at Del Frisco’s.”
“Excited? I just described a day full of mortifying misadventures and you think I’m excited? I’m crushed with humiliation. I don’t know how I can ever face him again.”
“Come on now, get a grip. I’ll bet he’s been drunk before. He’s a real jerk if he treats you less than courteous. And if he’s judgmental, you should avoid him anyway. You don’t want to get involved with a hypercritical prick.”
“I don’t see him being like that.”
“If he’s not, that’s great. Let me know how he treats you when you see him again while I’m nonchalantly finding out more about him, okay?”
Avery trusted Carrie Lynn, knew she was up to the task of sleuthing out Sam Carter. What she felt was fear—partly afraid of being caught up in another fiasco and partly afraid of what Carrie Lynn might learn. “Okay, but just be sure you don’t mention my name.”
“I won’t. I promise.”
“And don’t ask anything too personal. Just find out if he’s married, not married. Asshole, not an asshole. You know. The usual.”
“I’ve got it, I’ve got it.” Exasperation sounded in Carrie Lynn’s voice.
“Oh, just one more thing,” Avery added.
“What?”
“It really was Brad Pitt in Del Frisco’s.”
Avery snapped the phone shut, giggling. With Carrie Lynn, not giving her an opportunity to reply was the only way to get the last word.
She finished her breakfast, cleaning every plate, then put her dishes outside the door in the hallway. She unpacked her laptop, having no intention of leaving this room until she was well into her story.
Sam’s day started before daylight with the planned bird-hunting trip with W. L. Crawford and some of his sons and a borrowed shotgun. Mrs. Crawford had provided thermoses of aromatic hot coffee to keep the blood warm and sandwiches made of homemade biscuits with sausage and bacon. The food alone was worth the hunting trip. By noon each of the hunting party had bagged his limit.
Back at the Crawford home, Sam climbed out of the truck behind two of W. L.’s sons. “Come on in and have some lunch,” W. L. Crawford said.
“No thanks,” Sam replied. “I’ve taken advantage of your hospitality enough and I’ve still got a job to do.”
“What about your birds?” W. L. asked.
“Where would I put them? You can have them. That’s the least I can do to thank you for the breakfast, the hunt and the use of a shotgun.”
“You’re welcome to come back tomorrow. Fried quail’s great for breakfast. You haven’t eaten ’til you’ve had it the way Irene fixes it.”
“Sounds good. I might take you up on that,” Sam said.
“That’ll be just fine,” W. L. replied, putting out his right hand. “Don’t feel like you have to call. Just come on back if you want to. You’re welcome any time.”
Sam thought of the Crawford family all the way to the hotel in Odessa. W. L. had all any man could ever expect from life. He had a warm and loving wife, five strong and healthy sons, one of whom was on his way to fame and fortune, and the others had doors waiting to open for them.
A restiveness niggled at the edges of Sam’s contentment. He had felt it before and he was pretty sure it was caused by doubt—doubt he would never have what W. L. Crawford had. He hadn’t spent his time with the right women to bring all of that into his life. He had been more interested in having a good time and sampling the variety of female company he had found readily available in Dallas. He would find the right woman and settle down someday, he had told himself. But now he was thirty. When was “someday”?
He heaved a sigh. Women weren’t the only sex that had a biological clock reminding them of the time they had left to do something with their future. Men felt the same pressure, only it was called ego and pride.
Well, this was no time to think of it. He was on assignment and tonight he would be checking out casino night at the celebration in Salt Lick. Who knew? He might just win the woman of his dreams.
Debbie Sue stared at herself in the narrow full-length mirror mounted on the storeroom wall. How could Edwina do this to her best friend?
Debbie Sue wore a head-to-toe, one-piece brown velour jumpsuit. Basset hound ears were attached to the hood on both sides of her head and hung past her shoulders. A red collar encircled her neck and a black canine snout covered her own nose and mouth, held in place by an elastic string around her head. Attached to the collar was an oversized dog tag that read:
YOU AIN’T NOTHIN’ BUT A HOUNDOG.
Debbie Sue was more disappointed than embarrassed. She had really wanted to wear the Las Vegas showgirl girly-girl costume. She had been to Vegas several times and had always
admired the tall, leggy beauties who performed in the casinos. The thought of wearing something even close to those costumes had lifted her spirits all day.
Now here she stood, her face made up the best she’d ever done it and it was partially hidden by a black plastic nose. Her carefully styled updo was covered by a heavy hood, and her closely shaved legs were hidden by brown velour. No bangles, no feathers, and the only sparkle came from the overhead light bouncing off the silver dog tag.
Well, fuck.
“Come out,” Edwina yelled from the salon. “I promise not to laugh this time.”
Debbie Sue didn’t want to go out. How had she let Edwina the Witch con her into doing this?
“I didn’t mean to laugh, honest,” Edwina called to her. “I was caught off guard is all.”
In a pig’s eye, Debbie Sue thought. She heard Edwina snort. She could tell the woman had stifled a giggle. “Is there anyone out there besides you?” Debbie Sue’s voice echoed in a hollow twang through her plastic snout.
“Just me, I swear,” Edwina said. “Both doors are locked, so no one’s coming in.”
“I don’t know how I let you talk me into this.”
“I didn’t know, honest to God,” Edwina said. “When Bethany Nix said she had a costume for Elvis’s birthday, she didn’t mention it was a dog costume. But personally, I don’t think you look that bad.”
On a sigh, Debbie Sue stepped out into the salon.
Edwina’s face broke into a huge grin that she tried and failed to conceal. “See? I’m not laughing. This is me, not laughing.”
Debbie Sue could tell Edwina was chewing a hole in her cheek to keep from guffawing, but the witch came over and put her arm around Debbie Sue’s shoulder. “You’re still gonna do the game wheel, aren’t you? Please? We don’t have time to find anyone else.”
“I’m gonna do it, but don’t you dare tell Buddy Overstreet about this.”
“Roger.” Edwina gave a thumbs-up.
Debbie Sue saw that Edwina had made good her promise to don her authentic Elvis jumpsuit. Her chest wasn’t overly endowed to begin with and the heavy jewel-encrusted costume flattered it even more. Edwina was one of the most creative people Debbie Sue knew. She had combed her trademark black beehive hairdo into a pompadour and she had attached an authentic-looking pair of black sideburns. “What’s holding those sideburns on?” Debbie Sue asked.
“Spirit gum.”
“Ed, do you think the Flying Elvises will really show up?”
“They told Judd they would.”
“But this is Salt Lick. People like the Flying Elvises don’t drop in.”
“Hopefully, they won’t be dropping. Hopefully they’ll be landing nice and easy.”
“You know what I mean. Why would they come here?”
“What can I say? They love Elvis, too. They have to celebrate his birthday somewhere.”
“By the way,” Debbie Sue said gruffly, “you look terrific. You almost look like him.”
“Yeah? You really think so? Because I’m feeling, I don’t know, I’m feeling…” Edwina bent from the waist and started shaking her shoulders and knees and gyrating her hips. Rising to her full five feet and ten inches, she struck a pose. “I’m feeling all shook up.”
Debbie Sue couldn’t keep from laughing. Besides being creative, Edwina was also one of the most uninhibited people Debbie Sue knew. “I don’t think I ever saw any pictures of Elvis wearing heavy eye makeup.”
“But just think how pretty he would’ve been if he had put some on.”
Debbie Sue grunted. “Come on, King. Let’s get over to the gym.”
Edwina picked up a bag packed with silk scarves and they headed for the door.
“Promise me one more thing,” Debbie Sue said as they set out for the high-school gym on foot.
Edwina curled her lip into a snarl. “Just name it, little mama.”
“If we pass any fire hydrants, give my collar a tug.”
“Leave it to E, ma’am. TCB, little mama. TCB.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“TCB? Taking care of business. It was something Elvis said. It’s on his tombstone.”
As they neared the gym, Debbie Sue said, “You know what I can’t keep from wondering, Ed? I can’t keep from thinking whoever took those shoes might be in this gym tonight.”
“Don’t think about it,” Edwina said. “Let’s just try to have a good time. We can think about it tomorrow.”
Less than five minutes later they passed the petting zoo set up on the gym’s lawn and Debbie Sue wondered what kind of damage that would cause to the schoolyard, but she put it out of her mind and they walked on in to the high-school gym.
Elvis’s music blared over the PA system and booths of various games of chance were set up around the room.
“Oh, look,” Edwina said. “We’re right next to each other. Look over in the left corner. See the big wheel? I’m on the other side of that.”
“Uh-huh,” Debbie Sue mumbled. “Where do I get the questions I’m supposed to ask?”
“C. J. said she’d leave them on the chair.”
“And the answers?”
“They’re there too.”
“The prizes?”
“Attached to the open slots of the wheel. If somebody gets to spin, they get the prize they land on. You’ve seen Wheel of Fortune on TV. It’s the same idea.”
“And the money? Where am I supposed to keep that? Apparently dogs don’t have pockets.”
Edwina squinted her eyes and placed a fist on her hip. “Tell me, are you going to be this big of a pain in the ass all evening? Because if you are—”
“I’m sorry, Ed. I am being a pain in the ass. This isn’t your fault.” Squaring her shoulders, Debbie Sue rearranged her collar. “I’ll just try to have a good time.”
“Now you’re talking, Fido. Hope you’re ready. This shindig starts at seven o’clock.”
At seven on the dot, people began streaming through the gymnasium’s wide doors. Most of the early arrivals were locals who weren’t already working one of the many games. They seemed genuinely impressed and pleased with all that was before them. Soon outsiders and strangers began to filter in. They, too, seemed to be impressed.
Debbie Sue had to give the local townspeople credit. It seemed as if they knew keeping a crowd entertained wouldn’t be easy in a town with so little to offer, but they had gone all out, spent money she knew they didn’t have to waste. That was the way West Texas people—her people—were. Pride welled in her chest.
chapter nineteen
As Avery drove toward Salt Lick, she found herself feeling good about the day and the way she had spent it. She had sat most of the morning and the early part of the afternoon with her laptop working on her story. It was coming along nicely but lacked that spark of human interest. She would have to find some magic if this piece was going to launch her newspaper career as a star feature writer.
So far the only thing she had launched was an embarrassing display of being drunk in public. She didn’t want to care what others thought of her. She wanted to be her own person, living life her way, but in truth, she cared deeply, and the need to make amends for yesterday’s behavior lay heavily within her.
Being the eternal optimist, she took comfort in the fact that she would not allow history to repeat itself. From now on, in Salt Lick, Texas, she would drink nothing stronger than a Diet Coke. And she had left the bruised and battered ego back in her room tucked into a drawer with her white robe. She would prefer nursing it back to health in solitude.
She parked in the school parking lot. As she scooted out of the Aero, she debated whether she would need a jacket heavier than her wool blazer. The temperature was pleasant for January, but being a native Texan she knew it could change with a moment’s notice. Wearing a long-sleeve sweater with jeans and loafers, she had left her high heels and business suit behind in her room. After her behavior yesterday, her professional-reporter image felt like a sham.
She was eager to see the Flying Elvises, scheduled to descend later in the evening. She had watched a movie with them in it, but she had never seen them in person. Having no intention of missing their show, she pulled her jacket from the backseat and tugged it on.
Entering the high-school gym’s doorway, she was greeted with a large sign: WELCOME TO VIVA LAS SALT LICK. She had to smile at the small-town ingenuity and had to be sure to include that in her story. She stopped long enough to read the fine print on another sign on an easel just inside the gym’s doorway
Around the large room’s perimeter, casino tables had been set up where visitors played with chips that could be exchanged for gifts. She noted blackjack dealers manning their spots in front of seated customers, most of whom, to her surprise, were dressed in various kinds of Elvis costumes. Young women—high-school girls, Avery judged—walked through the crowd serving free soft drinks to the players.
Avery stood in one spot and studied the room. She had already decided to seek out the most unusual impersonator she could find and interview him. She needed someone who would compel readers to stay with her story further than the opening paragraph.
And halfway around the room, she spotted that person.
Standing on a chair in the complete young Elvis of the fifties costume, a man of diminutive proportions watched a bingo game in progress. The PC term “little person” zoomed into Avery’s mind and she made a mental note to be sure she used it in her story. The last thing she ever wanted was to be the source of writing something hurtful to another person. And wasn’t that the very reason she was a feature writer rather than a reporter of hard-hitting news?
She walked over to the man. Even with him standing on the seat of a chair, his head struck her at chest level. He turned and looked at her, giving her a full examination up and down before returning his attention to the game.
“Excuse me,” she said, smiling and leaning down to his level. A strong alcohol odor assaulted her nose, but she pressed on. “I’m Avery Deaton with the Fort Worth Star-Telegram. Would you mind if I asked you a few questions?”