by Ann McMan
I had a hard time denying that one, so I didn’t even try.
My cell phone vibrated. I pulled it out of my pocket and looked at the display. It was a text message . . . from El.
“Do you mind if I answer this?” I held up the phone. “I’ll meet you inside in just a minute.”
“Oh, so now you’re not in so much of a hurry? I get it.” She strode off toward the entrance to the bar. “Tell that El DeBarge I said to keep her powder dry. It looks like huntin’ season is comin’ early this year.”
I watched her go inside. Then I sat down on the running board of my truck to read my first-ever text message from El.
Hi there, F-J. So sorry I haven’t been in touch before now. Tony and I are in Evansville at the NLRB satellite office. We should be heading out before long. Will you be around? Would it be okay if I called when we get back to Princeton? I know it’s unseemly, but I miss you. Last night was lovely. Perfect. Really.
It was crazy. I’d had what was arguably the worst day of my entire work life, but staring at that tiny screen with its short, tidy rows of vowels and consonants was nearly as intoxicating as staring at El. Her mention of last night sent small shivers up and down my limbs. Lovely? It was beyond lovely. It was beyond anything I’d ever experienced. I didn’t have a vocabulary to describe what last night had been like for me.
Lovely? Perfect?
Maybe she was right. Waking up before dawn with a naked El draped halfway across me beneath Grammy’s old quilt was both lovely and perfect. I decided to give her that one. With her customary dispatch, she’d pretty much nailed it.
I wrote back.
Hello yourself. Let’s agree to be unseemly. I miss you, too. Call anytime.
I paused in my typing. Did I want to hint at any of what had happened today? I thought about the orange flier, still folded up in my back pocket. What was that old Bible verse? “Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.” No. It could all wait until later. It was likely that with all her contacts inside the plant, she’d find out about everything before I had to tell her, anyway.
I’m at Hoosier Daddy with T-Bomb, but I’ll be going home soon.
I hesitated again. Then I decided I had nothing more to lose. I was already in it with both feet.
P.S. Lovely and perfect about sum it up for me, too. Really.
I sent the message and stood up to head inside. I was halfway across the parking lot when my phone vibrated again.
You just made this agitator very happy.
I smiled and stuck my phone into my pocket.
A cold Stella was starting to sound pretty good, after all.
“I’m tellin’ you, them juries is all fixed.” Luanne was warming to her topic, and her second pitcher of Old Style. “There’s no way in hell them Horton girls can walk away with that crown year after year. Between the three of them, they only have one full set of teeth.”
T-Bomb choked on a French fry.
Luanne smacked her between the shoulder blades. “You need to ease off that ketchup, girl. You gotta be rottin’ your insides with all that acid.”
“It’s not that.” T-Bomb cleared her throat. “I was thinkin’ about how many times they’ve sashayed across that stage in blousy dresses, tryin’ to cover up that they had buns in the oven.” She held her hands out in front of her belly.
“You mean like pigs in the poke?” Luanne asked.
They collapsed into laughter.
I rolled my eyes and stole a glance at my watch. At this rate, I’d be lucky to get home by nine. I looked around the bar to see if I saw anybody else who I might coerce into giving me a ride out to Grammy’s.
I felt more than heard the soft buzzing of my cell phone. I fished it out of my pocket and read the message.
Just dropped Tony off at the hotel. Is this an okay time to call?
I looked up at T-Bomb and Luanne. They appeared to be settling in for the evening. It was Friday night, after all, and tomorrow was Pork Day USA—the second most sacred day of the year in these parts. Half the plant was working extra shifts tomorrow—we’d all lucked out, and none of our areas were affected by the mandatory weekend hours. Don K. was obviously determined to push productivity to a record level in advance of the arrival of the Ogata transition team.
Hoosier Daddy was hopping with revelers who wanted to jump-start the celebration. They deserved to be able to kick back and join in the fun without having to worry about carting me around.
I wrote back to El.
Got another suggestion. Would you be willing to pick me up at Hoosier Daddy and give me a ride out to Grammy’s? I need to borrow her truck for a few days.
A minute later, she wrote back.
Of course! I’d be happy to. But is something wrong with your truck?
I quickly replied.
It’s a long story.
El seemed to take my word for it.
Be there in five minutes. Pick you up out front.
Perfect. Now I just needed to make my escape.
T-Bomb was asking Luanne something about Jailissa riding in Joe’s truck tomorrow. Luanne told her it was pretty hard to refuse his offer since the two of them had started dating.
Dating? I thought my brain was on tilt. Joe Sykes and Jailissa?
Maybe I needed to rethink my idea about leaving early . . .
My phone buzzed again.
Make that ETA three minutes.
I smiled. Nope. I was outta there.
“Hey.” I held up my phone. “I just got a ride out to Grammy’s, so I’m heading out. You two stay on and have fun. I’ll see you both tomorrow in Albion.”
I stood up to go but T-Bomb reached out a hand to stop me.
“Not so fast.” She nodded toward my cell phone. “Who’s picking you up?”
I chewed the inside of my cheek.
“El DeBarge?” She shook her head. “You two are worse than a couple of them dime store rabbits.”
Luanne drained her glass. “You might wanna think about pacing yourselves. All that pounding can wear them things down to nubs if you ain’t careful.”
T-Bomb socked Luanne on the shoulder. “They only have nubs, you dimwit. That’s the problem when two girls start hittin’ it. There ain’t nothin’ to wear off.”
I stood there looking back and forth between the two of them. “You don’t really need me for this conversation. You know that . . . right?”
T-Bomb actually smiled at me. “Get on outta here. I ain’t seen you this happy since you busted your toe in the ninth grade and got to skip gym for a whole month.”
I smiled back at her. There was a reason she was my best friend. Even when she knew something was probably going to end up kicking my ass, she still stayed right in my corner.
“I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“You better.” She waved her hand. “Now git . . . your girlfriend’s waitin’.”
As I walked out and headed for the parking lot, I couldn’t help thinking about Joe and Jailissa. And I marveled that even in the throes of real of happiness, the absurd could still find a way to insinuate itself into the middle of my consciousness.
El’s face was a picture of shock and disbelief when she saw my truck.
I opened the passenger door of her SUV and climbed in. “I know. Don’t even ask.”
“Who the hell did that?” She was fuming.
I snapped my seat belt into place. “Take your pick. One of Don K.’s lackeys, probably.”
“That’s reprehensible.” She looked at me. “I’m so sorry about this, Friday Jill.”
Her expression was so earnest that I was tempted to tell her I was thinking about keeping the new paint job. It did exude a certain urban art quality, and it lent a kind of dignity to my misfortune. But I realized that joking about it was probably not the right way to go. Not yet, anyway. Besides, El didn’t know about the rest of Don K.’s little campaign and my starring role in it. I continued to debate about whether or not to tell her.
She was aware that
I was not saying something.
“What is it?” she asked.
“What is what?” I replied.
“What is it that you’re not telling me?”
“You can tell I’m not telling you something?”
“Of course.” She gestured toward my foot. It was bouncing up and down like the floorboard was on fire. “You have a tell.” She met my eyes. “You’d be a pushover in a poker game.”
I nearly told her that I’d be a pushover in any game she chose to play. But I figured she probably already knew that. I’d done a pretty good job demonstrating it last night.
“Let’s get out of here,” I said. “I’ll tell you about it all on the way to Grammy’s.”
“Okay.”
She pulled out of the parking lot, and we headed out of town.
“So here’s the deal,” I began.
El looked at me with a raised eyebrow. “There’s a deal?”
I nodded.
“You might want to rethink this revelation . . . I am a professional negotiator, you know.”
I couldn’t help smiling at that. “I know. I remember.”
It was easy to imagine her as a precocious five-year-old bargaining with her mother to stay up ten minutes past bedtime. Given my recent tenure being on the receiving end of something she wanted, I was pretty certain she won every round.
“I wasn’t talking about that,” she said.
“Too bad. I can’t stop thinking about that.”
“Really?” She sounded almost shy—a bold departure from her normal style.
I rested my hand on her thigh. “Really.”
She slowly shook her dark head. “Some hardcore agitator I turned out to be.”
I laughed. “I don’t know. You were pretty successful at getting your way.”
“Not entirely. If memory serves, you were unwilling to try that Double Kangaroo Scissor-Kick maneuver.”
“Hey.” I held up a palm. “I told you . . . I draw the line at anything that could potentially put me in traction.”
“Wimp.”
“Pervert.”
She laughed merrily. “As long as we understand each other.”
“I think we’ve made a pretty good start.”
She sighed.
“What is it?” I asked.
“You know I adore your Grammy . . . but . . .”
“But?”
She looked at me. “Do we really have to go out there? Couldn’t we just . . ?
“Go to my house?”
She nodded.
I was certain that Nancy and Udean had my street on their tour roster again for tonight. But given the events of the day, it was hard to imagine that things could get any worse for me.
“I’d like that, too. But, unfortunately, I need some transportation. I can’t be late for work again, and I’m having a body shop pick up my truck to repaint it.”
“I don’t mean to be selfish,” she explained.
“No,” I said. “Please. Be selfish.”
She smiled.
“Maybe you could follow me home after we pick up Grammy’s truck?”
She nodded. “I’d like that.”
“Have you had dinner yet?”
“No.”
“Well, if I know Grammy, she’ll load us up with a vat of something.” We reached the turnoff for the back road. “Left at this stoplight.”
El put her blinker on. “I know. I remember.”
“Are you and Tony going to Albion tomorrow?”
“You’re kidding, right? You think I’d miss out on seeing Luanne’s daughter get crowned?”
“It’s not for certain she will, you know. Those Hortons have quite a lock on that pageant.”
El laughed. “I think the odds are in her favor this time. Luanne showed me some photos of her dress . . . it leaves little to the imagination.”
“Really?” That surprised me. Luanne must’ve really gotten past her reservations about El if she was sharing cell phone pictures of Jailissa with her.
“Yeah. As long as Ermaline isn’t around to distract the judges, I think Jailissa’s got a real shot at that crown.”
Of course, the mention of Jailissa made me think again about the prospect of her with Joe. An involuntary shiver caused my shoulders to twitch. El noticed.
“What’s wrong? Is the AC too cold?” She reached out to adjust the temperature.
“No.” I intercepted her hand. “I was just thinking about Jailissa and Joe.”
“Joe?” she asked.
“Sykes.”
“The plant manager?”
“You know him?”
“Of him . . . yes. Tony’s had a couple of run-ins with him about getting access to the plant to review where they have our information session notices posted.” She laughed bitterly. “I mean, if they have our notices posted.”
“That sounds about right.”
“What about Joe and Jailissa?”
I shook my head. “It’s pretty creepy. Joe has lusted after Jailissa since she’s been in pedal pushers. But tonight, I heard T-Bomb ask Luanne if it was true that they were dating.”
“You’re kidding?” El sounded as surprised as I felt. “Isn’t there a huge age difference between them?”
“You might say that. Joe is in his forties. Jailissa is barely seventeen.”
“Oh my god. This place is close to Hazard County in more ways than one, isn’t it?”
“If you think that’s bad, wait’ll tomorrow when you get a load of Kenny Purvis and the hoppers.”
El looked confused. “Is that a local band?”
I burst out laughing.
“Let me guess . . . that’s not a band?”
“Not so much. Kenny is Ermaline’s estranged husband—and a charismatic preacher. He runs The House of Praise, and at last count, he had an entourage of about a dozen doe-eyed followers, all with babies under the age of two.”
“Oh, no. So he’s kind of like Princeton’s version of Warren Jeffs?”
I nodded. “Exactly.”
“Poor Ermaline.”
“Hey, if you ask me, she’s well rid of him. Doc Baker might not look like much of a catch, but he’s a good man, and I think he really loves her.”
“In the last analysis, that’s all that really matters . . . isn’t it?”
“I’ve always thought so.”
El took hold of my hand. “Me, too.”
We rode along in silence for a minute or two. It was just starting to get dark, and the last rays of sunlight were casting long shadows across the county road.
“We seem to spend a lot of time together in the dark,” I remarked.
“That’s true,” El replied. “Do you regret that?”
I squeezed her hand. “Not at all. We seem to do pretty well in reduced light.”
“Also true. But you know, tomorrow might give us a chance to see how we do in broad daylight.”
I thought about that. Why not? It wasn’t like I could be any more tarred with the guilt-by-association brush than I already had been. It was clear that my career at OTI was going down the tubes with or without any complicity on my part, so why not go ahead and embrace the small amount of time El and I had left to spend together?
“Are you asking me out?”
El nodded. “I can’t think of a better or more public venue than the most celebrated swine-eating festival in the Western hemisphere.”
“Our appearance in broad daylight would probably turn some heads.”
“You mean more than we managed to turn last night?” She glanced at me. “But if you’d rather not risk it, I certainly would understand.”
I thought for the zillionth time about Don K.’s unopened letter. “I want to share something with you,”
El gave me an amused look. “I thought you’d already done that . . . several times, if memory serves.”
I felt myself blush. “Something else.”
She frowned. “This sounds serious.”
“It is.”
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“Okay . . . I think.”
I gave her fingers another small squeeze. “Don’t worry. It’s something about work.”
“Oh.” She sounded surprised. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
I nodded. “I think I can trust you.”
“Well, I know you can. But it matters a lot to me to hear you say that.”
“It matters a lot to me to believe it.”
El sighed. “We’re pretty strange bedfellows, aren’t we?”
I thought about my encounter that morning with Misty Ann Marks, and how it reminded me of all the wrong turns I’d taken. El was about as different from Misty Ann as Paris was from Princeton. “No,” I said to her beautiful profile. “I don’t think we’re strange at all.”
El smiled as she slowed the SUV down to make the turn onto Grammy’s road.
“Will you follow me home?” I asked.
“If you don’t know by now that I’d follow you just about any place, I must be doing something wrong.”
Her words made me shiver again. But this time, the chills were caused by excitement, not trepidation.
Before I could respond, we were pulling into Grammy’s driveway, and Fritz bounded off the porch and flew across the yard to greet us.
An hour later, we were standing in my kitchen, heating up a casserole that contained our combined body weights in some savory new chicken stew recipe that Grammy said she clipped from the back of the Bisquick box. She said it tasted like heaven on a drop biscuit. I knew better than to argue with her about taking it. She’d already embarrassed the stuffing out of me by observing that El and I both looked tired. My blushing at that remark didn’t help. El just started laughing, and Grammy observed that she wasn’t as old or as oblivious as everyone seemed to think she was.
We offered to pick her up and give her a ride to Albion tomorrow, but she said she had already accepted a ride with Doc and Ermaline. So we agreed to meet up with her in front of the lemon shake-up stand at noon. That would give us all plenty of time to eat and stroll around before the parade and the start of the day’s marquis event: the Miss Pork Day USA competition.