by Ann McMan
A few seconds of dead silence ensued.
Casey gave the audience a shrug. “Am I right?”
A few people responded with tentative claps, and then the entire square erupted into thunderous applause. Casey nodded smugly and took her place back in line with the other two contestants.
A confused Larry looked out across the crowd. “Well. I guess we can all agree with that.”
He turned back to the remaining contenders, and Destinee had already claimed her spot behind the microphone.
“Destinee?” he asked. “If you could change just one thing about the world, what would it be?”
She gave the judges another blinding smile.
“I think the world would be a better place if young men today would take more responsibility for things like mowing yards for their grandparents, emptying the dishwasher, and buying condoms.” She paused. “And I mean those really good ones that don’t break after just one time.”
Larry’s lips moved, but no sound came out.
“Well, dang,” T-Bomb whispered. “They oughta just call her Destinee Knocked-up.”
“She could give them Horton girls a run for their money,” Ermaline said.
“All except that boy one up there,” T-Bomb replied, pointing at Casey. “He don’t need ’em.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” someone mumbled.
El and I looked at each other.
“Was that Doc?” she asked.
I shook my head. “I honestly have no idea. I’ve never heard him say anything before.”
“Would you all hush up?” Luanne glared at us. “It’s Jailissa’s turn.” Jailissa stood at the mike, ready to answer her next question.
A somewhat exasperated looking Larry faced her. “Alrighty, then. Jailissa? If you could change just one thing about the world, what would it be?”
“Well, Mr. Dennis . . .” Jailissa looked out over the audience with a dreamy expression. “Even though some folks don’t believe in it, I’d like to fix global warming.” There was a collective gasp from the crowd, but Jailissa soldiered on. “That would make people’s crops better and give them higher yields. Then they could afford to buy newer and more efficient farm equipment and do things to improve their property, like build garages and maybe quit parking in their yards.”
There was a restrained round of applause. Jailissa took her place back in line.
“That don’t bode well.” Luanne shook a Viceroy out of her pack. “I kept telling her to leave her political views out of her answers.” She fired up a smoke. “I hope these last two questions go more her way.”
“All right. We’re down to our last two questions, so we’re going to kick it up a notch.” Larry pulled the microphone off its stand. “I’m going to ask each of you to answer your question, then pass the mike on to the next contestant. When Jailissa finishes with her answer to the first question, she’ll pass the mike back to Casey for the second, and final, question of our speed round. Are you ready?”
They all nodded. He handed the mike to Casey.
“Casey. If you could be on the cover of any magazine, which would you chose and why?”
Casey smirked. “Garden & Gun, because they have something for everyone.”
Casey passed the mike to Destinee.
“People Magazine,” she said. “Because they have professionals who do your makeup and hair, and I’d be, like famous, and look really super good.”
She continued to hold on to the mike. Jailissa held her hand out for it. Destinee seemed to let go of it with reluctance.
“Martha Stewart Living,” Jailissa said. “Because she has really good recipes, craft projects, party planning tips, and all kinds of things that you can do at home with stuff you already have.” Jailissa passed the mike back to Casey.
“Okay. Now we’re down to our final question. Ladies? It’s time to leave it all on the table.” Larry consulted his last index card.
“Well, dang,” T-Bomb hissed. “That’s kinda creepy coming from a coroner.”
There was a titter of laughter.
Grammy glared at her.
El had my knee in a death grip. I was positive it would leave a mark.
“Here is your fourth and final question,” Larry said with great ceremony. “Good luck, ladies. In a few minutes, one of you will be crowned the new Miss Pork Queen.” He paused for effect. “Are you ready?”
The three contestants looked at each other, then nodded at Larry.
“Casey Horton. Here is your final question. What bothers you most about America today?”
Luanne dropped her head into her hands. “It’s another political question,” she whispered.
Jay ran his hand in small, consoling circles over her back.
Casey, however, seemed undaunted.
“Bad spelling,” she said, before calmly handing the mike to Destinee.
Destinee stared at Casey for a moment before facing the audience and flipping her red hair back behind her shoulder.
“Well, Larry. I think we need to do more to protect our school children from vicious attacks by lawless troublemakers. As Americans, we should make our schools safer by arming our teachers, cooks, and bus drivers.” Destinee faced the judges. “This is our sacred duty, and our second amendment right.”
“Oh, lord.” Luanne still had her head buried in her hand.
I was pretty sure I was going to need a knee transplant before this “speed round” ended.
Somehow, Jailissa managed to wrangle the microphone away from Destinee. She squared her shoulders and faced the audience.
“While I agree that there are a lot of things that America could do better to help its people. I really believe that our biggest threat comes from the endless cycle of ignorance to poverty that occurs every day in our own back yard.” Jailissa seemed to look each of us in the eye. “I know that if we try, we can do more to help each other, and our community, be stronger and better prepared to face the challenges that will continue to come our way in the future.” She smiled. “Thank you all for taking the time to come here and listen to our views on these important issues.”
Larry gave Jailissa a grateful-looking smile. He stood back and extended his arm to encompass all three women.
“Ladies and gentlemen . . . your Miss Pork Day finalists.” The square erupted into enthusiastic applause.
Luanne blew out a nervous breath. “Now we wait.”
“Hell,” T-Bomb was still clapping. “You ain’t got nothin’ to worry about. She just locked that one right up.”
I found it hard to disagree with her.
El was looking down at her cell phone.
“Something wrong?” I asked.
She shook her head. “Just Tony. He’s in the crowd someplace and needs to talk with me.”
“Can it wait until after the competition?”
She nodded. “He said he’d come and find us in a few minutes.”
Luanne eyes were glued to the judges’ table. “Look! They’re signaling for Larry to come over . . . I think this is it.”
It was true. Larry walked over to confer with the three judges. One of them handed him a sealed envelope.
He walked back to the center of the stage where the three contestants waited.
“Ladies,” he said. “The judges have reached their verdicts and have made their selections. It’s now time to crown our new Miss Pork Queen.”
The three contestants joined hands.
Larry opened the envelope.
“Third Runner-Up and winner of the Miss Congeniality Award, and the recipient of a two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar gift card from the Southern Illinois Lumber Company is . . . Miss Casey Horton!”
The crowd broke into a chorus of wild cheers and applause. Casey was plainly thrilled with this outcome. She repeatedly pumped the air with a fist before grabbing Destinee Knackmuhs and kissing her square on the mouth.
“Well, dang,” T-Bomb was on her feet, clapping, “I hope she brung along some of them goo
d kind of condoms.”
A nonplussed Larry continued. “Second Runner-Up and winner of a five-hundred-dollar scholarship from Ingram’s Funeral Home is . . . Miss Destinee Knackmuhs!”
There was a loud gasp—as if the entire audience inhaled at the same time.
“This means that our new Miss Pork Queen,” Larry shouted above the thunderous applause, “and the recipient of a fifteenhundred-dollar scholarship from the Herschel Johnson Implement Company is . . . Miss . . . Jailissa . . . Keortge!”
Jailissa stood with both hands pressed against her mouth. Casey made a congratulatory move toward her. Larry intervened and took Jailissa by the elbow to move her forward on the stage.
The reigning Miss Pork Queen, Amanda Horton, waddled out onto the stage, bearing the crown and sash for the winner. She had to be at least eight months pregnant.
Luanne and Jay had tears running down their faces.
Joe Sykes looked like he was about ready to break down, too. “I’ll go get the truck started.”
He took a last, wistful look up at Jailissa, then beat a hasty retreat, wiping at his eyes before disappearing into the crowd.
The audience was still going wild. The applause and the cheers went on and on. It was clear that Jailissa was this year’s popular choice. People were crowding the stage, taking pictures with cell phones and cameras. I thought I saw some bigger flashes of light, too. Distinct, telltale rumblings rose above the noise and the cheering. I looked up at the sky. It wouldn’t be Pork Day without at least one gully washer. I just hoped the storms would hold off long enough for Jailissa to take her victory ride around the courthouse square.
El and I were on our feet, too, clapping and hollering. Jailissa stood, regally, at the front of the stage, smiling and waving at the crowd. Camera flashes were still going off. Above the din, we could hear music . . . sort of. Over at the edge of the platform, Casey Horton was playing her euphonium.
I leaned closer to El, and gestured toward Casey. “What’s she playing?”
El cocked an ear toward the sound. “It sounds like ‘Isn’t She Lovely?’ ”
I laughed. “That Casey Horton is a class act.” El nodded and leaned into me.
We were still smiling and clapping when I saw Tony making his way toward us.
I nudged El. “Here comes Tony.”
When he reached us, he nodded at me in greeting before taking El by the arm and leading her to stand near the edge of the Pagoda. He seemed to be showing her something on his cell phone.
El’s face looked stricken. She glanced at me, then closed her eyes and slowly shook her head before giving her full attention back to Tony, who was still talking and gesturing. He pointed at something off in the direction of the high school. Then he glanced at his watch. El nodded and touched him on the arm. She said something to him, and then headed back to where we all stood.
I could tell by her expression that something was wrong—very wrong. She was moving like an inmate walking The Green Mile in one of those Stephen King novels.
I decided to meet her halfway.
“What is it?” I asked when I reached her. “You’re white as a sheet.”
She let out a deep breath and looked at me. Really looked at me. I don’t think I’d ever been looked at in quite that way before. Not even by old Dr. Guttmann, who did my first GYN exam when I was sixteen.
“Something horrible has happened.” She touched my arm. “I mean at the plant.”
“My, god. What is it?”
Judging by the expression on her face, I knew it had to be bad.
“A woman working in the warehouse—I think Tony said her name is Ruthie Miles—had what appears to be a heart attack, likely brought on by heatstroke.” She slowly shook her head. “The EMTs weren’t called in time . . . she died on the way to the hospital.”
Ruthie Miles? Wynona’s sister-in-law was dead? From the heat? While working in the warehouse?
I closed my eyes. “Oh my god.”
“Apparently, she went to her supervisor to tell him she was feeling sick and having chest pains, but he told her to go sit down in a front office for a while, until she felt better and could return to work.”
Her supervisor? Oh, god . . . Earl Junior.
“They didn’t call for help?”
El shook her head. “Not for more than three hours.”
I was incredulous. “She sat there for three hours?”
El nodded again. “I think Buzz Sheets finally called the EMTs— after she lost consciousness.”
“Buzz knew about this?” I was feeling sick . . . and furious.
“I’m so sorry.”
El did look sorry, too. She looked as sick and miserable as I was starting to feel.
“Those bastards. Those stupid, fucking bastards . . .”
El squeezed my arm. “I know.”
“The air conditioning wasn’t even broken in that part of the plant. They just never fucking turned it on to save money.”
El dropped her hand. “I think we need to stop talking about this now, Friday Jill.”
We stood there, staring at each other like gunfighters facing off in a spaghetti western. More thunder rolled in the distance.
I blinked first. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, you shouldn’t talk any more about this—or the plant—to me.”
“Why not?” I started to feel sick for an entirely different reason.
She sighed. “I think you know why not.”
“No I don’t,” I lied. “What does this have to do with us?”
I knew it wasn’t a fair question, but I couldn’t stop myself from asking her. I needed to hear her answer.
“It seems likely that Ruthie Miles died because of a sad and regrettable combination of extreme heat and Krylon’s pattern of neglect and contempt for workplace safety.” El sounded as frustrated as I felt. “You know that as well as I do.”
I couldn’t disagree with her, so I simply nodded.
“I have a job to do. You know that, too.”
I knew it, but I didn’t want to know it—not any more than I wanted to know about things like global warming or the fact that all the fracking going on around here was probably poisoning our ground water and giving all the women in Gibson County breast cancer.
“Okay, I get it,” I said. Even though I couldn’t begin to process it all right then. “But where does this leave us?”
El took a moment to answer. “Right now, there is no us. There can’t be until this is over.”
“Until what is over?”
“Getting a vote.”
I was confused. “What vote?”
“The vote that brought me here.” She was starting to sound exasperated. “The union vote.”
“I thought you said that wasn’t going to happen—that you were ready to pull up stakes and leave?”
“Not any more. This is a game changer.”
A game changer?
I was shocked. “That’s what Ruthie’s death is to you? A game changer?”
For a moment, I thought she might slap me. But she didn’t. El had too much poise for that.
“I need to go now,” she said. “Tony is waiting for me.” Her voice was toneless. Flat.
My head was spinning. “Can I call you later?”
“It’s probably better if you don’t.”
She turned to walk away, but I grabbed her arm.
“El?”
She stopped and looked back at me.
“Is this really it?”
“No, Jill. This isn’t it. But right now, this is the only it we have.” She gently removed my hand from her arm. “I can’t make this situation better or different for you. You’re going to have to find your own way through it.” She hesitated. “Just like me.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“I know you don’t,” she said sadly. “Maybe when you do, we can talk about the future.” She looked at her watch. “I have to go now.”
I stood rooted to
my spot like a sapling and watched her walk away. It was only after she disappeared behind the Pagoda, that I realized it had started to rain.
Chapter 11
It rained all night. I was sure of it because I spent most of the night sitting up watching it come down. Fritz finally got tired of watching me watch the rain and wandered off to his bed. I kept thinking El would call, but she didn’t. I kept thinking I might call her, but I didn’t. It was plain that we were at what Grammy called sixes and sevens.
I still wasn’t sure what that expression meant. But I remembered the line about it from a college Shakespeare course. Was it Richard III?
“But time will not permit: all is uneven, And every thing is left at six and seven.”
Yeah. Well if memory served, things didn’t pan out so well for him, either . . .
I was fidgeting. “Antsy.” My mind was skating.
Six and seven. Stuck in the middle of . . . what?
Maybe it was just a bad throw in dice?
Or Baggo Cornhole?
Shit. Thinking about that sure wasn’t helping.
This was ridiculous. Pathetic. As bad as I felt, I wasn’t the one who’d lost a family member. Ruthie Miles was dead. Dead because of circumstances that should have been one hundred percent preventable. I knew the Krylon method well enough to guess that they would blame it all on a preexisting heart condition. It wouldn’t matter to them that Ruthie sat on a straight chair in a front office for more than three hours, feeling nauseated, dizzy, and short of breath. It wouldn’t matter to them that no one called the EMTs until she finally passed out. It wouldn’t matter to them that they knowingly put a moron with no sense or training in charge of an entire functional area of the plant. And it wouldn’t matter to them that the shift supervisor—a man with training and better sense—knew what was happening and still did nothing to intervene.
The only thing that would matter to the Krylon family was how they could manipulate the OSHA investigation and prevent the union from making hay out of Ruthie’s misfortune.
In my opinion, it was too late for that one. As Buzz would say, that bus had sailed.
Idiots. They were all idiots. Soulless idiots.