by Judy Clemens
“Valerie,” Jermaine said, proving that he really could hear a conversation while dancing in his seat to a country song.
“Right, Valerie.”
I sighed. “All right. I give. Who’s Valerie?”
“Poser,” Jermaine said.
Vernice patted his leg. “Valerie Springfield, another up-and-comer, a little more mainstream than Rikki, from the Lancaster area, and fresh on the scene. Supposedly Valerie and Rikki are having a fight over some new young star from that zombie TV show. Can’t remember his name. Jermaine?”
“Don’t care! Listening to music!”
Which I guess was more than a little hint.
Almost two hours later the girl wound it down, said her first goodnight, sang two encores, and finally finished with “Forever Your Country Girl.” The audience eventually settled down and began to file out.
Nick had turned pale, and I didn’t like that. “Hey. You okay?”
“I’m fine. Just tired.”
“Come on. Let’s get home.” I pulled him up from his seat, and we said goodbye to the Grangers, who invited us to come freeze corn the next day. I begged off, and we picked our way down the bleachers.
Halfway down we had to wait for parents with toddlers to clean up the disaster that had been their seats, and I let my gaze wander over the stage, on the other side of the fence, separate from the crowd. Black-clothed stagehands efficiently dissembled and packed microphones, signs, speakers, everything necessary for the concert. Several security guards remained, backs to the stage, watching the crowd, eyes constantly on the move. County fairs weren’t notorious for riots or crazed fans, but as Brady had mentioned earlier, there were plenty of hometown folks who hit the beer stands a little too hard. I didn’t blame Rikki, or her manager, or the fair board, or whoever, for having pros keeping an eye on things.
A flash of white behind the stage caught my eye, and suddenly there was Rikki Raines, with her cowboy boots. She was talking to someone I couldn’t see, arms flinging animatedly. She paused, hands on hips, then turned to go, shaking her head. A hand shot out and grabbed her elbow, and she yanked away, pulling the person into the light.
It was Gregg. Manhandling a second woman for the day. Who knew how many more there had been? The man was a menace. He’d changed out of his fake farmer clothes into a suit and a bright red tie. His recording studio executive costume, apparently. He obviously wasn’t happy, but then, was he ever? I hadn’t seen the man smile once that day. Not even when he was with his daughters, getting their should-be-illegal cows settled.
Rikki wasn’t happy, either. She poked Gregg in the chest, and he grabbed her wrist, pulling her close, although this time it didn’t look like he was thinking about sex. He wrenched her arm, and she writhed, her back twisting.
Why were the security guards not seeing this? Because their backs were to her, dammit. To protect her from outside people. They had no idea what was going on right there, on the “safe” side of the fence.
“Nick, we have to get over there.”
“Where?”
I pointed, but before he saw them, Rikki stamped on Gregg’s foot, and he jerked back. She yanked her arm away, and took several quick steps back, holding her wrist. She said something else, then spun around and marched off. Gregg made a move like he was going to follow, but a woman came up to him, holding an electronic tablet. He shoved it away, and she leaned back, holding the tablet to her chest. Gregg followed Rikki with his eyes, but she was too far away now, and more people had come between them. He waited a few more seconds, then walked stiffly away, the woman with the tablet trotting along behind.
“What’s happening?” Nick said.
“Nothing, anymore.” I explained what I’d seen.
Nick’s face darkened. “What is wrong with that man?”
“A lot.”
“He obviously doesn’t like women. Another reason for you to steer clear of him.”
“Not a problem. Too bad everybody can’t.”
The toddler family had finally made way for us, and we continued down the grandstands, meeting Zach and his bunch at the bottom. Taylor was standing right next to him, with Randy and Bobby hanging around behind them. Claire hovered off to the side, arms crossed, looking anywhere but at the other kids.
“Hey,” I said. “Like the concert?”
Zach shrugged.
“It was great!” Taylor said. “She’s so talented. It’s so wonderful how she’s growing her name on her own, and all the work she does with charity, and now the fair! And she’s so nice, too!”
I glanced at Zach to see how he was taking the girl’s little speech, and it seemed he was taking it just fine. In fact, he looked like Taylor had just spoken the most profound words ever. In a fantastic, gorgeous way.
“Yeah,” I said. “She’s quite the performer.” On and off the stage.
“Oh, Taylor! There you are.” A woman sauntered over and gave Taylor a one-armed hug. And not just any woman. It was the woman we’d seen with Mr. Gregg a few hours earlier in the trailer area.
Taylor smiled. “Hi, Mom! When did you get back?”
And it hit me. No wonder I had thought the woman with Mr. Gregg had looked familiar. She was an older, slightly taller version of Taylor the Bouncy Teen. I swiveled my eyes to meet Nick’s, and he nodded. He’d recognized her, too.
“Hi, Aunt Daniella,” Bobby said, and she gave him a little hug.
Claire didn’t look as eager to jump on the whole reuniting with family thing, but she said hi and let her aunt put her arms around her. Claire didn’t exactly hug her back.
“So, who have we here?” Taylor’s Mom said, eyeing Randy and Zach.
Taylor pointed them both out and introduced them, her hand staying on Zach’s arm as she gave me a blank look. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember your names.”
Nick nudged me.
“Huh?”
He held out his hand. “Nick Hathaway. This is Stella. She’s Zach’s sponsor for the fair.”
“Daniella Troth,” Taylor’s mom said. “Very nice to meet you both.” Daniella had a very firm grip, I’ll give her that. Like she needed any more glorious attributes to go along with her perfect—according to Nick—appearance.
“Taylor,” she said, “are you ready to go?”
Taylor deflated. “We were just going to go ride the double Ferris wheel.”
“No problem. I can find something to do for a few minutes yet. Just text me when you’re ready.”
“Bye, Mom. Thanks!” Taylor grabbed Zach’s arm and pulled him toward the fairway. He didn’t say goodbye to us. Randy and Bobby followed like they were attached with a tow rope. Claire trudged along behind. I wasn’t sure why I was feeling so sorry for the kid, except that I knew Zach was a great guy, and I could feel her pain. It’s hard to compete when a girl like Taylor is in the picture. Especially if the guy you liked had never really seen you in the first place. And the girl is your cousin.
“So I take it the fair is an annual event for you folks?” Daniella smiled at us, and I hoped Nick was still feeling my perfectness for him, rather than the golden aura that seemed to reflect off of this woman.
“It is for Stella,” Nick said. “My first time, actually, except for when I went to the fair as a kid.”
She focused her smile on me, and rather than sensing the whole pushy mom thing I would expect with someone whose daughter is in a beauty pageant, she seemed to really be interested in what she was asking. Imagine that.
“I live with cows,” I said.
Nick snorted.
“I mean, I’m a dairy farmer. Zach gets his animals from me. I grew up bringing my own.”
The three of us walked away from the crowd, toward the fairway. “I always wanted to raise an animal for the fair, but it wasn’t what my family did.” She sounded regretful. “So when Taylor got old enough, I thought maybe she’d want to be in 4-H with her cousins. Their mother, my sister, married into a farming family, so it comes naturally for them, and the
y’ve offered a second home to Taylor since her father died. She spends more time with them than at our place, some weeks.”
“Amy Kaufmann is your sister? Claire and Bobby’s mom.”
“That’s right. She’s been such a blessing during this time.”
I wasn’t sure if she was giving an opening to ask about her husband’s death, but I didn’t really want to take it, if she was. Nick, apparently, did.
“How long has your husband been gone?”
“Several years now. Cancer. Taylor was young, but she remembers him.”
Nick’s expression had gone all thoughtful, and I knew he was thinking about how he could die young, too. Not that I would let him.
“So Taylor and 4-H?” I said, wanting to change the subject.
“My brother-in-law offered to let Taylor take care of one of their cows, or even raise a calf. But she didn’t have the interest. She was more into…girl stuff.”
“Like the pageant.” I tried not to let my irritation with the whole judging-by-looks thing come through in my voice.
She glanced at me, a grin teasing her mouth. “Right. I guess I don’t really have anything against it. I own a salon in Philadelphia, so I deal with a lot of girls—and their mothers—who are involved. But it was never really my thing. I don’t really socialize or anything with the moms. I guess we don’t have much in common.”
Hard to believe, looking like she did.
“But Taylor thought it would be fun, and she has met a few nice girls through it. It’s not the same as me with the moms. Taylor and those girls are all connected on Facebook, and Twitter, and Face Time…I don’t even know all the right names. They share their contact lists, their photos, everything. You’d think they were all sisters, or at least cousins. And as far as the pageant itself, at least it offers something other than just the beauty portion. It’s taken cues from some of the larger organizations, and the contestants have to do community service, make good grades, and display a good deal of talent.”
“What’s Taylor’s talent?” Nick asked.
I expected something like baton twirling, or doing a cheer. Yay.
“She’s fluent in American Sign Language. She’ll do a song translated into that, kind of like a dance.”
“I’ve seen that sort of thing,” Nick said. “It’s beautiful.”
“I agree. Plus, she can use it as part of her service portion. She’s already translated at many events, and in schools.” A doorbell sounded in her purse, and she pulled out her phone. She frowned at the screen.
I didn’t like her new expression. “Are the kids okay? Daniella?”
Her head jerked up. “No, I mean, yes, the kids are fine. It’s…someone else.” She gave a brief smile, but it lacked the warmth of the earlier one. “It was so nice meeting you both. I hope to see you around some more this week.” She tucked her phone into her purse and strode away.
We watched her go. “Gregg, do you think?” Nick asked.
“If it was, I hope she’s got her knee ready.”
She disappeared into the crowd.
“So,” Nick said, “she’s nice and pretty.”
“I believe your earlier description of her was ‘perfect.’ ”
“Which I meant in a completely non-competitive way, compared to you.”
“Uh-huh.” I stared at him, but his pleasant, honest expression didn’t waver. “Whatever.”
“So,” he said,“maybe some funnel cake?”
I laughed at the change of subject. “I thought you were done with fried things.”
“Well, I was earlier, but that smell…”
“Then let’s go. I don’t want to deprive you of the best the fair has to offer.”
He grinned like a little boy.
Chapter Eleven
We bought a fresh pastry and ate it at a table in the school food tent, where we saw lots of familiar faces and had more than one conversation about the crappy economy and whether or not there would be any farm kids left for next year’s fair. Gloom and doom. That’s us. Welcome to the world of livestock and agriculture.
After a while Nick and I brushed the powdered sugar off our shirts—and he brushed some off my face—and we wandered back toward the parking lot.
“Leaving so soon?” Carla was just exiting the calf barn as we walked past. Only this time she wasn’t alone. Lugging her veterinarian tool kit was “the love of my so far disappointing life as far as guys go.”
“Hey, Bryan,” Nick said.
Bryan shifted the toolbox to his left hand and shook Nick’s, like the proper “aw shucks” guy that he was. “Nick. Good to see you.”
He glanced at me, and I bared my teeth in what I hoped was a convincing smile. He tipped his cowboy hat. Carla rolled her eyes.
“So are you?” she said.
“Are we what?”
“Leaving?”
“Yeah, we’re all tuckered out.”
She gave me a look, like what the heck was I saying, but seeing Bryan and his NASCAR accessories always made me feel like I needed to talk hillbilly, or we’d leave him out of our conversations. I know. I’m an ass. But, come on. Does he really have to wear the ginormous Jeff Gordon belt buckle and T-shirt and the watch with all the fancy timers? Was he afraid that without those identifying markers he would disappear?
“Sorry,” I said, “we’re just tired. This is our second time here today, and Nick’s doing his ghost impression.”
“I’m better now,” he said. “That funnel cake helped. We can stay longer.”
“Nick—”
“Ooh, funnel cake?” Carla grabbed my elbow and turned me around, walking me back toward the fairway. I glared at Nick, and he grinned. I’d make him pay later. In a good way.
“So,” I said. “You get things worked out from earlier today?”
Carla blinked, like she was having to reroute her thought processor from focusing on fatty foods. “What things?”
“You know. The parents who thought their animal was going to get sick from the neighboring stall.”
“Oh, them. Talk about drama. You’d think these people had never seen a cow before. But then, maybe these people haven’t.”
“Who?”
“That family. The ones who always buy their animals from the State Fair.”
“You know about them, too?”
“You kidding me? All us vets know about them. It’s not as if the champions don’t get listed everywhere, with their photos all over the place.”
“So the Greggs were the ones complaining?”
“Them and about a dozen others. It’s like people get off their own farms and forget to bring their brains along. Ooh, look! Elephant ears!”
“I thought you wanted a funnel cake.”
“Doesn’t matter. As long as it has fat and sugar, I’m happy. Right, honey?” This last was to Bryan. “That’s why you and I get along so well. I’ve got all the fat, and you’ve got all the sugar!”
He smiled at her, his eyes glowing, and she let go of my arm to go snuggle under his.
I, on the other hand, had neither fat nor sugar. I suppose I was the gristle. And Nick was the icing. Good enough to lick.
“What are you grinning about?” He walked up beside me.
“I’ll show you later.” I put my arm around his waist and hooked my thumb through his belt loop.
His eyebrows rose. “I like this. The fair makes you frisky.”
“And hungry.”
“Stop!” Carla shrieked.
I spun around, ready to defend her. But she was pulling Bryan along to the homemade ice cream stand. Nick and I watched as she ordered a large waffle cone.
“That woman,” Nick said.
“Yeah. Isn’t she great?”
“Want to get a table?” Bryan asked Carla, when she’d returned with a cone as big as her head.
“No. I want you to win me something.”
He winced. “I’m never any good at those carnival games.”
“Oh, come on. I
t’ll be fun.”
So the four of us wandered around the games, losing quarters—and dollars, which made me cringe—and marveling at how the international carnies lacked so many teeth. And hygiene skills. And names we could pronounce.
“Hey,” Nick said while we waited for Bryan to shoot ducks with a water pistol. “Isn’t that the Gregg guy again?”