Slim Pickings in Fat Chance, Texas

by Bonaduce, Celia

  Dymphna had no idea what that even meant, but she brightened at the thought of asking Tino the next time she saw him. In any case, Pappy’s obvious plan of establishing a relationship with Old Bertha by giving her a miniature mule seemed to be a huge success.

  Maybe too much so!

  With a smile on her face, Dymphna swung the door open. She blinked as she realized someone was sitting in her designated seat. She looked to Polly, who was ferociously blinking some sort of signal to her. Dymphna looked around the room. Everyone at the table, with the exception of the woman sitting in her seat and Powderkeg, turned to look at Dymphna with surprised eyes. Powderkeg and the woman seemed to have eyes only for each other.

  Dymphna grabbed a chair and sat next to Polly.

  “We seem to have a guest,” Dymphna whispered. She peeked down the table at Powderkeg and could only glimpse the long ponytail of the visitor. “Do we know her?”

  “It’s Mikie, the pilot,” Polly whispered, handing Dymphna a platter of eggs.

  Dymphna gasped and Polly shushed her. Both of them tried to stifle giggles.

  “Isn’t Powderkeg kind of old to have an overnight guest?” Polly whispered.

  Titan shot them a withering glance. Dymphna knew he was not the gossiping type. Neither was Dymphna, usually. But Powderkeg and someone other than Cleo?

  Well, good for him! thought Dymphna. Cleo left him—twice—with a broken heart. It was nice—if a little surprising—to see him moving on. It was time.

  Is it time? Is Professor Johnson moving on? Am I?

  She looked down at Thud, nestled at her feet. He let out a sigh and she patted him. She knew Thud would never stop loving Professor Johnson, no matter how long he had to wait.

  Powderkeg and Mikie were the first to stand up after breakfast.

  “Thank you all for including me,” Mikie said. “But I better get moving. I have to get back to the ranch.”

  “And Powderkeg needs to install that fan belt,” Pappy said. “Which he was supposed to do yesterday.”

  “Sorry, Pappy,” Powderkeg said. “I got lucky . . . I mean busy!”

  Mikie laughed.

  Thank goodness, Dymphna thought. She wasn’t sure she would have found the comment funny if she’d been in Mikie’s shoes. In fact, she knew she wouldn’t think it was funny. But Mikie must be pretty comfortable around men, and men’s senses of humor, working in a masculine world the way she did.

  “We hope to see you again,” Fernando said.

  “I hope so too,” Mikie said, glancing quickly at Powderkeg and suddenly sounding very feminine.

  Powderkeg gave the signal that the fan belt was fixed. Titan, Polly, and Dymphna met him at the top of the turnout. They all waited for Pappy. Because the bus had been out of commission, the four artisans were late getting their crafts over to Dripping Springs. As they loaded up the bus, Polly took a few pictures with her phone, some with herself having a frantic good time in the foreground, some without. Pappy finally arrived, followed by Fernando, who came staggering up the hill, trying—and failing—to avoid the craters in the trail. Fernando was carrying a box that looked heavy. Pappy was carrying a key ring.

  “Now that we’re all here,” Polly said, “let me get a picture of all of us.”

  “I don’t like having my picture taken,” Pappy growled.

  “OK, then you take the picture,” Polly said, holding out her phone.

  “I don’t like taking pictures either.” Pappy walked right by her.

  Polly took a candid shot of him before he knew what happened.

  The group secured their crafts onto the back ledge and took their seats. It had become a well-rehearsed routine and everything went smoothly, with a minimum of fuss or conversation. Polly slammed the door and Pappy started the engine.

  “Hold it,” Fernando called out from the backseat. “We’ve got a visitor.”

  Thud bounded up the trail, sending dust and pebbles flying. Dymphna opened the side door and jumped down. She knelt and rubbed Thud’s fur.

  “I’ve got to go to Dripping Springs on business, Thud,” Dymphna said, her voice trembling. She and Thud were rarely apart. It occurred to her that if she and Professor Johnson officially broke up, he’d take his dog back. She wondered if you could officially break up if you never were officially a couple. She kissed Thud and wondered if women ever stayed with men just because they loved their dog.

  “Come on, Dymphna,” Pappy growled. “Let’s go.”

  “Okay.” She sniffed and turned back to Thud. “You wouldn’t like it in Dripping Springs. You’d have to stay in the bus, and we couldn’t have that.”

  Thud looked forlorn, as usual.

  “Go on back to the farm, Thud,” Dymphna said and pointed. “You need to watch the farm.”

  Thud turned around and raced back down the trail. He skidded to a stop and faced Dymphna, who pointed again toward the farm. He hung his head and then tore off again. Dymphna got back in the bus and the group headed northeast to Dripping Springs.

  “He’s such a smart dog,” Titan said. “I don’t think I could get Rocket to go back to the forge if I asked.”

  There was an uncomfortable silence in the bus. Rocket was a touchy subject. The inhabitants of Fat Chance knew that Rocket made Titan very happy and gave him purpose, but the general feeling was that the longhorn represented impending disaster for their friend. Dymphna shot a quick glance at the back shelf of the Covered Volkswagen and the delicate, almost lace-like iron bowls Titan was bringing to Dripping Springs. Each one was a masterpiece, but Dripping Springs was not New York City or Los Angeles, where he might have been able to sell them at an art gallery—and even then, he’d have to sell them faster than he could make them. Dymphna could feel tears prick her eyes. There was no way he’d ever make enough money to pay Dodge.

  “Fernando, whatever you have in that box smells delicious,” Dymphna said to lighten the mood.

  “More samples?” Powderkeg asked.

  “Yep,” Fernando said. “Chicken, this time.”

  “Can I have some right now?” Polly asked, reaching toward the box. Fernando slapped her hand.

  “Do not open that box,” he said. “Chicken is like genius—”

  “It can’t be rushed,” everyone in the bus intoned.

  When they arrived at Dripping Springs, Pappy pulled the bus off Highway 290 and into a parking space in front of the gift store called An Outpouring of Love. Titan and Dymphna saw nothing funny in the name; they genuinely liked it. But Powderkeg and Polly could never resist a jab at it every time they came to town. Powderkeg, annoyed at the meager profits they all made, called it An Outpouring of Low Wages, and Polly, who made fun of anything that hinted of sentimentality, called it An Outpouring of Lame Expressions.

  Glenannie, the proprietress, a middle-aged mocha beauty in swirling skirts, silver hoop earrings, and a wide embroidered headband that kept her salt-and-pepper corkscrew curls off her face, met the Fat Chancers at the door. Dymphna was always nostalgic when she laid eyes on Glenannie’s clothes. She used to dress like that herself before she became a farmer.

  “I heard the bus a block away,” Glenannie said to Pappy with a bright, toothy smile. “You’ll never sneak up on anybody in that thing.”

  “Sneaking up isn’t my style, anyway,” Pappy said, enduring a hug from the tiny woman. Hugging was also not his style.

  “Come on in. What have you brought me?” Glenannie asked, her eyes shining.

  The store was long and narrow and stuffed to the rafters with local crafts: jewelry, beeswax candles, quilts, lamps, clothing, gift cards, and leather goods. Dymphna was always surprised how much local talent there was. She admired everything she saw.

  Dymphna watched as Glenannie inspected the new offerings from Fat Chance. Glenannie wrapped one of Dymphna’s new shawls around her shoulders.

  “This is beautiful, my girl,” she said, studying herself in a full-length mirror. “I’ll put this in the window!”

  Powderkeg’s l
eather belts were inspected next, along with a three-legged leather stool held together with thick rope. The seat was hand tooled.

  “You are getting very good, Powderkeg,” Glenannie said. “This stool is exceptional.”

  Dymphna thought she saw Powderkeg blush at the compliment. He could make fun of Glenannie’s store all he wanted, but he knew she had an eye for quality—and also knew they were lucky she’d taken them in.

  Next Glenannie took one of Polly’s ornate hats and popped it on her head. The hat was brown, with a darker chocolate-colored headband, a lighter brown ostrich feather, and a smattering of red berries.

  “Hmm.” Glenannie turned her head from side to side. “What are you trying to say with this hat?”

  Polly shrugged, showing a hint of the hostile Goth girl she’d been when the group had first arrived in Fat Chance.

  “She’s trying to say,” Fernando piped up, “that this is a one-of-a-kind hat that only you could pull off.”

  Glenannie shot a look at Fernando. They had never met before. Dymphna was about to introduce him, but when Glenannie was in buyer mode, she was all business. Introductions could obviously wait. Glenannie continued to study her reflection.

  “Then it’s perfect,” she said. “Good job, Polly.”

  It was all Polly could do not to burst with pride.

  “And now, Titan,” Glenannie said, “let’s see what gorgeous things you’ve brought for me.”

  Titan laid out his latest editions of bowls and platters on the counter, along with several pairs of carefully executed earrings.

  “Always something special with you.” Glenannie took out the hoops she was wearing and slipped on a pair of Titan’s. “What do you want for the entire collection?” She swept her hand over the counter. “One thousand? Two thousand?”

  The Fat Chancers looked at each other in confusion. Glenannie ran a tight ship with limited stock, though she also took pieces on consignment. There had never been the suggestion of an advance payment before.

  “I . . . I have no idea,” said Titan.

  “All right, three thousand, and that’s my final offer.”

  “I can’t possibly take that much money,” Titan said.

  “Of course you can.” Glenannie stepped around the counter, wrote out a check, and handed it to him. “I have contacts in a gallery in Sedona. I’m going to send these pieces up there. Maybe they’ll catch on and we’ll make a fortune. Worth the risk, don’t you think?”

  “I suppose . . .”

  “I can’t make any promises, you understand.”

  “I do! I do understand,” Titan said, staring at the check. “Thank you for believing in me.”

  “I do believe in you, Titan,” she said, reaching over the counter and squeezing his forearm. “And I am proud to invest in your future.”

  Dymphna suspected that there was more going on, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

  Glenannie briskly changed the subject. She turned to look at Fernando. “And you,” she said. “You, I don’t know. But I’ve heard the rumors. You’re the cook who plans on taking over Texas with his barbecue, am I right?”

  “Sounds a bit presumptuous,” Fernando said. “But, basically, that’s the plan.”

  “Well, let’s see what you’ve got,” Glenannie said as Fernando opened the box and lifted two thick towels to expose a casserole dish full of bite-sized chicken pieces nestled in a reddish sauce.

  Fernando speared a large piece of chicken with a toothpick and handed it to Glenannie. Dymphna thought that if she had been Glenannie, she would have felt self-conscious with a room full of people staring at her, waiting for her reaction. For that matter, she would have been nervous if she was Fernando, but the two main participants in the drama seemed oblivious to the anxious stares of the Fat Chancers.

  “You’re good,” Glenannie said after tasting.

  “I know,” Fernando said.

  Glenannie speared another piece of chicken and nodded. “OK,” she said as if agreeing to something unspoken. “I’ll get the word out.”

  “Thanks.” Fernando started to close the box.

  Glenannie put her hand on the box. “And I’ll keep the chicken.”

  “Deal,” said Fernando.

  Glenannie moved on to the artists’ favorite part of their visit: their portion of the profits from their artisanship. Although no one had any illusion that selling a few items here and there at a little craft store in a town the size of Dripping Springs was going to make any of them solvent—let alone rich—it was always nice to be recognized financially. As the group concluded their business, Dymphna overheard a final exchange between Fernando and Glenannie.

  “Good luck with Titan’s stuff over at that gallery in Santa Fe,” he said.

  “Thanks.”

  Dymphna saw Fernando lean in to whisper in Glenannie’s ear, but she caught the words.

  “The gallery is supposed to be in Sedona,” Fernando whispered.

  Glenannie frowned, but Fernando first put his fingers to his lips in a shushing gesture, then kissed her on the cheek. Glenannie smiled and nodded. Dymphna thought she looked a little chagrined.

  Dymphna pulled Fernando aside as the others loaded themselves into the bus. “What was that about? Why did she forget where the gallery was?”

  Fernando made sure no one from the bus was watching. “There is no gallery. She’s just trying to help Titan meet his goal so he can keep Rocket.”

  “How did you know that?”

  “It was a guess,” Fernando said. “But when she said she had heard about me being in town, I’m not so big an egotist to think it was just because I’m so fabulous. She obviously keeps up on the news around here. If she knew about me, then she knew about Titan.”

  “Wow,” Dymphna said. “That’s a lot of guessing.”

  “But I was right.” Fernando headed off to the bus.

  “Of course you were,” Dymphna said, following him.

  CHAPTER 22

  “Hello?” Dymphna shouted into the phone. “Professor Johnson? Can you hear me?”

  “Yes,” Professor Johnson said. Dymphna thought she could hear relief in his voice. They had been trying to connect for weeks by phone, but they might have had better luck with the Pony Express. It hadn’t occurred to either one of them to post a letter.

  “I miss you,” Dymphna said, heat rising in her neck.

  Did she miss him? She wanted to miss him. She looked down at her feet. The bloodhound looked up at her. She knew Thud missed him, so she added, “Thud misses you.”

  “Thank you,” Professor Johnson said. “And I, you.”

  “Any word from the university?”

  “Yes!” Professor Johnson said. “That’s why it’s been so frustrating not getting hold of you for so long.”

  Was he blaming her?

  “I got my grant!” he continued. “I should be arriving in a week.”

  “I couldn’t quite hear that.” Dymphna changed positions on Main Street and hoped for a better signal. “When will you be here?”

  “In a week!”

  “In two weeks?”

  “One week.”

  “I can’t wait,” Dymphna said as the reception faded. “I’ll see you in two weeks. I have so much to tell you!”

  And so much not to tell you.

  She told herself she had nothing to feel ashamed about in her relationship with Tino. They definitely had a connection, but there always seemed to be something that stood in the way of them moving forward romantically. She couldn’t actually say what it was. Guilt on her part? Thud’s looming presence? Something in Tino’s past? She’d discussed the situation with Fernando and Polly over another of Fernando’s sensational barbecue experiments. Polly had ventured that Tino might be gay, but Fernando dismissed that idea.

  “How do you know he’s not gay?” Polly had asked him.

  “Are you seriously asking me that question?”

  “Then what’s your take?” Polly asked, as if Dymphna wasn
’t there.

  “They may have friend-zoned each other.” Fernando shrugged. He and Polly turned to look at Dymphna with pity.

  “I don’t know what that means,” Dymphna said.

  “There’s a certain span of time when friendship moves into romance,” Polly said. “If it doesn’t happen, it gets too weird to have sex.”

  “So you get friend-zoned,” Fernando said. “It happens all the time.”

  “Maybe that’s why Powderkeg and Mikie got involved so soon,” Polly said. “The deadly friend-zone threatened them.”

  “I am so over those two,” Fernando said. “They act like love-sick teenagers.”

  “It’s only been a couple of weeks,” Dymphna said. “Leave them alone.”

  “Oh, don’t listen to us,” Fernando said. “We’re just jealous.”

  As Dymphna and Thud climbed the hill to her farm, she thought about the friend-zone concept. It would actually explain a lot about her life. She always took things too slow. She and Professor Johnson had never actually taken their romance further than an occasional kiss, and now she wondered if he might be friend-zoned along with Tino. Fernando said it happened all the time, and he knew everything.

  The only saving grace was that she could still very much imagine making love with Professor Johnson—or with Tino. The idea of either one of them in her swaybacked rope bed didn’t seem weird at all, so maybe she wasn’t doomed. She gasped at the thought.

  She tried to think of something else. It was a shame Professor Johnson wasn’t arriving for another two weeks. One week from today, Fernando was having his grand opening, and it promised to be huge. Fernando knew how to promote his food—and himself. Farmers, ranchers, cowboys, and townspeople from Spoonerville, Dripping Springs, and beyond were all abuzz with the idea that great barbecue had come to their little corner of the world. Every time talk of Cowboy Food settled down, Fernando would show up with more samples and the excitement would begin again.

  Dymphna stopped halfway up the hill and looked at the Fat Farm. She could make out the goats playing in the barnyard. Two of the chickens sat on posts, to stay out of the fray. She couldn’t see Crash, who, weeks later, was still was too small to fly, although they were getting closer and closer to that particular day of reckoning. In the meantime, Powderkeg had cut a “ducky door” so Crash could come and go at will. The duckling joined the other animals during the day, but opted for the house at night. Thud looked up at her and wagged his tail. She gave him the OK, and he raced toward the farm, braying happily. She stood where she was, taking in her new life. Her berries and fruit trees were still a few months away from harvesting, her tomatoes, carrots, and broccoli were just about ready to burst.