BeautyandtheButch by Paisley Smith

Chapter One
     
    Lindsey Mitchell hefted the heavy camera onto her shoulder
as she and assistant producer Maurice Vega strode into the hotel where the Miss
Georgia National beauty pageant was being held.
    “We’re late,” Lindsey said, bursting through the side door
to enter the event center.
    Laboring for breath, Maurice waddled quickly behind her,
dragging a hand truck loaded with booms and microphones in his wake. Sweat
beaded on his forehead, but his hands were so full he couldn’t have mopped his
brow if he’d wanted to. His layered tees and plaid flannel overshirt barely
reached the top of well-worn jeans that looked as if they might give up the
fight and plummet to his ankles any minute.
    Lindsey shook her head. “Why’d you wear all those shirts?”
She held the door as he twisted sideways to slide through. “You look like
Ignatius J. Reilly.”
    Maurice’s size indicated he’d seriously missed an
opportunity to be a linebacker for a pro football team, but Lindsey knew his
temperament tended toward the opposite end of the spectrum. Maurice was a big
teddy bear who enjoyed heated games of Dungeons & Dragons and
reading superhero comic books rather than hard hits in a sports arena or God
forbid, spring training exercises.
    He stopped briefly and heaved several great breaths. “I
think I have a couple of Big Chief tablets in the car,” he said, referencing
Ignatius, the hero of A Confederacy of Dunces , which they both regularly
quoted. “But you’re hardly my Myrna Minkoff.”
    Lindsey chuckled and raked her fingers through her spiky
black hair. Once Maurice had wedged through the door, she let it go and they
walked down the hallway toward the information desk.
    Black and silver festoons draped over a backdrop of
glitter-frosted pink decorated the walls and the tables. “Wow, they really went
all-out for this shindig, didn’t they?” She leaned closer to Maurice. “I wonder
where they keep the Barbie Corvette.”
    Maurice’s eyes twinkled behind his black-rimmed glasses. “I
don’t know, but I wouldn’t mind going for a ride in it.”
    Lindsey scoffed. “Don’t let their big smiles fool you.
There’s nothing between the ears of those women.”
    “I don’t care what’s between their ears . And don’t
underestimate the power of the Vega.” He waved his hand over and around his
camera with the flare of a game show model. “We’ve got a built-in aphrodisiac.”
    An entourage flocked around one contestant, making
last-minute adjustments to her frothy white gown. Lindsey’s gaze flicked back
to Maurice. “Yes, and the thought of getting on TV is the only way we could get
any of these gals to pay attention to either of us.”
    Maurice chortled. “You can’t honestly tell me you wouldn’t
sample these Georgia peaches if given half a chance.”
    Lindsey sneered. “Not my type.”
    “The kind that’s got legs and a head is my type,” Maurice
said, craning to watch a brunette beauty in a royal-blue dress float by. He
turned back and waggled his black eyebrows at Lindsey. “Not even that one?”
    Lindsey looked back at the ultra-feminine pageant queen.
“Girls like that don’t notice girls like me. They’re looking for MRS degrees,
minivans, picket fences and two point five kids.”
    “They pay plenty of attention to me,” Maurice joked. “In my
shower.”
    “Eww!” Lindsey said and punched his arm playfully. “I don’t
need to know about your solitary pursuits.”
    “Seriously, though,” he said. “I’ve known you going on six
months and I don’t know what your type is yet.”
    Lindsey shrugged. “Somebody with a little—strike that, a
lot—more substance than a girl who’d parade around on a stage in a bikini and
stilettos.”
    A woman shot up from the information table, skirted it and
started toward them. “You must be from The Learning Network.”
    Lindsey grasped the obvious former beauty queen’s hand and
shook it vigorously. “Lindsey Mitchell. This is Maurice