Edison’s voice was loud. Heads turned.
So that was Herman Blanding. Sam started toward him. The gray man looked past her, his weak, pink-rimmed eyes staring into Edison Kay’s face; then he turned and shuffled away, disappearing into the crush.
*
Shortly after the burial service in Oakwood Cemetery, some of that same well-dressed crush was drinking bourbon and dunking shrimp in cocktail sauce in Queen Ridley’s all-white living room.
“In the old days, we’d have all sent over baked hams and covered dishes,” said one of the wives Sam recognized from the Kays’ party.
“Leave it to Queen to have a wake catered. Well, she might as well. It’ll be her last big do for a while.”
“Why, Kay Kay, you should be ashamed!”
Sam turned. Yes, it was Kay Kay who would win today’s Nine Lives competition.
The former Texas beauty queen continued sharpening her claws. “She’ll have to lie low for a while, maybe make another trip to Rio before she comes hunting. You better hold on to Clifford, old girl,” she said to a woman with blued hair standing beside her. “I reckon it’s going to be the big bucks she’s gonna come after. I’m not letting Edison out of the house till Queen’s bagged her a man and tied him to the bedpost.”
The women clucked, but their eyes encouraged Kay Kay as she warmed up.
“I been thinking about getting my whole body snatched up from the top of my head,” Kay Kay continued. “Just pull it all up from my toes. It’s what you got to do, girls, if you want to keep up with the competition.”
Were all unattached women the competition? Sam wondered, snagging a glass of soda from a passing waiter. Was she the competition? Of course she was—which was why she never got invitations from this crowd, not that she cared. You couldn’t take a chance on an extra woman in the game of marital musical chairs.
“God, you’re beautiful in black.”
She didn’t even turn her head. She would recognize that voice until the day she died.
She’d thought about him last night after she’d gone to bed—when she couldn’t avoid the thoughts any longer.
There had been a time, oh, there’d been a long time when she would have given anything in the world to hear Beau say the things he’d said to her yesterday.
But now? Now she was grown-up. That’s what she’d decided last night. He’d been only a young girl’s crush—a summer romance, her first lover. The choice of immature judgment. But there’d been nothing substantial between them.
What about the lust?
So what about it? So what about it?
She lusted after lots of people: Mel Gibson, Sam Shepard, x Jeff Bridges. That didn’t mean she’d take off her clothes and lie down in the street for them.
Well, maybe—if they weren’t movie stars, if she really knew them.
She knew Beau.
Which was probably why, when she heard his voice, despite her best intentions the little hairs stood up on the back of her neck.
“Don’t call me beautiful,” she hissed.
“I didn’t. I said you were beautiful in black. There’s a difference. But you are beautiful.”
She tried to move away, but the crowd was too close. Sam turned back to face him. Then the mob shifted and pushed her bosom into his chest. She glared up at him.
“I’m not saying a word.” He grinned.
“You’d better not. How’s Liza?”
Beau’s face sobered. “I put her to bed upstairs with a sedative. She ought to sleep for at least twelve hours. She’s all in.” He paused and took a deep breath, which she shared, of course. “So, what do you think, Sam?”
“What do I think about what?”
“About our working on this together.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
She rolled her eyes.
“Verbalize, please,” he said.
“Because I don’t want to work with you.”
“So you agree there is something to work on .”
She shrugged, which, given their proximity, wasn’t such a good idea.
“Who’ve you talked to?” he continued.
“Nobody. Well, Uncle
So that was Herman Blanding. Sam started toward him. The gray man looked past her, his weak, pink-rimmed eyes staring into Edison Kay’s face; then he turned and shuffled away, disappearing into the crush.
*
Shortly after the burial service in Oakwood Cemetery, some of that same well-dressed crush was drinking bourbon and dunking shrimp in cocktail sauce in Queen Ridley’s all-white living room.
“In the old days, we’d have all sent over baked hams and covered dishes,” said one of the wives Sam recognized from the Kays’ party.
“Leave it to Queen to have a wake catered. Well, she might as well. It’ll be her last big do for a while.”
“Why, Kay Kay, you should be ashamed!”
Sam turned. Yes, it was Kay Kay who would win today’s Nine Lives competition.
The former Texas beauty queen continued sharpening her claws. “She’ll have to lie low for a while, maybe make another trip to Rio before she comes hunting. You better hold on to Clifford, old girl,” she said to a woman with blued hair standing beside her. “I reckon it’s going to be the big bucks she’s gonna come after. I’m not letting Edison out of the house till Queen’s bagged her a man and tied him to the bedpost.”
The women clucked, but their eyes encouraged Kay Kay as she warmed up.
“I been thinking about getting my whole body snatched up from the top of my head,” Kay Kay continued. “Just pull it all up from my toes. It’s what you got to do, girls, if you want to keep up with the competition.”
Were all unattached women the competition? Sam wondered, snagging a glass of soda from a passing waiter. Was she the competition? Of course she was—which was why she never got invitations from this crowd, not that she cared. You couldn’t take a chance on an extra woman in the game of marital musical chairs.
“God, you’re beautiful in black.”
She didn’t even turn her head. She would recognize that voice until the day she died.
She’d thought about him last night after she’d gone to bed—when she couldn’t avoid the thoughts any longer.
There had been a time, oh, there’d been a long time when she would have given anything in the world to hear Beau say the things he’d said to her yesterday.
But now? Now she was grown-up. That’s what she’d decided last night. He’d been only a young girl’s crush—a summer romance, her first lover. The choice of immature judgment. But there’d been nothing substantial between them.
What about the lust?
So what about it? So what about it?
She lusted after lots of people: Mel Gibson, Sam Shepard, x Jeff Bridges. That didn’t mean she’d take off her clothes and lie down in the street for them.
Well, maybe—if they weren’t movie stars, if she really knew them.
She knew Beau.
Which was probably why, when she heard his voice, despite her best intentions the little hairs stood up on the back of her neck.
“Don’t call me beautiful,” she hissed.
“I didn’t. I said you were beautiful in black. There’s a difference. But you are beautiful.”
She tried to move away, but the crowd was too close. Sam turned back to face him. Then the mob shifted and pushed her bosom into his chest. She glared up at him.
“I’m not saying a word.” He grinned.
“You’d better not. How’s Liza?”
Beau’s face sobered. “I put her to bed upstairs with a sedative. She ought to sleep for at least twelve hours. She’s all in.” He paused and took a deep breath, which she shared, of course. “So, what do you think, Sam?”
“What do I think about what?”
“About our working on this together.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
She rolled her eyes.
“Verbalize, please,” he said.
“Because I don’t want to work with you.”
“So you agree there is something to work on .”
She shrugged, which, given their proximity, wasn’t such a good idea.
“Who’ve you talked to?” he continued.
“Nobody. Well, Uncle
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