interrupted. “The best talent agent in the entire Southeast! But go ahead, Jerry.”
Jerry laughed. “Well, the agent took one look at her yellow cowgirl suit and yellow hair and the poor woman was—”
“—She was overcome! Completely overcome,” Mary Price said, her eyes as big as soup tureens. “The next thing I knew she was listening to my tape, changing Hoyt’s and my name to The Traveling Bumbaloughs, and by three o’clock we had a major audition.”
“An audition. Oh, Mary Price, that’s wonderful!” I said.
“But it gets better. Oh, Maggie Sweet, we got the job! Saturday night we’ll be one of the featured acts at Palomino Joe’s!”
“I’ve heard about Palomino Joe’s. They’ve got this big sawdust-covered floor for dancing, plank tables, pitchers of beer,” Jerry filled in.
“And it’s not just pickup bands, either. Vince and George and Charlie have all been through there and now we’re the featured act! We’ve only got one set, but if theylike us there’s no telling. And I aim to see that they like us,” Mary Price said.
“You may touch her now,” Jerry said. “’Course you’ll have to get in line for autographs.”
Mary Price took a deep stagy bow, then jumped up and spun around. “Oh, Maggie, I can’t believe it! It’s starting!”
Just then Hoyt came up the aisle carrying a bottle of champagne. When he saw us, he grinned, flung his arms around all of us, and hugged us tight.
“Oh, Lord!” I said, hanging onto them for dear life. They were my childhood, my history, my past—Mary Price and Hoyt, Maggie Sweet and Jerry, together 4-ever. I’d come home.
I started to cry.
Mary Price pulled away, “Lord, Maggie, don’t. You’ll have me bawling in a minute. We need to be dancing, not having a big old bawling session here in the Winn-Dixie.”
“I guess I’m like your agent—completely overcome,” I said, laughing through my tears.
Then Hoyt grabbed Mary Price and Jerry grabbed me and the four of us did a smooth combination line dance, Texas two-step through the meat aisle.
Jerry held me tight. “Maggie Sweet, it’s so good to be back. I wouldn’t have missed this for anything in the world!”
That’s when Dreama Nims nabbed us, laughing and dancing in the meat aisle at the Winn-Dixie.
Chapter 11
Dancing with Jerry at the Winn-Dixie had brought me back to life. But over the next few days I wondered if he’d saved my life or ruined it.
Tuesday morning, I lost my simple mind and drove past the city limits sign, the That’lldu, the Jesus-or-Hell bridge, past the Dinglers’ house, the stand of loblolly pines, Belews Pond and wound up on Chatham Road.
Thank goodness, Jerry wasn’t home. I don’t know what would have happened if he’d been there. Would I have flung myself into his arms, lived out my schoolgirl dreams? Made a fool of myself? Wrecked everyone’s lives?
It was such a close call that when I got back home, I was still shaking. Because while my heart was buckling at the knees, my head said, “For goodness sake, Maggie, you’re thirty-eight, not eighteen. The time for dancing in the aisles is over.”
While my heart said, “He’s the one for you,” my head said, “Your family’s counting on you. You’re a good Methodist girl from Poplar Grove, North Carolina. You can’t change that. You can’t go back on your raising.”
But spring cleaning, I’d catch myself line-dancing theoil soap over the mahogany paneling, shagging the velvet drapes on down to the dry cleaners, Western-swinging the steam cleaner over the rugs, and scrubbing the floors to George Strait’s “Second Chance.”
When Mary Price called, I was oil-soaping the kitchen cupboards. “I’ve reserved a big table up front for my friends at Palomino Joe’s Saturday night,” she said.
This surprised me so, I didn’t say anything.
“Maggie, are you still there? You are planning to go, aren’t you?”
“Of course I’ll be there. I wouldn’t miss it for
Jerry laughed. “Well, the agent took one look at her yellow cowgirl suit and yellow hair and the poor woman was—”
“—She was overcome! Completely overcome,” Mary Price said, her eyes as big as soup tureens. “The next thing I knew she was listening to my tape, changing Hoyt’s and my name to The Traveling Bumbaloughs, and by three o’clock we had a major audition.”
“An audition. Oh, Mary Price, that’s wonderful!” I said.
“But it gets better. Oh, Maggie Sweet, we got the job! Saturday night we’ll be one of the featured acts at Palomino Joe’s!”
“I’ve heard about Palomino Joe’s. They’ve got this big sawdust-covered floor for dancing, plank tables, pitchers of beer,” Jerry filled in.
“And it’s not just pickup bands, either. Vince and George and Charlie have all been through there and now we’re the featured act! We’ve only got one set, but if theylike us there’s no telling. And I aim to see that they like us,” Mary Price said.
“You may touch her now,” Jerry said. “’Course you’ll have to get in line for autographs.”
Mary Price took a deep stagy bow, then jumped up and spun around. “Oh, Maggie, I can’t believe it! It’s starting!”
Just then Hoyt came up the aisle carrying a bottle of champagne. When he saw us, he grinned, flung his arms around all of us, and hugged us tight.
“Oh, Lord!” I said, hanging onto them for dear life. They were my childhood, my history, my past—Mary Price and Hoyt, Maggie Sweet and Jerry, together 4-ever. I’d come home.
I started to cry.
Mary Price pulled away, “Lord, Maggie, don’t. You’ll have me bawling in a minute. We need to be dancing, not having a big old bawling session here in the Winn-Dixie.”
“I guess I’m like your agent—completely overcome,” I said, laughing through my tears.
Then Hoyt grabbed Mary Price and Jerry grabbed me and the four of us did a smooth combination line dance, Texas two-step through the meat aisle.
Jerry held me tight. “Maggie Sweet, it’s so good to be back. I wouldn’t have missed this for anything in the world!”
That’s when Dreama Nims nabbed us, laughing and dancing in the meat aisle at the Winn-Dixie.
Chapter 11
Dancing with Jerry at the Winn-Dixie had brought me back to life. But over the next few days I wondered if he’d saved my life or ruined it.
Tuesday morning, I lost my simple mind and drove past the city limits sign, the That’lldu, the Jesus-or-Hell bridge, past the Dinglers’ house, the stand of loblolly pines, Belews Pond and wound up on Chatham Road.
Thank goodness, Jerry wasn’t home. I don’t know what would have happened if he’d been there. Would I have flung myself into his arms, lived out my schoolgirl dreams? Made a fool of myself? Wrecked everyone’s lives?
It was such a close call that when I got back home, I was still shaking. Because while my heart was buckling at the knees, my head said, “For goodness sake, Maggie, you’re thirty-eight, not eighteen. The time for dancing in the aisles is over.”
While my heart said, “He’s the one for you,” my head said, “Your family’s counting on you. You’re a good Methodist girl from Poplar Grove, North Carolina. You can’t change that. You can’t go back on your raising.”
But spring cleaning, I’d catch myself line-dancing theoil soap over the mahogany paneling, shagging the velvet drapes on down to the dry cleaners, Western-swinging the steam cleaner over the rugs, and scrubbing the floors to George Strait’s “Second Chance.”
When Mary Price called, I was oil-soaping the kitchen cupboards. “I’ve reserved a big table up front for my friends at Palomino Joe’s Saturday night,” she said.
This surprised me so, I didn’t say anything.
“Maggie, are you still there? You are planning to go, aren’t you?”
“Of course I’ll be there. I wouldn’t miss it for
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