Zigzagging Down a Wild Trail by Bobbie Ann Mason Page B

it into a wineglass. Annie had learned that he had an extensive collection of
Nova
shows on tape and that he used to work for an escort service, but she didn’t know what to make of those facts. She wondered if she should have mentioned her sister in Lexington. Maybe she should have made up a brother in Chillicothe, Ohio. She shouldn’t have offered her sundeck for the sick plant.
    In the kitchen later in the evening, Wes grabbed a croissant and stuffed it with a hunk of chicken.
    â€œMy tastes don’t run to paté and coq au vin,” he said as he squirted ketchup onto his sandwich. “Want to go with me to Uncle Frog’s Rib Shack sometime and get some real food?”
    â€œWhat would my boyfriend say?”
    â€œHe’d say I feed you good,” he said, teasing. “Sorry I can’t take you to see the Stones. I could take you to Stone Mountain. But I guess that would be a dumb substitute.”
    â€œDid you mean what you said—that you could die happy if you saw the Rolling Stones?”
    â€œSometimes I think like that,” he said, embarrassed. “I just can’t think of anything that would top the Stones, ecstasy-wise.”
    The way he said “ecstasy-wise” made Annie laugh. He was mocking the restaurant manager’s pompous jargon. She liked Wes, but she caught herself, as if there were a child inside her about to slam through a car windshield. What if she fell in love with him? She suddenly felt as though she were in a movie but simultaneously watching it, waiting to see what would happen. That evening at a corner table a pair of lovers were celebrating their engagement. They ordered everything rich, starting with brandy Alexanders and oysters on the half shell and finishing with fluted chocolate cups plopped full of peanut-butter mousse. He gave her the ring during the dessert, just after the champagne was poured. Annie got the impression that the proposal had been a total surprise to the woman. Annie heard her whine, “But I have to study for my CPA exam.”
    â€œWhen are you going to settle down?” Annie’s father wanted to know when she called her parents a little later that evening. She used the pay phone in the corridor by the restrooms and called collect, something her parents still insisted she do.
    â€œI’m not through rambling yet,” she said. “I haven’t even been to California. Or Alaska. I want to go to Alaska and roam around the tundra someday.”
    â€œIt’s cold in Alaska,” he said. “Do you plan to live in an igloo?”
    â€œFunny, Dad. Very funny.”
    She didn’t tell her parents she was working undercover. They watched too much television.
    Her father said, “I worry about you, honey. Atlanta’s a big city.”
    â€œYes, but it’s really very interesting. Everything’s called Peachtree here. Peachtree Street. Peachtree Plaza. It’s a real peachy place.”
    â€œI know I can’t talk you into getting a handgun, but at least you need a dog.”
    The thought of a dog struck her deeply, like what journalists call hard news. She hadn’t had a dog in three years. She didn’t mind being alone, and she kept thinking fondly of her suddenly widowed aunt Helen, who had jaunted off to Europe alone when getting a refund on the trip she’d planned with her husband proved to be problematic. Aunt Helen had the adventure of her life. It occurred to Annie that she’d rather have a dog than the ghostly Scott, who was beginning to seem like a creep. The notion of Scott had come to her during the flight to Atlanta, when she read an article about Japan in an airline magazine. In Japan, there were agencies that rented people out as wedding guests. It was cheaper to rent a person to play an old grandmother than to ship the real one in from the mountains. And people wanted important guests at their weddings, so they rented actors to impersonate public