Page 4 of Kandie Shoppe

“Hey, where do you get off besmirching my rep like that?” I screw him a mean look. He has the nerve not to take me seriously.

“Umm, because everybody with a third leg around here knows you don’t deliver beyond a few kisses and few cops of a feel that’s why. Not that I’m complaining. Nobody wants that smoke from Mama-Pete about her Kandie-girl.” He snickers, leaving me fuming at the edge of the dance floor.

Just then, one of my favorite dance songs, “BuckleBunny,” comes on and soon I find myself on the dance floor — well, between the floor and a little refresher when my buzz starts to dissipate until Jimmy-Ray is calling for last call.

Hurrying over to the bar, I let some random guy, Bob, Billy, Cy; I don’t know, buy me last call. “Thanks, sugah.” Winking, I toss back the contents of my Remy. Whew, the whiskey is sweet, but the buzz is sweeter.

“What you getting up to after this?” Eager beaver asks, more obvious than period blood on white pants.

“I don’t know. What are you getting into?” I ask, knowing better than to give him a quick rebuff.

“You, if I play my cards right,” he says, dropping his tone low, a smile creasing his utterly unremarkable face and boring ash blond hair. Right color, wrong shade, and he’s about ten inches shy of the six-foot-seven of a certain nemesis of mine.

“Well, you just reneged, buddy. Oh, but you’re probably a poker or bridge guy rather than spades. Nah—” I muse, tapping my chin. “Definitely pitty-pat or goldfish.” Pivoting, I blow a kiss at Queenie and mouth an “I’m out,” to let her know I’m leaving.

“Hey, don’t be like that, little lady.” He pulls my arm, his tone light, but his grip sure ain’t. Wincing, I turn back to him. “In caseyou didn’t get it from the card analogy, that was a ‘no’. No, it’s a hell no. Now, let me go.” Attempting to tug my arm, the only thing that crosses my mind is how kneading dough is going to be kicking my ass tomorrow morning because of the bruise this guy is leaving on my arm.

“You heard her,” Bubba-T says in a tone that spells this dummy’s body being found in the Tombigbee River.

The immediacy with which he releases me causes me to stumble. “Bitch,” I mutter.

“You a’ight?” Bubba-T asks.

“Yeah.” Refusing to acknowledge the loser, I scoot past the would-be altercation. “Thanks,” I mutter.

Glancing behind me, I see Bubba-T and a few of the other guys he’s with stare down the guy and his friends until they head out back to the rear parking lot. They must be from the county over, Epes. Guys from Shelby-Love know that type of behavior will get you laid down. We take care of our own collectively regardless of what side of the county you’re from.

“You need a ride, darling?” Bubba-T calls just as I reach the door.

“Sure, it’s your funeral, though. You know Ms. Ernestine don’t play that. Word gets out I was in your truck on a Friday night, and you know we’ll be having your wake next Friday evening and the service Sunday with her falling all over your casket.”

Throwing up my hand, I don’t wait to listen to the ribbing he’s getting from the guys he’s with who know I’m speaking nothing but the truth in that regard.

A few minutes later they blow their horns, passing me going in the opposite direction of the city center which I am heading into. This whole town is part of our heirs’ property, so all the land is owned by my family and when I say we’ve fought to keep it — we’ve fought to keep it. We have been kind enough to let itto those who want to build on it and keep up leases, which is how I came to own my little bakery. It was nothing but an old diner that when downhill once Ms. Shepard passed away and her son wanted to live in Birmingham.

I made that place my own. Worked hard for it. It’s not all I have because I got my family, but it is a big part of who I am. Kandie the Baker. The best cake maker, probably in this whole dang state. Mrs. Pam from church taught me right after I lost my family. It was an effort to reform myself. I guess it worked — no, it didn’t, but I don’t tell nobody that. I play hard but I work harder, and I have a booming business to show for it.

It’s not far. Our little town literally has one traffic light dead center. It was such a big deal when we got one we even had a ribbon cutting, with the mayor and a state representative, who they settled for when they couldn’t get Coach Saban down due to a conflict in his schedule.

My bakery, The Kandie Shoppe, sits right across from the Big Love Park, named after one of my great uncles named Big, who was actually named Ezekiel or Josiah, but was so big everyone called him Big because he was our version of John Henry. He saved our city when some disgruntled confederates from the Shelby side got mad our side was flourishing after the Civil War. To this day, the state has never allocated funds for a real fire department because Big didn’t let our city burn to the ground. Okay, he killed a lot of them in the process. We never did get the fire department, but we did name the park after Big thanks to Mama-Pete.

Everyone hoped after what happened — another thing I don’t talk about — they would fund one, but no. The pressure of those no-good Shelbys is the reason. We all know it. But now that my cousin, Delightful’s husband, FADE’s Creative Chaos plant, is bringing so much money to this area and the state, maybe wewill get one. Then we need to get rid of our ol’ no-good Sheriff, Ulysses, and his cousin, Sebastian the Mayor, both Shelbys.

Kicking a couple rocks, I watch them skip, then roll into the ditch I pass just shy of the tracks. If I’m to be perfectly honest, I meander on my best days, getting lost in my thoughts. When that liquor gets up in me, I do it a little more.

“Alright, focus or you’re going to be halfway to Mimi’s house.” I give myself a little chuckle, knowing it wouldn’t be the first time. My license got revoked and I don’t have time to be waiting on folks, so I keep getting violations for driving. Never mind, I’m a business owner, thanks to that dirty ass cop. Always giving me citations, leading to court dates I can’t miss because I don’t even have a part-time person, which leads to me being arrested and put in jail. The joke’s on them because I magically disappear and since no one wants to be the one that lost me, the whole thing just goes away.

“You fucking cock teasing bitch,” comes the scream out of nowhere just as a truck zooms by and I’m pelted with beer cans.

A full one catches me in the back and another grazes the side of my head, forcing me to lose my balance. My left foot slips on some loose rocks. Arms flying before me, I’m grabbing and grappling on nothing but air as the momentum sends me tumbling into the ditch.

Head over tail, I flip. The smell of fresh dirt and grass fills my nose as my face makes contact with it.

Thankfully, it’s the height of spring. Heavy rain has lent to an overgrowth of dandelions, buttercups, and clover lining the ditch. I don’t know how many rolls and tumbles I take on my way down, but I stop just short of the water rushing along the expanse leading out to the river.

When I come to, I lay there as my vision settles on the stars twinkling where I’m sure my ancestors are tsking in heaven, “Is this what we’ve come to?”

Blinking, I lay there for a moment just looking at the beautiful sky. I wiggle my fingers, cold but they work. My toes — fine, protected by my pink cowboy boots.

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