Page 122 of Whiskey Chase
“And I’m gonna bring me back my man!”
They were rioting in my living room. I was picked up and carried to my bathroom on the shoulders of Freddy Sleeth and Corbin the keyboardist.
They dumped me inside and slammed the door behind me.
“Find me something conservative to wear,” I yelled to Cassidy. “I’ll show him what a politician’s girlfriend looks like!”
My reflection in the mirror over my tiny vanity caught my eye. “I can do this,” I told myself. “At least I think I can.”
I showered quickly and brushed my teeth. Cassidy shoved a dress and shoes into my hands. Once I was dressed, Opal Bodine squeezed into the bathroom and, standing on the lip of my tub, styled my hair into a chic twist. I slapped on some makeup over the fresh bruises going for a look that said boardroom, not brothel, and called it done.
I strolled out of the bathroom and struck a pose for the twenty-some people still crammed inside my house.
“What do y’all think?”
“Are your boobs tryin’ to escape?” Millie Waggle asked.
I looked down and grabbed my girls. The dress Cassidy had picked was a remnant from my short stint in 10thgrade band. It turned out that I hated the clarinet, and the trumpet player I was trying to impress was more interested in one of the trombonists, if you know what I mean. I lasted for one concert, in this high-necked dress, before quitting.
“I don’t think your breasts like their incarceration,” EmmaLeigh, a homemaker and mama of four wild boys, said eyeing the flesh spilling out the sides of the dress. EmmaLeigh was nice as pie and sweet as tea. “Maybe if you wore a little wrap?”
“Here!” Buck whipped the gauzy pink cloth off of the lamp shade closest to him, and Opal wrapped it around me like a little jacket.
Cassidy stepped forward with a to-go box in her hands. “Here’s a pepperoni roll in case he tries to say no. Clarabell says good luck and bring your boy home.”
My eyes stung as I accepted the box.
“He won’t say no,” Gibson said, stepping up to take his turn. He nudged my chin up. “But if he does. You call us. And we’ll kick his ass.”
I nodded, the little gold earrings danced in my earlobes. “Are we good, Gibs?” I asked.
“We’re good.” He lifted a hand to ruffle my hair, but Opal slapped his hand away.
“We gotta fix things with Jonah,” I told him.
He scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Yeah, I know. You let us worry about that.”
I nodded, trusting him to do what needed to be done. Bowie held up my truck keys. “Gassed up and ready to go.”
“Thanks, Bow.”
“Go get your guy.”
I looked around at the people crowded in my kitchen and living room. “What if I can’t stay in Bootleg anymore? What if I have to move?”
“Then we’ll come visit you,” Bowie promised. “We’ll bring the moonshine and pepperoni rolls.”
“I’m scared about things changing,” I whispered.
“Sometimes change is better than keepin’ things the same,” he said sagely.
Jameson was next. He gave me a nod and patted me on the head. In Jameson’s world, that was the equivalent of a five-minute hug and a conversation. He handed me a brown paper bag. I peered in it and found a sandwich and a box of condoms.
“Just in case,” he said stoically.
I laughed and squared my shoulders. “See y’all. I’m gonna go get me a boyfriend!”
49
