to act confused. He took a swig of beer.
“Checking up on you?” he finally said, a little too high-pitched.
“Uh-huh. Have you? Don’t lie to me, Len. I already know the answer.”
“Well then, Mart, why’d you ask?” She gave him a look, and he said, “It’s not what it sounds like.”
“I’m listening.”
“I’m just worried about you and Carrie, and sometimes I drive by to make sure everything’s copacedrin.” He sat back, pleased with himself for spouting off such a big word. Martha Maye rolled her eyes.
“You mean copacetic?”
His face dropped. “Whatever. The point is, I’m just trying to watch out for y’all. You should be happy to have somebody care for you like I do.”
Martha Maye sat for a few minutes, watching the show with him but not seeing or hearing it. When she thought she’d spontaneously combust if she sat there one more second, she got up and headed for the stairs.
“Where you going, doll?”
“To tell Bean goodnight,” she said over her shoulder.
She hated reality TV, and she resented Lenny making himself at home when she’d only invited him in to tuck in their daughter. And she resented him checking up on her.
But as she climbed the stairs, she began to feel bad about her attitude. Why am I being such a witch , she thought. He’s been nothing but nice to me since he got to town. So what if he wants to watch a stupid TV show.
Butterbean was on her bed playing with her dolls when Martha Maye walked into her room. She scurried to get under the covers.
“I thought you were sleepy.” Martha Maye stood next to the bed, hands on her hips, looking down at her daughter.
“Well, not really. I just wanted Daddy to come in. We had a real fun day. I like being with him, Mama. Do you?”
Martha Maye reached under the covers, took Barbie out of Butterbean’s hands, and then put her in the basket by the bed. She lay down on her side next to Butterbean, so they could look each other in the eye.
“Do you, Mama? Do you like Daddy?”
Satan loads his cannons with big watermelons.
~Southern Proverb
L enny walked into the Magnolia Bar, known to the locals as the Mag Bar, strutting his stuff. He’d started frequenting it because it wasn’t as seedy as Humdinger’s, the bar just outside of town, and it wasn’t as upscale as the Silly Goose, which was located on the town square. He thought Humdinger’s had too many ladies of the evening, and the Silly Goose had too many uppity women. He felt ladies of the evening were beneath him. As for the uppity women, he always had to make the first move, and none of them seemed to like his pickup lines, for some strange reason. The Mag Bar was just right for Lenny, and he had become a regular in the few weeks he’d lived in Goose Pimple Junction.
He walked past the bar, shouting his order to the bartender on his way to the jukebox. “The usual, Cash. My mouth is dry enough to spin cotton.”
Cash was bald as a billiard ball and big as a bear. He’d boxed in the past, which had left him with a wide nose that made his narrow eyes more noticeable. A couple or ten broken noses will do that to a face. He wasn’t exactly a champ, but at the Mag Bar, he was in his element. Cash served as owner, bartender, and bouncer at the Mag Bar, although he hardly ever had to put on his bouncer hat. For one, the bar was rarely that kind of place, and for another, people took one look at Cash and tended to toe the line.
Lenny sat in his usual seat at the bar as “She’s Actin’ Single, I’m Drinkin’ Doubles” wafted from the jukebox. Cash set a bottle of Colt 45 in front of him.
“You’re a little late tonight.”
“Been over to the wife’s place,” Lenny said out of the side of his mouth. “But keep that on the down low, okay? I wouldn’t want it to interfere with my love life.” The two men guffawed.
“Aw, you dog, Lenny. I don’t know how you do it, man. You got a different girl every night. And what’s this about a
“Checking up on you?” he finally said, a little too high-pitched.
“Uh-huh. Have you? Don’t lie to me, Len. I already know the answer.”
“Well then, Mart, why’d you ask?” She gave him a look, and he said, “It’s not what it sounds like.”
“I’m listening.”
“I’m just worried about you and Carrie, and sometimes I drive by to make sure everything’s copacedrin.” He sat back, pleased with himself for spouting off such a big word. Martha Maye rolled her eyes.
“You mean copacetic?”
His face dropped. “Whatever. The point is, I’m just trying to watch out for y’all. You should be happy to have somebody care for you like I do.”
Martha Maye sat for a few minutes, watching the show with him but not seeing or hearing it. When she thought she’d spontaneously combust if she sat there one more second, she got up and headed for the stairs.
“Where you going, doll?”
“To tell Bean goodnight,” she said over her shoulder.
She hated reality TV, and she resented Lenny making himself at home when she’d only invited him in to tuck in their daughter. And she resented him checking up on her.
But as she climbed the stairs, she began to feel bad about her attitude. Why am I being such a witch , she thought. He’s been nothing but nice to me since he got to town. So what if he wants to watch a stupid TV show.
Butterbean was on her bed playing with her dolls when Martha Maye walked into her room. She scurried to get under the covers.
“I thought you were sleepy.” Martha Maye stood next to the bed, hands on her hips, looking down at her daughter.
“Well, not really. I just wanted Daddy to come in. We had a real fun day. I like being with him, Mama. Do you?”
Martha Maye reached under the covers, took Barbie out of Butterbean’s hands, and then put her in the basket by the bed. She lay down on her side next to Butterbean, so they could look each other in the eye.
“Do you, Mama? Do you like Daddy?”
Satan loads his cannons with big watermelons.
~Southern Proverb
L enny walked into the Magnolia Bar, known to the locals as the Mag Bar, strutting his stuff. He’d started frequenting it because it wasn’t as seedy as Humdinger’s, the bar just outside of town, and it wasn’t as upscale as the Silly Goose, which was located on the town square. He thought Humdinger’s had too many ladies of the evening, and the Silly Goose had too many uppity women. He felt ladies of the evening were beneath him. As for the uppity women, he always had to make the first move, and none of them seemed to like his pickup lines, for some strange reason. The Mag Bar was just right for Lenny, and he had become a regular in the few weeks he’d lived in Goose Pimple Junction.
He walked past the bar, shouting his order to the bartender on his way to the jukebox. “The usual, Cash. My mouth is dry enough to spin cotton.”
Cash was bald as a billiard ball and big as a bear. He’d boxed in the past, which had left him with a wide nose that made his narrow eyes more noticeable. A couple or ten broken noses will do that to a face. He wasn’t exactly a champ, but at the Mag Bar, he was in his element. Cash served as owner, bartender, and bouncer at the Mag Bar, although he hardly ever had to put on his bouncer hat. For one, the bar was rarely that kind of place, and for another, people took one look at Cash and tended to toe the line.
Lenny sat in his usual seat at the bar as “She’s Actin’ Single, I’m Drinkin’ Doubles” wafted from the jukebox. Cash set a bottle of Colt 45 in front of him.
“You’re a little late tonight.”
“Been over to the wife’s place,” Lenny said out of the side of his mouth. “But keep that on the down low, okay? I wouldn’t want it to interfere with my love life.” The two men guffawed.
“Aw, you dog, Lenny. I don’t know how you do it, man. You got a different girl every night. And what’s this about a
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