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Authors: Mackie Malone
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through these, like the sound when Freddy’s right behind you. There’s another sub over there.”
One black subwoofer sat on the floor on each side of the barn. Four big speakers, raised on stands, surrounded the hay bails, aiming into the center.
“Will I be totally freak out?” she asked.
“Hopefully,” he said. “If you aren’t, I’ll feel like a sissy. I’ll be acting cool, but inside I’ll be a coiled spring.”
“You’re just saying that,” Bailey said.
“I wish I were,” he answered.
“If it makes you feel safer, you can stay close to me,” she offered. “You know how brave I am.”
“Believe me, I’m counting on it,” he said.
Bailey continued to help set up, mainly pulling cords straight, tucking them under hay bales, and plugging them into outlets. The work made her feel good, welcome and important to the evening, almost a part of the planning.
Clearly, that was how Eric wanted her to feel, too, she decided, because once the cords were set up, and the speakers and the projection screen were ready to go, Eric asked her to help with the arrangement of the hay bales. Soon, Eric, Brad, and Casey were all heaving bales according to where Bailey thought they should go.
It was an empowering delight.
They were still positioning bales when people began to arrive. Mostly guys at first, with Eric playing host at the door. Brad and Casey continued asking Bailey about bales, and treated her as if she were actually in charge.
It was a relief, Bailey thought, to be doing this, which was wonderful, as opposed to what she’d envisioned throughout the day, especially the vision of her walking into the party as Eric Cady’s date, and all eyes flashing to her.
That horror was so opposite reality that she shook her head in disbelief she’d even been worried at all.
Until Carla Cummings walked in.
“Oh, you found some slave labor, I see,” Bailey overheard Carla mention to Eric at the door. “I didn’t know Bailey Howard ever left her house. Wow!”
“Bailey’s my special guest,” Eric answered.
“No one told me this party was catered by the Chicken Shack,” Carla said wickedly. “Kudos, Cady. You know how to throw a party.”
“No chicken dinner tonight, Carla. Sorry,” Eric said.
Bailey seethed just looking at Carla. It was difficult to believe that any woman could actually embody enough viciousness to throw another person’s happy mood straight into the gutter of despair within one second of setting her trampy, cum-soaked feet onto the scene.
Bailey’s decision overcame her in a rush.
Screw Carla Cummings!
She was taking zero shit from Carla Cummings tonight!
Not tonight, and probably never again!
Because it wasn’t right, treating people like dirt.
Bailey imagined what Jany would do. She imagined what Jany would say. Use your assets, Jany would have told Bailey. Play your aces.
But what were her assets?
What were her aces?
She had but one ace, she realized suddenly, and tonight one ace was all she needed.
Eric.
Yes.
It was his party, and he had chosen her , Bailey Howard.
So she walked over confidently in her blue jeans, blue shirt, and blue shoes, and with her chin held high, but not arrogantly so, she linked her elbow with Eric’s and said to Carla, “Eric asked me here to protect him, because scary movies make him jumpy. So I’ll keep him safe.”
Then she squeezed his arm and looked up into his eyes fawningly. She kept looking at him, ignoring Carla, until his face broke with a smile he refused to hold off.
“That’s true,” Eric said. “I do get jumpy.”
Carla scoffed and said, “Well, te smell of chicken makes me sick. Yuck.”
Without glancing from Eric’s eyes to Carla, Bailey said, “This is an unnecessary question, Eric, but do you like chicken?”
“I do,” he said. “I love chicken, in fact.”
“That’s what I thought,” Bailey said.
From there, it took only a smile from Bailey to Carla for Carla to walk away.
Chapter 11
B
One black subwoofer sat on the floor on each side of the barn. Four big speakers, raised on stands, surrounded the hay bails, aiming into the center.
“Will I be totally freak out?” she asked.
“Hopefully,” he said. “If you aren’t, I’ll feel like a sissy. I’ll be acting cool, but inside I’ll be a coiled spring.”
“You’re just saying that,” Bailey said.
“I wish I were,” he answered.
“If it makes you feel safer, you can stay close to me,” she offered. “You know how brave I am.”
“Believe me, I’m counting on it,” he said.
Bailey continued to help set up, mainly pulling cords straight, tucking them under hay bales, and plugging them into outlets. The work made her feel good, welcome and important to the evening, almost a part of the planning.
Clearly, that was how Eric wanted her to feel, too, she decided, because once the cords were set up, and the speakers and the projection screen were ready to go, Eric asked her to help with the arrangement of the hay bales. Soon, Eric, Brad, and Casey were all heaving bales according to where Bailey thought they should go.
It was an empowering delight.
They were still positioning bales when people began to arrive. Mostly guys at first, with Eric playing host at the door. Brad and Casey continued asking Bailey about bales, and treated her as if she were actually in charge.
It was a relief, Bailey thought, to be doing this, which was wonderful, as opposed to what she’d envisioned throughout the day, especially the vision of her walking into the party as Eric Cady’s date, and all eyes flashing to her.
That horror was so opposite reality that she shook her head in disbelief she’d even been worried at all.
Until Carla Cummings walked in.
“Oh, you found some slave labor, I see,” Bailey overheard Carla mention to Eric at the door. “I didn’t know Bailey Howard ever left her house. Wow!”
“Bailey’s my special guest,” Eric answered.
“No one told me this party was catered by the Chicken Shack,” Carla said wickedly. “Kudos, Cady. You know how to throw a party.”
“No chicken dinner tonight, Carla. Sorry,” Eric said.
Bailey seethed just looking at Carla. It was difficult to believe that any woman could actually embody enough viciousness to throw another person’s happy mood straight into the gutter of despair within one second of setting her trampy, cum-soaked feet onto the scene.
Bailey’s decision overcame her in a rush.
Screw Carla Cummings!
She was taking zero shit from Carla Cummings tonight!
Not tonight, and probably never again!
Because it wasn’t right, treating people like dirt.
Bailey imagined what Jany would do. She imagined what Jany would say. Use your assets, Jany would have told Bailey. Play your aces.
But what were her assets?
What were her aces?
She had but one ace, she realized suddenly, and tonight one ace was all she needed.
Eric.
Yes.
It was his party, and he had chosen her , Bailey Howard.
So she walked over confidently in her blue jeans, blue shirt, and blue shoes, and with her chin held high, but not arrogantly so, she linked her elbow with Eric’s and said to Carla, “Eric asked me here to protect him, because scary movies make him jumpy. So I’ll keep him safe.”
Then she squeezed his arm and looked up into his eyes fawningly. She kept looking at him, ignoring Carla, until his face broke with a smile he refused to hold off.
“That’s true,” Eric said. “I do get jumpy.”
Carla scoffed and said, “Well, te smell of chicken makes me sick. Yuck.”
Without glancing from Eric’s eyes to Carla, Bailey said, “This is an unnecessary question, Eric, but do you like chicken?”
“I do,” he said. “I love chicken, in fact.”
“That’s what I thought,” Bailey said.
From there, it took only a smile from Bailey to Carla for Carla to walk away.
Chapter 11
B
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