already ordered, and Fernando wasn’t acting as catty and gossip-hungry as ever, I might have seriously considered it.
“So you were Afternoon Delighting with police boy, weren’t you?”
“I was. And if Bernadette doesn’t want to hear, then she can close her door or turn up her soaps or something.” I make a mental note to steal my eighty-two-year-old neighbor’s newspaper on Sunday morning. Nothing makes her madder than someone taking her coupons. A petty gesture, perhaps, but I’m sick of her spreading the sordid tales of my love life all over town. Honestly, what does the woman expect? Our houses are less than three feet apart. Even if I closed the doors—which I won’t because it’s too hot to have sex in the summer without ventilation—she’d probably still be able to hear every sigh and moan.
Theresa returns with my beer in record time, proving she’s going soft and feeling my pain. I grab the chilled mug and take a long, cold swig, hoping I’ll be beyond feeling anyone’s pain before the sun sets on this miserable day.
“I don’t see how you drink real beer and don’t get fat.” Fernando shakes his head as he surveys my admittedly flat midsection. “Not to mention all that chicken skin and lard.”
“I’m a skinny fat person, what can I say?”
“So you’re covered in cellulite under those dykey clothes you wear?”
“Totally covered. It’s disgusting, but Cane loves to count my ass dimples, so … ” I shrug, keeping a straight face, doing my best to destroy Fernando’s fantasy life. He’s one of my best friends, but I know he has a crush on Cane and rather enjoys Bernadette’s blow-by-blow descriptions of his sexual prowess. “And my clothes aren’t dykey, they’re functional. Not all of us dust shiny things for a living.”
“I don’t
just
dust shiny things.” He takes a sip of his Chardonnay. “I also order wine and occasionally pour it myself when Tanner has a day off. And I have been known to wash sheets and make beds occasionally.”
“Very occasionally.”
“Very, very. Why bother when those Mexican girls are so great at getting their maid on for me?”
“Shut the hell up, Fernando.” Theresa plunks down my wings. Wow. Wings and a beer in less than ten minutes. At this rate she’s going to give McDonald’s, the only fast-food restaurant still trucking frozen patties down into the Delta, a run for their money.
“Those Mexican girls will
rule
this town in ten years,” Theresa says, pointing a tiny finger at Fern’s perfectly sloped nose. He’s had work done, but you wouldn’t be able to tell if you didn’t know him before and after. “My sisters are saving their money. They’re going to lease those two big houses next to the courthouse and open a spa and bed-and-breakfast in a few years and take
all
of your business.”
“Just what D’Ville needs. A spa,” Fernando saysdryly. “I think they’d be better off opening a strip club. At least then Amity’s crowd would have some place to go when she closes at two.”
I kick Fern under the bar, and shoot him a “shut up” look.
Amity Cooper’s new bar—a renovated warehouse filled with big-screen TVs and a stereo system that makes the entire street throb from 9:00 p.m. to 2:00 a.m. every Thursday, Friday, and Saturday—is the bane of Theresa’s existence. Coop’s is three blocks away, but loud enough to disrupt business at Swallows. Theresa doesn’t get many families eating late dinner Thursday through Saturday anymore. People with young kids aren’t comfortable near the noise and the roaring SUVs and the general “gangsta” feel Amity has deliberately cultivated at her new place.
And it isn’t like Theresa or any of the other restaurant owners can complain. Amity clearly slipped a wad of cash in the mayor’s pocket to score the building. The church was after the warehouse for years to build a skating rink—Father Reginald offered a decent price and threatened the mayor with eternal
“So you were Afternoon Delighting with police boy, weren’t you?”
“I was. And if Bernadette doesn’t want to hear, then she can close her door or turn up her soaps or something.” I make a mental note to steal my eighty-two-year-old neighbor’s newspaper on Sunday morning. Nothing makes her madder than someone taking her coupons. A petty gesture, perhaps, but I’m sick of her spreading the sordid tales of my love life all over town. Honestly, what does the woman expect? Our houses are less than three feet apart. Even if I closed the doors—which I won’t because it’s too hot to have sex in the summer without ventilation—she’d probably still be able to hear every sigh and moan.
Theresa returns with my beer in record time, proving she’s going soft and feeling my pain. I grab the chilled mug and take a long, cold swig, hoping I’ll be beyond feeling anyone’s pain before the sun sets on this miserable day.
“I don’t see how you drink real beer and don’t get fat.” Fernando shakes his head as he surveys my admittedly flat midsection. “Not to mention all that chicken skin and lard.”
“I’m a skinny fat person, what can I say?”
“So you’re covered in cellulite under those dykey clothes you wear?”
“Totally covered. It’s disgusting, but Cane loves to count my ass dimples, so … ” I shrug, keeping a straight face, doing my best to destroy Fernando’s fantasy life. He’s one of my best friends, but I know he has a crush on Cane and rather enjoys Bernadette’s blow-by-blow descriptions of his sexual prowess. “And my clothes aren’t dykey, they’re functional. Not all of us dust shiny things for a living.”
“I don’t
just
dust shiny things.” He takes a sip of his Chardonnay. “I also order wine and occasionally pour it myself when Tanner has a day off. And I have been known to wash sheets and make beds occasionally.”
“Very occasionally.”
“Very, very. Why bother when those Mexican girls are so great at getting their maid on for me?”
“Shut the hell up, Fernando.” Theresa plunks down my wings. Wow. Wings and a beer in less than ten minutes. At this rate she’s going to give McDonald’s, the only fast-food restaurant still trucking frozen patties down into the Delta, a run for their money.
“Those Mexican girls will
rule
this town in ten years,” Theresa says, pointing a tiny finger at Fern’s perfectly sloped nose. He’s had work done, but you wouldn’t be able to tell if you didn’t know him before and after. “My sisters are saving their money. They’re going to lease those two big houses next to the courthouse and open a spa and bed-and-breakfast in a few years and take
all
of your business.”
“Just what D’Ville needs. A spa,” Fernando saysdryly. “I think they’d be better off opening a strip club. At least then Amity’s crowd would have some place to go when she closes at two.”
I kick Fern under the bar, and shoot him a “shut up” look.
Amity Cooper’s new bar—a renovated warehouse filled with big-screen TVs and a stereo system that makes the entire street throb from 9:00 p.m. to 2:00 a.m. every Thursday, Friday, and Saturday—is the bane of Theresa’s existence. Coop’s is three blocks away, but loud enough to disrupt business at Swallows. Theresa doesn’t get many families eating late dinner Thursday through Saturday anymore. People with young kids aren’t comfortable near the noise and the roaring SUVs and the general “gangsta” feel Amity has deliberately cultivated at her new place.
And it isn’t like Theresa or any of the other restaurant owners can complain. Amity clearly slipped a wad of cash in the mayor’s pocket to score the building. The church was after the warehouse for years to build a skating rink—Father Reginald offered a decent price and threatened the mayor with eternal
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