Read Online The Sweet Potato Queens' First Big-Ass Novel by Jill Conner Browne - Free Book Online

weighing room.
    â€œSpeak of the devil,” I said softly as I saw Tammy in the reception area, wearing her white nurse’s aide uniform with her purse tucked under her arm.
    â€œI was just coming to see if you were ready to have a little lunch,” she said. “Wanta go to Miz Coleman’s?”
    Tammy never made it to Nashville after graduation. For the last several years, she’d worked in a gynecologist’s office a couple of blocks away from the Quick Weight-Loss Center. She’d only intended to work there the summer after graduation, and take off for Music City in the fall. But then a teeny-tiny complication came up.
    â€œIt’s going to happen,” Tammy said breathlessly as the two of us left my office and trudged to Mrs. Coleman’s Dream Kitchen, which was three blocks away. “He’s going to leave his wife!”
    The “he” Tammy was referring to was Dr. Deke Day, tanned, blond, and preppy—a poster boy for country-club living and therefore powerful juju to Tammy.
    â€œIs the special today pork chops or country-fried steak?” I said. We’d only been outside for a minute, and I already felt a trickle of sweat at the back of my neck.
    â€œI could see it in his eyes,” Tammy said, taking fast steps with her size-five feet to keep up with me. “This time he really means it.”
    I stopped short and straightened my body to its full six feet one inch. Maybe she’d listen for a change.
    â€œYou mean as opposed to the fifty zillion times before?”
    â€œHe’s at a medical conference for a few days, but he said as soon he gets back he wants to talk about the future .”
    â€œThat doesn’t mean a damn thing,” I snapped. “Maybe he just wants to talk to you about giving him more blow jobs in ‘the future.’”
    She blushed, and tucked her hands into the pocket of her smock. “I don’t care what you say. This isn’t about sex.”
    â€œBullshit, hunny! It is ALL ABOUT sex,” I said in a low voice. We’d reached the entrance to the Dream Kitchen, which was a small gray building with loose roof shingles and peeling paint. The rule in the South generally is, the more pitiful the restaurant on the outside, the better the food was apt to be on the inside. That certainly was the case with Miz Coleman’s.
    We curtailed our conversation while we joined the cafeteria line. Two rather large women named Mamie and Caroline served up the food, and they didn’t stand for the least bit of dilly-dallying. If you didn’t say your order fast enough to please them, they’d likely scream, call you names, or short you on portion size. No one ever questioned their reign of terror—their food was just too damn good.
    When I reached the head of the line, I hopped to attention and rattled off my order: “Country-fried-steak-fried-green-’maters-collards-corn-bread-sweet-tea-to-drink.”
    â€œYou want lemon in your tea, sugar pie?” said Mamie in a saccharine voice as Caroline ladled up the food on my tray. If you followed orders and didn’t bottleneck their line, Mamie and Caroline were gentle as lambs.
    Tammy and I walked with our trays in hand, looking for an empty seat. We found a place beside the window and, as soon as I sat, Tammy proceeded to douse her food with pepper sauce without even tasting it first.
    â€œBy the time the others get to town, I’ll probably be announcing my engagement,” Tammy said.
    The Queens were due in three days. I hadn’t seen any of them (except Tammy) since the summer following graduation, although we talked on the phone and exchanged letters.
    â€œSuppose hell freezes over, and Dr. Dick actually does leave his wife. What then?”
    â€œWe’ll be together for always, instead of sneaking around,” Tammy said, her eyes dancing like candle flames. “And I’ll be the wife of a doctor! And please