Beauty Queen (22 page)

When they were through smothering poor Grayson, Grandma and Grandpa came forward to smother Rebecca. She managed to introduce Jo Lynn in spite of the usual Inquisition (Grandma: You re too skinny, honey, dont you ever eat? Is that the way you are wearing your hair now? Grandpa: How much did this place set you back? How much did they want for that Range Rover? What the hell is the matter with that big yellow dog? He damn near walked into the porch!)

Why the RV? she asked, when they both paused to draw a much-needed breath. Grandma and Grandpa simultaneously turned and looked at the huge RV, perhaps already having forgotten that they had driven it all the way from Houston.

Grandma shrugged. You just never know, do you? she said, as if that explained everything, and smiled at Rebecca, her octagonal pink-rimmed glasses making her blue eyes

look like enormous fish eyes. When are we going to get over to the bingo hall? I want to make sure I get a good spot.

Its two oclock in the afternoon, Grandma, Rebecca said. The event doesnt start until seven.

Well then, I need to fix you something to eat, she said, pushing past Rebecca into the house while Grayson took Grandpa around back to see where the dogs slept.

The rest of the afternoon was spent on phone calls to Gunter (what a shame Heather couldnt make it tonight!), who required several directions from the airport, then barking dogs and trying to keep Grandma from rearranging her kitchen (or Grandpa from rearranging her toolshed), and of course, avoiding the continuing Inquisition. Rebecca loved her grandma, but if she gave her an inch, shed demand all the details of her life. Fortunately, as Rebecca was on and off the phone, Grandma had to limit herself to quick, short observations about Mom. Shes just running away from her problems out there in Los Angeles, if you ask me, she said, shaking her head. She needs to poop or get off the pot, and decide shes going to leave him or come on home. This, with an emphatic nod of her blue-tinted head.

When it came time to go, Rebecca emerged from her bedroom dressed in a conservative gray Ralph Lauren pant suit. Grandma took one look at her and shook her head. You dont play a lot of bingo, do you honey? Rebecca changed to a long black skirt, black cowboy boots, and a brown suede jacket with fringe, which Grandma said was a little too dressy, but Grandpa said was perfect.

They drove over to pick up Jo Lynn, then on to the Elk Lodge, whose parking lot was full when they arrived, a half hour before the scheduled time. I knew we were going to be late! Grandma moaned, and was the first one out of Rebeccas Range Rover, Jo Lynn close on her heels. The two of them rushed forward, their bingo bags knocking into each other as Grandpa, Rebecca, and Grayson hurried behind.

The smell of brisket and beans blasted them as they walked into the lodge, where they were greeted by a

veritable sea of nylon and polyester, all beneath cotton-ball heads. A heavyset woman with a pink cotton-ball spotted them, broke away from a group, and came racing toward them astride a motorized scooter at such a speed that Grayson fearfully ducked behind Rebecca. The woman slammed her scooter to an abrupt halt, her dentures gleaming pearly white in a broad smile. Welcome to the Senator Masters Bingo Bash for Charity! she exclaimed. Im Francine McDonough, the president of the Silver Panthers.

Ms. McDonough, Im Rebecca Lear.

Well, Ill be a monkeys uncle! the woman cried, slapping her handlebar. E-mail just doesnt tell you what a person looks like, does it? Honey, I thought you were some old-timer from Lakeway! She laughed uproariously.

Ignoring the fact that she came across as an old lady on e-mail, Rebecca pulled Grayson from out behind her. This is my son, Grayson.

Oooh, what a cutie! Francine exclaimed. Come here, sweetpea. and let ol Francine have a look at you! Rebecca pushed a reluctant Grayson forward. Francine leaned over her handlebars in a gravity-defying move and pinched his cheek. You are a such a cutie, she said through clenched teeth, and abruptly iet go.

And this is my grandfather, Elmer Stanton.

I practically started the Silver Panthers, he said.

Did you? Francine asked, clearly skeptical. The place looks good, doesnt it? she said to Rebecca before Grandpa could continue. You know, when you wrote me about this party, I thought you were out of your mind. Ask a bunch of Silver Panthers to a bingo party, and you are asking for trouble! Francine laughed, braced her pudgy hands on her pudgier thighs. But here we are, ready to go! Now all weve got to worry about is that the caller had to cancel!

Rebecca was with her right up until her last statement. W-what?

Oh that ol boy you had lined up called here not a half hour ago and said some emergency had come up, so he aint gonna be here.

She said it so cheerfully that Rebecca wondered if shed heard her correctly. Then. .. who is going to call the bingo?

Hell if I know! Francine said with a jolly laugh, then suddenly craned her neck to see behind Rebecca. Well, will you lookie here, theres my old friend Mary Zamburger! Pardon me, sugar! She hit the accelerator of her scooter so hard that Grayson knocked into Rebecca trying to get out of the way.

But... Rebecca said, her voice trailing off as she whirled around to say something more to Francine and saw Gunter and his photographer cowering near the entry.

Now dont you worry, Becky, Grandpa said, patting her arm. Ill call the bingo.

Chips and Salsa were now the official state snack of Texas, thanks to the diligent efforts of Senator Masters.

Tom was really beginning to confuse the hell out of Matt. He had shepherded some good, decent legislation through the senate this session, but unfortunately, the only item to hit the papers was that stupid chips and salsa bit, and it made Tom look like a redneck in Matts humble opinion. An opinion which was shared by Doug, and the two of them had plotted how to undo Toms damage that afternoon, with no help from Tom, who argued that he would get mileage out of any bill. If you send a press release on anything that matters, theres always a loser, which means someone to get bent out of shape. You know what happened to me on the campaign finance reform bill I authoredthey might as well have nailed me to a cross on the capitol lawn! And besides, you cant deny that every red-blooded Texan loves his chips and salsa. I know I do.

But they dont love candidates who have nothing better to do with their tax dollars then sit around making up meaningless legislation, Matt responded.

Well, good God, Parrish, you sound like a damn Yankee! he laughed, clapping him on the back.

Judas Priest. Like he had to spell this out?

The whole thing had made Matt question his motives again, and what it was he hoped to achieve on this campaign. As no solid answers came to him, he was dreading the Silver Panthers event that evening, and probably would have skipped it altogether, taken some time to get his head on straight, had it not been but for one tiny little thing.

Yep. Her again. The sexually repressed wacko.

He was, for reasons that could not possibly be less clear to him, feeling discouragingly protective of her. Or maybe it was possessive. Whatever it was, he didnt like feeling it, particularly since, for all intents and purposes, she essentially had given him the ol heave-ho. In the aftermath of that, his assessment of what had happened (a full twenty minutes, a new personal best) between him and Miss Priss last week was that it had been an aberration in the space and time continuum. Nothing else would explain it. He knew she was trouble, that he was better off with women who actually liked him. So what if Rebecca was beautiful and sexy and just this side of odd? There were lots of intriguing women out there. There were.

And besides, just as he never took a case with too many screwy twists, he never took on a woman with too many screwy twists, either. He was quite comfortable doing the casual dating thing, and frankly, not since his college days had he engaged in a relationship that wasnt based primarily on fucking, to put it bluntly. Rebecca wasnt like that, shed made it perfectly clear that she definitely was not his type. Rebecca was a scared little fish who quickly swam away when things got too close... quite the opposite of his usual date, the barracuda who set her sights on him and beared down.

So why, then, had he given in to the senseless urge to call her? He might as well paint a big giant red F on his chest for FOOL. It was that four-year thing, right? He just couldnt forget it. There was something very alluring about it, on many, dusty and precarious Matt levels... not to

mention the silk panties hed found that were still on his dresser.

So it was, therefore, with a great deal of uncertainty and reservation that he said good night to Harold and told him hed be out at the Lakeway gig. Harold (whose fingers were flying across the computer keyboard at a perfect HHH120HHH words a minute) cried, Oh! Please tell Miss Lear hi for me! without so much as a pause in his maniacal typing.

As he walked into the Elks Lodge an hour later, the room was packed with what looked like so many plain sno-cones. Row upon row of white heads (interspersed with the occasional jet black or reddish purple) were bent over big white sheets, marking with fat, bright neon markers. Some of them were manning more than one sheet, and some of them had surrounded their sheets with a variety of stuffed animals.

In a smaller room to his right, another dozen or more sno-cones were seated around tables gnawing on some sort of meat amid a littering of pink TaB cans.

Cautiously, Matt stepped deeper into the lodge and noticed two elderly women, wearing identical green vests, seated behind a stack of big white sheets and colored markers. One of them eagerly waved him over, but Matt was too stunned to move, because the bizarre scene hadnt quite registered. He had expected some sort of meeting, a solemn, serious event, but this looked like . .. except that it couldnt be, could it? Nah ... it would be next to impossible to pull this off.

N-45! We all remember 45! N-45!

Bin-go! A woman shouted, and popped up like a jack-in-the-box, her paper skin swinging loosely under her arms as she woo-hooed to everyones applause.

We have a winner! The announcer was sitting with one extra-large hip half cocked onto a bar stool, looking like some senior citizen lounge lizard. Next to him, a machine popped white bingo balls like a giant snow globe. Come on up here, honey, and lets make sure you won that twenty-five-dollar pot!

Im definitely in the wrong place, Matt muttered to himself, and pivoted around, only to be stopped cold by a huge banner sagging across the door:

Welcome to the Masters Bingo Bash for Charity!

Thank you Senator Masters!

What the hell? he breathed as the winner did a little cha-cha through the tables on her way to the dais to claim her prize.

Matt, right? a male voice asked, causing him to jump a good foot in the air as the announcer asked for the winners sheet to double-check the numbers. It was Gunter, dressed in all black again. Gunter, he said with a sigh of relief, extending his hand.

Thats a bingo, all right. Okay, doll, what charity are you going to donate to ?

Im going to donate it to the Arthritis Foundation.

Thats a good one! I could use a little of their help myself! Okay, folks, line em up, we got us a forty-dollar pot coming up!

Theyre really into bingo here, Gunter said stoically.

No shit. Wheres Tom? Matt demanded.

Are you ready? Got your cards lined up? Ready to play a little B-I-N-G-OOOH? the announcer sang.

Hasnt shown up yet. But there goes Rebecca, he said, and nodded at a figure darting through the crowd toward the dais.

Matt gaped at the figurethat was Rebecca. No wonder he hadnt noticed her before her hair was coming out of its braid, a towel or something was hanging like a handkerchief from her pocket, and she was carrying what looked like a giant eraser. She raced up the three steps to the dais platform and a big white erase board there, which she frantically rubbed as the announcer pulled a ball from the popping bingo machine.

The first number in game four is B-11. Thats Beeee- eleven. Which reminds me and I dont think I can say this often enough Joe Hampton has warned that we all stay away from the beeeeeans. Says theyre delicious but

lethal. The crowd laughed as Rebecca wrote, in perfectly straight and giant letters , B-11 on the white erase board.

Youre kidding me, Matt said flatly.

Im not kidding, Gunter said as he crossed his arms over his concave chest.

What happened to a meeting?

Hey, Im just here for the pics, dude.

Well, he was here for a meeting, and Matt was instantly marching for the dais. When he reached it, he stood off to one side, by the stairs, just below Rebecca. Rebecca! he hissed as the old guy called I-20.

She hardly even spared him a glance as she erased the board and wrote I-20. Wheres Tom? she hissed back at him. He promised hed be on time!

I-20, where I almost met my maker once, pulling a fifth-wheel trailer. Appreciative moans went up from the audience as everyone carefully marked their I-20s.

Perhaps Tom was confused, Matt loudly whispered back. Perhaps he expected a real meeting and not a bingo game!

Bash.

Excuse me?

Its a bingo bash, she corrected him. And it is a real meeting.

Ready, gang? The next number is 0-66. Get your kicks on oh-six-six ...

Rebecca dutifully erased the board and printed a neat 0-66.

I thought you said you got Tom a gig in front of the political part of the Silver Panthers, not their bingo club!

I did get him in front of them, if hed only show up!

In here?

The announcer looked over his shoulder at Matt and Rebecca; Rebecca quickly walked to the edge of the dais and squatted down. A hint of her perfume wafted over Matt, and damn it if it didnt instantly stir up all the shit he had worked so hard to push down. And she looked, he noticed, very rattled, which instantly made him feel weirdly protective of her again. Matt, she said, with what