Down and Out in Bugtussle (20 page)

Stacey and I make another quick trip to the restroom, picking up what we swear will be our final drinks of the night. We hustle back down to our friends in row three, and then when Poison comes out, the excitement in the air is more intoxicating than my supercharged rum concoction that Stacey poured a little SoCo into while I wasn’t looking. The band starts playing and we all climb back up in our seats. A security guard comes through and makes us get down. Stacey ignores him until he threatens to escort her out of the arena. I want to tap this asshole on the shoulder and say, So it’s okay to smoke pot, but standing in the chairs for the last thirty
minutes of the concert is a no-go, huh? Great rules, ass-a-paloooza! I think better of it and keep my mouth shut. Stacey gives him a nasty look as she climbs down.

“It’s fine,” I yell. “At least they’re making everyone get down.”

“I wanna stand on that seat!” she yells back. Then the band starts the intro to “Every Rose Has Its Thorn” and she forgets all about it. I’m swaying to the music and having so much fun that I don’t even mind when some random dude starts slow-humping my leg. The band takes a short break and the crowd has pushed down to where it’s almost impossible to move. The guy is still humping my leg. Both bands come back out and do a few songs together, which is almost more that Stacey Dewberry can stand. My frisky new friend starts speed-humping me and when I turn to tell him to lay off, he tries to kiss me. I quickly turn away from his pooched lips and raucous breath and look at Stacey who instructs me to swap places with her again. The horny toad doesn’t even open his eyes and immediately starts humping her leg. Stacey taps him on the forehead and when he opens his eyes, he smiles at his new target and promptly goes in for a smooch. Stacey yells at him that his breath smells like hog balls, but he’s determined to get some lip action, so they have a little wrestling match that ends when she takes his shoulders and turns him toward the stage. He promptly slinks into the second row and starts humping some unsuspecting girl there.

“Look at him,” Stacey shouts at me. “Like the dang Energizer Bunny on erectile dysfunction medication!” She gets back to singing along with the lyrics and I feel pretty special that I’m able to sing along to a few myself. During the grand finale, confetti shoots down from the ceiling, the crowd presses forward even more, and I
smell marijuana again. I look around, don’t see the smoker, but do spot our pal the humper bunny engaged in a massive make-out session with a chick in row four.

When the lights finally come on, it’s a slow crawl up the aisle and out the door, and it is during this hike that I remember how hot my feet are and notice how bad they hurt.

“Are you okay to drive?” I ask when we finally step out into the crisp, cool night air.

“Hell to niz-oh,” she says. “How far are we from Beale Street?”

“Just over there,” I say, pointing.

“Something’s gotta be open,” she says. “I’ll be fine after I eat.”

S
aturday, I wake up with a massive thumping in my head and a greasy feeling in my belly. Buster Loo perches up on my shoulder and starts sniffing around in my hair. He snorts a few times, then backs up and twists his head sideways as if to say, “So, smoking again?”

“No, Buster Loo, it wasn’t me,” I say, reaching up to pet him. “But I do remember now why I stopped drinking the hard stuff. It’ll take me three days to get over this.” I roll out of bed, peel off the sheets, and haul them to the laundry room where I stuff them into the washing machine. “Hate that smell,” I mumble, closing the door behind me. I drag myself to the shower where I let the shampoo sit in my hair an extra five minutes. When I get out, I still smell smoke and look down and see a hot pink shirt and zebra print leggings. “Jeez,” I say, rolling them into a towel and taking the bundle to the laundry room. “Those are definitely next.” I’ve just
put on an old long-sleeve T-shirt and my junkiest pair of cutoff sweatpants when I hear the doorbell ring.

“Dang, girl!” Jalena says when I open the front door. “You look like you got run over by a dump truck. You must’ve had a big time last night.”

“Thank you,” I say, motioning her inside. “I did have a rather large time. I partied like it was 1989 and I ain’t even joking.” I ease into the kitchen and paw around in my designated medical cabinet until I find some aspirin.

“I came to help,” she says, holding up a large paper sack.

“With what?”

“With whatever you need,” she says. “You’ve spent nearly every Saturday for the past two months working for free at the diner and now I’m here to help you get this place ready for a party.”

I glance around my house. “It is ready.”

Jalena smiles. “Oh no, it’s not.” She empties her bag onto the counter and I see all manner of red and white and blue paraphernalia.

“What in the world is all that?” I ask as I pour Sprite into a glass packed with crushed ice and cherries.

“All of this is how you give someone a proper going away party.” She smiles. “And I’ve just had the best idea.” Her smile somehow gets wider. “I’m going to host parties. All kinds of parties. Full setup with invitations, decorations, and, of course, the finest catering service. I’m even thinking about taking a cake decorating class. I could do birthdays, showers, and anniversaries, whatever.”

“In addition to the restaurant?”

“No, in conjunction with the restaurant!” She starts picking through the decorations. “I’ve always wanted to be a party planner,
and when I was in that store this morning, I wanted to buy everything I saw. Then it hit me—I can host parties in the special-occasion room.”

“That is a great idea,” I say, thinking she obviously likes hard work a lot more than I do.

“So, I’m starting tonight,” she says cheerfully. “You just have to help me with the posters.”

“Posters?”

“Yes, posters! We have to make some posters! You can outline the letters and I’ll color ’em in.”

“Okay.” She puts a poster board on the table along with a few pencils and some markers. “I have all that stuff, you know,” I say.

“Yeah, I know, but I wanted to have some of my own to keep at the diner.”

“Fair enough.” I take a pencil and sketch out “God Speed” across one poster, “We” and a giant heart on another, and “SGT Dorsett” on the third. Jalena colors in the letters while I work on the heart. “Is that what it’s supposed to say?” I ask her.

“Looks good to me,” she says. When we finish, we take the posters out and tack them up on the back porch. Then she breaks out streamers, flags, balloons, the works. I tack and tape each and every corner, border, and edge she tells me to and when we’re done, I must admit that it looks pretty cool. I also must admit that I’m quite relieved to be finished because my head won’t stop thumping.

“This looks great, Jalena,” I say. “How much do I owe you for my part of all this?”

“Girl, I’m trying to advertise. Don’t be worried about stuff like that.” She shoots me a look. “How much do I owe you for letting me use your backyard area to show off my skills? How much do I
owe you for all the times you’ve helped me? Huh?” And then I figure out what really happened. Jalena got the idea to decorate for this party but had no intention of taking any money from me, so while she was looking around the party supply store, she came up with the idea about the party hostess thing. Or maybe she does want to be a party planner.

“Have you really always wanted to do this?” I ask, testing my theory.

“Yes, I have.”

“I’ve never heard you mention it before today. And you’re kind of famous for not wanting to cook when you’re not at work, remember?”

“I’ll be at work,” she says simply. “Honestly, it’s something I’ve had on my mind for a while and then when I saw a whole aisle of birthday stuff on clearance this morning, I thought, ‘I need every bit of that.’”

“Alrighty then,” I say, laughing. So be it. I fix her a sandwich and we eat out on the porch with Buster Loo sitting like a Coke bottle at our feet. When she leaves, I take another dose of aspirin, put on my shades, and take him for a turtle-speed walk around the block. When I get home, I call Stacey Dewberry to make sure she’s still alive and she acts like I’m crazy when I ask her if she’s hungover.

“Go get yourself a bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit,” she says. “Works every time. I’ve already mowed the yard and washed my car.”

“Jeez,” I say. “Your car was spotless yesterday.”

“Well, it’s even more spotless now.”

“Are you kidding me?” I ask.

“Ace, seriously, go get yourself a biscuit. And a hash brown or
two.” I ask her if she’s talked to Freddie; I’m worried about him bringing Cameron Becker, because I’m even more not in the mood for drama than usual, thanks to this headache that I’m almost sure is going to last for the rest of my life. She hasn’t heard from him.

“You know,” she says, “I don’t even have his phone number.” I realize I don’t, either, but he has both of ours. I look out the window and start worrying about those pictures he took of us last night.

I call Lilly, but she doesn’t answer. Neither does Chloe. I make my bed, straighten up my house, and take another shower. I get dressed in some decent, but comfortable clothes, then go into the living room where I shut the blinds and close the curtains. I turn down my air conditioner and stretch out on the sofa. Buster Loo comes and curls up beside me. And that’s where I am when Jalena and Ethan Allen show up at six o’clock. I roll off the couch, take another dose of aspirin, and help Jalena as she fusses over the final decorations. Ethan Allen is busy tending the grill and slicing open packs of Italian sausage hot dogs. Buster Loo is watching his every move.

“Did you bring your special toppings for those dogs?” I ask Jalena.

“Right over there,” she says, pointing to a Crock-Pot on the bar. “I brought that in and plugged it up while you were over there snoring like a lumberjack.” She glances at Ethan Allen. “Y’all kill me, leaving all your doors unlocked all the time.”

“Nothing to worry about around here,” Ethan Allen tells her, and I suspect it’s not the first time he’s had to tell her that.

Chloe and J.J. show up next, and Chloe can’t stop bragging on what an amazing job Jalena has done with the decorations. I stop myself just before I blurt out that Jalena could host her baby shower. I look at J.J., who has joined Ethan Allen next to the grill, and think about how sad it is that he has a baby on the way and doesn’t even know it. Serious as he is, I think he would be very excited.
Not my business,
I think as I rearrange forks and napkins.

“So, Chloe,” I say when it’s just the two of us, “where’s your favorite brother-in-law?”

“Who, Tate?” Chloe asks. “Oh, I must’ve forgotten to mention to him that there was a party.” She smiles, and I spend the next few minutes trying to figure out why I’m so disappointed. Don’t get your hopes up, moron! I think. There’s probably a very good reason he’s still single at his age. I decide to ask Chloe about that later. I’m sure she’ll be happy to tell me all about his romantic woes.

More people drift in, a casserole here, a red velvet cake there. By the time Lilly and Dax arrive, my backyard is packed and every available space for a dish is taken. I go into the kitchen and pour my special homemade banana ice cream into the mixer.

Before we start eating, J.J. gets everyone’s attention and gives a short and right-to-the-point speech about how lucky we are to have Dax here in this town and how grateful we’ll all be upon his safe return. Everyone claps while Lilly stands beside Dax, beaming at the crowd.

“Obviously, she’s got her medication leveled out,” Chloe whispers.

“Thank goodness,” I say. “Can you imagine how bad this would be if she didn’t?”

“It would be bad,” she whispers. “Very, very bad.”

I don’t get in line until everyone there has fixed a plate and I’m sorely disappointed when I get to the hot dog table and find that Jalena’s Crock-Pot of toppings has been scraped dry. Dammit! I think, picking up the mustard. Stacey Dewberry shows up after everyone has finished eating and entertains us with a glorious story about a cheese ball gone horribly wrong. I assure her that we’ve got plenty of food and tell her to help herself. Stacey makes a round of the tables, and when it appears she can’t pile anything else on her plate, I motion for her to join us on the porch.

“This food looks good,” she says. “Down-home country cookin’ can’t be beat. Is there any tea?” Chloe goes to get her a cup and I point to the empty chair next to me.

“Join us.”

Lilly and Dax are snuggled up in the swing. Lilly is sipping some kind of fruity-looking drink, and Dax is working on his second cup of homemade banana ice cream. Chloe is relaxing in one lounger and J.J. is leaning back in the other. Logan Hatter is perched in the chair directly across from me and Stacey is between us. Jalena is inside and Ethan Allen is hanging out with a group of people at the picnic table in the yard. Freddie Dublin and Cameron Becker have yet to show up.

“Stacey almost killed me last night, y’all,” I say, picking at a piece of cake on my dessert plate. “I had a big time, but I can’t hang with her.”

“What’d y’all do and why wasn’t I invited?” Logan asks. I look up at him just in time to see him pop a whole cake ball into his mouth.