Talk of the Town (6 page)

Sam drove up to the Williamsons’ house in a cream-colored 1950s Chevy pickup truck. A peach of a vintage vehicle. Kelly was watching from behind the swagged sheer ruffled curtains of Dottie’s living room window, trying to act cool. Dottie Williamson was watching, too, but she wasn’t even attempting coolness—she elbowed Kelly, and whistled, “Now we’re talking! What a hunk!”

“Dottie, I’m shocked!” Kelly laughed.

“Don’t be, dear. I raised three teenage boys. I’ve seen it all.”

They both watched Sam stride up the walk. His casual clothes were quite a contrast to the
lawyer suit, but the faded Levi’s and soft white polo shirt still showed off his incredible physique. In fact, Kelly was rather in awe of this, and Dottie had to pull her away from the window before he got too close and saw them. He knocked. Dottie opened the door casually.

That gave Kelly a moment to remember that as stunning as Sam was, he wasn’t for her.

“Why, hello, young man. You must be Kelly’s new friend.” Dottie stood at the door with her back to Kelly. Sam towered over her petite frame and blue-gray hair.

Great. Kelly’s new friend. Like Dottie hadn’t known Sam his whole life. This whole setup was crazy. She was going to have to have a talk with the local matrons and get them to back off. She needed to explain to them that the great Henry Samuel Grayson Jr. needed a straight-off-the-rack corporate girlfriend. How come he and Ponytail Blondie didn’t hook up? Lynnette might be nuts, but she fit the part.

“Hello, Mrs. Williamson. Nice to see you again.” He brought a bouquet forward. “These are for you.” He handed a bright bunch of cosmos, snapdragons, tiger lilies, and baby’s breath to Dottie. Dottie looked at Kelly with that Paradise-wink look.

“Thank you, Sam. These are lovely. We’ll take
them to church for the table.” Dottie took two steps and toe-stretched a kiss on Sam’s cheek. Kelly could swear she saw him blush.

“I’ll just go put these in some water. You have lipstick on your face, son,” Dottie said.

There was awkwardness. Huge, zit-on-your-nose awkwardness.

Sam broke it. “Ladies, let’s get this show on the road.” He reached in his pocket, took out a blue bandana, and wiped the lipstick off his cheek.

“Right this way, kids,” Dottie took over. She directed the loading of foodstuffs, plus the addition of Sam’s bouquet. Kelly was amazed at the amount of food Dottie had produced: three blackberry-blueberry pies, four huge bowls of potato salad, two big pots of baked beans, and two plates of fried chicken. Martha Stewart could just move on over. The Paradise women were her equals in every way.

“You ride with Sam, honey. My husband Walt will be here in a second to pick me up.”

Kelly was having second thoughts about having let Ginny stuff her into this countrified peasant blouse and a full gauzy red skirt—red with tiny flowers. It was the weirdest outfit she’d had on in her life, but it was working. The blouse had a habit of falling off one shoulder, so Ginny
made her wear a strapless. It made her breasts seem more structured than normal. Funky. She slid into the bench seat next to Sam. He closed the passenger door and went around to his side.

The Chevy purred into action. The black and chrome dash gleamed with polish. The knobs had been re-chromed.

“Three on the tree, redone black leather, panoramic wrap on the rear window. ‘Fifty-five?” She guessed.

“‘Fifty-six. Cameo.”

“Wow, that’s rare.”

“Car buff?”

“I used to read
Vintage Car
magazine. One of my mom’s more long-term boyfriends subscribed.” Kelly shut her mouth. She didn’t want to tell Sam one more seedy, downtrodden thing from her past. She wanted to go to her first church social ever and pretend she was born here.

When they arrived at the church, they all pitched in unloading. The reverend, Sam, and some of the other men were set to work putting up more chairs around the perimeter of the room.

The women organized the food buffet on long white linen-covered tables. Warm rolls, fruit salads. The seemingly endless offerings filled an entire side of the church hall.

Someone sat down at an old upright piano and started playing a familiar ragtime tune. Everyone’s tasks took on a ragtime rhythm.

Kelly watched, amazed, as the event unfolded. The hum of conversations and greetings as people arrived took on its own music and got louder as more people came in.

The hall had a wall of French doors that opened to a lovely courtyard. Young people wandered outside with their plates of food.

Kelly wallflowered herself back behind the piano player and listened to people talk. She learned that Lydia Peterson, the church organist and sister of Mavis of the stuffed cat, was at the piano. Some of the choir members were singing. A few couples were dancing. Kids were eating big bowls of vanilla ice cream with chocolate or butterscotch sauce. Mothers were spooning bites into gleeful babies with gooey faces.

Kelly felt like crying again. She should be happy. This was exactly what she wanted. This was the Andy Hardy movie she’d been waiting for. But something was missing.

Ginny came up beside her with one of her kids draped over her shoulder, hollering.

“Scotty’s having a time-out. Mind if we join you?”

“Not at all.” Kelly grabbed a cookie off the table and handed it to screaming Scotty. He shut
up immediately, mouth full, and grinned at her over Ginny’s shoulder.

Ginny turned and gave her a glare. “Are you hiding back here?”

“Yes.”

“It’s a social. That means you meet people. You’re the new girl.”

“Thanks for the dress-up. I blend in better. Every third girl has the same outfit.”

“Happy to oblige. ’Course, only about two of them are your size. Now come and get a plate of food. Food is the door to acceptance in this town, in case you didn’t notice.”

“Did you know I don’t even know how to boil water? I’m a kitchen flunkout. I’ve eaten take-out food my entire life.”

“Time for a change. Try some of Dottie’s chicken. She could teach you everything in a week. She would, too.”

“Myrtle is trying to fatten me up. It’s fun.” Kelly was hungry. She grabbed a thick white church plate and started down the row. Where was Myrtle, anyhow? Kelly thought she was closing up early today.

There was a plate of biscuits still hot from the warming oven. Her mouth actually watered. The pile on her plate grew high.

Sam Grayson got in line behind her. His friendly voice, his friendly face. Why shouldn’t
she just have a good time with him? No harm in that.

“Damned amazing isn’t it?” So this was why Dottie Williamson had shoved him toward the food. Hell, at least he could be nice to Kelly. She was new here, and he’d watched her hide in the corner for twenty minutes until Ginny dragged her out. It was his civic duty.

“Yes. I’ve never seen this much food in my life.”

“I’m sitting with Will and Ginny outside. You’re welcome to join us.” Polite. He was just being polite. Her blouse dropped off one shoulder. One bare, smooth shoulder, just inches away from him. Fortunatly, his hands were full of plate and silverware.

Ginny and Will were seated under an old magnolia tree with the now-calm Scotty and his older sister Beth. Beth was picking up seed pods and lobbing them into her little brother’s curly brown hair. Scotty kept brushing his hand up to figure out what was landing on him.

“Hey, Kelly,” Will said. A man of few words.

Sam had spread out a blanket next to Will and Ginny’s and now positioned himself against the trunk of the tree, trying to balance a plate on his lap.

“Room for one more on the trunk here,” Sam
said, trying to get his fork to stick into a piece of pineapple.

Kelly scrunched herself up next to him, rearranging her skirt to cover those great legs of her. Sam tried to focus on his sweet and sour pork.

Scotty started hollering again, his head full of pods. Beth tried to look innocent.

“We’re going to the playground. C’mon, you two. Tell it to Dinky Van Decker. She’s on playground duty.” Ginny carried off the three-year-old, with the five-year-old in tow. Ginny whispered something to Will before she left.

“Thanks for this. I’m glad you asked me to the tree. I was being a wallflower,” Kelly said.

He gave up on his food for a minute, set the plate down. Like she could ever be a wallflower. She was truly a strikingly beautiful girl—even with that spiky hair. A brown leather belt with gold medallions cinched in her skirt waist and held that blouse up—sort of.

“Eating is the strangest thing to do in front of someone, don’t you agree?” she went rambling on.

“Kelly, I find you extremely attractive, but…you…you’re married.” His brain tried to sort things out. His body was winning, and his brain was most definitely losing.

She moved closer. A wonderful heat crept up his spine.

“Am I? Does a three-hour marriage I want out of count? If I hadn’t married him for a few hours, I’d simply be free of a two-year relationship. Would you even think twice about it?”

“Probably not,” Sam answered.
Except for the rest of it,
he told himself silently. He searched his brain for the
con
list. It was in there somewhere. Fake name, stole the car—oh, there it was.

“And where is it written we can’t just have a good time together? Does everything have to be so serious? How about we just enjoy the evening, then call it a night and move on to other people?”

“Makes perfect sense to me. Let’s just have a good time,” Sam answered. It did. It made sense. He was so damned confused around her. It was the first thing that had made sense in two days.

“Good. Now I’m going to eat this hot biscuit before it cools off,” Kelly announced. She felt a huge sense of relief. Now she could just hang with friends and enjoy her church social moment.

She bit into the incredibly good biscuit and dropped a glob of raspberry jam onto her…boob.

Sam took his napkin and gently gathered the jam off of her. Some got on his fingers, and he licked it off. Kelly swallowed what she had in her mouth before she choked on that, too.

“Beautiful church, isn’t it? Great setting.” Sam
said this as he wet another napkin with his ice water and wiped the rest of the raspberry jam off of Kelly. Slow, long strokes.

Kelly was about to have an orgasm at the church potluck.

“Sam.”

He stared at her for a minute. She watched his brain kick in. He poised the napkin in midair, then set it down and grabbed up his plate. They ate in silence for a while.

“Ahem. Would you care to dance, Kelly?” Will Palmer stood in front of her. She hoped he hadn’t witnessed too much of the boob moment, though how he could have avoided noticing, she didn’t know.

What the hell, this might be a good moment for a break. “Sure, Will.” Kelly got up, dusted herself off, and took Will’s arm. She gave a backward glance at Sam. He was looking mighty surprised.

Will took her hand and led her inside the hall onto the dance floor. Lydia, the organist, had been joined by two very old men, one on a bass fiddle, one with a violin. Wait, it was Red Miller on the bass. The trio was playing “Let Me Call You Sweetheart.” Four members of the choir sang in barbershop-style harmony.

Ginny’s husband guided her into a swaying waltz to match the 1890s tune. He was a pretty good dancer. No talk, just dance. He spun her
around. She laughed from a part of herself she probably hadn’t felt since she was a little child.

The piece finished, Will gave a bow, partners traded, and she found herself with Reverend Evans, who did a lively fox trot, whatever that was. Across the room, she saw Sam dancing with little Bethie Palmer, her black patent-leather shoes on top of Sam’s brown leather loafers as he guided her through some high-spirited steps.

Kelly felt her heart ache. It wasn’t a bad ache. It was a good one. She looked all around the room at the residents of Paradise.

Myrtle had made an entrance at some point and was being danced around the room by a very distinguished-looking older man. She gave Kelly a wave. They looked like Fred and Ginger doing some pretty fancy steps.

Myrtle looked stunning in a bright green two-piece knit suit. Kelly wondered if it was from Myrtle’s past. It looked very fifties and made her red hair stand out even more. She also wore about a two-inch stack of beads, must be crystal, all catching the light. Myrtle was really something.

As they changed partners for the second time she was paired with Red Miller’s cousin Carl, who grinned the whole time as they did a sort of modified swing dance.

She caught a glimpse of yellow—the girl from the coffee shop, Lynnette, had on a yellow shirt-dress. Ponytail Lynnette. Sam had ended up dancing with her, and looked trapped.

The song ended. Some quick moves on the part of some familiar faces, like Dottie and Walt, brought her smack into Sam’s arms.

“We meet again,” Sam said.

“Small town,” Kelly countered.

He was a wonderful dancer. Sam seemed to do everything well. She let the sense of safety he created enfold her.

The harmony of the choir was sweet as a summer night. She put her head on his shoulder and swayed to the music.

Someone turned the lights low, and dozens of twinkling lights came on, inside and out. The quartet faded off, but the bass, piano, and violin played on. They moved from one song into the next without pausing. The music was lovely.

The idea of just hanging out for tonight and moving on was getting very twisted up in her head. After she’d left his office she’d figured that was the end of it. Now here they were in each other’s arms. Every time they got around each other, the space between them became more…compact.

His body moved against hers as they danced.
She felt his heat and his passion and his heart beating hard. She felt the wildness between them, and she let herself fall into it.

“You’re making me crazy, Kelly,” he whispered in her ear. His breath was hot on her neck. He pressed his lips to the side of her neck. She felt her reason slipping away.

The last strains of “You’d Be So Nice to Come Home To” ended. Kelly lifted her head to see the entire dance floor empty except for them. Smiling faces lined the edges of the room. Except for that not-so-happy frown on the face of devil-in-a-yellow-dress Lynnette.