Queen of the Cookbooks

by Ashton Lee

  Renette gasped, putting her hand over her mouth. “I know about that. Not about you being there and having soup spilled all over you, I mean. But someone rushed into the library to tell me that the fight was going on, and I had to run and tell Miz Maura Beth so they could break it up. She’s our library director and my boss in case you were wondering.”

  Shark was shaking his head. “Yeah, I guess that was the lady who came out to give ’em what for. There was a guy who came out, too.”

  “That would have been Mr. Jeremy, Miz Maura Beth’s husband. They’re such a nice couple.” Renette paused, deciding to change the subject. “Do you get to hang out with your cousin Waddell a lot? I mean, are you maybe gonna see him after the concert? I saw him here in Cherico last year when he ate down at The Twinkle with the rest of his band. Uh, that’s the best restaurant in town that Miz Periwinkle runs. You should try it sometime.”

  “Yeah, I know about it. But as for my seeing him after the concert—nah. All those security people close in pretty fast to keep the groupies away. Hey, you’re not one a’ those girls that tries to snip off locks of his hair and tear at his shirt and stuff like that, are you? I woudd’n wanna have to spank ya for bein’ outta line, ya know.”

  Renette blushed and touched her cheek lightly, as if to verify that she was not dreaming such a titillating conversation with such a handsome young man. “No, I’d never do anything like that. I just discovered Waddell recently. It was last December, matter of fact. I suppose you know he’s responsible for bringing the Spurs ’R’ Us plant to Cherico, don’t you? He brightened up everybody’s Christmas last year with that news.”

  “Sure do.” He pointed down to his feet. “I got a pair of Spurs ’R’ Us on me right now. Top-a’-the-line snakeskin. I own me about six more pair back home—all of ’em different. I kinda like to spend my money on my boots and cowboy hats. It’s just my thing.”

  Renette glanced at his boots and then, without being obvious about it, allowed her eyes to follow the line of his leg up to his belt buckle. He was packed in tightly, and she let something inside of her snap, as she imagined him out of those jeans. Then, a further thought that she knew would have horrified her parents: Was he undressing her the same way? A part of her was telling her it was wrong to hope for such a thing; but this new part of her—this outlaw who had broken out of the jail cell of her upbringing—yearned for the opposite.

  She came to as Councilman Sparks, fresh off his yacht with all its pyrotechnic triumphs, stepped onstage, bowed crisply to the five-man band that was awaiting him, and made the announcement. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, without further ado—what you’ve been wanting to hear all day as the finale for our Grand Opening Fourth of July celebration—the country music hits of Nashville’s hottest recording star—Waddell Mack!”

  The crowd exploded as impressively as the colorful and noisy fireworks display they’d just witnessed for the last hour or so.

  After several minutes of applause and cheering, Councilman Sparks continued. “Now, as some of you probably know, Waddell Mack is the name of this great band. But we’d like to introduce each member to you individually before they all start to sing and play for us. Let’s begin with Lonnie “Fingers” Gholson, who plays rhythm guitar for the group.”

  Tall, lanky Fingers waved and took a quick bow; then Councilman Sparks introduced the others in turn who did the same: next came Johnny Davis, the hulking bass player, then Sam Torrey, the wiry drummer, Trent Lightman, the never-without-a-smile fiddle player, and finally, the charismatic, curly-haired, heartthrob Waddell Mack, himself, who played lead guitar and sang the original songs he’d written.

  Fortunately for the enterprising young man and his pocketbook, the country music nation had embraced his sound in record time, elevating him to the pinnacle of success, and it was with that considerable fortune that he had acquired forty percent ownership of Spurs ’R’ Us and had the clout to bring their new manufacturing plant to the little town of Cherico.

  “Let’s give them all one last Greater Cherico welcome, and then we’ll ask them to let ’er rip!” Councilman Sparks concluded, much to the audience’s raucous delight. “I’m sure they’ll make this Fourth of July one we’ll never forget!”

  With that, Waddell stepped up, removed his hat, and said in his most charismatic voice: “Ladies and gentlemen, before me and my band here give y’all what you came for, I’d like to ask all a’ y’all to rise, take those hats off, and place y’all’s hands over your hearts while we sing ‘The Star-Spangled Banner’ for ya. Wouldn’t be a concert on the Fourth if we didn’t do that, now would it?”

  For the record, his breathy, slowed-down rendition of the national anthem crackled in the night air with a unique energy that reached out and involved everyone. Even those who couldn’t sing a note were at least trying to join in. His stylings were definitely bringing a diverse group of people together on Independence Day, and it didn’t get any better than that.

  9

  Jailbait

  Waddell Mack had begun singing his opening number, his current big hit that was number one on the country charts, “Don’t Sell Me Short When I’m Longin’ for You,” causing Renette and many others surrounding her to sway back and forth in unison to the easygoing beat. It was definitely cultish. Every fan in the bleachers knew the lyrics as well as he did, and the song rose like an anthem into the humid night air:

  “You don’t know I’m thinkin’ of you most every day,

  But I’m just half-crazy and I guess that’s my way . . .

  I wake up each mornin’ with my heart broke in two,

  But don’t sell me short when I’m longin’ for you . . .”

  Renette and Shark stole quick, pregnant glances at each other during the brief pause between verses—glances that had more to do with what might come next between them than the song they were singing together. Then the second verse began.

  “I saw you last night with that guy at the bar,

  I just never thought you would take it that far . . .

  You told me it’s over and I guess that it’s true,

  But don’t sell me short when I’m longin’ for you.”

  Then came the bridge.

  “They say every guy has his gal . . .

  But I want much more than a pal . . .”

  And then the final verse.

  “So this is fair warnin’ that I’m not givin’ up,

  Half-full or half-empty, I’m still raisin’ my cup,

  I’m not gonna settle for just stayin’ this blue,

  So don’t sell me short when I’m longin’ for you.”

  When the enthusiastic applause and cheers had finally died down for the opening number, Renette was ready to take her flirtation with this man who went by the dangerous name of Shark to the next level. She didn’t have to say anything to him—somehow he knew it. Then he dug into his black leather jacket pocket and flashed something shiny and metallic at her for just a split second.

  “I got a flask,” he whispered to her, quickly pocketing it afterward.

  “Of what?” she whispered back, leaning in to him.

  “Whiskey, of course.”

  The sound of the word vibrated somewhere deep inside of Renette. It conjured up images of things that she had been forbidden to consider all her life. Only sinners drank alcohol of any kind. Only the weak sought it out and let it run their lives. Many a church sermon she had heard had railed against it, warning her that it ruined people right and left. But whiskey was maybe the worst of the lot, her preacher, the always frowning Elder Warren of the Church of the Eternal Promise, had insisted to his congregation more than once.

  “Never doubt that it is far worse than the demon rum!” he had shouted, while pointing to the church ceiling and jabbing at the air as if trying to spear those demons himself with his finger. “Because the day you walk into that liquor store is the day your life’ll begin falling apart. You will tumble down that hill, and your bones will not be the only thing th
at get broken. Your spirit will be broken, too, and there will be no doctor in any hospital that can make you well again. Not if you stray from the straight and narrow that is planned for you.”

  “Say, how’d you like to check out that van of mine?” Shark whispered, bringing Renette back to the current reality she was facing on the back row of the bleachers. “It’s really state of the art. I got uh HDTV hooked up in there and everything else for all the comforts of home.”

  She was not naïve enough to misinterpret him. Shark’s invitation was making her think about all the things teenagers might do in the back of a van—things they weren’t supposed to do but did anyway. Not that she had experienced any of them, although she’d seen a few teen movies with that type of scene in them containing dialogue played strictly for laughs. Nothing horrible ever happened in those plots—which was probably why they were so popular. Oddly, she felt intrigued and emboldened by her imaginings. And then she heard herself whispering to Shark, “So, where is your van?”

  “Parked in the library lot.”

  “Yeah, my car’s there, too. But the concert’s not over yet. I want to hear all of Waddell’s music. I love his CDs, but this is the real thing that doesn’t come along too often.”

  “Sure makes a difference, don’t it? But what I meant was, we might go back and take a look at my van after the concert’s over.”

  “Yeah, I know what you meant. Let me think about it for a while.”

  Well, there it was. Without giving much thought to it, Renette found herself refusing to give him an outright no. Then he put his arm around her shoulder and she did not flinch. It was something she wanted him to do, but she knew the request had not come out of her mouth. Was he reading her mind? Were they on some kind of special wavelength? This didn’t feel so dangerous. It was exciting.

  “You’ll know when the right man comes along,” her mother had told her over and over in her lectures. “It is out of your hands. There is a plan for you, and if you deny the plan, you will never find peace in life.”

  So—picking up on her mother’s solemn pronouncements—was Shark part of a grand plan? Was she merely rationalizing to believe that he just might be the one? Or—casting her mother’s lecturing aside—was she finally letting life catch up with her after all these years of being afraid to venture forth?

  The band began their second number, “The Muddy Waters of My Heart,” and Renette concentrated on the music and lyrics for a while, careful not to pull away from her Shark in the process.

  “You say you think I’ll hurt you,

  ’Cause I’ve done it once before . . .

  But I just wanna tell you,

  That I finally know the score . . .

  I know we’ve had our fallouts,

  And our quarrels from the start . . .

  But please just help me clear

  The muddy waters of my heart . . .”

  “I really like his voice, don’t you? It’s so sexy,” Renette said, allowing herself to relish Shark’s shoulder embrace even further as the first verse ended. In some sense she could not begin to identify, she felt that she somehow belonged to him, even though they had just met.

  “Well, I wouldn’t exactly call it sexy, you understand. That’s for you girls to say, but I woudd’n be here if I didn’t think he had it goin’ on. I betcha he gets plenty a’ action all the time.”

  Then Waddell tore into the second verse.

  “So here we are together,

  As we’ve done it in the past . . .

  I know you’ve thought our lovin’

  Was just never gonna last . . .

  But here I am to tell you,

  That we’re never gonna part . . .

  If you’ll just help me clear

  The muddy waters of my heart . . .”

  The band did an instrumental bridge and then Waddell repeated the second verse while Renette’s mind returned to the man whose arm rested on her shoulder so naturally, so protectively. She could almost feel the protectiveness seeping through into her warm flesh. Nothing about what she was feeling seemed muddy to her at the moment. Waddell Mack’s lyrics seemed to be encouraging her to clear up her emotions once and for all. Was this the way true romance started? Was it as simple as straightforward physical contact of an innocent nature? Taking it all slowly, one step at a time, didn’t seem out of line in the least.

  “All of his songs seem so real to me,” Renette said after the second number had ended, and she had actually shouted, “Waddell rules!” several times along with her applause.

  “Yeah,” Shark told her. “Wonder which one they’ll do next. They kinda like to keep you in suspense at these things. Guess it’s part of the act, huh?”

  “Doesn’t matter to me. I like all the songs.”

  “Don’t compare to the way I like you, though. Sometimes things can happen real fast between people. That’s what makes it so much fun, ya know. You just walk the path and see where it leads ya, darlin’.”

  Renette’s mind was racing now. His arm continued to feel so good around her. She found herself wanting even more of an embrace from him. At the same time, his cologne made her want to kiss him. It would be her first kiss ever from a man, something she had been dreaming about for as long as she had had fantasies about the opposite sex. She had not touched a drop of the whiskey in that flask he had whipped out for a brief second a while back; but was this what it was like to be drunk on love?

  Brief flashes of her mother’s grim face and wagging finger only emboldened her. This was her life, not her mother’s or father’s. What had worked for them might not necessarily work for her.

  * * *

  The moment Renette stepped into Shark’s decked-out panel van, the uneasiness began to eat at the bravado she’d cultivated so carefully in the bleachers. The stale-smelling, brown shag carpet that stretched from behind the captain’s chair to the rear doors set the tone. Then there was the brown sofa big enough to seat two people if they chose to watch the HDTV on the opposite side of the van. Or do something else besides watch television. A black mini-fridge next to the sofa completed the somewhat claustrophobic picture.

  “Make yourself at home, darlin,’” Shark told her, pointing to the sofa. “I mean, if you’d like to slip into or outta somethin’ and get more comfortable, please be my guest.” Then he winked at her twice. “This is my home away from home, if ya know what I mean.”

  Renette’s uneasiness continued to mount as she sat down, and said, “I’m fine for right now.”

  “Maybe you’d like a little drink to relax ya? I got a little bag a’ ice cubes in the fridge.”

  “A drink of that whiskey?”

  He smirked. “What else? I take mine straight, but like I said, I can get some rocks for ya if you want. Or a mixer.”

  “Rocks? A mixer?”

  “Yeah, ice, soda. I got ’em both. Which do you want?”

  Renette hesitated. “Uh, rocks . . . I guess.”

  She watched nervously as he poured their drinks into red plastic cups, taking a deep breath when he handed hers over.

  “Wanna make a toast to start things off right?” he asked her. “Maybe you got you a favorite?”

  “You make it. I’m not good at things like that. I get my words all jumbled up, and it doesn’t make sense.”

  He thought for a moment and then said, “Well, let’s just keep it simple. To Shark and Renette on the Fourth of July. Down the hatch.”

  She hoisted her cup with her heart in her throat and then slowly brought it to her lips. Her first big swallow of whiskey burned all the way down to the pit of her stomach. For a moment she thought she was being poisoned. She coughed violently several times; then she found herself sucking in as much air as there was in the van in order to catch her breath.

  “You okay, darlin’?” he asked. “Did you swallow the wrong way? I don’t buy cheap booze, ya know. That’s Maker’s Mark.”

  “I . . . I wouldn’t know the difference.”

  He too
k a generous swig from his cup and frowned. “Don’t tell me that was your first sip a’ bourbon?”

  She finally recovered enough to answer him. “Uh . . . yeah, actually it was. You aren’t disappointed in me, are you?”

  “Disappointed?”

  She was looking down at the carpet now, avoiding eye contact. “Well, the truth is . . . I’m not a drinker.”

  “You shoudda said so. I woudda poured you a Coke or club soda or whatever. Shark aims to please the ladies. I have to admit I don’t meet many teetotalers these days, but to each his own.”

  “I was . . . afraid you wouldn’t like me if . . .”

  “If what?”

  Instead of answering his question, however, she put her drink down on the carpet and stared straight into his eyes. “Never mind the part about the drinking. I didn’t come here to do that, anyway. Is this where we kiss?” Then she closed her eyes and puckered her lips, holding her pose as if she had been turned to stone.

  Now it was Shark’s turn to feel uncomfortable. “Whoa, now!” he managed. “What’s goin’ on here? How old are you? Please don’t tell me you’re underage. That’s the last thing I need.”

  She opened her eyes and was surprised to see that he had backed away from her. “I’m nineteen.”

  “Yeah, well, I was thinkin’ you wuz twenty-somethin’. But you’re not tellin’ Shark a lie, are ya? You’re not jailbait, are ya?”