The Red-Hot Chili Cook-Off

by Carolyn Brown

  “Thanks, Richie.” She smiled. A skunk in Lenny Lovelle’s cooker was the icing on the cupcake. That would teach him to screw her and not call, send flowers, or even a box of candy. Paybacks really were hell.

  ***

  “I swear on Mama’s Bible, Sugar,” Gigi said after they’d watched that part of the six o’clock news four times.

  “Thank you, darlin’”—Tansy smiled at Gigi—“for having the good sense to record that so we could see it over and over. I just know that it’s an omen that our cooker is the one at the front of the line and that bastard Lenny’s is at the back with a skunk and bullshit. I wish I’d thought of doing that.”

  “Swear again,” Sugar said.

  “Okay, I swear that I talked to Hank and he says that Jack, Alex, Jamie, and he were playing poker all evening at your house. You’d rather Jamie was playing poker as kissing Kitty or stealing cookers, wouldn’t you?” Gigi said.

  “But who else could get into our kitchen, take our cooker, and not touch anything else?” she asked.

  “They took our first recipe. Too bad we didn’t readjust that cayenne pepper, then we’d know who they were at the cook-off when people started rolling around in the grass like they were having some kind of fit,” Tansy said.

  “That’s only because the recipe was right beside the cooker,” Sugar said.

  “I wish I knew who did that and I damn sure wish they would have invited me to go with them.” Tansy sighed.

  “I just wish I was a little mouse in the corner when Kitty and Lenny have to clean out those trophies.” Gigi giggled.

  Chapter 11

  A deputy from the Grayson County Sheriff’s Department, in uniform and with a gun on his hip, looked out of place in Bless My Bloomers. Alma Grace made sure the curtains were drawn all the way on the two cubicles with customers inside before she went to the front counter. Her father and her uncles had been at the jailhouse playing poker with Jack Landry. Surely they hadn’t put any stock in that vicious gossip about her, Patrice, and Carlene. She could almost feel the cold cuffs around her wrists when her lead-filled knees carried her from the back of the store.

  He looked as nervous as the devil at the Pearly Gates and was most likely shopping for a last-minute birthday or anniversary present for his wife. They’d had male customers before but none that looked at the ceiling rather than the merchandise.

  “Could I help you, sir?” Alma Grace asked.

  He wasn’t tall but he was well built, had close cropped brown hair and gorgeous blue eyes. He nodded and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down a couple of times.

  “I hope so, ma’am. I’m Patrick Kelly from the Sheriff’s Department but folks call me Rick.” He pointed to the badge on his shirt. “Are you Carlene Lovelle?” His voice was deep and steady and his eyes were fixed on Alma Grace’s forehead.

  “No, what is this about?” Alma Grace said.

  “I have something I have to put in Carlene’s hands,” Deputy Rick said.

  Alma Grace rounded the end of the counter and brushed past the man as she headed toward the beading room. “Hey, Carlene, someone to see you.”

  When she turned around, she ran smack into Rick Kelly’s chest. He instinctively put his arms out to keep her from knocking them both to the floor, turned bright red again, and took two steps to the side.

  “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize I was that close to you but I had to get out of there. It’s so…” he stammered.

  Alma Grace looked up at him, her blue eyes locking with his. “So what? So sexy? So girly? Do you have a problem with that, Officer Rick?”

  “No, ma’am. I just have a problem with me being in the middle of it all,” he said.

  “What can I do for you?” Carlene asked.

  He blinked and looked away from Alma Grace. “Are you Carlene Lovelle?”

  “Yes, sir, I am. I suppose you are here to serve me with divorce papers?”

  He nodded and pulled a yellow envelope from his hip pocket. “Yes, ma’am. Consider yourself served. And you ladies have a good day.” He hurried toward the door in a blur.

  “You come on back to see us when you need the perfect present for your wife,” Alma Grace called out, giddy with relief that it was divorce papers and not an arrest warrant.

  What’s the matter with me? I don’t want her to get a divorce. I’ve spent hours praying for reconciliation. I can’t change horses in the middle of the stream.

  “I’m not married,” he threw over his shoulder.

  ***

  Carlene laid the envelope on the beading table, picked up her needle, and went back to work. A year ago, she and her cousins quit their jobs, pooled their savings, got a bank loan, and opened the doors to Bless My Bloomers. Did that really have anything to do with the papers lying there beside a bright red bra with rhinestone straps?

  Lenny had given her several chances to change her mind the past two weeks. What would have happened if she had?

  Josie stood up and stretched. “Don’t look back. If you’d given him another chance, when it happened again, it would have been easy to give him another one. Pretty soon, you would have had no self-respect left.”

  “How did you know what I was thinking?” Carlene asked.

  “You wouldn’t make such a good poker player. What you think is written on your face. Now let’s talk about the theft of the cookers. I’m surprised that Kitty hasn’t been in here screaming that you did it,” Josie said.

  “Mama figured that she might so she talked to Tip and there’s a restraining order on her and Lenny. They can’t come near me or the shop or Patrice’s house. She’s tried to call but I put a block on her phone number. I don’t want to talk to her,” Carlene said.

  Josie threw back her head and guffawed. “Them red panties sure did set the whole town on its ear.”

  Alma Grace slid into a chair across the table from Carlene. “Whew! I just knew that deputy had an arrest warrant for you.”

  “But we were all three together all night at Patrice’s. Why would anyone think I’d do something stupid like break into twenty houses?” Carlene asked.

  “It wasn’t just houses. The bank and the fire station and the convenience store owners. They all enter the cook-off. And Lenny’s cooker was at the end of the line and it did have his trophies in it. I was so happy that you weren’t arrested that I went into a dressing room and gave thanks to God,” Alma Grace said.

  Gigi pulled up a chair and sat down beside Carlene. “So you’ve been served. Alma Grace, I thought you’d be weeping and moaning because the divorce is real.”

  Alma Grace raised her chin a notch. “I’m still praying for reconciliation but I am glad that Carlene wasn’t taken off to prison.”

  Carlene ignored her cousin. Nothing short of a miracle or Aunt Tansy’s magic would make things right between them all again.

  “Should Tip look at it before I sign?” she asked.

  “Might be best if he did. He’s in the county courthouse today. I’ll give him a call and bribe him with a bowl of chili to come by here,” Gigi said.

  “It’s surreal, Mama. How does a person go from married to divorced in only two weeks?”

  “Honey, you went from married to divorced in five seconds. Today is just the day that the paperwork gets started,” Gigi told her.

  They’d just closed the front door when people started lining up at the back one. Carlene and Josie waited in the beading room, the papers still in the envelope when Tip poked his head in the door.

  “You are a brave man to eat chili that the Fannin sisters made,” Josie said.

  “I’ve eaten lots of chili. It’s my favorite food. In my opinion there ain’t no bad chili. Just good chili and better chili,” he said.

  “I’m sorry, Tip, but we ran out. I went to get you some and the cooker was empty. I promise next time I’ll put a bowl back for you,” Gigi said.

  “I understand y’all made pork chili today and it’s my favorite kind. It’s never won the cook-off but I still l
ike it because that’s the kind that Mama made. I expect you to try it again before you quit making it altogether. Now let’s look at these papers.” He picked them up and flipped through them. “It’s pretty much what Carson discussed with me that first day.”

  “I read it. I get my maiden name back, a check for the down payment I made on the house, my van, my wedding rings, and my business. Right? I wonder where he’s getting the money to repay me for the down payment,” she said.

  “It doesn’t matter as long as he does it. I told Carson there was no way you were losing that.” Tip sipped the sweet tea that Gigi set in front of him. “I heard that he did a nasty little trick with your grandmother’s candlesticks.”

  Gigi narrowed her eyes. “Oh, he’s going to pay for that when we win the chili cook-off. We plan to work for the next six weeks on perfecting our chili. Tomorrow we start making it from beef. We’ve decided the chicken or the pork is not the recipe to win.”

  Tip nodded. “I agree. The winnin’ recipe has always been made from beef or venison. So I’d put my money on that.”

  Carlene pulled the papers toward her and signed her name at the bottom with a flourish. “Guess that’s it, then. I’m Carlene Carmichael again and the past five years have been erased.”

  Tip shook his head slowly from side to side. “Honey, experience is what you get when you didn’t get what you wanted. And every experience in life gets us ready for what’s comin’ at us in the future. So don’t count it as wasted. Count it as a lesson learned and, next time around, learn from it and maybe you’ll get what you wanted all along.”

  ***

  Josie sneezed and grabbed a tissue. “Excuse me. I’m finished with that last bra. I hope I’m not coming down with the flu. Man, that stuff is awful this year. Sweet little young married woman that moved in next door to me got it this past week and she’s been sick as a dog. I took chicken soup to her over the weekend. She’s missed work all week. She said her husband is away on a business trip and she’s hoping he doesn’t come home until she’s over it.”

  “You had time to make chicken soup while all that was going on?” Carlene asked.

  “It was in the freezer. Leftovers from the last time the kids were all home. Chicken tortilla soup. Guaranteed to cure the flu.” Josie sneezed again. “And speaking of gossip, Kitty Lovelle is giving her son the money to reimburse you for the down payment. She bragged about it at some meeting Beulah was in and she told me. Kitty says that it’s a small price to pay just to get rid of you. Beulah doesn’t cuss or say bad words but I think that Kitty’s real words were to get your fat ass out of her son’s house and life.”

  “Well, thank you, Kitty,” Carlene said.

  “Are you going to buy another house here in Cadillac?” Josie reached for another tissue.

  Carlene shook her head. “Not for a while. After the cook-off, the mamas will go home and I’ll have the upstairs of this place to live in until I make up my mind. There’s too much going on with our mothers in the kitchen, all this chili stuff, and trying to keep up with the sales right now for me to think about a house.”

  Josie picked up her coffee mug and headed out the door. “Want me to put yours in the dishwasher on my way out, too? My throat is dry so I’m stopping up at the convenience store for one of those slushy things.”

  “No, I’ve still got coffee in my mug. I’ll just finish it and talk to Mama for a little while before I go. I feel pretty empty right now and it doesn’t have a thing to do with hunger. Have a good night. See you tomorrow,” Carlene said.

  “It will pass, child, and you’ll move on with your life just like Tip said. And you aren’t divorced until Lenny signs the papers and they are filed. You are lucky you don’t have to go to court and face him with a judge looking at both of you. Since you are agreeing, you won’t have to do that.” Josie sneezed again.

  Carlene looked at her. “Are you sure you’re not getting the flu?”

  “Not me. I’m healthy as a horse.” Josie waved the comment away with the back of her hand like it was a pesky gnat.

  Carlene went to the bathroom, slid down the back of the door, and put her head in her hands. Her family and Josie were supportive and wonderful beyond words, but she was the first Fannin ever to have a divorce. She felt like it had been written in indelible ink across her forehead, branded there for the whole world to see that she had failed. Tears washed mascara down her cheeks in long black streaks as her heart broke one more time.

  Vows in one hand. Self-respect in the other. Alma Grace still on one side. Patrice firmly on the other. Would her world ever be whole again?

  ***

  Lenford Joseph Lovelle II, aka Lenny Joe Lovelle, signed the papers before him with a flourish and handed them to Carson Culpepper.

  “I’ll need that check before I file them so that everything is on the straight and narrow,” Carson said.

  He was a short, rotund man with a rim of brown hair circling an otherwise bald head. Even though he wore custom-tailored suits, somehow he always looked like he’d slept in them and had just climbed out of bed.

  Lenny reached into his desk drawer and handed the check to Carson. It riled him to have to pay Carlene a single dime but it couldn’t be helped. Like Carson told him, he would have spent that much refurnishing the house if she’d contested and demanded her part of the contents. His mother, bless her darling heart, had given him the money with no strings attached.

  Her words had been, “Take it, honey. When I die, it’ll all be yours anyway. And it’s worth it to me for you to finally be rid of that fat-assed woman. You’ve always deserved better.”

  “Looks like we’re done, then. And Kitty has already taken care of my bill but I’d have almost done this for free just to get to whip Tip Gordon at something. That bastard thinks he’s so damn good.” Carson waved from the door as he waddled out to his car.

  Lenny was a free man or at least he would be in a few months. In the state of Texas the petition is filed and sixty days later the divorce is granted if neither party decides to contest the petition. So in two months he would be absolutely free. Then there would be the thirty days waiting period before he could remarry. Basically he had three months before Bridget could have a wedding. However, she would start planning it tomorrow now that the petition was on the way to the courthouse.

  He didn’t want to marry Bridget. Sex with her was all right. Nothing spectacular but all right. After that kiss that Macy planted on him when she received the flowers, he’d been taking a closer look at her. She’d brushed past him at the watercooler twice now and Lenny was an expert at knowing when a woman was ripe for the plucking.

  Macy definitely was. She’d do just fine to have a fling with so that Bridget would break it off with him. And the vibes floating around her certainly weren’t from the angel singing the final song at the church services on Easter, either. Maybe she was one of those business women that didn’t think about wedding cakes and white dresses three minutes after the first time they had sex.

  Lenny just plain did not want a wife, not ever again.

  Mistress, yes.

  Changing mistresses as often as he pleased, definitely.

  Permanent commitment, no.

  In the beginning Lenny hadn’t wanted to marry Carlene but she wasn’t like other women. She wasn’t clingy; she didn’t have to talk to him every day. She was confident, mature, and in the end it was Lenny who was begging for a wedding.

  His mother had warned him that he was making a mistake the day of the wedding. Kitty had been right. Bless his sweet little mama’s heart; she had tried so hard to make Carlene feel like a Lovelle because she’d wanted a grandchild. Not two, not a dozen; just one and it had to be a boy. They’d name him Lenford Joseph Lovelle III and call him Ford. Lenny had liked the idea but now he was glad that he and Carlene didn’t have children.

  He laced his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling.

  Bridget barely knocked before she entered. She shut the door, drew the
blinds shut, and straddled his lap.

  “Are they signed, darling?” she asked.

  “Signed and on their way to the courthouse.”

  “I’m the happiest woman on earth. Can we go look at rings tonight?”

  “Mother says that we’d better wait the full sixty days for the final decree before we do that. It would be bad for business if we rush things,” he whispered into her hair.

  She locked her lips on his, unbuttoned his shirt, and ran her hands across his broad, muscular chest.

  He pretended he was kissing Macy, and her soft little angel hands were on his chest. His fantasy soon made him very uncomfortable, especially the way Bridget had hiked up that short little skirt, leaving so much soft thigh for him to touch.

  His desk phone rang and he quickly reached around Bridget to answer it. “Sherman Autoplex. Lenny Lovelle speaking,” he said.

  “Lenny, I think I’m coming down with the flu so I’m going home early and taking tomorrow off. I sure hope you don’t get it. Don’t eat any of the cake in the lounge. Bridget sneezed in there today and she might be getting it, too,” his secretary said.

  “Get well and we’ll hope it’s just allergies,” Lenny said.

  He picked Bridget up and set her to one side. “Are you sick?”

  “No. I had a little sneezing fit in the break room but I’m not sick. My skin is warm because I’m hot as hell for you,” she giggled. “I’ll make supper for you tonight at your house. I’ve got a great recipe for clam chowder and we can eat it naked in the middle of the living room floor. I’ll pick up wine to celebrate your divorce.”

  Lenny had always been quick on his feet when it came to fabricating a good lie and he was so sincere about it that it came off as gold-plated truth. “I’d love to, darlin’, but Mother has planned a dinner at her house. And since she’s given me the money to get rid of Carlene, I really do owe her.”