The woman shrugged and sat. “I got my good days and bad. This just so happens to be one of the really good ones.”
“You look like you’re having a hell of a time up there. Swing Town’s got a good sound.”
Marjorie turned her head and regarded the stage she recently vacated. Her head bobbed as if to a melody only she could hear. “I love the music, that’s for sure.” A faint smile decorated her face. “And I love the crowds, the applause, the appreciation.”
Chad strode past, heading for the beer stall.
Bonnie lifted her beer glass and pointed. “And the man?”
“You get right to the heart of the matter, don’t you, Bon? I’ve always liked and hated that about you.” She shook her head. “What can I say? He makes me smile, even though I know he’s a shit-bird who cares more about his hair than he does about other people.”
What ho, a breach in the ranks. Cover me, boys. I’m going in. “It’s none of my business, Marjorie, but if I’m hearing you right, you left Lloyd for a man you don’t love.”
Marjorie’s face went hard, all planes and angles. “You’re right. It’s none of your business. Besides, Mizz Nosy Parker, it’s not as simple as that. Nothing ever is.”
Bonnie wasn’t in the mood to back down. “Both you and Lloyd are my friends. So when boss man tells me you’re with Chad now, and then you turn around and inform me the man is a slimeball, I’m curious. Is the music that great that you’re willing to chuck a marriage of thirty years?”
“Thirty-one,” Marjorie corrected.
“Even more to the point, thirty-one years, for a chance to wear a pink hat and boots?”
“Don’t go nasty on me, Pinkwater.” Marjorie eyed her coldly. “I happen to like these boots. What did Lloyd tell you about why we split?”
Bonnie let her mind play back the events of the past few days and realized Lloyd had told her precious little in the way of reasons for the rift between himself and his wife. He had let her infer that somehow in choosing Swing Town, Marjorie had negated their marriage.
“I can’t say he told me much of anything.” She reached for her beer, swishing the last warm swig around in her mouth.
“And I should probably follow his lead, but I won’t. Lord knows why I feel the need to be up front with you.” She held up a hand, perhaps sensing Bonnie meant to interrupt. “But before I bare my soul, tell me true. Are you two sleeping together?”
Bonnie sputtered, almost choking on the beer in the back of her throat. “Dear God, no! I just found out this week you two weren’t together.”
“Let me guess. Nurse Englehart, right?”
“On the money.”
“The woman is uncanny. I think I hate her.”
“Join the club.”
They shared a rueful laugh that approached real humor but never quite got there.
Bonnie set her hand down on Marjorie’s arm. “Sweetie, Lloyd’s maybe the best friend I have on this screwed-up planet.”
For a millisecond, she considered the blatant manipulation she was about to perform and came to peace with it. She offered up a shamelessly emotional account of how she found Lloyd dirty and unkempt amid beer cans and pizza boxes.
“He misses you.”
Marjorie swallowed and blinked back tears. “You can’t fix this, Bonnie.”
Maybe I can’t, but I’m sure as hell going to make a hard run at it. “So what’s at the bottom of all this besides a woman having the time of her life?”
Mrs. Lloyd Whittaker drew in a long breath and let it out slowly. “What do you know already?”
Bonnie told her she knew about the band coming to town and Marjorie’s accolades. How Swing Town asked her to come back the following night and how Lloyd didn’t go with or even care to listen when she tried to explain how much it meant to her.
“He told you that? I’m surprised at his insight.”
Bonnie nodded. “He knows he screwed up. He wasn’t there for you.”
Marjorie stared off toward the double doors Lloyd had walked through not ten minutes before. She shook her head. “I was hurting. You’ve got no idea how well it went. The next morning I opened up to share a major peak experience. I wanted to share everything with my man, the father of my children. Was that too much to ask?”
“Of course not, honey,” Bonnie whispered.
She had butterflies beating out a rhythm in her gut and a bad feeling that refused to go away. This felt like a justification speech, and there were too few things a married woman could line up to justify—besides the big dirty. “What happened, Marjorie?”
“When I realized this man with whom I’d spent over thirty years didn’t care a fig about my triumphs, and never would, I gave up. I pretended to listen when he went on about his stupid convention, but as soon as he finished, I fabricated some excuse to get out of there.”
Uh-oh. “You went looking for Chad?”
Marjorie reddened. “I know I shouldn’t have. I wasn’t in my right mind. Certainly not in a good frame to make life-changing decisions.”
“Let me guess again. Chad did listen. The man was a fount of understanding.”
“He can be very charming when he puts his devious mind to it.”
“I’ve got no doubt about that. And you were vulnerable.”
The woman nodded. “Don’t get me wrong, Pinkwater. I’m not trying to excuse what I did. I screwed up, and now I’m paying the piper. My kids aren’t even talking to me.”
Bonnie whistled. “That’s rough. I know. I went through a similar thing myself.”
Marjorie cocked her head and gave Bonnie an incredulous look. “You? With whom?”
An out-of-focus image of her one-time millionaire rancher lover and their drunken indiscretion capered full-blown across Bonnie’s synapses. She winced. “I’d rather not kiss and tell. Needless to say, I threw myself on the mercy of the court. Ben forgave me. I haven’t looked back since.”
“Good for you.” Marjorie didn’t try to hide sarcasm in her voice.
I’m going to let that one pass, Marjorie Lane Whit-taker. But don’t play on my good nature too often. Bonnie took the woman’s hands in hers. “The reason I mentioned my own problem was that I think you should do the same.”
Marjorie snatched her hands away. “Is that so? Well, FYI, I did that very thing. I went home. Made a clean breast of it. Didn’t even try to justify my actions with how hurt I had been.”
“And?”
This time the tears came in earnest. “You know what’s so messed up about all of this? The busybodies, like Nurse Englehart, probably think I walked out on Lloyd. Like I’m going through some sort of midlife crisis.”
Bonnie’s stomach tightened. “And that’s not what happened?”
Marjorie’s face went hard. “Not even a little bit. Principal Lloyd Whittaker, your best friend in the whole world and my husband of thirty-one years, threw my sorry keister out the door, telling me in no uncertain terms to never come back.”
CHAPTER 13
LIKE A WOMAN IN A TRANCE, BONNIE LET HER FEET CARRY her out of the Appaloosa Club and back into the dusty night. Her head and spirit ached. Certainly, drinking beer on a school night contributed heavily to the first.
You’re a real party animal, Pinkwater. One beer and you’re ready for bed.
The latter strain came from being stretched thin between Lloyd and Marjorie, and realizing the soon-to-be ex-Missus Whittaker might have been right. There might be no fix for the rift between these two dear friends. The real truth—Lloyd’s pride might not let him forgive Marjorie’s infidelity.
Bonnie could even see the man’s point. Wasn’t it Marjorie herself who cut Chad loose thirty-one years earlier, saying she couldn’t be with someone she didn’t trust? Now Marjorie Whittaker was being hoisted on her own ethical petard.
What goes around comes around, sweetie.
Everything about the circumstances surrounding her friends seemed to have the finality of a Greek tragedy, with the same feeling of plodding inevitabili
ty.
Her mood wasn’t improved as she passed through a thick cloud of cigarette smoke for the second time in one night. Her eyes stung, and her nostrils rebelled. And, damn, if it didn’t seem like the very same cowboys in the exact same macho poses were causing the stink.
Give it a rest, boys. Ain’t you got nothing better to do than tell each other lies and inhale partially burned hydrocarbons and thirty different kinds of poisonous gases?
One of the cowboys, a gut-over-the-belt-buckle specimen in a black Stetson and an equally ebony yoked western shirt hoisted one of his pointy-toed boots, and without a by-your-leave, let loose with a bit of flatulence that resounded admirably around the small contingent. All present thought the gesture the height of articulate humor.
I stand corrected, gentlemen. You obviously had something better to do.
Bonnie emerged from the odiferous fog of smoke and methane only to find herself staring at a sight that brought an immediate smile to her face. Superintendent Xavier Divine—The Divine Pain in the Ass to those who knew him well—was pressed close to his soon-to-be-bride, the former Angelica Devereaux. The woman towered over her massively domed and follicle-challenged swain by a good six inches.
Like the dozen-plus other times Bonnie had basked in the presence of this dynamic duo, she was struck by the incongruity of the pair. Angelica was legendary for her voracious sexual appetite, voluptuous figure, kilograms of makeup, and minklike morals. Besides his ovoid-shaped bald pate, Xavier Divine’s hallmarks were his lack of imagination, the enormous stick up his posterior, and a tendency to avoid scandal or personal responsibility of any kind. When Angelica had dumped her burly boyfriend, East Plains’ physical education teacher Harvey Sylvester, in favor of Xavier, it was generally accepted that she would be the death of the ludicrous administrator.
No such luck.
The man not only didn’t appear to be booking passage on the river Styx, he seemed to be thriving, foolish to the boundary of ridiculous looking, but thriving nonetheless. For this evening’s festivities, Angelica had decided Tuesday was dress-up night. She was to be Rodeo Barbie to Xavier’s rotund Cowboy Ken.
For herself she’d chosen rhinestone-studded high-heeled cowgirl boots, skintight pegged blue jeans, a pink silk western top, and a white bandanna. Her long platinum-blond hair flowed from beneath an equally white cowboy hat that had to be at least a dozen Xs.
The good superintendent had retired his usual uniform of lime green corduroy and polo shirt in favor of something with a bit more local flavor. His own blue jeans—thankfully less tight than Angelica’s—were held up with a belt buckle the size of a Galapagos turtle. A fire-breathing bull stared menacingly out of the buckle, attesting, no doubt, to Xavier’s virility. Divine, too, wore a western shirt, although the yoke on his appeared to be made of some sort of reptile skin, as were his boots. Tying the entire ensemble together, and to Angelica’s outfit, Xavier wore a matching white cowboy hat and bandanna—his chapeau cocked on his head at a rakish angle.
Bonnie had stopped at the edge of the Appaloosa Club’s walkway in the hope that neither Xavier nor his slutty fiancée would see her. Besides over-the-top outfits, another thing the pair had in common was a detestation of one Bonnie Pinkwater that was thick and viscous as tar. So far she’d remained unseen.
“Bon,” a deep voice behind her yelled out.
She practically leapt from her skin.
Even as Divine and Angelica turned toward the noise, Bonnie pivoted to witness a red-faced Lloyd Whittaker coming from the direction of the arcade. He had a beer in each hand and a foamy mustache on his upper lip. He drew near Bonnie as though he wanted to take her arm but only then realized, because of his beer burden, was unable to do so. A wide and obviously shit-faced grin spread from ear to ear. He squinted past her at the fast approaching pair of Angelica and Divine.
“Well, ain’t you two a sight?” he slurred.
His heavily lidded eyes settled on Angelica’s ample chest. He tipped a nonexistent hat with one of his plastic beer cups. “Howdy, ma’am. You do fill out that ol’ pink shirt real nice.”
Bonnie was fairly certain had she been drinking milk it would have exploded from her nose.
Angelica offered a coy and knowing smile as if it was an everyday occurrence that someone should compliment her ample bosoms.
Divine’s jowly face went from blotchy to bright red in the space of a heartbeat. “Principal Whittaker, you’re drunk, and I might add, impertinent.”
Lloyd blinked like a repentant owl, then nodded. He put an arm around Xavier, spilling a dab of beer on the man’s reptilian shoulder. “Superintendent Divine, you’ve got every right to add. You’re the boss, you son of a gun. But I mean to tell you, that don’t make me wrong. No, sir! You got yourself one handsome woman there.”
“Thank you, Lloyd,” Angelica said in a voice so sultry it would fry an egg.
Lloyd swung his arm across Divine’s Adam’s apple in an attempt to glean a drink from his beer. The maneuver effectively laid a choke hold on the bald-headed administrator. Veins protruded from Divine’s forehead.
“Let go of me, you imbecile,” Divine croaked.
With a sense of sublime inevitability, Bonnie witnessed the ensuing debacle in seeming slow motion. Lloyd stepped back, crushing the beer cup against Divine’s chest. The entire contents erupted out of the cup, first splashing onto Divine’s chin, then spilling, in a foamy river, down the front of his western shirt, reptile skin and all.
The moan-whine combination that emanated from Divine’s lips was more reminiscent of a small child than a grown man. To make matters worse, his bride-to-be began to giggle.
My kingdom for a camera.
The Divine Pain in the Ass looked like his head might explode. A moment like this came along maybe once in a lifetime and certainly demanded to be immortalized for posterity.
“Look what you’ve done, Whittaker.” Divine pulled free from Lloyd and brushed ineffectively at his sodden shirt.
Lloyd’s eyes were wide, but to Bonnie’s horror and delight, he also was working his way toward a simpleton’s grin. Things might have gone from bad to worse if Angelica hadn’t taken charge.
Divine was puffing himself up in obvious preparation for a scathing remark, when she bent low and whispered in his ear. Bonnie couldn’t hear what was being said, but the effect on the superintendent was immediate. The corners of his pudgy mouth twitched. A hint of a sly smile played at those same lips. He even shuddered.
My God, did she put her tongue in his ear?
Angelica straightened and peered down at Bonnie. “You should take Mister Whittaker home. I do believe he’s had enough fun for one night.”
Bonnie couldn’t believe it. The woman sounded positively gracious.
Almost-married life suits you, Western Barbie. “She’s got a point there, Lloyd. What say you and I mosey on out of here?” She expected her friend to offer some resistance, but he merely gave her a lazy grin.
“Sure thing, Bon.” He hoisted his other beer and downed it in one gulp. He crushed the cup and tossed it over his shoulder. “I’m ready.”
He bowed low to Xavier and Angelica. “Sorry about the shirt, buckaroo, and good night to you, buckarette.”
Divine seemed on the verge of some new indignation, but Angelica squeezed his arm.
“Good night, Lloyd,” she said.
Bonnie took Lloyd’s arm, thankful to be getting away from The Divine Pain in the Ass relatively unnoticed.
“Missus Pinkwater,” Divine called before she could get ten steps away.
Bonnie sighed the sigh of the apprehended. She turned as little as possible to give The Divine Pain in the Ass as little of her attention as possible. “Yes, sir?”
“Please don’t think a wet shirt has made me forget I need to speak with you. After your class tomorrow, come see me.”
By the time Bonnie dropped Lloyd back off at home and returned to her own house, it was almost eleven. She let the animals in, set her fan
ny pack on her breakfast island, and plopped down bonelessly on a kitchen stool. Euclid jumped up into her lap. She ran her fingers absently through his silky fur.
“Mommy’s pooped, cutie pie. You know, sometimes I envy you guys the fact that you’re neutered. Sure would make getting through this veil of tears a whole lot easier.”
Bonnie had wanted to speak to Lloyd about his decision to divorce. She’d seen his face as Marjorie played. He was proud of her, obviously would have liked to be a part of her new success. Certainly his decision to get drunk sprang from the hopeless mix of emotions that had to be plaguing him.
Mostly, Bonnie had wanted to tell her boss the last thing Marjorie had said. As the woman grabbed her fiddle and got up to rejoin Swing Town for their second set, Bonnie touched her sleeve.
“Sweetie, Lloyd said you were with Chad now. Is that true?”
For a long moment, Marjorie hadn’t spoken. Bonnie could see her evaluating how to should interpret the question. She also gave the man in question a long hard look before she turned back to Bonnie.
“Am I with him?” She shook her head. “Not since that first night. He’s just the piano player in my band.”
“I’m going to tell Lloyd that, you know?”
Marjorie shrugged a fat-lot-of-good-it-will-do shrug. “Knock yourself out. I got to go. It was good to see you, Bonnie.”
But Bonnie hadn’t told Lloyd much of anything. The man had fallen asleep not two minutes into the trip back to his house. It had been incumbent upon Bonnie to escort him to his front door, open same, and further escort him to his bed. He’d fallen facedown into his comforter still wearing his clothes.
Maybe tomorrow, after the funeral, she’d thought at the time.
Bonnie groaned, remembering she still hadn’t written the eulogy.
The phone next to the microwave rang. Bonnie set the cat on the floor and checked the digital clock on the oven.
Eleven ten. Dear God, who could be calling at this ungodly hour? Bonnie’s feet felt waterlogged as she dragged herself to the phone. “This better be good.”
“I’ll make it as good as I can.”
Irrational Numbers Page 12
