by Meg Benjamin
“Of course—” Docia’s smile drooped slightly, “—they get married in the last verse. Then Ike gets jealous and divorces her. She tells him to get lost in the final line.”
“Love doesn’t conquer all?” Cal said gently. He didn’t like the suddenly wistful look in her eyes.
Docia shrugged. “It’s sort of a modern song. I guess it’s just the ending you’d expect these days. I mean, love doesn’t really conquer all, does it? Love usually doesn’t even get a chance.” She moved on ahead of him before he could catch her expression.
Love doesn’t even get a chance? Cal cocked an eyebrow. Definitely something to explore at a later date.
The streets around the city park were closed off, and a bluegrass band had set up in the park bandstand. Cal put his arm around Docia’s waist and skirted around the crowd toward the grassy edge. He saw Wonder and Allie cut across one of the paths. True to his word, Wonder wore jeans and a denim shirt, along with the gaudiest gold nugget bolo tie Cal had ever seen. Allie wore an off-the-shoulder white peasant blouse embroidered with pink flowers and a bright purple skirt. White flowers circled her hair.
Allie saw them first. “Oh my, Docia.” And then she grinned widely. “Oh my, my, my. This will be a memorable night.”
Cal certainly hoped so. “Sweet Betsy From Pike,” he explained, hoping that explanation made things clear.
Wonder stood staring for a moment and then swallowed hard. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Ms. Pike. That Ike was one lucky man.”
Docia curtseyed gracefully, keeping her spine straight and her black satin top in place.
Cleveland Banning, who, as Cal recalled, owned the insurance agency on Spicewood, exhaled noisily as he watched and wiped his brow. A woman in a high-necked dress with a cameo broach, whom Cal assumed to be Mrs. Banning, cast a narrow-eyed scowl in Docia’s direction.
A gray-haired man hurried toward them.
“Hi Arthur.” Docia smiled. “How are we doing?”
Arthur Craven, the president of the Konigsburg Merchants Association, was one of the few men dressed in what passed for authentic period clothing—an old-fashioned shirt with a high collar worn with a striped vest and wool trousers. He slid a finger between the collar and his neck, his mouth pinched in discomfort. “Fine, Docia. Looks like the biggest crowd yet. We’re doing better this year than last.”
Behind them, the bandleader stepped up to the microphone and began to play the opening strains of “Buffalo Gals”.
“C’mon y’all,” Allie called. “Let’s dance.”
—
Margaret kept the store open late, partly because of the number of tourists who kept wandering through but mostly because she wanted to put off going to the dance with Ham Linklatter.
She liked Ham. She truly did. She just didn’t necessarily want to be seen in public with him.
Eventually, however, she had to close up to give herself enough time to get into her costume. Margaret always gave a great deal of thought to her Liddy Brenner costume. She liked Liddy Brenner, or rather she liked the idea of Liddy Brenner. That is, the version of Liddy Brenner she’d invented when she’d been president of the Merchants Association. Margaret had created a heroine who’d gotten her status by doing the right thing and then promptly died before she could do anything stupid.
Liddy’s death was a wonderful marketing strategy, one that Margaret was happy to work with. Of course, Margaret had helped things along a bit. None of the local versions of Liddy’s legend had her dying, but Margaret figured her death was only logical. The chief’s son must have had some awful disease to need all that nursing. Besides, Margaret recognized an effective public relations ploy when she saw it. Liddy dead was much more useful than Liddy alive.
Now Margaret walked back to her house to put on her festival outfit. She’d had it made up by a seamstress in Kerrville so that no one in Konigsburg would know about it in advance. The dress was based on a picture Margaret had found in a reproduction from Godey’s Lady’s Book—wide skirt, puffed sleeves at her shoulders, a neckline that dipped just enough to be slightly dangerous without really getting her into trouble. She’d considered having the seamstress put in a hoop, but then she’d thought about possible disasters if some lummox bumped into her and flipped it up. Authenticity only went so far, after all. The bronze color brought out the dark gold highlights she’d had Rhonda put in her hair last week.
Margaret stepped back to study herself in the mirror. A small plastic cameo on a black velvet ribbon hung in the hollow of her throat. Her pearl drop earrings weren’t really old, but they looked antique enough to get by.
She frowned. She looked altogether too good for Ham Linklatter. She’d have been much more appropriate on Cal Toleffson’s arm.
“Damn Docia Kent all to hell.” Margaret sighed as she heard the doorbell.
When she opened her front door, she saw Ham was dressed in sort of late period John Wayne—jeans, denim shirt, leather vest, bandanna around his neck, and one of the whitest cowboy hats Margaret had ever seen. “Well, there, ma’am, you look right nice,” he drawled.
Ham’s accent had suddenly become a lot more pronounced, Margaret noted. It also sounded more like Tennessee than Texas, but she didn’t feel up to pointing out the difference to him.
“All right, let’s go,” she muttered, locking her front door.
The streets were full of sightseers and locals. Margaret greeted the people she knew and nodded at the ones she didn’t. Her smile felt pasted on her face, but she was the unacknowledged Queen of Konigsburg, and she had a certain reputation to uphold. Margaret always figured people felt about her the way they’d felt about the first Queen Elizabeth—they might not have liked her much, but they knew what she could do.
She ran into Rhonda Ruckelshaus a block from the city park where the street dance was being held. Rhonda wore far too many ruffles for someone who weighed over two hundred pounds. Margaret thought she looked like an over-decorated wedding cake, but she managed to give Rhonda a semi-sincere smile.
“Have you seen Docia Kent?” Rhonda hissed.
Margaret narrowed her eyes. “No, we just got here.”
Rhonda’s smile was feline. “Wait ’til you see her Liddy costume.”
Margaret stiffened her spine. The Liddy Brenner Festival was the highlight of the year in Konigsburg, a highlight she’d invented when she was president of the Merchants Association. Liddy Brenner was her greatest accomplishment. It was what kept Konigsburg on the Texas tourist map. Surely, not even a tart like Docia Kent would desecrate a fantastic marketing strategy like Liddy Brenner.
Five minutes later, Margaret saw Docia and knew this time she’d gone too far.
Docia whirled around the dance floor in Cal Toleffson’s arms. She was smiling. So was he. And she had ruined Margaret’s festival.
Docia Kent looked like a…floozy. There was no other word for it. Or at least no other word Margaret could bring herself to say.
Docia’s skirt had lace panels that showed flashes of skin. Docia’s bustier was so tight it looked like every ounce of flesh from her ankles on up was stuffed in there. And it was cut so low her boobs were almost spilling out.
Beside her, Margaret heard Ham catch his breath in a quick gasp. “Holy shit,” he whispered.
It was too much. The woman had finally gone beyond decency. Surely everyone could see that now. Surely Margaret wasn’t the only one who understood how Docia had violated everything the town stood for.
Margaret’s breath came in gasps. The street shimmered in a dull red haze. She couldn’t remember ever being this angry before.
Well, not since high school anyway.
One thing was now crystal clear. One way or another, Docia Kent would have to go!
—
Cal was drunk. His head swam, his words slurred, the lights blended into a single flash above his head. In some part of his mind, he was vaguely amazed to be so far gone since he’d only had a single beer cup from the beverage stand
. He was drunk on fiddle music, drunk on warm night air, drunk on the sounds of laughter and the jibes of his friends.
Drunk on Docia.
Most of all, he was drunk on Docia.
She moved in his arms now, smiling into his eyes. She smelled like an intoxicating mix of roses and sweat and wine—and maybe essence of woman. The band played the most beautiful waltz he’d ever heard, and Docia swayed in his arms, humming along. He touched his cheek to her temple, closing his eyes for a moment, feeling the warmth of her body pressed against his. Then he pulled back again to look at her.
“What’s this music?”
“‘Midnight on the Water’.” Docia smiled up at him. “They must be ready to take a break because nothing can ever come after this. Do you like it?”
“Yeah. Oh, yeah.” He bit his tongue to keep from saying anything else and ruining it. He had a feeling this wasn’t the time or place for declarations. Besides, he was still trying to work out that whole Love doesn’t get a chance thing. Considering the way he was beginning to feel about her, Cal figured they’d need to talk about that.
They whirled around the floor again as the music rose, the most beautiful, mournful sound he could remember. Nearby, Wonder waltzed Allie in graceful circles, while Janie danced with the tall cowboy who’d moaned over Docia earlier. Amazingly, even Biedermeier waltzed by with a very large woman whose dress was infested with ruffles. He piloted her expertly through the crowd and even managed to essay a dip.
It was the most magical evening Cal had spent in Konigsburg yet.
He had a feeling it was going to get even better.
—
It was the worst night of Margaret’s life, and she had a feeling it was going to get even worse. Every time Docia Kent waltzed by with Cal Toleffson, a shot of pure rage ignited behind Margaret’s eyeballs until she’d worked herself into a truly splitting headache.
She had the perfect excuse to rid herself of Ham Linklatter and go home, but she couldn’t do it. Not as long as Docia was there, lording it over everyone in her hootchie kootchie outfit, making a mockery of Liddy Brenner.
Margaret had managed to corner a few people, mostly men from the association and their wives. A few well-placed words about the inappropriateness of some people’s outfits had gone a long way, particularly with the wives.
Margaret scanned the crowd again, looking for Arthur Craven. He had to be there somewhere—he wouldn’t dare miss the festival, not if he wanted to keep his position as Merchants Association president. Eventually, she broke away from Ham and headed for the refreshments table near the bandstand. Of course, Arthur would be there.
As soon as he saw her coming, Arthur tried to duck behind Hank Ingstrom. But Margaret had no time for subtlety. Besides, it obviously hadn’t worked on him up to now. Considering the way he’d let Docia Kent run right over Liddy, Margaret knew only too well that Arthur lacked the strength of any convictions.
She grabbed his arm and jerked him behind the punch table.
“Margaret.” He pulled his high collar away from his neck with an index finger. “I think everything’s going quite well, don’t you? Several of the merchants have told me their sales are way up for the weekend.”
“No, it is not going well,” Margaret hissed. “Don’t you have eyes? It’s a disgrace! And you’re not doing anything about it!”
“Well there’s not much I…” Arthur’s brow furrowed. “What exactly are we talking about here, Margaret?”
“We are talking about people making a mockery of our festival. People who should know better. People from Konigsburg, or who pretend to be from Konigsburg anyway, although she’s clearly still an outsider when it comes to our values.” Margaret could feel herself flushing. She had to stop and take a deep breath to force her voice back to its normal level.
Arthur looked wary. “I’m not sure who or what you’re referring to, Margaret. All I see are people having a good time. No one seems to be doing anything to hurt the town.”
Margaret wanted to weep from frustration. Honestly, the morons she had to put up with! “Arthur, this is the Liddy Brenner Festival,” she said through gritted teeth. “The women are supposed to dress like Liddy Brenner. Not like some backstreet harlot!”
Arthur flinched. “Margaret, please. If you’re talking about Docia Kent, I can’t have you maligning another member of the association that way. Besides, I don’t remember anyone claiming all the women were supposed to dress up as Liddy Brenner. Just period costume, as I recall.”
Margaret leaned in close to him, so close she could see the spider web of veins on the end of his nose. Her father had veins like that, and she knew what caused them. Yet another reason she’d make sure Arthur was not re-elected as president of the Association next year.
“Listen to me, Arthur. I worked my behind off for five years to get this festival going. I developed the first PR plan. I got us the regional publicity. I convinced you and the other merchants to make it the major function it is. I will not stand by and let it be turned into some cheap spectacle. I will nip this in the bud.” Margaret stamped her foot decisively.
Arthur’s eyes had gone beyond wary now to flat out terrified. “Nip it how, Margaret? What exactly are you planning? Making a scene here would upset the tourists and be very bad for business!”
“I am going to rescue this festival,” Margaret ground out. “And I am going to make absolutely sure that it is never defiled like this again!”
She turned and stalked back toward Ham Linklatter, only because he was her escort home.
“Margaret,” Arthur’s voice faded behind her, “don’t you think defiled is going a little too far? I mean, so far as anyone can tell, Liddy Brenner probably didn’t even exist.”
Margaret ignored him. She didn’t think defiled was going too far at all. If anything, it wasn’t going far enough!
Chapter Twelve
The band played “Midnight on the Water” again as their closing number. Docia was glad they did. Cal seemed to like it a lot. At some point in the evening, seeing that slightly dazed look of complete happiness in Cal’s eyes had become one of Docia’s main goals.
Margaret Hastings waltzed stiffly by with Ham Linklatter. The look Margaret gave her was far from complete happiness. In fact, it was one of the most malevolent looks Docia had ever received from anyone. She’d felt a chill from some of the other women in the crowd too. One or two had ostentatiously turned away when she and Cal walked by.
She shivered, then told herself to snap out of it. No way would she be intimidated by a woman dressed like Mary Lincoln on one of her bad days.
She and Cal made one more sweep around the dance floor. His technique had more enthusiasm than grace, but Docia loved it anyway.
Loved the technique, loved the dance, loved the music, loved…was really, well, very…fond of Cal. Really liked him. Really, really liked him. A brief spurt of panic bloomed in her chest, as her thoughts skittered around something she didn’t want to consider yet.
She knew people tended to get worked up at these events. She’d probably come back down to earth later. Nothing to worry about. Nothing serious going on at all.
The crowd still milled around the park after the dance had officially ended, standing in clumps along the streets as the musicians began to pack up their speakers. No one was willing to leave, to say the evening was over.
Docia looked up to the night sky, then down to the clusters of Konigsburgers still shuffling around them—Allie and Wonder, Janie and the high school football coach, Ingstrom and his wife, even Biedermeier and a beruffled Rhonda Ruckelshaus.
“God, that was great!” Cal mumbled at her side. “Just great.”
He looked like a kid on Christmas morning. A very big, very male kid.
“We’re supposed to go home now.” Docia took his arm and moved him gently toward a side street. “But we can walk slow.”
They turned up Spicewood, strolling along the grassy edge of somebody’s lawn. The sidewalks were still
lined with people—tourists, locals, here and there a couple with children. Docia turned onto Milam to head toward her apartment as the people thinned to a few scattered pairs.
Three college-age boys walked in their direction, stumbling slightly. Docia wondered if anyone from the Texas Alcoholic Beverage Commission had been watching the beer booth. The last thing the festival needed was a bunch of citations for underage drinking.
Cal put his hand on her arm, moving her gently to the side so that he was between her and the boys. Somehow, he managed to make himself seem even bigger than usual. A large, hulking shadow in the night.
The boys stared at him for a moment, blinked, and moved on quickly.
Docia’s lips curved up in a faint smile. A novel experience. Few men bothered trying to protect her. Lord knows, Donnie never had.
When they reached the door to her apartment, Cal turned to look at her, his face shadowed by the distant streetlights.
“Do you want to come up?” Her voice shook slightly. Get a grip, Docia!
He shook his head. “I want you to come to my house this time.”
Docia took a deep breath. Her ribs were constricted by the satin laces of the bustier. Inside her boots, her toes were screaming for release. “I need to change my clothes first,” she murmured.
Cal grinned, a slow, lascivious smile. “I’ll help.”
—
When they came down the stairs again, the streets had emptied. As far as Cal could tell, Docia wasn’t annoyed that they had to walk to his house. If anything, she was happy about it. Glad to be out moving through the dark city streets toward the edge of town.
Cal tried not to think about the moment when she’d begun to loosen the laces of her top. He needed to keep pace with her now and thinking about undressing Docia made for difficulties in walking. The way the front had begun to drop away from her bosom. The way he’d slid his fingers beneath the top edge and pulled down gently until her magnificent breasts were free. The way he’d dipped his head and taken one of her breasts into his mouth, pushing the satin top away from her body, feeling her fingers spear through his hair.
