by Debby Mayne
“The tall blonde standing next to Tiffany,” Tim says before I have a chance to say something snarky. “She just happens to have been second runner up for Miss Mississippi a few years ago.”
“Interesting,” Michael says as he rubs his chin. “I’ll have to check her out later.”
“Sorry,” I say. “You’re too late for this one, Michael. Hank found her first.”
Even in the semidarkness, I see his face quickly pale before his color returns. “With me around, you know Hank doesn’t stand a chance.” Then Michael struts toward the group and puts his arm around Tiffany while giving Marlene the head-totoe once-over.
“That man is disgusting,” I tell Tim. “Why would Trudy even care what he thinks?”
Tim shrugs. “I was hoping you’d tell me.”
We no sooner sit down at our table than Twyla Ackerman walks up. She extends her hand toward Tim. “And who do we have here?” she asks. The flirty smile on her lips and sideways glance are about as obvious as the sun on a cloudless day.
I introduce her to Tim, even though she never once looks at me or says hi. He takes her hand, shakes it then wipes his hand on the side of his pants.
“So what sport did you play in high school?” Twyla asks.
Tim glances at me, and I nod. “Football and baseball,” he replies, taking a step back and putting more distance between himself and Twyla.
“Ooh,” she coos. “A double-sport man. I like that.”
“I’m sure you do,” I say. Tim casts a questioning look my way.
“Hey Twyla, come on over here,” someone shouts from the other side of the room. “We’re getting ready to take pictures of all the cheerleaders.”
“Sorry, but I gotta run, folks. I’ll talk to you later.”
“What was that all about?” Tim asks. “Who is she?”
“Twyla is a seasonal dater,” I explain. “She used to pick her boyfriends from whatever sport was in season.”
“Oh,” he says. “We had a couple girls like that in my high school too.”
“Is that why you played two sports?” I tease. “Double your chances?”
He laughs. “That’s as good a reason as any, I s’pose, but no, I played two sports because I enjoyed them . . . and to give me more opportunities for scholarships.”
I know Tim went to college on a baseball scholarship, with a little extra financial help from his uncle. His single mother couldn’t afford it, so sports opened the door to education. He’s hoping that the degree in business combined with the sales experience he’s getting working for his uncle will present even more opportunities in the future.
“Hey, Priscilla!” Jerry Morris hollers from his table. “Can you come over here so we can settle something once and for all?”
I glance at Tim. “Guy I went out with when we were juniors,” I say. “Once.”
Tim shrugs. “He sounds like he’s had a little too much to drink.”
“Why do some people have to get drunk at these things?” I sigh.
“Are you comin’ or not?” Jerry says, even louder than before.
“C’mon,” I say to Tim. “Let’s go see what he wants before he goes crazy.”
As we approach Jerry’s table, his date nervously glances around then whispers something in his ear. He snickers, then looks at me. “I don’t think she believes you and I actually went together back in high school. Tell her—”
“What are you talking about, Jerry?” I say. “We went out one time. We never went together.” I shake my head. “You might want to find a designated driver.”
“I can drive just fine.” He slurs his words, and I exchange a glance with his date.
She reaches over and picks up his keys that he’d put on the table. “Got ’em.”
When we get back to our table, Tim leans over and whispers, “I’m going to invite you to my high school reunion, but I doubt it’ll be anywhere near this exciting.”
“That’ll be just fine with me,” I say.
He straightens up and frowns at something behind me. “Do you know that guy?”
I turn to see who he’s talking about, and directly in my line of vision, I see Maurice Haverty coming toward us. And just like back in high school, my mouth goes dry, and my palms grow damp.
34
Laura
I’m about to let Pete fall flat on his face. Watching after him while making sure this reunion happens without a hitch is like hanging onto a toddler with one hand and holding a machete in the other hand.
It’s bad enough that Pete got all smash-faced at the pre-preparty and then even worse at the preparty, but he’s goin’ out to the parking lot way more than I’m comfortable with. I got rid of the stash in his pickup truck, but I’ve learned that Jimmy has become his partner in crime. They have something alcoholic out there. I can smell it every time Pete or Jimmy staggers past me.
And now, I’m watching Maurice Haverty’s backside as he zeroes in on Priscilla. I have to admit I got a quick thrill when he complimented me on his way in, but then I smelled his liquored-up breath. And when he asked me about Priscilla, I realized what he was doing.
I’d better go check on them.
I’m about six feet away when I hear Maurice’s smooth voice. “You’re lookin’ real good, Priscilla. I heard you were in town, and I was hopin’ you’d be here.” He stops long enough to give Tim a get-lost look before adding, “Alone.”
Tim takes a step toward Maurice, but Priscilla reaches out her arm to hold him back, never taking her eyes off Maurice. I’m not the best people reader in town, but I know the look of attraction when I see it. It was no secret back in high school that Priscilla would’ve given her eye teeth to be with Maurice, but he only used that to get other things he wanted—like free tutoring or making some other girl jealous. Now I wonder what he wants.
“Thank you, Maurice,” Priscilla says, her voice all light and flirty. I want to go over there and give her a good smack down. Doesn’t she know he’s playin’ her again? “This is my very good friend, Tim Puckett.”
I make my way around so I can see Maurice’s face, but I have to turn sideways and crabwalk between folks to get a better view, since there’s already about a dozen people watching. A wide grin spreads across Maurice’s face . . . and Priscilla smiles right back at him with that old familiar look in her eyes. I reckon even smart girls have their weaknesses.
Celeste joins me. “I saw the crowd forming over here. What’s goin’ on? A fight?”
“No,” I whisper. “It’s just Maurice tryin’ to play Priscilla for a fool. For such a smart girl, she sure is actin’ stupid.”
Celeste points. “Looks like our boy Tim just lost out.” She shakes her head. “Such a shame too. I think he and Priscilla make a cute couple. Maurice is nothing but a snake.”
“You can say that again. Pete might be a drunk, but he’s an honest drunk.”
“Good point,” Celeste says. “At least with him, you always know what you’re dealing with.”
“I pretty much know what Priscilla is dealin’ with too. Maurice obviously hasn’t changed one iota.”
“Surely Priscilla will see that,” Celeste says.
“Doesn’t look like it to me. She’s the only one, though. Looks like Tim sees right through Maurice.”
“Oh, I’m sure he does, but do you think Priscilla will listen to him?” Celeste asks.
“Not a chance. It’ll take him breakin’ her heart right in two before she realizes he’s playin’ her again.”
Celeste sighs. “I wonder what he wants this time.”
“No tellin’,” I say as I back away. “I need to go see about Pete. He’ll get into all kinds of trouble if I don’t keep an eye on him.”
I’m surprised Pete is still standing there when I get back. Then I glance behind him and see Jimmy blocking him from leaving.
“Hey, Jimmy. Anyone else come in I need to know about?”
“No, not since Maurice Haverty. How’re they doing over there? Is he m
akin’ time with Priscilla?”
“About as much as he can with Tim standing in the way.”
“Speak of the devil,” Jimmy says as his gaze darts to something behind me. “Hey, Tim. Having fun?”
“What do y’all think?” Tim asks. “Who is that Maurice guy?”
“Don’t you know?” Pete says. I cut him a look, trying to tell him without talking that this isn’t open for discussion, but does he listen? No. He’s too drunk to care. “Priscilla followed Maurice around like a little groupie back in high school.”
“I thought . . .” He glances over his shoulder. “That don’t sound like Priscilla.”
“Doesn’t,” I say to correct him.
“Huh?”
“That doesn’t sound like Priscilla.”
“Oh.” He shuffles his feet. “I need to do something, but I’m not sure what.”
Pete belts out, “If you really want her, you better fight for your woman.”
“No, Pete. No fightin’ tonight, please. Tim, you came with Priscilla, so you have every right to leave with her. I didn’t see Maurice beatin’ her door down to be her date for this reunion.”
“You’re right, Laura. I’ll go right back over there and remind her who she’s with.”
“Attaboy. Just don’t let him make you do something you shouldn’t do.”
Pete cracks up. “I reckon you’re talkin’ about gettin’ into a fight.”
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about.”
“Who says that’s something he shouldn’t do?”
My Bible teachin’ from when I was a young’un comes back to me. “He needs to handle it peacefully and in a way that makes the Lord happy.”
“Aw, Laura, I’ve been to enough Bible lessons to know there was plenty of fightin’, even back in the olden days.”
Pete and I have been so engrossed in our Bible talk, I just now realize Tim’s not even with us anymore. He’s on his way back to deal with Priscilla and Maurice, who are still standin’ there lookin at each other.
“This I gotta see,” Pete says as he scoots past me to get a better view.
I scurry up to his side in time to hear Tim speak. “It’s been mighty nice chattin’ with you, Maurice, but I would like to speak to Priscilla for a minute if you don’t mind.”
“Why’s he askin’ him if he minds?” Pete growls. “He just needs to tell Maurice to go away and quit messin’ with his girl.”
“Shh.”
“I’d like to talk to Priscilla, too, buddy,” Maurice tells Tim.
“I’m not your buddy.” Tim turns to Priscilla. “Well? Whaddya wanna do now?”
Priscilla’s mouth opens, and she’s speechless. And to think we elected her most likely to succeed.
“She’d obviously rather be with me,” Maurice says with an apologetic shrug directed at Tim. “Sorry.”
“No, Maurice,” Priscilla finally manages to say, her voice low and shaky. “Tim is my date.”
“Oh, okay, that’s right.” Maurice steps back, holding his hands up. “It wouldn’t be polite to ditch your date here. I can take a hint, but . . .” He winks at Priscilla, not seeming to mind that half the graduating class is standing there watching. “We’ll talk soon, okay, Prissy?”
The only person I’ve ever heard call her Prissy and get away with it was her grandmother, God rest her soul. When I look at her, I’m shocked to see that she doesn’t seem to mind. She’s actually smiling at Maurice.
Once he’s gone, I approach her. “You okay . . . Prissy?”
“Priscilla,” she corrects me. “Of course I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”
35
Priscilla
I can’t believe that after all these years I still have the same reaction to Maurice Haverty I had back in high school. My crush started the first time he and I worked on a project back in high school. I got a high school newspaper assignment to write an article about him. I never thought twice about any of the football players, until I got to know Maurice through that article. He actually understood everything I said, and I didn’t have to dumb down the conversation to one- and two-syllable words. Then he came to my house a couple of times, and I was able to kid myself into thinking he might be interested in me. But all he was interested in was the grade we’d get on the project because he was counting on it for a football scholarship to Ole Miss. He was cocaptain of the football team with Michael Baynard—Maurice was the brains, while Michael provided the brawn. But all I care about is Maurice says he wants to see me while I’m in town and maybe see how we are together as adults. If my tingling sensations are any indication, I’m sure we’ll do just fine.
“Earth to Priscilla,” Tim says, jolting me from my thoughts. “Is he that special to you?”
I blink and start to deny my feelings, but I can’t. I’ve never lied to Tim, and I don’t intend to now. “I don’t know, but I have to admit something happened when I saw him tonight.”
Tim rubs the back of his neck—something he often does when he’s not sure what to do next. “What would you like me to do?”
I feel sort of bad about what I’m about to ask, but it’s not like I’ve ever tried to lead Tim on. I’ve actually done the opposite by letting him know we’re just friends. “Would you mind if I talked to him a little more?” I look down at my hands that seem to have a life of their own as I shred a napkin. I put it down before continuing. “I haven’t seen him in years, and I’d like to . . . well . . .”
Tim gives me one of his half-smiles and nods. “Sure. I mean, I’m the one who insisted on coming here with you. If I hadn’t done that—”
I place my fingertips over Tim’s mouth to shush him. “No, it’s not that way at all. I’m glad you’re here with me. You’ve been very helpful all week.” After a quick glance over toward the refreshments, where Maurice is leaning against the sandwich table, talking to a couple of his former teammates, I turn back to Tim. “I don’t have to talk to Maurice tonight. I can wait.”
“No,” Tim says firmly. “I insist. Why don’t I go hang out with Pete for a little while, so Laura can relax? I’m sure she’ll appreciate a break.” His expression is cloudy, hard to read, but now there’s a coolness to his voice.
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
With that, he leaves me standing there by myself. I can tell he’s annoyed, but he’s too much of a gentleman to make an issue of it. I take a half step to the side and look directly at Maurice. He’s watching me, so I nod and smile. Without wasting another second, he strides straight toward me.
“So did you tell your date to get lost?” Maurice asks.
“You know I would never do something like that. Tim is a very good friend.” I’m in over my head but helpless to back away from the situation. “But he said he doesn’t mind if we talk.”
Maurice tilts his head back and laughs, showing all his slightly crooked but beautiful white teeth against his golden tan skin. Everything about this man is still beautiful—even more magnificent than when he was a teenager. His chiseled features even more pronounced, and that makes my knees go all wobbly. I can only imagine how good he’ll look ten years from now as the now-fine lines really set in.
“Would you like to talk here or go outside?” He gives me a flirty grin. “Or better yet, how about you and me going for a drive?” he finally asks after he settles down.
I lick my lips. “We better stay in here.”
He gestures toward the corner table. “Let’s go over there so we can enjoy a little privacy then.”
I follow him to the corner. Maurice lowers himself into the chair with his back to the room—surprising, since he has always been a strategist.
“From what I hear, Prissy, you’re doing quite well for yourself.”
“Yes,” I say. “I’ve taken two salons that were struggling, added a new one in Jackson, and built them to where all my employees are making a good living.”
“And you’re making a good living as well?”
&
nbsp; “Yes, of course.”
“A very good living, right?” A grin forms on his lips as he holds my gaze.
“Yes.”
His smile widens. “That’s amazing. I guess you’ve probably heard about me.”
I try to think of a tactful way to tell him I haven’t but decide it’s best to just come out with it.
“You’re kidding.” He leans back and folds his arms. “That shouldn’t surprise me, I guess, since I don’t waste my time with most of these losers.” He glances over his shoulder and shakes his head. “Seems lots of our former classmates can’t get past their high school days. I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
Although I wouldn’t have put it that way, I can certainly see what he’s saying.
“But there’s you and me, Prissy,” he says, leaning toward me, hypnotizing me with those delicious blue eyes that no doubt can read my mind. “We’re different. Cut from a different cloth. We’ve made something of ourselves.”
He never has mentioned what he does for a living, but this seems like the wrong time to bring it up. “I haven’t reached my goals yet,” I say.
“So tell me what your goals are.”
“Don’t laugh.”
Holding his hands up, he laughs. “I promise I won’t.”
“You already are.”
Maurice makes a pretend serious face, crinkling his eyebrows and pulling his lips together in a comical pout. “How’s this?”
“Okay, I’ll tell you, but I’m warning you, it might seem really . . . I don’t know . . . odd.”
“Odd can be good,” he says.
I inhale deeply and let out a sigh. “I’d like to expand my chain of salons, first in the Southeast, then all over the East Coast. After that, I want to spread across the country, until I have at least one salon in every single state.”
“Wow. That would be impressive. I have no doubt you can do that, Prissy.”
I start to tell him to call me Priscilla, but I decide to let it go. The only person who has ever called me Prissy is Grandma, but when Maurice said it during our first interview, I was so smitten I wouldn’t have dared tell him how much it bothered me.
