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I ARRIVED AT OUR PRE-dance strategy session armed with bacon. Ida Belle came armed with faux diamond jewelry borrowed from one of the Sinful Ladies. “Cliff bait” was what she called it. After breakfast Ida Belle and I sat on Gertie’s sofa as Gertie modeled one Cliff-ensnaring outfit after another, hoping to strike that fine balance between naïve and senior sexy. We were now on outfit number three: white crops and a bright lacy top in a butterfly print.
I whistled. “I like it. The butterflies say, ‘I’m naïve enough to fall for your bullcrap,’ yet the lace is a bit of a tease.”
“I don’t know whether I like these crops,” she said, tugging at the seat. “They make the undies ride up my butt.”
“The crops don’t make your undies ride up,” Ida Belle said. “That four-stack of pancakes last week at Francine’s do that.”
“It was a three-stack, thank you very much. It’s the crops. They were made in China.”
“Uh-huh. Now your expanding caboose is the fault of the Chinese.”
“In fact, yes. The average American woman is five-foot, four inches and the average Chinese lady is only five foot. They’re making our crotches too small over there.”
Gertie gave the seat of her pants one more good yank. “Is this outfit enticing enough?”
“Well, not with your hand up your butt it isn’t.”
Ida Belle laughed. “The outfit doesn’t really have to be enticing to catch his eye. Your made-up investment portfolio and fake diamonds will do that.”
“I have a reputation to uphold. Let me try one more.” She strode back to her bedroom, soon to return wearing a pair of skinny black jeans and a stretchy tube top with an American flag emblazoned across it, a bald eagle perched dead center between her breasts.
“Okay, be honest,” Gertie said. “Does this make me look too sexy?”
“Dear Lord,” Ida Belle said, rubbing her eyes. “I remember that. You wore that back when Jimmy Carter was president.”
“I know. Isn’t it amazing?”
“Your stars and stripes are drooping,” Ida Belle said.
“You’re just jealous because I still have it. What do you think, Fortune?”
I blew out a breath. “The Eagle has definitely landed.”
Gertie huffed and folded her arms. “Fine. I can take a hint.”
“That wasn’t a hint,” Ida Belle said. “If your tube top flag drops any lower, we’ll have to burn it.”
Gertie stomped back to her room and decided on a non-Chinese-made pair of long-crotch tan slacks and the naïve, yet semisexy butterfly top. Gertie was now ready for her close-up.
* * * * *
THE SENIOR CENTER PARKING lot was filling up as we pulled into one of the few remaining spaces.
“Hopefully you can get Cliff to propose quickly so we can still make Lula Mae’s birthday party tonight,” Ida Belle said, surveying the crowd of gray-, white- and blue-haired old women and a sprinkling of old men wending their way toward the entrance.
“I’ve been whispering sweet nothings about my portfolio into his hairy ear the past few days,” Gertie said. “He’ll be putty in my hands tonight.”
I was still stuck on the part about Lula Mae’s birthday party. “Isn’t Lula Mae Midge’s cat?”
Gertie nodded. “Midge is a little obsessed about that old one-eyed cat. But as a reward for us coming and singing Happy Birthday to it, she breaks out a few bottles of thirty-year-old Scotch. We took the liberty of wrapping a present and signing your name to it. Salmon treats. Lula Mae’s favorite.”
The first thing I noticed after we got out of the car and joined the senior masses toward the entrance was how decked out the women were in their breezy summer dresses and colorful frilly blouses, while a good deal of the men wore T-shirts.
“The men don’t seem to be as decked out as the women.”
“They don’t have to dress up for this crowd,” Ida Belle answered. “There are five old women to every one old man. As long as a man has a pulse he’ll have women fighting for his attention.”
“Some women don’t even require a pulse,” Gertie said. “Remember when Letty Breaux was dating that mannequin?”
I found that hard to believe, even in Sinful. Then again, a birthday party for a cat? “Not a real mannequin, though, right?”
“Yes, a real one, but Letty’s a bit off her rocker and thought no one would notice that he never moved or talked.” Ida Belle shook her head. “He was a good-looking mannequin too.”
“The jig was up when his head fell off during a fish fry at Francine’s.” Gertie opened the door to the senior center and we stepped inside.
The main activities room was decorated with leftover streamers from the recent July 4 celebration in downtown Sinful. A stage had been set up with a drum set and four microphones. The name Didi and the Comfort Shoes was emblazoned across the front of the drum. A refreshment table with a glass punch bowl and water dispensers dominated one wall of the room, the punch bowl reflecting the colorful lights courtesy of a disco ball suspended from the ceiling. On both sides of the room men were holding court, surrounded by groups of senior women hanging on every word.
Gertie started swaying to the music. “We ought to come to these things more often.”
Ida Belle sighed. “The dancing’s fun, but it’s sad seeing these women climbing all over one another to get a man’s attention.” She pointed to the dance floor where a woman was thrusting her hips from side to side. “Is that Ginny Marchoux twerking?”
Gertie shook her head. “No. Hip replacement gone wild.” She then winced. “Oh no, there’s Delphine and her mother, Cookie.”
Cookie was zipping through the open door in her motorized wheelchair, her seventy-some-year-old daughter trailing behind her in a mobility scooter. Cookie headed straight for us, stopping just inches away from crashing into Gertie.
“The next time you cut through my lawn, I’m getting my shotgun.”
Gertie’s face twitched. I leaned into her. “Don’t make a scene.”
She shook, took a deep breath and smiled at Delphine, who had stopped next to her mother.
“How lovely seeing you and your mother here, Delphine. Are you wearing your hearing aid tonight, Cookie?”
“Do I want a nookie? What kind of a question is that?” Cookie eyed Gertie up and down, then looked over at Ida Belle and scrutinized her. “What are you two man-haters doing here?”
Ida Belle sighed and shook her head. “We don’t hate men. We just feel that for a woman to live up to her full potential—”
“Clogged toilet bowl?” Cookie said, screwing her face. “Why are you telling me? Do I look like the janitor?”
She sped away, leaving a flustered Delphine.
“If I die before her, I’m going to be so mad.” Delphine shot off after her mother.
“That woman’s the worst,” I said.
Ida Belle flicked her head at Celia, who was stomping toward us. “No, that honor would go to Celia.”
“What are you three doing here?” We weren’t her favorite people.
Ida Belle folded her arms and tilted her head. “We have a right to be here.”
Gertie nodded. “That’s right. Although young at heart, we are technically seniors. And this is a senior center dance.”
Celia glared at me. “She’s not a senior.”
“I volunteered to help out tonight. Thought I should exercise my civic duty while I’m in Sinful.”
“Maybe you’d like to exercise your civic duty in your own town.” She then turned her attention to Gertie, taking in her teased and sprayed-into-place hair, then settling on the fuchsia lipstick that matched the butterflies on Gertie’s blouse. “You look...”
“Ravishing? Stunning? All of the above?” Gertie asked.
“I was going to say you look like you’re up to something. Or did you finally realize that the ideals of the Sinful Ladies Society were harmful to women?”
“I am so tired of people twisting what the Sinful Ladies stand for,” Ida Belle said. “Just because we don’t marry men doesn’t mean we don’t enjoy them.”
“Glad to hear that. I’m going to hold you to it.”
Walter slipped beside a stunned Ida Belle, wearing freshly ironed khaki pants and a striped polo shirt, his hair boasting a fresh cut. His face looked as smooth as a baby’s butt. Yep, he cleaned up nice.
“How did you know we’d be here tonight?”
He cast a quick glance at me. Ida Belle’s nostrils flared. She and I shared the ability to keep our emotions in check. A flare of her nostrils was the equivalent of a tirade in most people.
Walter had been after Ida Belle to marry him for more than forty years. Was I interfering? Absolutely. But I like Walter. And I know inside she loves him. “I thought you’d be bored just standing around.”
“I don’t need matchmaking help.”
Walter draped his arm around Ida Belle’s shoulder. “That’s right, because you already have a man. Me.”
Gertie opened her purse and pulled out a small bottle of SLS cough syrup. She handed it to Walter. “Go get us a couple cups of punch. Put a capful in Ida Belle’s. It’ll put her in a dancing mood. Put two in mine. I’ll need it.”
Celia gasped as Walter left for the punch table with the cough syrup. “You can’t spike the punch at the senior center dance. That’s illegal.”
“I’m not spiking it. Poor Ida Belle and I have had a bit of a tickle in our throats the last few days. You don’t want us coughing all over everyone while we’re dancing, do you?”
Celia pointed her bony finger at Gertie. “Someday I’m going to put a real sheriff in place who will close down your moonshine operation and put you ladies out of business.” She then stormed away to the punch table.
“And someday I’ll be nice enough to tell our illustrious mayor when she has toilet paper stuck to her shoe. Tonight’s not that night.”
Ida Belle turned her glare back at me. I held up my hands. “Look, Walter said he heard from Ally that you had something planned for tonight. I couldn’t lie to him.”
“Sure you could. I’m here on a mission. I have to help keep women away from Cliff, so Gertie can have her time with him. I don’t like to be distracted.”
“I’ll run interference. You don’t have to marry Walter. Just a couple of dances.”
“I’m glad you feel that way. Because don’t look now, but Carter just walked into the room.”
I spun around and saw Carter just inside the doorway. Damn. He was wearing those jeans. The jeans that made his butt look just so... perfect. I’d never seen the shirt before, but it was tight and cradled every muscle.
“Oh crap.”
“You don’t have to marry him,” Ida Belle said, smirking, “but it doesn’t mean you can’t dance with him.”
I turned back to her. “Did you call him?”
“Of course not. I wouldn’t do that to you, because I know how things are between you right now.”
I raised my eyebrows at Gertie.
“Don’t look at me. I didn’t call him. He’s the last person I want here. He’ll know we’re up to something. But now that he’s here, maybe you could distract him. He may have said he didn’t want to go further with your relationship, but he’s still a man. And showing a little more cleavage would help.”
Ida Belle placed her hand on my shoulder, laying it on thick. “Take one for the team. Come on, those top two buttons of your blouse aren’t going to unbutton themselves.”
I brushed her hand away. “It’s different with you and Walter. You’ve already set the parameters of your relationship. You can dance all night with Walter and then go on home without any pressure of it becoming something bigger. Carter and I are really trying to separate from one another.”
“And yet, you two are constantly running into one another,” Ida Belle said. “Wonder why that is?”
Walter returned with two plastic cups of punch and handed one to Ida Belle. “One shot of cough syrup, just like you like it.” He handed Gertie hers. “And two shots for you. Sorry, but Celia confiscated the bottle.”
Gertie took a sip and smiled. “Like I only carry one bottle of cough syrup in my purse.”
Feedback from a microphone on the stage sent an ear-piercing sound throughout the room.
“Sorry about that.” A thin woman with intensely dyed red hair piled high atop her head stood in front of the microphone. She was decked out in a plaid miniskirt and pink sequined top, white old-lady walking shoes on her feet. A ukulele dangled around her chest. “I’m Didi, and we’re Didi and the Comfort Shoes.”
She was interrupted by the crowd of seniors cheering and applauding. She curtsied and thanked the crowd, then introduced the three Shoes: Mattie on the drums, Flora on the fiddle and Minnie on the guitar. They too were decked out in miniskirts and comfort shoes and curtsied at the applause.
“We’d like to start tonight with a blast from the past,” Didi said into the microphone. “It’s the seventies. Running buck naked through the streets was now called streaking, Shake A Pudding had arrived on the culinary scene, and—”
The Comfort Shoes stepped up to the mics and began singing, Everybody Was Kung-Fu Fighting to the cheers of the crowd.
Walter smiled to Ida Belle. “Our song.” He held his hand out to her. “Shall we?”
She chugged her punch in one swig, blew out a breath and handed me her empty cup. “Okay. But I lead.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he said, hooking his arm through hers.
Gertie elbowed me as Ida Belle and Walter made their way to the dance floor and began dancing. “Carter sees us. Are you sure you don’t want to distract him with a make-out session in the locker room?”
Of course, I’d like to have a make-out session with him. But make-out sessions were exactly what I was trying to avoid.
Carter casually walked our way. “I didn’t expect to see you here tonight.” He turned his head toward Gertie. “Isn’t the second Saturday of the month usually reserved pretending you’re not making hooch?”
“Can’t a lady come to a dance without someone questioning her motives?”
“Not really. What are you three up to tonight?”
I nodded toward the dance floor where Ida Belle and Walter were dancing to the music. “Apparently, dancing.”
Carter leaned in to take a look at Gertie’s fake diamond necklace. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with Cliff Dow, would it? I mean, you’re awfully dolled up.”
“Maybe I’m just in need of a little male companionship. Did you ever think of that?”
“And what are you doing here tonight, Carter?”
“It was Celia’s idea. Part of the sheriff’s department community outreach program. I’m volunteering at the punch table. What’s your excuse?”
“I’m here to volunteer as well. I know CPR. Just in case any of the ninety-plussers keel over.”
Just then the door to the senior center opened and Cliff Dow stepped inside. You would’ve thought Elvis had just come back from the dead the way some of the women perked up. Several of them got out their mirrors and lipsticks from their purses and made last-minute adjustments.
Carter smiled. “Well, look who’s here. The man you don’t seem to care about.”
Cliff stood there in his white linen suit and straw fedora, taking in the room. Celia elbowed her way through a group of gawkers to be the first to approach him.
“Well hello, Mr. Dow. I believe we’ve met before. I’m Celia Arceneaux, the mayor of our lovely little town.”
“Of course I remember.” He took her hand and kissed it. She giggled. This was the first time I’d ever heard Celia giggling. I hoped it would be the last.
Gertie’s eyes narrowed as she watched Celia flirting with her mark. She looked up at Carter. “Shouldn’t you be at the punch table, then?” Gertie stuck her fingers in her mouth and whistled toward a woman standing at the refreshment table. “Izzy! I have one of yours over here!”
A woman wearing what amounted to a basket of fruit on her head approached us, glaring at Gertie. “My hearing aid’s working just fine, Gertie. No need to be uncouth.” She surveyed Gertie’s gaudy jewelry, hair and makeup with her eyes. “Who are you expecting to show up tonight, the King of England?” She then glanced over at Cliff, still in discussion with Celia. “Oh. I see you’ve been bitten by the Cliff bug as well. Who knew?” She then looked at Carter. “What are you waiting for? An engraved invitation? The punch table’s over there.”
Izzy turned and walked back to the table.
“Hey,” Gertie said to Carter, “maybe later tonight you and Fortune can share a dance.”
“Oh,” Carter said. “I hadn’t really thought that far ahead...”
Izzy’s earsplitting whistle saved him. “Over here, Deputy!”
“I gotta go.”
I whirled around to face Gertie as soon as he left.
“Whose side are you on?”
“First off,” she said, “we need you to keep Carter distracted so he doesn’t focus so much on Cliff. The last thing we need is Deputy LeBlanc butting in. Second...” She reached up and put her hand on my shoulder. “I don’t know if you noticed or not, but you two still have chemistry.”
“Of course I noticed. I also noticed him telling me he couldn’t be with someone who does my kind of work,” I whispered. “And you know what? That sucked. Excuse me if I don’t want to keep experiencing the pain of not being with him. Besides, if my... ‘company’ deals with my little ‘problem,’ I’ll have to leave by the end of summer. So, it was never going to work anyway. It was unfair to him for us to get involved in the first place.”
She shook her head and whispered, “You know what’s unfair? That you won’t even think of your other options. You keep saying how you’re going to have to leave us at the end of the summer, and every time your face looks crushed, just like it is now. What’s unfair is that you won’t allow yourself to be happy. And from what I’ve noticed the past few weeks, I’d say living around us and Sinful agrees with you. There, I said it.”
My face flushed. The force of her words was like a vise around my throat, preventing any emotions from bubbling up. Dealing with the truth was not something I was ready to face just yet.
“Your face is all red. I didn’t mean to stir things up.”
“You didn’t,” I lied. “Can we get back to work?” I looked over at the women swarming around Cliff, noticing one woman shoving other women away with her walker and oxygen tank. “Who’s that?”
“Trouble. Cloris LaPorte. She’ll be stiff competition.”
“Her? She’s about ten years older than you and looks like the walking dead.”
“Uh, huh. She also inherited family money from three different husbands, so she’s loaded.”
“Ah, so she’s easy pickings. Either he can steal from her and she won’t notice, or, if he’s lucky, he can marry her and just wait for her to take her last breath.”
“Yep,” Gertie said. “Only he’d be in for a real surprise. Cloris is a hypochondriac. She’s not really sick. She’s just very demanding and likes someone to rub her feet. And I’ve seen her toes. Cliff wouldn’t last long, but I’d rather he not take the detour. I’ve got to get him to pop the question tonight.”
The huddle of adoring women moved with Cliff from the entrance to the inside of the room, just a few yards from us.
Gertie grabbed my arm. “Come on, it’s time I’m the cream rising to the top of Cliff’s list.”
She pulled me over to the horde of women crowding around Cliff. I did my best to elbow some of the more aggressive ones away. Didi and the Comfort Shoes had just finished Kung Fu Fighting and were now moving on to some Elton John song.
“I believe you promised me a dance,” Celia said to Cliff.
Several women began arguing about who should have the first dance with him, so he held up his hands to quiet them. “Now, ladies, there is just one of me here tonight, so you’ll have to learn to share.” This was followed by several groans among the women.
Gertie had finally muscled her way into the inner circle. “Cliff’s right. Behave yourselves. This is a dance, not the Roller Derby.”
She held her right hand up to her face, showing off the biggest, fakest diamond ring in Sinful. Perhaps the entire South. It caught Cliff’s eye, and when she began running her fingers along the gaudy, fake diamond necklace dangling around her neck, the look on his face made me wonder if I’d have to perform CPR on him soon.
“We have to start acting like the ladies we are and wait for our turns,” Gertie said to the women. “You don’t see me grumbling, do you? Sure I want to dance. But if Cliff isn’t available, I’ll just go over and dance with Carl or Alex or Big Mike.” She pointed to the various men in the room with her left hand, at the same time showing off the garish fake diamond bracelet on her wrist.
A look of panic crossed Cliff’s face when he heard Gertie rattle off the other men’s names. “No need for that, Gertie. I just remembered that I promised the first dance to you when we spoke yesterday.” He presented his hand to her. “Might I have this dance, my lovely butterfly?”
Celia gasped.
Gertie shrugged. “Why not?” She took several swigs of punch, blew out a breath of SLS cough syrup vapors and tossed the empty cup to Celia, who had to catch it lest any remaining drips spot her dress. Gertie shoved her stuffed purse into my arms. “Hold this, please.”
The women groused as Cliff led Gertie to the dance floor. A hand grazed my shoulder, and I looked up to find Carter inches away from me.
“Shouldn’t you be filling punch cups?” I asked.
“Luckily Miss Izzy stepped away from the punch station to check on the desserts. I just thought I’d come over and give a friendly reminder. If you three have something up your sleeves concerning Mr. Dow, you really should stop.”
“Why? Do you know something we don’t?”
“I’m not saying that.”
But he was.
“Is Cliff under suspicion for anything?”
“I’m not saying that.”
“Something a phony FEMA worker is looking into?”
“I’m just saying I would hate for you to get on someone’s radar.”
“As in, you’re not allowed to say.”
His silence said it all. He was trying to warn me about the mystery lady. But the reaction she had had when we first met signaled I was already on her radar, and I had to find out why. Maybe if I popped more on her radar I could smoke her out, forcing her to reveal how she knew me. And what, if anything, she planned to do with the information.
“Look, nothing’s happening,” I said. “But if it were... it might be helpful for you to have plausible deniability.”
“Don’t pull that on me.”
The Comfort Shoes abruptly ended their Elton John number. “We interrupt this song for an important announcement, folks,” Didi said into her microphone. “I think we have a proposal happening on our dance floor.”
A sea of old bodies parted, revealing Cliff on one knee in front of Gertie.
“Gertie Hebert,” he said, “I’ve never met a woman like you. And, though we’ve only known one another a brief amount of time, the hours we’ve spent strolling the banks of the bayou, sharing a slice of key lime pie at Francine’s, or just sitting on a park bench and watching the clouds meandering in the sky have filled my heart with utter joy.”
Not to mention dollar signs. I hoped no one caught my snicker.
He opened a ring box that he probably carried around in his pocket for just such an occasion. “Will you marry me?”
The room fell silent. Gertie gazed upon the stunned faces then back at Cliff.
“Yes!” she shouted.
I noticed several ninety-plussers taking hits from their oxygen tanks. Celia grabbed onto a table and swayed, stopping herself from fainting.
Didi recovered from her shocked stupor and leaned into the microphone. “Well, folks, it’s official. Hell has finally frozen over.”