“You owe me fifty bucks.”
Harley turned to find the livestock manager pointing his dirty index finger at her. She stood outside Matilda’s pen, feeding the pig her lunch. She shoved one of Aunt Wilma’s Little Debbies through the pen’s wires and watched as Matilda chewed it.
“Sir?”
“That pig of yours chewed a hole through her pen last night, trying to get at a candy apple some kid dropped on the ground.”
He pointed to a small section of Matilda’s pen that had been patched up with duct tape.
“I apologize,” Harley said, “but fifty dollars for a piece of duct tape?”
“Forty-nine of that’s for the inconvenience.”
Harley could feel Matilda pulling at her dress through the pen’s wires, and she tried to shoo the pig away with her hand. “Just a minute, Matilda. Let me finish my conversation.”
“Judges say if she does it again, she’ll be disqualified.”
Harley was about to concede when she looked down in horror to see Matilda had chewed a hole in her dress, a huge hole.
“I can see your granny drawers,” the livestock manager said, grinning with his three teeth.
“What?”
“Your granny drawers.”
Harley looked down at her dress again and shrieked. Indeed, through the gaping hole, you could see her cotton panties. To make matters worse, the panties were a pair Aunt Wilma had given her for Christmas the year before, with a slogan that read: No Peeking Until Christmas.
Her gaze shot up to the livestock manager in embarrassment. How much of her had he seen?
He held up his hand in a solemn swear, and in a sarcastic tone, he said, “Now, don’t you worry none. I was somehow, by the grace of God, able to forgo temptation.”
Harley made a face, then grabbed her dress and bunched it together in the middle, closing the hole. She needed to find something, anything to cover it. Her gaze darted about the festival grounds, searching for a solution.
Deciding one of Tina’s aprons would do, she hurried toward Tina’s Treats on Main Street, leaving the livestock manager at Matilda’s pen. Behind her, she could feel his eyes smiling into her back.
“And I promise,” he said, snickering, “I won’t peek ’til Christmas.”
Pushing her way through crowds of festival goers, Harley wondered what else could happen, how she could be humiliated any more. Then, her chest collided with Eric Winston’s, and she received her answer. A smiling Eric, impeccably handsome and tailored and barbered in a cashmere sweater and jeans, grabbed her by the elbows to keep her from falling.
“Harley?” He rebalanced her body on the pavement and smiled. “What a pleasant surprise.”
She clamped her hand over her crotch before he could notice the hole and the granny panties. “Eric …” She forced a smile. She was so embarrassed and nervous, she found herself dancing back and forth on the pavement as she held her crotch.
“Everything okay?” he asked, searching her face with concern. “You look rather …”
She labored to think of an excuse, any excuse. “I’m sorry,” she said, pulling away from him, “but I have to … I have to … pee.”
Hurrying back through the crowds, she berated herself, wondering why she couldn’t have thought of something better. I have to pee had been worse than the hole in her dress and the granny panties.
At last, she made her way to the sidewalk and then to Tina’s Treats. To her surprise, she found Uncle Tater’s antique toilet stationed outside the shop, and Opha Mae Shaw standing beside it, adding water to the flowers in the bowl.
“Well, howdy there, Harley!” Opha Mae said, raising her watering can from the bowl.
Opha Mae noticed Harley had her hand clamped over her dress, and raised her brows. “You all right, darlin’? Why you got your hands over your no-no spot? You gotta go potty or somethin’?” Opha Mae looked down at the toilet bowl in consideration, then back at Harley again. “Well, I reckon I could just let you go in here, but my flares, you see.”
“That’s perfectly all right,” Harley said, rushing past the old woman and her toilet. “I think I can make it.”
Inside Tina’s shop, a crowd of people was lined up behind the bakery case, gaping at the assortment of cookies and cakes and pies as they pondered their selections. Tina stood behind the counter, grinning, as she pulled desserts from the case with gloved hands and wrapped them in parchment.
“Tina!” Harley said, waving from the front door. “Tina, I need you for a second.”
Tina handed a bag of baked goods to a departing customer and headed in Harley’s direction. “What’s wrong?” she said, wiping her hands on her apron. “You look constipated or somethin’.”
“I don’t have to go the bathroom in any way. I have a problem.”
Tina motioned for Harley to follow her to the bakery’s back room, which housed the kitchen.
There, among the prep tables and ovens and stand mixers, Harley removed her hands from her dress and let Tina assess the damage.
She squealed with laughter. “Let me guess,” she said. “Matilda.”
“Yes.”
“And those awful panties! They’re like man repeller.”
“They’re comfortable.”
“Well,” Tina said, still giggling, “I’m sorry, but I don’t really see how I can help you.”
“I need one of your aprons.”
She considered. “Well, I’ve got a load of ’em in the washer right now, but they won’t be dry for a while. Let me go look in the linen closet.” She walked to the back corner of the kitchen and then to a wardrobe by one of the sinks. She removed an apron from the wardrobe and returned to Harley.
“Here you go.”
Harley’s glimmer of hope diminished. The apron was hot pink and lined with black lace. A giant crocheted bun smiled from its center with a slogan beneath it that read: Bakers Knead Hot Buns.
“And you’re sure you don’t have any other clean ones?”
“Sorry, sweetie. It’s this or the granny panties.”
And what was worse, she was about to pay a visit to Beau Arson.