Look Before You Jump (5 page)

Takes one to know one, but I wasn’t about to
give Lorraine the pleasure of acknowledging the harlotry
comment.

“Just here to say hi to an old friend,” I
said before smiling at her companion. “Care to make
introductions?”

The pious Padget shot me a glare before
remembering the baggage on her arm. The guy looked like he’d never
survive to Christmas, though I had to give the white-haired codger
another ten years benefit of the doubt – if only to see Lorraine
suffer. The rock she flashed almost blinded me.

“My manners,” Lorraine said, tilting her hand
to make sure I got a good look at the stone. “Sweetheart, this is
my dear friend from high school days, Miss Victoria Bohanan.
Victoria, meet my fiancé, Mr. Derek Summers.”

“Bohanan?” Mr. Summers wheezed. “Frank’s
girl?”

I gripped the bony and weathered hand. “How
do you do, Mr. Summers? Yes, Frank Bohanan’s daughter, if he still
claims me that is.”

That earned me a cackle, though I was afraid
the pronounced cough might send him into cardiac arrest. Lorraine
gathered him up to get him a drink, though I suspected Mr. Summers
went for something a little stronger than water with that bulbous
red nose. Most oilmen of that generation always did. Any generation
really. It gave them something to talk about besides the price of
crude.

When I turned around, my panties nearly
dropped where I stood. Bobby Vernet’s smile stilled my heart.

His voice jump-started it again. “Hello,
Vicki.”

The entire room fell into a hushed silence
and all motion stopped. Every eye on three levels darted toward our
little reunion. Or maybe it was just my imagination. For a moment,
I almost expected the Heavenly Host to break out into the
Hallelujah Chorus – which would then shatter the glass enclosure
and send a shower of shards right into my backslidden carcass.

I found my voice. “Hey, Bobby.”

All five-foot-six of me was enveloped by all
six-foot-six of him. Lord Almighty, help me breathe. A different
scent than what I remembered wafted from his skin. Probably
something the wife liked better.

The wife!

Sound stirred as I pulled from the embrace to
stare at the diminutive woman by Bobby’s side. Long brown curls
surrounded a rounded face and dark eyes that sparkled with
amusement. All five-foot-nothing was swathed in a lavender chiffon
dress that revealed a small protrusion at the belly. She beamed as
she grasped my hands. If it weren’t for the glow of pregnancy, I’d
say the smile appeared genuine.

“Vicki,” Bobby said, “I’d like you to meet my
wife, Amy.”

“I’m so pleased to finally meet you,” Amy
gushed.

A singer’s voice – she and Janine would get
on great. The little green-eyed monster of envy threatened to climb
on my back before I shook it off.

“Finally?” I questioned.

“Rob has told me so much about you. And this
must be Janine.”

Amy vigorously grasped Janine’s hands after
releasing mine. My best friend shot me a side glance as they
engaged in brief conversation. What could Bobby have possibly said
to this woman to make her so eager to meet us?

“So it’s Rob now?” I asked.

Bobby chuckled. “Sounds a little more grown
up than Bobby, don’t you think?”

I had to laugh. “Just don’t trade the car for
a van yet.”

“It offers a little more leg room, but not as
much as a truck.”

Was it getting hot in here, or was it just
me?

Bobby handed me a card. “Give me a call if
you’re free sometime this week. It’d be good to catch up.”

Did he just…? In front of…? What the…? I
couldn’t remember the last time something – anything – had made me
blush. Guess there’s a first time for everything.

Inside or outside? That was the question.

Most quaint bistros in the Dallas area
offered two choices of seating – each with their own benefits and
drawbacks. Inside offered dark corners, protection for those who
wished to carry on quiet conversation and hide intimate gestures.
The downside for me? Temptation waiting to happen or innocent
actions misconstrued.

Choosing the table along the sidewalk for
Thursday’s luncheon would keep things above board – but it was also
June in Texas. Heat and humidity combined to make life for any
normal person miserable. Plus Thursdays were also the church ladies
luncheon, and as the newest pastoral member of the congregation Amy
would be the headliner at this week’s gathering. With the close
proximity of the bistro to the church, tongues would wag faster
than a dog’s tail at dinnertime if the wrong people drove by and
saw me and Bobby alone together.

I sighed. No matter which seating location I
chose, we’d still be screwed – er, uh, befouled – uh… Oh hell. I
just didn’t want to do anything to disturb Bobby’s rehabilitated
reputation. Eenie-meenie-miney-mo. The outdoor table won the coin
toss.

Call me surprised when Amy showed up on
Bobby’s arm instead of attending the church luncheon. Those tongue
waggers if they saw us? Out of luck today. I leapt from my chair to
greet them in relief.

“Vicki, I’m so glad to have this chance to
talk,” Amy said as she grappled me in a hug. The womb-bound baby
fist-bumped my hip. “Oh. He’s been pretty active today. Probably
looking forward to lunch as much as I am.”

Bobby leaned over and pecked me on the cheek
before pulling out a chair for Amy then taking a seat. The physical
contact sent a zing to my heart, and it skipped a beat.

“So it’s a boy, is it?” I questioned as I
returned to my wicker chair.

Bobby beamed like a proud soon-to-be dad.
“Yep, and I’m looking forward to a game of one-on-one already.”

“Rob,” Amy playfully chastised, “we already
agreed he’d choose his own sport.”

“That’s only because you want him to play
football.”

“We
are
in Texas, remember?”

“Yeah,
Rob
,” I interjected and scooted
my chair a little closer to Amy. “What’s up with that?”

Bobby glanced between us like a man who’d
been double-teamed. Amy and I batted our lashes and stared
expectantly, waiting for an answer. I’d barely met this woman, and
already we’d sided together over football. At this rate, I could
like Amy if I tried.

“Uh-oh,” Bobby said. “I knew introducing an
old girlfriend to my wife was a mistake.”

Those chummy feelings I’d just had? Yeah,
they disappeared right quick. Let the earth erupt and consume me on
the spot.

“You told her?” I redirected my embarrassment
toward Amy. “He told you we went out?”

Like a calm and collected pastor’s wife, Amy
patted my hand. “It’s okay. Rob and I wanted no secrets between us
when we married. No skeletons that would come bursting from the
closet.”

“But not…” I hesitated as I glanced Bobby’s
way.

A tinge of color popped into Bobby’s cheeks.
“It’s safe to say that was never a secret after the police showed
up.”

Lord, take me now! To purgatory if the
Catholics are right. Just don’t send me to Hell. I’m already
there.

No secrets? A marriage with no skeletons?
Were these two serious? A couple actually communicating within a
marriage was a foreign concept. My father had to be the king of
closeted skeletons – or at least he tried to keep them in there.
Bound, gagged, and encased in cement shoes. Any Mafia boss would do
well to practice his techniques.

Amy wrapped her arm around my shoulders.
“Would it help to know I too was a wilted flower before I met my
husband?”

Wilted flower? Had this woman learned her
vocabulary from my mother?

“Maybe by tomorrow it will,” I muttered.

‘Cept I was no wilted flower. Plucked to the
stem better described me. I was so looking forward to work tonight.
I was gonna get shit-faced. Plastered on the boss’s dime – what
else was new? Maybe even get laid.

No! That kind of thinking was what had gotten
me here in the first place. What had happened to my resolve to
clean up my act? Lay off the getting laid? Oh yeah. Nick had
happened. Then Nick happened again. And again. Yummy goodness all
wrapped up in rock hard abs, rock hard butt, and rock hard…

Victoria!

Sometimes I conjured up Mom’s voice in my
head. Her good shoulder angel to my bad. Rarely worked for me
either.

“So,” I said in a desperate attempt to steer
the conversation along a new path, “what made you guys decide to
come home, and why now?”

“We always planned to return,” Bobby
explained. “It just took a little convincing to move earlier than
scheduled when the children’s pastorate opened up.”

“Sometimes God’s plans are on a different
timetable than our own,” Amy offered.

The clatter of breaking glasses and an angry
shout from a nearby patron interrupted my mental musings. A stream
of Spanish erupted from the embarrassed waitress as she stooped to
pick up shards and sop up the mess from the disgruntled man’s
lunch. Moving faster than what I thought possible for a pregnant
woman, Amy slipped from her chair to assist. The rapidity of her
words matched the distressed waitress’s and the situation was
soothed before Bobby unfolded himself from our table to help Amy
back into her chair.

“Where are you originally from, Amy?” I
asked.

A shadow momentarily clouded the perpetual
sparkle in her eyes. “Brownsville. Some of my extended family is
still there.”

I smiled. “You can take the girl out of
Texas, but you can’t take Texas out of the girl.”

Amy laughed and the glimmer of joy returned.
“Something like that.”

The roundtable embarrassment evaporated
nearly as fast as rain in the desert. As lunch progressed, I found
Amy to be a surprising breath of fresh air within the community of
pious purveyors I’d grown up with. She spoke of her own past
shortcomings in a nonchalant manner and explained that since she’d
been forgiven her mountain of sins, she could in turn forgive the
sins of others. Her demeanor reflected a peace I’d rarely seen
among the holy huddlers. Surrounded by those people, would Amy
eventually succumb to their ways?

Something assured me she wouldn’t.

I looked forward to knowing Amy better. For
the first time I felt comfortable around someone of the saintly
persuasion – maybe because Amy didn’t put on airs. Didn’t act
arrogant and better than others with a chip on her shoulder any cow
would be proud of. Didn’t speak about others with contempt that had
her nose up so high she’d drown in a rainstorm. Didn’t act like the
favorited chosen of the frozen. Amy was the real thing.

Yeah, me thinks I could really like this
Brownsville transplant.

***

Thursday night shenanigans had ramped up to a
frenzy by the time my co-worker showed his mug. The summertime wet
t-shirt opener might’ve had a little something to do with the
rowdiness too. Ah – gotta love summer.

Grady left bartending duty and launched onto
the platform to make announcements amid a backdrop of heavy black
plastic sheeting. The usual ethereal theme of the dance floor had
been removed to transform the space into more of a countrified
jamboree – appropriate for the night’s festivities. Girls of all
ages, shapes, and cup sizes congregated together onstage to a
chorus of wolf whistles and cat calls.

“Hey, Bud. Nice of you to show up,” I yelled,
slinging drinks out at the hooting patrons faster than charges add
up on my mother’s credit card.

“Anytime, sweet-cheeks.”

Bud – so not his real name – probably had an
uppity name like Bradley to match the underlying northern accent.
Most others accepted the Texas twang, as fake as his blond hair,
but I could detect it as sure as I could hit a target from a
hundred feet. Maybe fifty. Okay, so it’s more like twenty-five, so
sue me.

Not sure where Bud came up with the moniker,
but I’m pretty sure it had something to do with seeing a bottle of
Budweiser upon entering the great State of Texas. Since then,
this Bud’s for you
has taken on a whole new meaning when
asking women what they’ll have – at least in his mind.

Slobbery lips trickled down my neck as Bud
sidled up behind me, wrapped a meat hook around my midriff, and
pressed against my daisy dukes. In a flash, I dropped the bottle of
rum on the counter and reached behind to grip a handful of jean.
The high-pitched squeak heard ‘round the bar told me I’d nabbed
just the right spot. Bud didn’t so much as breathe.

“How many times do I have to tell you, this
Bud ain’t for me?” I responded. “So kindly remove your slimy lips
before
I
do the twist and
you
shout.”

That got a chuckle out of Rochelle as she
dropped off a tray of dirty glasses, rinsed them out and started
filling up the dishwasher. See? I don’t just crack myself up. When
Bud’s lips released my neck, I relinquished my claim on his family
jewels.

“Damn, girl,” Bud said as he rearranged
himself in front of God and the entire club. “You let Grady and any
guy here gnaw on you all night long. What gives?”

“First,” I said, holding up a single finger,
“it isn’t just any guy here. Second, they’ve all got something you
lack.”

“You ain’t never heard no complaints from the
girls I’ve been with.”

I whirled around. Bud flinched. “I’m talking
a little C-L-A-S-S. Emphasis on the C and L and less on the piece
of ASS.”

The rust on the wheels of Bud’s brain broke
loose as he scrunched up his face and so obviously struggled to
place the letters together to form a word. I think he gave up.

“So what’s got you all riled up tonight?” he
asked.

“For starters, how about you dragging your
sorry ass in here over two hours late? Not to mention you still
smell like shit.”

I poured a little rum into a patron’s drink
and dropped in an umbrella before sloshing it onto the bar and
taking a queen-sized swig for myself. The hooting and hollering
near the stage reached epic proportions as Grady hosed down a
particularly busty brunette. Talk about fake. The girl could use
those puppies as floatation devices instead of the seat cushion in
an airplane water landing. Rochelle and I exchanged knowing eye
rolls. I poured her a shot then tossed back another swig of rum. It
was setting up to be one of those nights where I’d need all the
libations I could swallow.