The Red-Hot Chili Cook-Off (5 page)

Gigi hugged her daughter one more time before she stood up. “Where are your personal things?”

“Upstairs and it ain't pretty,” Patrice said.

“It will be when we are done. Y'all go right on about your business here. We're going to set things in order. Tonight you'll have a bedroom and everything will be organized. Have you called a lawyer yet?”

“Sweet Jesus,” Sugar gasped. “This all just happened this morning. When the dust settles, they might reconcile. Don't call a lawyer until we've had time to think about it and pray that God will put his hands on both of you.”

Carlene shook her head. “I'm not calling a lawyer right now, Aunt Sugar. And you can pray the wings off the angels but I'm not going to reconcile with Lenny.”

“Well, you might go ahead and put Carson on retainer. You sure don't want Lenny to get to him first,” Gigi said. “Come on Tansy and Sugar. We'll get her room ready before the movers get here with the furniture. Thank God they bought a house to put the business in. At least she's got a decent bedroom to move into and, Sugar, not another word from you the rest of this day.”

Carlene was so grateful when five o'clock arrived that she could have danced another jig on the top of that damned Corvette or gone back to the house and blown holes in every one of those damn chili cook-off trophies. So Bridget had been promised a picture above the mantel. Maybe if she thought of a picture of her and Lenny all hugged up together, the tears would dry up and she'd move on to the next step, which had to be fightin' damn rage.

She was tired of even hearing Lenny's name, thinking about him, and worrying about what happened next. She opened the door into a room that looked like it had been sprayed down in bubblegum pink. Her mother and Aunt Sugar had driven out to the Carmichael place and brought in towels and bathroom rugs after the bedroom had been set up, and they were all pink, too.

She threw herself back on the bed and glared at the pink roses trailing on the wallpaper. If she went to sleep, would they attack her and turn her into the first plus-sized Barbie doll?

Her phone started playing “Hell on Heels,” and she reached for it without blinking.

“Did you forget your keys again?” she asked her cousin.

Patrice laughed. “No, I got my keys and I didn't forget anything at the shop. I just want to make sure you aren't suffocating in all that pink. You can still come live with me. I've got an extra bedroom with a red satin bedspread, white walls, and a zebra-striped throw rug. Plus there's a full bottle of Jack Daniels in the cabinet.”

“I'm a Jim Beam girl, and thanks but no thanks. The pink didn't kill me when I was a kid. I don't expect it will now. However, if you find me curled up in a ball tomorrow morning just tell the undertaker that the rose vines strangled me plumb to death.”

“Well, if it starts getting to you in the night, just come on over. My guest room at least looks like an adult lives in it. Has Lenny called any more?”

“No and I hope he doesn't. I need to get past the crying jags before I talk to him.”

“Well, hurry up and get mad as hell. That's the way I want to see you from now on,” Patrice said.

She'd barely hung up when the phone started playing “Jesus, Take the Wheel.”

“Yes, Alma Grace,” Carlene answered.

“I ran by the grocery store and put a half gallon of chocolate marshmallow ice cream in the freezer just in case you want it later and there's a special prize on the kitchen table for you. I wish you'd come on out here to the ranch. There's plenty of room in my house for you or you could stay at the big house. Mama would love to have you.”

Carlene was tempted. Aunt Sugar's cook would fuss over her and make sure that she had all her favorite foods. But she'd have to endure the morning devotionals and all the praying that would mention Lenny's name in every single sentence. It wasn't worth it, no sir!

“Thanks but I need time alone to think,” Carlene said.

“The doors are always open,” Alma Grace said.

“I know. Good night,” Carlene said.

The third ring was her mother. “I'd offer you a room here but you need to be alone to sort things out. I've got a Confederacy meeting tomorrow night but Wednesday you will come home for dinner with me and your dad. I hope he's cooled down enough by then to talk sensibly. Right now he's threatening to do unspeakable things to Lenny.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Carlene said.

Maybe she'd be cooled down enough to talk sensibly but not by the upcoming Wednesday—maybe one of those on the calendar in six months.

Her head ached. Her body felt like it had been put through a wringer washer backward. Every time she shut her eyes, she saw those red bikinis on Bridget when she came out of the dressing room. She alternated between tears and cussing, yelling at the walls and dead silence. If only that blasted chili cook-off was open to women contestants, she'd enter it and win the damn thing just to get back at him.

It was not a good time for Lenny to call and she was sick of talking on the phone, of hearing prayers, and of listening to advice, so she didn't answer the phone. Not the first time, the second, or the third, but when the phone rang the fifth time, she figured if she didn't pick it up, he'd drive across town to the shop and she damn sure didn't want to see him.

“What do you want?” she yelled into the phone.

“You,” he whispered.

“Well, good luck with that,” Carlene said.

“Come on, honey. I promise it won't happen again. I've learned my lesson,” he said.

“No thank you.” Carlene's words were clipped and came out from between clenched teeth.

“I'm through playing games. Come home right now. You don't get to wait a week to decide. It's either now or never,” he growled.

“Guess it's never.” She hung up the phone and headed to the kitchen. Chocolate marshmallow was one of her favorite ice cream flavors.

A surprise waited on the kitchen table. She picked up the paperback book, hoping it was a historical romance that would take her to another time and another world but it was something entitled
Making
Your
Marriage
Work
. The note from Alma Grace on the top said,
Carlene, reading this book is a must for all who seek to enjoy lasting peace, joy, and honor in their homes. One little baby step at a time will put your marriage back together and reading the words on these pages will be the first one. Love and blessings, Alma Grace.

Lenny had taken the honor right out of their marriage. Maybe she should send it to him. And she wasn't interested in baby steps, giant steps, or any other kind of steps. She forgot all about the ice cream, opened the back door, and heaved the damn thing toward the dumpster. It landed in the open container dead center and Carlene nodded without smiling. Who said her career in high school basketball wouldn't come in handy someday?

She slept poorly that night, waking every time a car went down the street or a tree limb brushed against her window. When dawn came, she finally gave up, took a shower, dressed for the day, and went down to the kitchen. Breakfast was a bologna and cheese sandwich, a glass of milk, and two of the pecan tarts that she swore she wouldn't touch the day before. She made coffee, drank four cups, and made another pot while she waited on everyone to arrive.

Josie was first in the back door. She went straight for the coffee pot and asked, “How are you this mornin'?”

“Better than yesterday morning, not as good as I'll be tomorrow morning. He called me to try to make amends.”

Josie clucked like a hen gathering her chicks. “That boy ain't got a lick of sense. If Alma Grace and Patrice get too busy, I'll go out in the shop and help. You know that gossip travels faster than the wind and you don't need to answer forty thousand questions. I stopped by the convenience store and brought you two maple donuts. I know how you like them.” She patted Carlene on the shoulder and sat down at the table.

“Thanks, Josie. Gossip does travel faster than a tornado, doesn't it?” Carlene said.

Patrice shut the door behind her and poured a mug of coffee. “There are already five cars parked out front and women waiting on the porch. You and Josie might as well put those needles down and get ready to help. Josie, if you'll run the cash register, we'll take care of fittings and sales. ”

“Well, crap!” Josie exclaimed.

Alma Grace yelled that she'd come through the front and the shop was open. She went right to work helping customers who had already been packed on the porch when she had arrived. Every fitting room was soon full and women waited on the front porch swing for their turn at the racks and the gossip.

At noon it finally cleared out and Carlene threw herself into an overstuffed chair in the corner of the beading room. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. We weren't that busy at Christmas.”

Patrice slumped into another chair. “I hope it's not like this all week. It's good for the cash register but hell on my disposition.”

Lenny strutted into the room, bigger than life in his khaki slacks, pale blue shirt, and striped tie. His dark hair was feathered back perfectly thanks to a standing appointment over at the Yellow Rose Beauty Shop every Saturday at five thirty. He was so sexy that it wasn't any wonder he had women lining up to go to bed with him. The first thing Carlene noticed was that he was not wearing his wide gold wedding band.

“Mornin', ladies. Y'all think I might have a word with my wife?”

Patrice sat up on the edge of the chair. “Whatever you got to say to her, I'm going to hear.”

“I'm not going anywhere,” Josie said.

“I want you to know I'm praying for y'all to put this behind you and for you to repent. I've got customers so I'm leaving,” Alma Grace said from the doorway right behind him.

He laid a hand on Carlene's shoulder and said, “April Fools', darlin'! How'd you like that joke? I really pulled a good one on you, didn't I?”

For a split second she believed him and then she remembered the look on Bridget's face when he'd said it was just a fling. That was no joke. There wasn't an actor in Hollywood that could pull off shock that genuine.

She shrugged off his hand. “I'm not buying your brand of bullshit this morning, Lenny Joe. I'm not an idiot.”

“I told you when we married that I was hanging up my player jeans. I'm sorry that I took the April Fools' joke too far but you got to admit it was funny.” His words were smooth; his tone, icy.

Patrice stood up, crossed the room, and leaned on the doorjamb. “That's not what I heard this morning. Couple of customers told me tales that would fry your little brain. They said that they were surprised that Carlene hadn't caught you before. And honey, they were not a bit bashful. They named places, times, and positions.”

Carlene narrowed her eyes at Lenny. “How many were there?”

“Before we got married, a lot,” he said.

“And after?”

“Go on and take your shoes off.” Josie pointed at his shoes. “But even then you probably ain't got enough fingers and toes to count them all, do you? Carlene is not stupid, Lenny, and that was not a joke.”

He glared at Josie. “I don't have to listen to this. Those women are spreading untrue rumors. This has all been blown way out of proportion.”

Carlene caught Patrice's eye. “Would you bring the Rolodex in here—the one where we keep the hard copy of the customers' names and numbers so we can email them when we have a big sale?”

Lenny crossed his arms over his chest and waited. Carlene fished her phone out of her purse and when Patrice set the round file on her desk, she flipped through it until she found Bridget's personal number. She poked the numbers in and stared Lenny right in the eyes as she waited.

“Hello,” Bridget said cautiously.

“This is Carlene Lovelle. Was this all a big joke?”

Lenny grabbed at the phone, missed, and clamped a hand around her wrist. “My God, Carlene, who are you calling?”

Carlene slapped his hand away. “You touch me again and I'll break your arm.”

“Is he there? He promised me last night that he'd never call or see you again. That you were getting a divorce and, hell, no, it's not a joke. Did he say it was?”

“And did he make a single meeting at the dealership conference in Vegas?” Carlene asked.

“No, he did not. That was our five-month anniversary trip. We take one every month to celebrate the first time…well, you know. He promised to marry me as soon as the divorce is final. He said he was glad that you found out because he was tired of living with your fat ass…oops, that wasn't nice, was it?”

Carlene snapped the phone shut and glared at him. “You've got until I count to five to get out of here. One, two…”

He spun around before she said “three” and slammed the front door so hard that several beads rolled off the table.

“What now?” Josie asked.

“Now we send Patrice over to Clawdy's to get us some lunch and Alma Grace has a meeting at the church for the Easter program.” Carlene's tone was matter-of-fact. Too bad her aching heart didn't feel the same way.

Alma Grace appeared in the doorway as soon as Lenny left. “Did you make up? Did my book work? I'm so happy for you.”

“Hell no, they didn't make up,” Patrice shouted. “And what book are you talking about?”

“A book on making a marriage work that I bought for Carlene,” Alma Grace answered.

“I threw the damn thing in the dumpster. I'm not interested in saving my marriage, Alma Grace, so don't bring another shitty book in here.” Carlene pinched her nose with her two fingers but it didn't help the raging headache.

“You did what? That book cost good money and it's got priceless information in it.” Alma Grace took off for the kitchen with Patrice right behind her.

“No, no, no!” Alma Grace's screams brought Carlene to a standing position. She jogged toward the back door just in time to see her prissy cousin sticking her head into the dumpster and bringing out that blasted book all covered with coffee grounds and potato peelings. “Look what you did! This could have helped you fix the marriage you broke.”

“Are you crazy, woman? Accept it! Lenny broke the marriage. She didn't,” Patrice yelled right back at her.

“But she could've fixed it even if it was a tiny baby step at a time.” Alma Grace carried the book back into the house like it was a hurt kitten.

Patrice snatched it out of her hands and threw it in the dishwasher in one fluid motion. “If it survives a good washin', then I'll make her read the damned thing. Hell, I'll read it out loud to her word-for-word.”

“You're ruining a brand-new book,” Alma Grace whined.

“Yes, I am. I'd set it on fire if we had a gas cook stove. No books. No praying. No shit.”

Carlene could never remember a time when there had been so much contention between the three of them. Lord, it might be easier to go back to Lenny than to have to listen to those two argue every day. She wished she could run away and hide but Carmichaels did not run from their problems. Time was supposed to heal but this anger between Patrice and Alma Grace seemed to get worse with every hour.