“I have money,” Kit said, like a kid who’d been told no dessert until he cleaned his plate. Now he was the one in a snit.
“You do have some. In fact, I actually used your account to pay for the wedding. Now, don’t let the door hit you on the ass when you leave.” Melanie opened the door and made a grand goodbye sweep of her arm.
“Mel,” he cajoled.
“Oh, and before you leave, pick your fucking toenail clippings up off my bathroom floor, you disgusting pig.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Something was wrong with Melanie. That much Tennyson knew.
Of course, it wasn’t like drag queens and booze were her former friend’s favorite things to begin with, being that she was horribly repressed and superconcerned about what everyone thought about her, but the woman had been somber as a mortician throughout most of the night. Not even the edible panties and the penis mixer had drawn a smile.
And Melanie was dressed like a ninja—black pants, black shirt, and no statement piece to break it up. Just plain black.
Bella, the six-foot-five drag queen with gorgeous skin and glitter eyelashes, sauntered by. “Still no bingos at this table? Lord, you people need to step it up. Ain’t one of my tables yelled bingo yet.”
Tennyson pointed to her card. “I think I got a dud. Can you rig it so I can win?”
Bella grinned, her teeth white and straight . . . and big. Like a vampire’s. “How much money you got, sugar?”
“I’m sure she’ll show you all her bank statements if you ask nice,” Melanie muttered, looking up at the screen where Ginger and Candy, each clad in a sequin ball gown and tiara, ran the bingo board. Melanie narrowed her eyes and looked back at her card.
“Uncalled for,” Tennyson said in a singsong voice, motioning the waitress over so she could order another cosmo.
She and Melanie had been stuck at a table in the back because there was no room at the reserved table. Two of Emma’s friends who hadn’t thought they would make the festivities arrived at the last minute, so she and Melanie had agreed to sit at the back table with Milford Mann, a retired mail carrier who’d known Tennyson’s father; Justin and Jolie Green, a middle-aged couple from Plain Dealing; and Frank Something or Other, a rough-around-the-edges farmer who kept looking at Bella like she was a fillet and he’d just tied a bib around his neck.
“Bite me,” Melanie said, looking directly at Tennyson.
“What’s with you tonight?” Tennyson made a face.
Melanie gave her a withering look and turned her head.
“Looks like your friend is in a huff over not winning that last round. A toaster is a nice prize, and she was so close,” Milford said, happily stamping N-32 after one of the emcees pulled it from the hopper.
“Very true,” Tennyson said, stamping her own N-32 and ignoring Melanie’s sour face.
“You have a daughter getting married, huh?” Jolie asked Tennyson.
“Son. It’s Melanie’s daughter, Emma, he’s marrying on Saturday,” Tennyson said, straining to hear the next number. She was one away, and if she bingo’d, she would win a case of Pepsi and free chicken wings at the Old Port Diner for a whole year.
Come on, O-69.
Ginger pulled another number from the hopper and made an O with her mouth. Then she fanned her overexposed cleavage. “Oh, lovies, you won’t believe it, but it’s my absolute favorite number. Oh, yes, it is.”
Tennyson stamped her card.
“O-69, y’all!” Ginger called out.
“Bingo!” Tennyson shouted, leaping up and giving a fist pump. She then did a little dance, and Emma’s table broke out in applause. “Woo-hoo!”
Bella, grin as big as a gator’s, came over and eyeballed her card, then she pulled out one of those confetti poppers and pulled the string. Streamers and glitter caught in Tennyson’s hair, and Bella gave her a kiss on the cheek, no doubt leaving a hot-pink imprint. The rest of the room, sans Emma’s table and her own, groaned in defeat.
“Chicken wings,” Frank said with a gleam in his eye. “They have really good ones. You’re a lucky woman to get them free for a whole year.”
Tennyson laughed. “I don’t really care for wings. Why don’t you have the prize, Frank? I don’t mind.”
“Naw, I couldn’t take your prize,” he said, blushing when Bella walked by and lightly raked her long nails over the back of his neck.
“I want you to have it. I’m not going to use it, anyway,” Tennyson said, giving him a smile. Something about his embarrassment and longing for Bella made her heart warm. She knew how it felt to be tempted by someone who didn’t seem to make a good deal of sense. Of course, she’d gotten her hot cop. And the chase had been such fun.
“Okay, then. I’ll gladly take those wings off your hands, little lady,” Frank said, his cheeks still heated.
For the past two months, Tennyson had found herself growing more and more attached to the police officer who showed up several times a week to check things out around her house. His favorite place to check for trouble was the bedroom. He was always so thorough in his search.
So odd to think how much she had been enjoying her pared-down life. With Emma and Andrew steps away and a pseudoboyfriend sprawled on her couch watching SportsCenter, she was living a life close to what her parents had led—mundane, somewhat boring, but also comforting. Her former life had been one most only dreamed of—box tickets at the Met, private planes to Paris, personal shoppers, and a complete house staff—but over the past few months she’d discovered she didn’t miss her old life one bit. Something about squabbling over who should get the last bite of Halo Top ice cream, deciding who got to choose the next movie, and cleaning her own oven felt fulfilling. She didn’t want to put a label on what she had with Joseph because she didn’t want to rock the boat, but so far, she felt like she’d found a place to belong.
Not only had Joseph given her a sense of contentment, but he’d turned out to be a great listener, offering sage advice when she grappled with relationships or a sense of purpose. Just last week he’d made a suggestion that had sort of blown her boat out of the water. They’d been talking about her failure to get her degree and what her upcoming year might look like once the wedding was over. Tennyson had admitted that she didn’t have a direction.
“Why don’t you go back to school? You could go to LSUS or even Centenary. What is it you studied?” he’d asked, looking up from the steak he was pulling from the marinade. He’d started growing a beard, which was hot as hell. Maybe they should let those fillets marinate a bit longer while they played house in her king-size bed.
“Yeah, I majored in theatre. I’m not sure they have a degree program in that at LSUS.”
“Maybe not, but there are movie studios that come into Shreveport and film. They’ve done a lot of films here. My cousin does extra work. Or if that doesn’t do it for you, you could use some of your theatre experience in other ways. Or you could always go into something like counseling or being a drama teacher. I think you’d be terrific as a teacher.” He capped the bottle of olive oil and placed it back into her pantry, carefully wiping away any drips on the marble counter. Joseph was very conscientious. She liked that about him.