Folk Around and Find Out (Good Folk: Modern Folktales #2)(67)

“Why’re y’all throwing her party now instead of on her last day?” Beau also stood, wrapping his line so it wouldn’t tangle.

I shrugged, scratching my neck. “A few reasons. Wednesdays generally aren’t busy. Charlotte’s kids are back at school in two weeks and her regular job starts again next week—on Monday. Everyone wanted to accommodate her schedule.” They liked her. A lot.

Beau’s eyes were on me; I felt them. Turning over my shoulder, I glanced his way. He clearly had something to say. He was doing that thing with his mouth where his bottom teeth jutted out and tapped against his top teeth.

“What?”

“It’s—and don’t get me wrong, I’m glad it all worked out—is it strange that I’m a bit irritated with Charlotte on your behalf?”

I felt my mouth hook to the side.

He went on, “She lied to you about why she wanted a job at The Pony, made everyone freak out when she accepted that job at The G-Spot. Feels manipulative.”

He’d always been this way, predisposed to think well of me despite evidence to the contrary, or be upset on my behalf when I didn’t seem upset enough.

My smile stretched with appreciation for my friend. “No. It wasn’t like that. She really was going to take that job at The G-Spot. It wasn’t a manipulation.”

“If you say so.” He didn’t look convinced. “Did she say something to you?”

I straightened. “How do you mean?”

Beau stood, reeling in his line, and shrugged. “It’s just, on Sunday at the car wash, you called yourself sleezy. Did she call you sleezy or something? Is that why she never—you know—why she avoided you in town for so long?”

“No.” I didn’t know precisely why she’d always avoided me, but I felt certain that wasn’t it. Crossing the small deck to stand next to him, I caught his line as it emerged from the water, careful to keep my fingers free of the hook. “She’d never. Charlotte wouldn’t say that—she’s not like that.”

He relinquished his fishing pole to my grip. Using his newly freed hands, Beau hit my shoulder. “Then where’d that shit come from? Why’re you calling yourself sleezy all of a sudden?”

I turned away and shrugged, speaking facts, “It’s not all of a sudden. Folks in town have been calling me sleezy for years.”

“They’re full of shit, and you’ve never called yourself sleezy.”

“What’s the big deal?” My back to him, I tucked his pole next to mine, making sure the hook was secure.

“You’re not.”

I snorted but said nothing, not in a mind to argue.

“If Charlotte is the one making you think of yourself this way, I’m glad she’s leaving. Good riddance.”

Sighing, I turned to face him and stopped short of rolling my eyes. “It’s not Charlotte, and don’t be mad at her. I don’t care if folks think I’m sleezy, you know that. Why would I care? What difference does it make to me? And Charlotte really helped the club, making a huge difference in the short and long run.”

Beau’s clear blue eyes inspected me, his features scowling and suspicious. “But you being ‘sleezy,’ or people thinking you are, that might one day interfere with you doing something you want? Or getting something you want?”

Swallowing around more gravel, I looked away, his guess too close to the mark. “Doesn’t matter. You were right on Saturday when we were at Genie’s.”

“Oh yeah? How’s that?”

I forced myself to say, “It’s good she worked for the club, and it’s also good she’s leaving. Everything is working out for the best.”

I wondered how many times I’d have to say the words before I believed them.





CHAPTER 18





HANK





“I've always rejected being understood. To be understood is to prostitute oneself.”

FERNANDO PESSOA, THE BOOK OF DISQUIET





Back in the good old days, Beau and I would finish fishing sometime around mid-morning, then go back to my place to play video games and eat pizza all afternoon. Today we parted ways at the dock. Neither of us had much time for sitting around on couches these days, and I couldn’t remember the last time I ate pizza.

Driving into town, I reflected on the dearth of pizza in my life. Unlike a burger, pizzas were typically shared, and I supposed that explained it. Other than Beau, and Patty on an odd occasion, who would split a pizza with me?

Frowning as I parked, I thought about how much I liked pizza. I’d always liked pizza. So why had I been denying myself pizza? Because I didn’t have a pizza-eating partner? I couldn’t put my consumption of pizzas on hold while I waited for someone to magically appear and want to eat a pizza with me. What if that never happened?

Or, what if they wanted to eat pizza with me, but they’d given up cheese and bread and tomato sauce for life? What then? Was I supposed to waste my entire life wishing things were different and go pizza-less forever?

“I’m going to order a damn pizza tonight,” I grumbled to no one, slamming the door of my truck.

Dinner decided, I marched toward the main strip of shops, my destination the jewelry store on Walnut Street. The staff always assigned me the gift for going-away parties while they handled the event particulars. As was my habit whenever one of our longtime staff members or dancers left, and even though Charlotte hadn’t worked at The Pony for very long, the plan was to buy a random, ridiculously expensive piece of jewelry. Ideally, it would be returnable for store credit only, then the recipient would be forced to obtain something they really wanted, or a few things depending on how they spent the credit.