“Oh, I get it now,” Mae said as she reached for a crab cake.
“Animal couture?” Hugh sounded as incredulous as John felt.
“Yes. Lexie likes to make clothes for all t
he little glass and porcelain animals in our house. I know it may sound strange,” Georgeanne continued as she sliced, “but she comes by it honestly. Her great-grandmother Chandler, that’s on my grandfather’s side of the family, used to design clothes for pullets. Being northerners, you may not know this, but a pullet is a young hen. Young because they don’t get to be very old before…” She paused and raised the knife about five inches from her throat and made choking sounds. “Well, you know.” She shrugged and lowered the knife once more. “And hens because it goes without saying that it would be a colossal waste of time and talent to make clothing for roosters, being that they are predisposed to nasty temperaments. Anyway, Great-grandmother used to make little capes with matching hoods for the family’s pullets. Lexie has inherited her great-grandmother’s eye for fashion and is carrying on a time-honored family tradition.”
“Are you serious?” Hugh asked as Georgeanne slid slices of chicken onto his plate.
She raised her right hand. “My lips to God’s ears.”
The tingle in John’s skull shot to his brain as deja vu enveloped him. “Oh, God.”
Georgeanne glanced across the table at him, and he saw her as she’d been seven years ago, a beautiful young woman who had rambled on about Jell-O and foot-washing Baptists. He saw her killer green eyes and sexy mouth. He saw her come-to-papa body all wrapped up in his black silk robe. She’d driven him crazy with her teasing glances and honey-coated voice. And as much as he hated to admit it, he wasn’t immune to her.
“Mr. Wall.”
John felt a tug on the belt loop of his pants, and he looked down at Lexie.
“Here’s your juice box, Mr. Wall.”
“Thank you,” he said, and took the little blue carton from her.
“I put the straw in it already.”
“Yes, I see.” He raised the box to his mouth and sucked the blue juice through the straw.
“Good, huh?”
“Mmm,” he said, trying not to grimace.
“I brung you this, too.”
She shoved a paper napkin at him, and he grabbed it with his free hand. It was folded into a shape he didn’t readily recognize.
“It’s a rabbit.”
“Yes. I see that,” he lied.
“I have a kite.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, but it won’t fly. My mommy wears a real big bra, but she still can’t run.” She shook her head sadly. “And Mae can’t run either ‘cause she doesn’t wear a bra at all.”
Silence fell on the picnic like a curtain of doom. John raised his gaze to the two women on the other side of the table. They stood as if freeze-dried. Mae gripped a black olive positioned before her mouth, while Georgeanne held the big knife in midair with a piece of chicken stuck on the end. Their eyes were huge, and bright red stained their cheeks.
John coughed into his rabbit napkin to hide his laughter, but no one said a word.
Except Hugh. He leaned forward, looked past Georgeanne to her shorter friend. “Is that right, sweetheart?” he asked with a big grin.
Both women lowered their hands at the same time. Georgeanne got real busy cutting and straightening while Mae turned to frown at Hugh.
Hugh either didn’t notice Mae’s scowl or he didn’t care. Knowing his friend, John would bet the latter was the case. “I’ve always been partial to a liberated woman,” he continued. “In fact, I’ve been thinking of becoming a member of NOW.”
“Men can’t belong to NOW,” Mae informed him tersely.
“That’s where you’re wrong. I believe Phil Donahue is a member.”