Crazy Rich Rednecks, page 16
Opening my office door creates the perfect opportunity to shrug her loose. I lead her inside and sit at my desk. Instead of sitting on the couch nearby, like any normal human might, she sits in my lap.
My knees buckle when her tailbone digs into my thighs. She wraps her hands around the back of my neck, and I swallow. Just when this couldn’t get any more awkward, she kisses me.
My lips stiffen like cement. She fights for more real estate, but my mouth has an imaginary sign stating that Mackenzie has a pending offer on the place. That sign is then guarded by an electric fence and large retaining wall.
I stand, causing Prissy to tumble down the retaining wall onto the floor.
“Ouch.” She stands and rubs her backside. “What’d you do that for?”
“I’m sorry, Prissy. I’m just not interested in you like that.” I sigh and frown.
She narrows her eyes. “It’s because I work at WaHo, ain’t it?”
“No, not at all. I make a third of my income off fried food.”
“Then what?” She snaps her fingers. “I know, you met someone in jail.”
“No!” I cross my arms, regretting even giving an ounce of care about letting her down gently. Emotionally, obviously, as I dumped her on the floor.
In my defense, the last thing to cling to me so tightly was a rabid squirrel wanting my almonds at a campsite.
“It’s my hair, isn’t it?” She flips her head, then tousles it. “You liked it better with blond on top?”
“No! Nothing is wrong with you, except that maybe you’re a little aggressive for my liking.”
She blinks.
“No offense. It’s just . . .” I sigh. “I like someone else.”
“The girl I saw you talking to up front?”
I slap my forehead. “That’s my teenage sister.”
“Oh.”
“I like a girl who lives in another state. I know, that sounds so cliché and it will probably never work. But for now, she’s the only girl I can think about. Heck, she’s all I can think about. It’s not fair to you or me or anyone else for me to try and date as long as I’m pining for her.”
Prissy nods. “I get it.”
“You do?” The shock in my voice echoes the surprise at her sudden change in mood.
“Of course. My ex talked me into getting this ring because he said it was more permanent than a gold one.” She raises her sleeve and flexes the barbwire. “Later, I realized he was too cheap to buy real gold. He left me high and dry a year later, and I’m stuck with this awful thing.”
“I’m sorry.”
She chuckles. “Me too. Barbwire tats are for women who own Harleys. It took me years to finally get over him and get what I really wanted.”
“Someone else?” I’m now curious as to what happened to the next guy. Did she smother him to death?
“No, this.” Prissy spins around and pulls her jeans down a few inches.
I wince at a lower back tattoo—much lower than I’d like to see. Through squinted eyes, I make out what appears to be a butterfly landing on a dolphin with sparkles around it. So, essentially, a Lisa Frank tramp stamp.
“That’s nice.” Not really, but I figure the sooner I comment, the sooner she’ll pull up her pants.
“Thanks, I think so.” She jerks up her jeans and smiles.
I sigh, glad the peep show has ended. “So you understand why I can’t date you?”
“I do.” She flashes her white teeth and punches my arm with her fist. “Good talk.”
“Yep.” I rub my arm as she walks out of my office.
I wait a few minutes to give Prissy time to leave and my arm time to relax. Then I return to my post, humming that lame “Milkshake” song from my middle school days.
Earl Ed
Last night proved two things. One: My milkshake only brings all the girls to the yard when they’re with their dates . . . who have a coupon. Two: I don’t want my milkshake to bring any non-paying customers aside from Mackenzie.
When Carly, Andrew, and I finished cleaning up at one in the morning, I couldn’t sleep. No matter what I tried, my mind kept circling back to the conversation with Prissy. That was the first time I confessed my feelings for Mackenzie out loud.
I don’t think doing so made them more real, but it did make them more of an issue. It brought everything to the surface so that I’m now forced to deal with it. Like when you clean the back of the refrigerator and come across expired dairy products. You don’t just shut the door and say you’ll deal with them later. You get the junk out and deal with it then.
That’s why I’m sitting in the county sheriff’s office, waiting to talk to Bradley. Something I’d never do unless I was desperate.
“Earl Ed.” Bradley walks in with a brown bag and removes his Maverick sunglasses. “What do I owe the pleasure?”
I want to say “cut the crap,” but I actually need his help for once.
“I have a few questions concerning my parole.”
“All right.” He nods. “Come on in my office.”
I follow him to his personal office, which is decorated with high school memorabilia, deer heads, and the road sign he won in Dirty Santa at G-Maw’s house.
“Grab a seat.”
He wasn’t kidding about grabbing a seat. He points to a stack of camping chairs in the corner of the room before sitting in his office chair. I unfold one in front of his desk as he opens his bag.
Bradley pulls out a cheeseburger. I can tell by both the packaging and the bun that it’s from Mary’s. I’ve become some sort of food connoisseur for local eateries. Maybe I can expand my food knowledge beyond the county soon, which is where Bradley comes in.
“What’s going on, big dog?”
“Okay, so I know I’ve been to Mississippi and Tennessee since getting out of jail. But those are bordering states and within the range of miles I was given upon release. What are my boundaries now?”
Bradley takes a big bite of his burger and chews while he stares above my head. He swallows. “You can’t go to PCB, Earl Ed. We talked about this last summer.”
“Still?”
Bradley nods. “Not unless you have a police escort.” He grins. “Now if there’s some kinda bikini competition you want to attend, I might can be of service to chaperone.” Bradley laughs around a mouthful of food and wiggles his eyebrows.
“No. I was actually thinking of going the other direction.”
“Oh, they have a bikini contest up north? In February?”
“No.” This is as frustrating as talking with Prissy, but I refrain from making any smart comments since I need him. “New York.”
Bradley’s eyes bulge. “The state or the city?”
“Well, they’re both in the state, but the actual city. Where Mackenzie lives.”
“Wait, you’re wanting to go visit Mackenzie?”
I sigh and nod. “Yeah. I need to tell her how I feel.”
“For real, man?”
“For real. But I don’t know how to find her, and I can’t go by myself.” I grit my teeth and say four words I never wanted to say in a million years. “I need you, Bradley.”
“Well, why didn’t you say something earlier?” Bradley stands and slides his arm across his desk, pushing everything to the floor—papers, pens, his lunch. Then he rolls out a large map of the US across the cleared space.
I assumed we would just look it up online, but I get the sense this makes him feel more like a real cop.
“We need to search the area of NYC for all the production companies and film people.” He draws a circle around the city with a red pen. “Then we can find out where she’s working or where she lives. We can surprise her with roses, and candy, and you can get down on one knee.”
“I’m not planning on proposing.”
“Oh? Then why are you going to see her?”
“To tell her I like her and ask her out.”
“Can’t you just text that?”
I drop my head in my hands. “And we all wonder why he’s still single,” I mumble under my breath.
“What?”
“I said it will mean more in person.”
“Oh, I guess you’re right.”
I shake my head. “Look, are you going to actually help me get to New York and look her up using actual online police records and stuff? Or are you going to sit around marking up a map like we’re Lewis and Clark hoping to stumble across Sacagawea?”
Bradley rolls up the map and puts his hands on his hips. My hands tingle as I halfway regret going sarcastic. What if he kicks me out? Or better yet, messes with my parole?
“Aw heck.” Bradley throws his hands in the air. “You’re right. I just got caught up in the plan. I’m such a romantic at heart, you know.”
No, I don’t know.
“Give me two days to do research, plan to travel, and get my hat steam cleaned.”
“Okay . . .”
“We’ll meet here at eight hundred hours sharp on the seventeenth. Pack a blue button-down shirt.”
I wrinkle my forehead. “Why blue?”
“It will bring out your eyes.”
I blink. Creepy as that sounds coming from Bradley, I make a note to pack my blue-and-white-checkered Cinch shirt. This may be the only shot I have at starting something with Mackenzie. I need all the reinforcements I can find.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Mackenzie
“What do you think of these?” Mom holds up a pair of lime-green shorts.
I wince. “Probably not the best idea for a woman pushing sixty.”
She rolls her eyes and slams the hanger back on the rack. Why exactly did I invite her to go shopping? Oh, I didn’t. She insisted we go shopping because my hotel room was “boring her to death.”
Never mind the hotel pool and restaurant. She wanted to get out and see the town. All I want to do is rest these few days in between production. I thought inviting Mom to spend the weekend with me might be fun.
I should’ve known her idea of fun would be going nonstop.
“Where’s that earring place you told me about?” Mom shuffles through a few more clothes way too wild for her age.
“It’s down the block. A quick walk.”
Leaving for the jewelry store is my best bet at sparing all of Canada from Mom’s scrawny legs. Even though it’s in the thirties here, I wouldn’t put it past her to strut through the hotel in those shorts.
We stroll to the jewelry shop, enjoying a break in the drizzle that’s been falling the entire time I’ve been here. Every day, either snow, rain, or a combination of the two has fallen. Until today. It’s like the heavens are giving me a break, since I don’t get the relaxing break from work I wanted.
“Did you remember to lock everything up before you left home?”
“Yes, and I turned off all the appliances, and even set out some milk on the deck in case Ryan Gosling shows back up.”
I smile. “Wow, Mom. Thanks.”
She swats my arm. “I’m not a child, Mackenzie.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” She laughs and shakes her head. “I wonder at what point did we switch roles. Was it when I moved in, when you finished film school, or even before then? You’ve always been so mature.”
“Thanks.” I wrap my arm around Mom’s shoulder.
“I didn’t mean it as a compliment.”
I immediately drop my arm and twist my mouth.
“That’s a great quality, don’t get me wrong, but sometimes you need to have fun.”
“Well, someone needs to be the serious one.”
We enter the jewelry store, and Mom laughs. “I think you’ve got that role covered.”
I snort. “Would you rather me not be responsible and make my own way?”
“No.” She reaches out and pats my cheek. “I just don’t want you to end up alone like me.”
“You do realize you live with me, right?”
She nods. “And I got to live with Ryan Gosling for about two months.” She shakes her finger and smirks. “And don’t you think I didn’t drop that line on my cruise.”
Mom picks up a pair of bright pink flamingo earrings. I say nothing. Let her go wild with jewelry. Age appropriate or not, at least jewelry can’t be responsible for her showcasing bony calves.
“Why did you never remarry?”
Mom sets the earrings back on the table and stares at the ceiling for a beat. Then she faces me and shrugs. “I don’t really know. Looking back, I’d say I’ve always been more comfortable single than married. Your dad took off when I was pregnant with you, and we’d been married not even two years. Living with you and my mom felt natural. Now she’s gone, but I still have you.”
She wipes a stray tear from the corner of her eye. I wrap my arm around her again, and leave it this time. She snuggles me in for a quick hug. When we let go, I study her eyes.
For the first time, I make the connection of her living with Grandma. I’d always assumed Mom needed Grandma, but maybe Grandma needed her like she needs me. Mom has such a carefree spirit that it’s hard to imagine her being the responsible one in an adult relationship.
She once called me from a cruise ship to check if she left her Spanx at home. After tearing apart her room, my room, and the laundry closet, I eventually found them in the microwave. When I called to give her the news, she cackled out, then said she’d forgot nuking them to try and increase the elasticity.
“So the only reason you’re alone is because you’re used to being alone?”
Mom shrugs and tries on an eccentric necklace. “In a way. After your dad left, I focused on having you and my job. Those, along with your grandma, became my main focus. If I were to have a relationship with a man, he’d have to somehow fit into the life I’d built already.”
I nod. “Makes sense.” Actually, a lot of sense. “I don’t really make time for anything but you and work.” I smile at her.
“That’s not good, Mackenzie.”
I swat her hand. “That’s not fair. How is it you get to be fine without someone and I don’t?”
“Because you’re still young and you haven’t even had a kid.”
I cross my arms. “Not everyone has kids.”
“You don’t want kids?”
“That’s not what I said.”
Mom turns to the side and checks out her necklace in a display mirror. “I know it’s not, but you’re already several years older than when I had you.”
I don’t care for the way she drags out the word. Emphasizing “several” is like a backhanded way of saying “many.”
“I’m fine with just us, really.”
“Are you?”
I slant my eyes and frown.
Mom lifts a red rope necklace around my neck. “This looks great with your eyes.”
“Don’t change the subject.”
“See what I mean? You’re not fine. You’re grumpy, and it’s not because you’re working a bunch. You’re always working a bunch. Something else is up.”
“I’m just bored with these TV movies.”
She shakes her head. “Try again.”
I take off the red necklace and toss it on the display table. “What do you want me to say, Mom? That nothing has been the same since I left Alabama? That I miss the slower pace of life and the people I met there . . . especially Earl Ed?”
“Yes!” Mom jumps, dropping a strand of beads on the tile floor. It makes a loud ping. Several people stare at us.
I bury my head in my hand and walk toward the corner of the room. She follows.
“Mackenzie, it’s okay to feel something for a place, for a person. It’s more than okay. It’s normal!”
I unbury my face. “Not for me.”
“Maybe going to Alabama showed you what you’re missing.”
“What’s that?”
“A life.”
I open my mouth to snap back, but she keeps talking.
“You need to be open to love and new opportunities. Just because you’ve always done something doesn’t mean you can’t change.”
“I could say the same for you.”
She fans her hand in front of me. “Go ahead.”
“You know, you could date and find someone now.”
“Maybe, but so could you.”
“Touché.”
We stare at separate earring racks a minute in silence. My mind wanders to my last day in Alabama, the one I’ve replayed like a broken record. Some nights I even dream of how it might’ve played out if I’d been honest with Earl Ed about our kiss.
“You wouldn’t miss me if I went to Alabama?”
“It’s not like you’re at home that much now.”
“True.” I hold a pair of pearls to my ears. Carla would like these.
“Besides, if you decide to move down there, I know you’ll take me with you.”
I drop the earrings. They crackle as they hit every rack on the way down. Several more people give us the side eye.
“Let’s go,” Mom suggests.
I nod in agreement as she works on shedding all the necklaces she’s tried on. Once we’re stripped down to only what we came in wearing, we hightail it back to the hotel.
Earl Ed
“I told you this was a bad idea.”
Bradley growls at me through clinched teeth. Or maybe he’s growling at the TSA agent across the table from us. These two have carried out the longest staring contest in history.
“I am a county sheriff. I have a degree in criminal justice. From The University of Alabama!”
The man doesn’t blink. His bald head reflects the florescent light overhead. I squirm in my chair and focus on his badge. What kind of name is Gilead? When his eyes slant toward me, I smile and silently pray that he doesn’t do a background check on me.
Stupid Bradley.
He just had to pack a pistol in his carry-on. While I was chugging water and trying to deal with the overflow of people passing us in every direction, the TSA flipped out over Bradley’s bag check.
Now we’re in this small, white room that looks way too much like the jail visitation room. The only thing keeping me from a nervous breakdown is Bradley being the one on trial.
