Hell's Belles

Jack’s posture spelled r-e-l-u-c-t-a-n-t as he crossed the distance to their table. Mattie’s stomach clutched, then froze in a spasm of denial as Jack stood before her. He was wearing a charcoal-gray suit, a stunningly shy grin and…bronzer? She squinted. Mother-of-pearl, he looked like the local news anchorman after last season’s disastrous brush with self-tanner. And to make matters worse, his black hair was spiked and so thick with gel that it could put out an eye.

“Y’all remember Jack, of course.”

Shay stood and embraced Jack without hesitation. Mattie watched her friend’s ample breasts flatten against the lapel of Jack’s suit, strained to make out her breathless greeting. Unlike Shay, Mattie was frozen in place, cemented to her seat. Something was off kilter, something—

“And this is Cal,” Della said, as she motioned the second man to the table. “Cal is Jack’s partner.”

The smaller man literally seemed to pulse with energy as he approached. His head was shaved smooth, the shiny dome interrupted only by a pair of goggle-like glasses perched atop it. He wore a casual white shirt tucked inside eye-popping striped pants. Mattie felt her eyes go round with realization. No straight man she knew would wear tight white denim with wide brown stripes. She cocked her head, thinking for a moment that the vertical stripes had a great slimming effect. She blinked, forcing herself to focus as her gaze traveled upward, finally resting on a diamond stud that winked in one earlobe. Cal smiled in response to her scrutiny. He had blindingly white teeth and one perfectly manicured hand resting possessively on Jack’s shoulder.

Oh God.

“E-excuse me.” Mattie stood.

“Mattie? Mattie Harold?” Jack held out his arms and her stomach lurched. “My God, you haven’t changed—”

Neither have you. The normal response formed in her brain but ended as a strangled noise in the back of her throat. “I— I’ve got to…” She stammered, then reached for the obligatory hug. The sound of a million and one fantasies shattering was deafening. “Excuse me for a moment.” Mattie swiped her drink from the table and dashed to the ladies’ room.

As Mattie hightailed it, Della shook her head. Her gaze fell on her brother, sweeping him from head to toe before settling on his face. “What,” she said slowly, “on God’s green earth happened to you?”

Jack’s jaw twitched and his eyes narrowed. “Kimee happened to me.” He tried to flatten the spikes on top of his head but they only bent, instantly standing up again like a tinsel Christmas tree.

Della burst out laughing. “You look like Dennis Rodman and Peter Pan’s love child.”

“I can’t believe you left me with her.”

“You showed up out of the blue. I had no choice.”

Jack’s face was turning a threatening shade of red. “You told Kimee I was on my way to get a photo made for the chamber of commerce.”

“I did.” Della pretended to swoon, pressing her hand to her chest. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. What was I thinking?”

Jack raised an eyebrow, then pointed to her drink. “How many of those have you had?”

“Not enough. Now please explain to me how telling Kimee that you needed a haircut so that you could get your picture made has caused you to look like—” she wavered a little under Jack’s glare “—like a tanning salon mutant.”

“Because, dear sister, little Kimee was convinced that the photographer’s lighting would…how did she put it?…fade me out.” He rubbed at his face with his knuckle. “She put… What was it called, Cal?”

“Bronzer,” Cal offered with a sly grin.

“Yeah. That’s it. She put bronzer on me with a weird little sponge.”

Della looked at Cal. “And you were…?”

“Reading Cosmo.” He shrugged, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “What can I say?”

“Yeah, about that,” Jack interjected. “Try Field and Stream next time you’re in public.” He glanced at Cal’s slacks. “I know subtle isn’t your nature, but you might want to let people get to know you before you break out the tiara.”

“Oh, please.” Cal rolled his eyes. “This is Haddes, not Green Acres. I think they can handle one gay man.”

Jack looked serious. “This is Haddes, not Atlanta.” He shrugged Cal’s hand off his shoulder. “And cut the touchy-feely stuff before you give everybody the wrong idea about us.”

Della straightened. “A tractor and a head of cattle wouldn’t hurt, either.” She fell into a fit of laughter. Shay muffled a giggle.

Cal winked. “Cows. I’ll get right on that.” He looked at Shay, then gestured toward Della and Jack. “Can you believe these two?”

Shay smiled, laughter replaced by her usual Mona Lisa serenity. “Haddes is pretty good at taking folks in.” She met Della’s eyes for a moment. “Even people who are different.”

“So.” Della jumped back to her brother. “Why did you let Kimee do this to you?”

“I didn’t let her.”

“Then why are you, uh, tan?” Della leaned forward to get a closer look.

“Because when I said no thank you, she started to cry.”

Della laughed. “Kimee does not cry.”

“I can assure you that she does.”

Della was horrified. “Why? Why would that make her cry?”

“You left the poor kid with a gazillion people waiting. When I got there Estelle Ashworth looked like she was going to a Pink concert.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Uh-oh is right. Kimee was in over her head. I thought putting up with this stuff—” Jack scrubbed his jawline with his knuckle again, but the uneven color appeared to have adhered permanently “—until I could get to the car and wipe it off would make her feel better. But now it’s not coming off.”

Della smirked. “Well…uh…it’s kind of a stain.”

Jack looked puzzled.

“Self-tanner. It’s what we use in the salon. It’s a semi-permanent application. It won’t wash off, it has to wear off.” Della flinched and jumped behind Shay when Jack straightened his six-foot-three frame to full height. “It may take a week.”

CHAPTER 2

Mattie burst through the ladies’ room door, stopped at the sink and stared at her own horrified expression. The tequila swirled in her stomach, threatening to swirl in the sink. Fighting fire with fire, she threw the rest of her margarita down her throat, sat the empty glass in the sink and headed for a bathroom stall, opting for a good pee instead of a good cry. What was the use, anyway? Jack wouldn’t be any less gay if she burst into tears.

Jack is gay…. Jack is gay…. How could she not have known this?

Mattie zipped her pants and straightened with new resolve. She knew one thing: there was no friggin’ way she was going to read that fantasy letter to her friends. The idea of sharing her thoughts on sex was like a bad joke. Nope. Unlike Jack, she was going to keep her secrets in the closet.

Only one time in her life had she considered herself sexually active. And even then, she’d probably been more inactive than active. Despite the fact that she’d been a virgin, she’d instinctively known that Brad, her college boyfriend, was a sexual underachiever. She squeezed her eyes shut, wincing at the memory of Brad pounding away while she sort of flopped about, her back pressed against the mattress, her expectations withering along with her passion. It hadn’t been the kind of experience she’d dreamed of, definitely not the sort penned in eighteen-year-old handwriting and sealed in an envelope.

It hadn’t been with Jack.

And all these years she’d been certain that, if it had been, it would have been perfect.

Not.