Bayou Born

chapter 20

James grabbed the phone on the first ring. “Hello.”

“JD, I need your help. You available to make a run with me on Friday? Keith’s gone again. Chasing some tail or drink’n himself to hell.”

James listened to Bobby Parker, his friend since forever, plead his case. Bobby was the only person he allowed to use his childhood nickname.

“What do you have in mind?”

“It’s a straight run down and back.”

“What do I get out this?”

“Man, I helped you drag that four-hundred pound safe into your house yesterday, when you couldn’t find anyone else strong enough to lift it.”

He imagined Bobby, on the other end of the phone, flexing his muscles to prove his point.

“Your prize—you get my company for almost twenty hours,” Bobby said.

“Not good enough.”

“I can’t pay you until the end of the summer.”

“Yeah, well, last time you cheated me out of my pay. I’ve got a different proposition for you.”

“Shit, Professor, when you use them big words, I know I’m gonna be had.”

“Yeah, right.” He chuckled.

Bobby liked the world to think he was a poor Florida Cracker with barely two nickels to rub together. In truth, he had graduated with honors with a degree in agriculture from Florida’s Land-Grant College. He owned several hundred acres and leased even more for growing hay.

He and his father ran a small crew to harvest crops, however, hay required cutting, fluffing, and bailing every six weeks from spring to late fall. Bobby rotated his stockpile and trucked dry hay once a month to the Florida Keys, where a feed store on stilts that had survived every hurricane since 1900 bought all the Parkers’ hay.

“How about a trade?”

“Trade what?” Bobby’s voice carried suspicion. “Last time you twisted my arm, you had me planting impatiens and sea grass for half a mile at your Momma’s.”

So Bobby hadn’t forgotten their agreement from last fall. He imagined wheels turning in Bobby’s head, trying to figure any angle to get out of the deal.

“I prepared you for what comes next. The outside painting is done, as is the landscaping. You never showed up to help. Now, I need a barbeque pit.”

“Shit, JD. I’m not a cook. I am a Cracker. Or have you forgotten that since you moved up in the world? My idea of a barbeque pit is a hole in the ground lined with rocks.”

“Your elbow grease works fine in the city.”

“You mean slave labor, don’t ya?”

“Do we have a deal or not? I can meet you at the interstate rest stop at five a.m.” He waited. He’d give Bobby’s a few minutes of silence to do his thinking. Let him stew and make up his mind, then Bobby couldn’t claim coercion. Or if he did, it wouldn’t matter. “Call me back if you need more time to decide.”

“Naw. I’ll do it. Some friend you are, never invite me over to your new mansion unless you need a favor.”

“Stop whining. We’ll go south on Friday. No partying this time. Then you spend Sunday indentured to me.”

“Okay, but Charlene wants us to go out next Saturday night. You been nice to any ladies lately? One that might wanna go dancing with you?”

“You tell your bride that I’ll call her. If I don’t have a date of my choosing a few days in advance, I’ll let her set me up. Again. God help me.”

After the last disaster, he swore he’d never ever agree to another blind date. Charlene meant well, but she didn’t understand that when he said he wanted to discuss books with a woman, he hadn’t meant cookbooks. He hoped Branna would not demur.

“You outta thank my wife for caring enough about your sorry ass to try to find you a girlfriend.”

“I appreciate her efforts. I’ll buy her flowers or something.”

Charlene had always set him up with good-looking women. And she tried for substance to go along with the outer package, but he’d decided that the women Charlene knew fell into only two types. The obvious ones on the troll for marriage, or the secretly manipulative ones hoping to hook a husband. Either way, those women reminded him too much of Caroline.

“See you this Friday before dawn.”

He hung up the phone. Would Branna have an interest in experiencing more local color Saturday night? She and Charlene might not have much in common, but Charlene had never met a stranger. She made friends like bunnies reproduced. And she was the most loyal, faithful woman he’d ever known.

But maybe Bobby hadn’t snagged the last good one.

Maybe.