“Dad!” I shouted just as Mom yel ed, “Take that back, Herb!”
“Wel , excuse me, but they practical y jumped each other over the breakfast table. You were there, Trish, you saw it.
Hel , she’s livin’ with the guy!” Dad defended himself to us both and then turned to me. “Not that I mind, Roxie. I like Hank. And, it’s your time. You ain’t gettin’ any younger, you hear what I’m sayin’? Anyway, Hank’s a good-lookin’ guy, you two’l make beautiful babies.”
Good God.
“I am not getting a dress from JC Penny!” I snapped (priorities, of course). “And I’m not going to have a shotgun wedding! And I didn’t practical y jump Hank over the breakfast table!”
“Right,” Dad said, just a hint of sarcasm in his voice (okay, a lot of sarcasm). “Jesus. I’d like a fuckin’ grandchild before I’m slobberin’ in my fuckin’ Jel -O. Gil ain’t ever gonna get married, he and Kristy don’t believe in marriage, whatever the hel that means. Mimi goes through men like water. Roxie’s final y caught herself a live one. Hank’s a man’s man. Roxie, the way I see it, you and Hank are my only hope,” Dad told me.
How in the hell did we get on this subject?
I gave up.
“We’re running late, I’m getting dressed,” I announced, turning my back on them and flouncing out of the room.
I stopped dead when I reached the kitchen.
Hank was standing with his hips against the counter, palms on the counter top, an open beer in the fingers of one hand. His head was bent and he was looking at his feet. It was a pose of reflection. A pose that said he’d heard every word.
Mortification that he heard the ridiculous conversation was not why I stopped dead.
I stopped dead because Hank was wearing a suit. A dark gray suit with a midnight blue shirt, no tie, opened at the throat. His hair was damp and curling around his col ar, a week or two passed needing a cut. He looked good in a suit. He looked better than I’d ever seen him look. He looked so good, I couldn’t even move.
His head came up and his eyes came to me, ful on grin in place, showing me he thought the conversation with my parents was amusing, not run-for-the-hil s-scary-as-shit.
I put my hand to the counter to hold on and blurted, “God, you’re handsome.”
At my words, the grin left his face and something else came over it. There was no lazy in his eyes, they were just intense.
My legs went weak.
He stared at me for a few seconds, then said softly, “You better get dressed.”
I nodded, mental y shaking off my Hank Stupor and walked to the bedroom.
I got dressed quickly. We were already late.
The gown Tod loaned me was black satin; the skirt had a bias-cut, was ful and had a beautiful drape. The dress was boat-necked, sleeveless and seemed elegant but plain… until you saw the back.
It was total y backless, al the way down passed the smal of my back, just barely, but not quite, to indecent level. Tod had explained he’d never worn it, hard for a drag queen to go backless, even though he tried. He’d bought it on a whim and tried everything he could think of to pul it off but it never worked.
As far as I was concerned (and as far as Stevie, Tod, Jet, Indy, Annette, Al y and Daisy were concerned), it worked for me.
I put on a pair of black, strappy, high-heeled sandals, the diamond studs Bil y got me and the diamond tennis bracelet Mom and Dad bought me as a bribe to graduate from Purdue in four years rather than the five I was heading for in my junior year. I didn’t have a wrap or coat so I was just hoping Hank’s 4Runner heated up quickly.
I grabbed my bag and ran to the kitchen.
“Ready, ready, I’m ready,” I said, looking through my bag. “Shit! Not ready.”
I’d forgotten my lipstick.
I whirled and ran back through the bedroom, to the bathroom and pawed through my makeup, grabbed my lipstick and liner, shoved it in my bag and, on the way back through the bedroom, col ided with Hank.
The room was dark but I could see Hank from the light coming from the kitchen.
“Sorry, I’m ready now,” I told him.
His hands were at my waist and they slid around my back. I felt them leave the satin and hit my skin and I shivered. His fingers trailed the edge of the material, just above my bottom.
“We’re comin’ home early,” he said quietly.
“What? Why?”
He didn’t explain, instead he said, “I’l arrange for someone to bring your parents home later.” His fingers dipped into the material. “A lot later.”
Holy cow.
“Okay,” I agreed instantly.
I saw his shadowed grin.
“I take it you like the dress,” I said.
“Yeah,” he replied. “I like the dress.”
I thought he was going to kiss me, a kiss that would necessitate me fixing my hair (again), but he moved to the side, one hand coming away and one hand sliding around my waist. We walked into the living room together.
Dad and Mom watched us.
“She’s stil wearin’ the dress,” Dad said, somewhat bizarrely, to Hank.