The Southern Book Club's Guide to Slaying Vampires - Grady Hendrix Page 0,92
out of cars made her feel graceless.
She waddled—walked—up the street with Carter, the October chill prickling her arms with goose bumps. She readjusted her grip on this month’s book—why did Tom Clancy need more pages than the Bible to tell a story?—and Carter opened the gate in the literal white picket fence around Slick and Leland’s front yard. Together, they went up the path of the Paleys’ large, barn-red Cape Cod that looked like it belonged in New England, right down to the decorative millstone in the front yard.
Carter rang the bell and the door instantly swung open to reveal Slick. She was gelled and moussed and her mouth was too small for her lipstick, but she looked genuinely happy to see them.
“Carter! Patricia!” she cried, beaming. “You look fabulous.”
Recently, Patricia had surprised herself when she realized that the main reason she kept coming to book club was to see Slick.
“You look wonderful, too,” Patricia said, with a genuine smile.
“Isn’t this vest adorable?” Slick spread her arms. “Leland bought it for me at Kerrison’s for almost nothing.”
It didn’t matter how many Paley Realty signs sprang up all over Mt. Pleasant, or how much Slick talked about money, or showed off things Leland bought for her, or tried to gossip about Albemarle Academy now that Tiger had finally gotten in. To Patricia she was a person of substance.
“Come on back!” Slick said, leading them into the claustrophobic, overstuffed roar of book club.
People spilled out of Slick’s dining room, and Patricia twisted her hips to avoid bumping into anyone as Slick led them past the stairs, past all the display cases for her collections—the Lenox Garden bird figurines, little ceramic cottages, miniature sterling silver furniture—past new wall plaques bearing even more devotional quotations, past the collectible wristwatches mounted in shadow boxes.
“Hello, hello!” Patricia said to Louise Gibbes as they went by.
“You look fabulous, Loretta,” Patricia said to Loretta Jones.
“Your Gamecocks took a whupping Saturday,” Carter said to Arthur Rivers, clapping him on one shoulder, never slowing down.
They emerged from the hall into the new addition at the back of the house and the ceiling suddenly shot up over their heads, soaring to a series of skylights. The addition stretched almost to the Paleys’ property line, a massive barn for entertaining, and every inch was crammed with people. There must be forty members these days, and Slick was just about the only person with enough house for all of them.
“Help yourselves,” Slick said over the roar of conversation bouncing off the high ceilings and the far walls, which were hung with picturesque farm implements. “I have to find Leland. Did you see this? He gave me a Mickey Mouse watch. Isn’t it fun?”
She waved her sparkly wrist at Patricia, then slipped away into a forest of backs and arms holding rental glasses and hands holding rental plates and everyone with copies of Clear and Present Danger tucked beneath their elbows, or resting on the backs of chairs.
Patricia looked for someone she knew, and saw Marjorie Fretwell over by the buffet. They kissed on both cheeks, the way people did these days.
“You look wonderful,” Marjorie said.
“Have you lost weight?” Patricia asked.
“Are you doing something different with your hair?” Marjorie asked back. “I love it.”
Sometimes it bothered Patricia how much time they spent telling each other how good they looked, how wonderful they seemed, how fantastic they were. Three years ago she would have suspected Carter had called ahead and told everyone to make sure they kept Patricia’s spirits up, but now she realized that all of them did it, all the time.
But what was wrong with enjoying their blessings? They had so many good things in their lives. Why not celebrate?
“Hey, man!” a loud voice said, and Patricia saw Horse’s red face rising up over Marjorie’s shoulder. “Is that husband of yours around?”
He leaned in unsteadily to peck Patricia on the cheek. He hadn’t shaved, and a yeasty cloud of beer hovered around his head.
“A horse is a horse, of course, of course,” Carter said, coming up behind Patricia.