I tugged on Luke’s arm and he looked down at me.
“Do something,” I hissed.
“What?”
“I don’t know. Something. Jason looks like he’s going to be sick.”
“Not my problem.”
“This is cool!” Annette yel ed.
“Good God,” I muttered, momentarily forgetting myself and resting my forehead on Luke’s shoulder.
“Babe,” Luke said low.
My head jerked up.
Shit.
I stepped away from him.
“Good idea,” he mumbled.
I turned to the table and announced, “I need a drink.”
“Get over here and sit next to Shirleen, girl,” the black woman said to me and I walked over and sat down, throwing my wrap on the back of the chair and my purse on the table.
Luke fol owed and stood behind me.
“Someone get this girl a drink. What you drinkin’? I got me an appletini. You ever have an appletini? So smooth, get you f**ked up before you can blink.”
“An appletini sounds good,” I agreed. Fucked up sounded even better.
She started snapping her fingers and, as if by magic, a waitress arrived. The waitress was wearing a cute, black camisole with “Smithie’s” written across the front in fancy, red script, a tiny red mini skirt and a pair of kickass black strappy sandals. The outfit was the shit.
“Get my girl an appletini, me too.” Shirleen ordered then swung her big ‘fro back to me. Then she said, total y nosy but somehow getting away with it. “Jet’s been tel in’ me you got man trouble.”
“You could say that.”
“Tel Shirleen all about it.”
“Which man are we talking about? The scary ex-boyfriend who won’t let me go? The bad guys I don’t know who might accidental y shoot me? Or the good man I have that I’m afraid to lose?”
Shirleen stared at me. “How many men you got, girl?”
“Just those,” I said. I looked up at Luke then back to Shirleen. “So far.”
“Wel , then, we got al night, unless you’re real y here for the show.”
I shook my head. “I’m just here for Jet.”
“Start talkin’,” Shirleen demanded.
So, I did.
* * * * *
Three appletinis later, I was definitely feeling loose. Jet had talked Lottie out of her nerves. Tod had talked me into letting him try on my shoes (they fit). We al spent a lot of time talking about which song he should sing in his drag show while wearing my shoes. No one was able to talk Annette out of dancing. Uncle Tex decided he was talking to me again (but just barely). And Shirleen had sorted out al my problems by tel ing me she’d known Hank since he was a little boy (what? were there only, like, two dozen people who lived in Denver?) and if I let him go I needed to have my head examined (whatever).