Chapter 29 – Old Soldiers And New Friends
Tuesday, July 8, 1969 – 4:00pm.
"You should call it Musings From Mark or something," Lacy suggests, her hair half in her face as she gives his notes another once-over. "Folks here already know they're in Rebel Creek."
"'Cept for Addy, bless her heart," Josie says, and she and Lacy fist-bump each other inches from Mark's nose.
With Adelaide finally gone and Grandpa and Hawkeye having joined the party, Mark finds himself in the same booth as before, with Lacy close beside him as he writes. This time, however, Josie's on his other side and both girls have their bare feet on the floor where they belong.
Which, given the steely look he's just gotten from the retired Army colonel across the table from him, is probably just as well.
"They both have a point," Hawkeye says, grinning at Mark. "And don't let this old dog next to me scare you. His bark is worse than his bite."
"For sure," Lacy concurs, nudging Mark's foot with hers under the table.
Mark clears his throat. "Before we begin, gentlemen – and ladies – I must give you fair warning. Not everything you say to me will actually make it into my column."
"How come?" Lacy asks, narrowing her eyes at him.
"Because unfortunately my uncle won't give me an unlimited word count."
"There shouldn't be any word count," Lacy declares, the budding writer in her chafing at the very thought. Then she notices Josie's grin. "What?"
"Oh, nothing. I'm just impressed, is all."
"'Bout what?"
"Somebody referred to you as a lady an' you didn't get all pissy about it."
Lacy shrugs. "Hey, he called you one, too, so at least I'm in good company."
The two girls share a look so intense Mark almost feels it in his gut.
No one will ever come between these two, he thinks. Not even me.
That last part brings him up short, he's too old for either of them, let alone both, and Lacy made it clear she's not in the running anyway.
But still.
"Colonel, we should teach Lacy to fish," Hawkeye says, derailing Mark's train of thought before he can get a handle on it.
"I already know how to fish," Lacy informs him. "There's just better ways to waste my time."
Hawkeye grabs his chest in mock distress. "Blasphemy! How can a granddchild of Sherman T. Potter not like to fish?"
"Peggy don't fish, neither," Lacy says, "so if y'all want a threesome for fishin' don't look at us."
Don't say threesome, Mark thinks as the word puts unwanted thoughts back into his head, and he feels himself turning red.
No one but Josie seems to notice his reaction, but her impish smile and the way she presses her bare thigh more firmly against his denim-clad one has him in sudden need of a cold shower.
By 6:30pm., Mark's notebook is full and all that's left is to get some decent photos to go with all the words.
"Come out back with me," he says to the two girls. "I wanna show you something in my backseat."
"I bet you do," Josie says. "But I don't do that sorta thing on the first date."
"Since when?" Lacy cuts in. "An' besides, this ain't a date."
Josie appears to think it over, then nods. "Okay, then. I suppose a quick romp wouldn't hurt."
"An' I get to watch," Lacy declares, adding to Mark's mortification.
"Girls, don't tease the reporter," Evelyn admonishes, setting a fresh pitcher of cold lemonade on the table. "He has a job to do."
"Actually, ma'am, I'm almost done. Just need to get my notes typed up and shoot a few pictures to spice things up." He grins at Josie. "But thanks for the offer."
Evelyn accompanies them out to Mark's car, a midnight-blue '68 Dodge Charger that immediately has Lacy and Josie gaping at him.
"This is your car?" Lacy can't believe it. "Oh, man."
Josie elbows her in the side. "Don't be greedy, Wilson. Your gramps just bought you a pretty purple pickup for your birthday, so put that tongue of yours back in your mouth."
Her words remind Lacy of Riley and all the fun places he'd put his tongue, and she feels that all-too-familiar rush of heat in her belly.
"Leave my tongue out of this," she mutters. "An' look who's talkin', with her pretty white Camaro sittin' right over there."
"My pretty boring Camaro, you mean. I hate white on a car."
"Why'd you buy it, then?"
"You know why," Josie retorts. "'Cause white's easier to paint over."
"Oh, stop your fussing, both of you," Evelyn scolds. "We need to help Mark here get the tools of his trade inside the cafe before it rains."
Lacy's hands go to her hips. "Ma, there ain't a cloud in the sky."
"Well, there oughtta be. Now come on and let's get this done."
So they do. Mark carries his portable typewriter, Josie and Lacy carry his Polaroid instant camera and tripod respectively, and Evelyn, not to be outdone, brings along an unopened box of Southworth typing paper.
Lacy gives her a look. "Seriously, Ma? You came all the way out here just to carry that?"
"Of course not, silly. I came out here to get a closer look at that gorgeous vehicle gracing our parking lot."
And with that, Evelyn turns on her bare heel and heads back toward the cafe.
Mark ends up shooting two packs of film, twenty photos in all, but only four make the cut for inclusion with the column:
Lacy, Evelyn, and Peg in front of the cafe, with even Peg barefooted. Evelyn's green sundress is almost as short as Lacy's white one, while Peg is braless in jean shorts and a yellow tank top.
Grandpa and Hawkeye standing in the same spot, dressed casually and wearing shoes, each man with a flask in his hand.
Mark in the booth with Lacy and Josie snugged up on either side of him.
And finally, Lacy and Josie out back, posing seductively with Mark's Charger.
Back in the booth now, Lacy and Josie pore over the remaining sixteen pictures while Mark looks on.
"Take your pick," he tells them. "Those are mostly duplicates of the ones that'll run with the column."
"I want one of Joce an' me with your car," Lacy says, and Josie nods in agreement.
"Me, too."
"I like that one a lot," Mark admits. "The car show girls couldn't have done it any better."
"Car show girls?" Lacy asks, arching her brows.
Mark nods. "Yeah. Scantily-clad girls who prance around at the Auto Show pretending like they know shit about cars."
"We could do that," Lacy says, grinning at Josie.
"For sure," the other girl agrees. "Ma knows a guy who works for the Dallas one every year, maybe he could get us in the door."
Mark shakes his head. "I think you have to be eighteen. And at a big show like that they make you wear heels."
Both girls look horrified, but it is Lacy who replies.
"You couldn't pay me to wear those things. My poor toes'd never forgive me."
"They would be paying you," Mark says helpfully, and Lacy glares at him.
"Not for long. Those heels'd get tossed in the nearest trash can, an' when my boss came to fire my half-naked ass he'd find me prancin' around barefooted."
"You an' me both," Josie says, then looks at her watch. "Shit, I gotta run. Ma's holdin' dinner for me." She extends a hand to Mark. "See you around, Tammerly. It's been a slice."
She and Lacy share a fierce hug, then she's gone.
Mark watches her go. "Wait, wasn't she your ride?"
"Actually Peg was," Lacy says with a mischievous grin, "'til I told her I'd catch one with you instead."
He returns her grin with a mock scowl. "Just like that, huh? What's in it for me?"
"My undying gratitude, and the last two pieces of Ma's cobbler."
Mark's scowl turns into a lopsided grin. "In that case, milady, your chariot awaits."
Lacy draws her knees up to her chest and begins rubbing her tired feet.
"You can rest 'em on the dash," Mark says, casting her a sideways look as he drives. "I know you eant to."
Her brows go up. "Seriously? Most guys hate when I do that."
"Not me," he assures her. "Merri does it all the time."
"Merri?" Lacy narrows her eyes at him, that one word dripping more acid than the beaker she'd cracked last year in Mr. Dempsey's chem lab.
"Short for Meredith. My younger sister, who hates wearing shoes as much as you do." He grins. "She'll get a kick out of you going all jealous on me."
"Whatever," Lacy mutters for lack of a more clever response. "I can't wait to meet her."
She puts her feet on the dash, which hikes her dress even more, and once again Mark tries not to stare at the perfection of her bare thighs.
"Thanks, Mark," she says, aware of – and not minding - his failed attempt not to ogle her legs. "My feet have been killin' me since I helped with the dinner rush earlier."
"Hey, no problem. Maybe someday I could be persuaded to massage them for you."
Lacy gives him a long, considering look, then nods. "An' maybe someday I could be persuaded to let you." She smiles wistfully. "Just not tonight, 'cause right now you got a column to put to bed, an' I gotta go scare up some vittles for Grandpa and Hawkeye."
"Make sure you eat, too," Mark says, pulling into her driveway behind Grandpa's old Ford. "You must be famished."
"I am," she replies, his honest concern for her making her want to kiss him.
So she does, leaning across the gearshift console to give him a soft, shy peck on the lips.
"What was that for?" Mark asks, touched beyond words by the sweet gesture.
"For today," she says simply, her wide green eyes fixed on his face. "For lettin' me be your friend even if I can't be your sweetheart."
She kisses him again, this time on the cheek, then almost before he can blink she's out of the car and gone, with only the scent of her to remind him she was ever there.
Well that, and the memory of how it felt when she kissed him, the whisper-soft brush of her lips against his, and Mark Tammerly drives to the newspaper office unable to keep the damn smile off his face.