Pepper tugged gleefully at Marion's arm, the man stumbling along with as much dignity as one can while being lead by a girl who, if a dog, would be choking herself with the leash. Pepper dragged Marion until the girl was sure they were out of ear shot of the Smiths, past the farm gates and with nobody around.
"Mr. Caldwell!" Pepper exclaimed, slapping Marion on the chest. "Do you even know what you were doing!"
Pepper broke out laughing, holding Marion's shoulders to keep herself upright. The man simply looked on, not in on the joke.
"AJ must really like you," she teased. "You are in trouble!"
She shook him gently back and forth, rattling a smile onto him as he caught up with the subject.
"Trouble?" he managed.
Pepper nodded.
"I'm Pepper!" she introduced, leaping tracks at the speed of light. "Do you want to kiss me?" she rambled, thrusting the back of her hand towards the man.
Marion hesitated before taking her by the fingers, peering over her knuckles as though she might have a mousetrap hidden somewhere.
"It's not as much fun if you ask for it like that," he mumbled apprehensively, then kissed her politely.
This threw Pepper into another laughing fit, accompanied by a few uproarious snorts.
"Oh my god!" She breathed, "I've never met a man who actually did that sort of thing before!"
Marion leaned away, brows cocked.
"No, no!" Pepper cooed, rubbing his shoulder. "It's cute! It's so cute."
Marion heaved a sigh but didn't fully wipe the reluctant look from his face. Pepper hadn't meant to laugh at the man. She honestly did wish that Mac would take her by the hands and give her looks like Marion had given AJ, but it was like meeting a character from a movie or cheesy romance novel. She always figured real men never did things like that because it was beyond embarrassing when it backfired.
"What's your secret?" Pepper asked, leaving Marion behind in a cloud of internal monologue.
"What?" he replied, taking the only open avenue of conversation.
"I mean doesn't that blow up in your face sometimes?" Pepper clarified. "What if AJ slapped you or got really mad? Actually, AJ wouldn't have even slapped you – she'd have punched your lights out!"
Pepper threw her arms out, simulating an explosion for emphasis, then covered her nose to protect it from an imaginary AJ.
"Oh," Marion replied, "She'd have the right. You never know if someone's having a bad day, I guess." He rubbed the tip of his nose, sympathetic to Pepper's fictional injury. "Still, if I can laugh off a black eye then nobody knows I wasn't expecting a black eye."
Pepper pushed the man. She could see right through someone trying to be clever.
"So your secret is that you kiss the girl, let her hit you, then just go ahead and pretend everything went according to plan?" Pepper sniggered.
Marion shrugged.
"It depends on the girl," he confessed.
"Well then, Johnny Bravo," Pepper replied, grinning. She reached out and regained arrest of Marion's arm.
"Johnny Bravo?" he echoed as Pepper led the way towards town.
"Gosh, yes," Pepper reiterated. "How long are you going to be in Ponyville?"
"A couple of months."
"Well I hope you like the whole Smith family, Mr. Smooth Moves!"
Pepper had run Marion through her usual fair – particular note on the difference between fare and fair. She loved introducing people to one another. It wasn't just kind, but it helped Pepper keep in touch and hold onto all her friendships. Getting two people to talk about themselves, who they were and what they'd been doing lately, paid off all around. Marion had been surprisingly quiet about himself, though. She'd learned he was here on business regarding some sales thing, but beyond that he spent a lot of time asking questions and leading conversations by saying nothing. He wasn't just quiet at times, he was deviously quiet. Selectively quiet.
They'd stopped off at Sugarcube Corner, the local bakery, and even now he was flirting with Mrs. Cobb over the counter while Pepper and Mr. Cobb worked on a batch of cookies in the back. Every time Mrs. Cobb chortled, Mr. Cob got a little rougher with the cookie dough.
"It sure was nice of you to introduce us to your friend!" Mr. Cobb seethed in the desperate tone of a man who knew he'd be sleeping on the couch if he was jealous.
"No problem, Mr. Cobb!" Pepper welcomed. She'd expected Marion to behave like most men and opt for guy chat. "You know I love to show people around!"
It was better just to play along with a facade in these cases. People like to vent, but Pepper found it had a way of drawing feelings out, solidifying them, and leading to confrontation. Besides, Marion and Mrs. Cobb were being innocent enough. At least for Marion, apparently. She'd never seen a man so interested in women. Over the past two hours he'd expressed nothing but sweet, flattering, exaggerated, and often tangentially inaccurate opinions of every girl he met. Pepper didn't doubt he'd have some positive romantic descriptors of Mrs. Cobb when they left the bakery, even though she was probably fifteen years his senior.
"Well my wife certainly seems to be quite fond of him!" Mr. Cobb yelled, choking on the word 'wife' like he'd just swallowed a wad of cat hair.
"When these are done, I'm going to come back and buy a whole box!" Pepper assured Mr. Cobb, indicating the cookies.
They were both far from indoor voices, and after a few moments Mrs. Cobb swung the doors open, strutting into the kitchen with the serene air of a serious self-esteem boost.
"How is Mr. Caldwell, dear? He certainly seems nice," Mr. Cobb conjectured, quite nearly concealing a cauldron of seething resentment.
"Oh, dear," Mrs. Cobb shushed, swatting her husband on the back. "He is nice. And I hope you know he had quite the eye for your German chocolate cake."
"Oh, he did? Well that's a good eye," Mr. Cobb trailed off at the last sentiment, losing nerve.
"Okay, Cobbs! I'm going to go now," Pepper interrupted. "Nice working with you, Mr. Cobb!" She gave the baker a short, friendly back rub and a tight squeeze.
Simple things like that mattered. If Mr. Cake felt a little better, he'd be less likely to get short with his wife, his wife wouldn't get defensive, and nobody would get in trouble tonight. Pepper knew what it was like being in the moment.
"Alright, nice working with you too, Pepper," Mr. Cobb conceded.
On her way out, Pepper saw Mrs. Cobb embrace her husband around the back from the corner of her eye. A little encouragement was always a good thing.
In the front of the store, Marion was still leaning over the counter, a tomcat in dress clothes.
"You like chocolate cake?" he asked nonchalantly, as though the cake had dropped from the sky.
"Do I like chocolate cake?" Pepper repeated. "I love chocolate cake!" She agreed, slapping her hands against the counter, bouncing.
"Well I can't eat a whole one by myself. Want to share a piece once you're done showing me around town?" Marion offered.
It was a nice suggestion, but Pepper was wise to Mister Charmer already. Sure, things would start with a nice, innocent, chocolate cake, but soon after that there might be a movie, then a dinner, then hugs and kisses, probably babies, and before she realized it Pepper would be a happy old woman with a lot of fond memories, and then she'd die. Pepper knew the game: she'd used it on Mac, and she would not be reeled in. But then again, Pepper did love chocolate cake.
"You bet!" Pepper exclaimed.
Pepper fetched a knife and cut small pieces for them before Marion boxed the cake up.
"I'll bring the rest home as a thank you for the Smiths. They're offering dinner tonight," Marion decided.
They exited the shop together, Marion now free from Pepper's grasp while eating and carrying his confection. He was taking his time with it too. A very clever move.
"So tell me a little about AJ," Marion suggested.
"What'd you want to know, huh?" Pepper asked, nudging him with her elbow.
Pepper could sense it. Love was in the air. Or scandal. Marion seemed to like the girls, but AJ was a star wrangler, and she seemed to like the Marion.
"How long have you been friends?" Marion suggested.
"Oh, years!" Pepper exposited, as if it came from time immemorial. "We met back in our early teens when I used to visit Gramma. You know, AJ seems really straight-laced at first, but she sure is friendly, and she'll loosen right up as long as all her chores are done!"
Marion was smiling and looking at Pepper's face. He was being so attentive. Pepper felt like the center of things, which was good because Pepper was a great entertainer, but Pepper was always doing the same thing with people, and she looked right back.
"She'll tell you she doesn't go in for pranks, but she has moods," Pepper said extending a pinkie for mock poshness. "Like one time we got an empty lipstick tube and carved up a piece of colored wax. We put the wax in the tube and replaced our friend Rochelle's favorite lipstick one night."
Pepper fell into a giggle fit just thinking about the silly trick. Rochelle had been so confused, but after AJ and Pepper gave the real lipstick back they all agreed it was a good prank. It had taken forever making a wax that fit the right color, and AJ had to carve it up perfectly.
"Is she still into that kind of thing?" Marion asked.
Pepper shook her head. "No," she replied, disappointed. "Now she's all about being a grown woman with too many responsibilities. Her and Mac both!" A vision occurred to Pepper of Mac as a stingy grown woman. Pepper decided not to correct herself. "Last April fools I couldn't convince him to do anything!"
"Sorry to hear that," Marion consoled, touching Pepper on the arm. "I'm sure he gets a kick out of you, though. You seem colorful, and being at work around the farm all day probably makes a splash of color seem really nice."
"Yeah," Pepper agreed, beaming. "I think that's true. Mac's such a big 'ole sweetheart! He's always there and he's so patient, even if he is a Sally Slowpoke some days." Pepper paused a hitch. Right now love was in the air for Marion and AJ, not for she and Mac. "But I think that's true for AJ too," Pepper corrected the situation. "She and Mac both would just work themselves to death on the farm if nobody stopped them, and truthfully I know they both get tired of it."
"Sounds like a respectable girl," Marion assessed, warmly.
And there the conversation ended. Pepper would think of a new line of communication soon, but it was something about the way Marion had said 'respectable girl' that made extra words seem unnecessary. Like Pepper had painted a picture of her friend, and Marion liked it – nothing more to add or take away. Her heart crooned thinking about her girlfriend being swept away in a cowgirl romance with a city boy - like a story, only it would be full of long, boring stretches where nothing happened.
That was the problem with writing. Tabitha had sticky notes strewn all across her work space and countless outlines saved in her computer from odd ideas she'd had, but when it came down to it there was always a careful balance of too much and not enough. On same days, every character she wrote about had something to tell, but their lives had to be shuffled aside in the interest of keeping the book a readable length. On others, her characters walked into dead ends that none of them could reasonably pass without providence, and Tabitha hated finding excuses for the plot.
A stack of boxes plopped down on with Tabitha's desk with the dauntless force of gravity. The top boxes teetered. Tabitha scrambled to catch them, but they toppled right over her desperate fingers and onto the desk, spilling their contents and sending note cards, folded paper, and flash drives skittering across the wood surface.
"Spencer!" Tabitha shouted.
"What?" the teenager asked, nonplussed, as though he'd followed a set of orders to the best of their stupid letter.
"I asked you to bring me my notes, not bury me in them!" Tabitha berated, scooping loose paper into a large pile.
"But they were really heavy!" Spencer complained.
Spencer was a good kid, usually useful, but he wasn't always easy to have around. He'd chosen to live with Tabitha and she'd let him, since which they'd developed a kind of relationship that might be described by the narrow-minded as "child labor" or "slavery", but Spencer was Tabitha's cousin, which excluded either assertion from being reality.
Once Tabitha had everything scooped together, she started separating things into vaguely organized piles of paper, card, drives, and miscellaneous. Afterward she'd figure out where everything belonged and she'd put them back in the correct containers.
"Spencer, what is this?" Tabitha asked, catching notice of the writing on a folded paper.
"It's a note?" Spencer guessed, still standing obediently until Tabitha dismissed him.
"What kind of note?" Tabitha quizzed, handing the offending paper to her servant.
Spencer examined it, scratching his head.
"Read the name!" Tabitha instructed impatiently.
"Sir Walter... Raleigh?" Spencer guessed again.
Tabitha waited for Spencer to assemble the pieces, but she could see the clockwork getting jammed.
"I asked for my notes on famous historical charmers," Tabitha explained.
Spencer stared blankly. He looked at the note and feigned sudden realization.
"Oh," Spencer said, as if he had it now.
Tabitha wasn't fooled, and she stared him down for it.
"Uh, who was Sir Walter Raleigh again?" Spencer conceded.
Tabitha huffed. This was why her cousin couldn't be described as an "indentured servant". A real slave would have been terrorized to more efficiency than Spencer.
"He is a historical charmer, but his charms are largely a matter of conjecture and folk tale," Tabitha belabored, exasperated.
"Oh, I knew that," Spencer agreed, grinning a silly grin, trying his best to shake off an oncoming lecture.
"And what about this?" Tabitha demanded, holding out a note card covered back to front in scribbles.
"Genji?" Spencer ventured.
"Genji isn't even a historical seducer! He's a fictional character based on non-fictional entities!" Tabitha explained.
Spencer stared blankly again. His main problem was that he just wasn't interested in the important things in life. He was a teenager, focused on girls and his changing body. Tabitha had tried to sit down and have a talk with him about it, but that had ended weirdly and they hadn't discussed it again.
"So he's not historical then?" Spencer asked.
Tabitha groaned, slapping her palm to her face.
"Because it said 'historically based' on the box, so I thought it was historical!" Spencer justified, shrugging.
Tabitha wished she knew a better way to set Spencer straight about things. He learned from trial and error, and he usually had to get things wrong before he got things right. For now, a few weak excuses would have to suffice. A lecture could come later.
The doorbell rang.
"I'll get it!" Spencer announced, spotting the avenue for escape.
"No you don't," Tabitha said, hooking a finger in the boy's collar, gagging him in mid dash for freedom. "You'll stay here and reorganize my notes, and don't think I won't be checking over them later!"
"If you're going to check them over, why don't you just organize them yourself?" Spencer muttered.
Tabitha ignored him, and despite his open disapproval, Spencer went to work. He'd learned by now that it was less energy to cooperate than to fight. Besides, Spencer really did like being appreciated when he did a good job. He practically lived for it to the point where it had become his way of showing affection. He spent hours around their friend Rochelle's boutique, cleaning up the place and doing heavy lifting, even though his boyish muscular development hadn't caught up to it.
The doorbell rang again before Tabitha could reach it. Then several more times in a looping musical pattern, and Twilight instantly knew who it was. She swung the door open.
"Hey, Pepper," Tabitha said, being certain to wear a look that said 'I'm on to you'. "And friend," she added, noting the well-dressed gentleman accompanying.
"Tabitha! It's so good to see you!" Pepper exclaimed, sweeping Tabitha into an embrace that crushed the air out of her.
"Pepper, I just saw you yesterday!" Tabitha gasped.
"I know, but you're my bestest friend!" Pepper exclaimed.
Pepper released Tabitha only to push her at the grown man waiting patiently by the door. He backed up a few steps out of respect for Tabitha's personal bubble, which Tabitha was thankful for. Sometimes when people spent too much time around Pepper they let themselves get dragged away.
"This is my good friend Marion Caldwell!" Pepper announced. "He's here on business. Marion, this is Tabitha Saunders, super duper writer extraordinaire!"
It was one of these things again. It was nice that Pepper liked to introduce people, but such a pain that she brought every passerby to see Tabitha.
"Well, nice to meet you Marion!" Tabitha said in half-baked glee. "It sure is nice being friends now, but as you can imagine, I have an awful lot to do and not a lot of time to do it!"
Tabitha grabbed Pepper by the arm and whipped her outside again, where Pepper belonged.
"Thanks for dropping by! See you at the party tonight!" Tabitha fired.
She slammed the door behind Pepper, not giving the girl a chance to protest or recover. From outside, Tabitha could still hear Pepper's ongoing struggle with speaking volume.
"Did you hear that?" Pepper exclaimed from the other side of the door. "See you at he party! You're gonna go, right? Huh?"
That was Pepper for you. Just keep running, never slowing down. It was great how happy she could be, but Pepper was always skimming the surface of the social world. She never landed and came to understand anyone deep down. Even poor Mac got by because he was patient and didn't like to be much delved into anyway. Any other man would have gotten tired of only being as important as everyone else.
Tabitha went to check on Spencer. Like usual he seemed lost; she caught him moving one paper from pile to pile, apparently not having any idea where it belonged. Tabitha sighed. She was a connoisseur of meaningful human relationships. It was her trade and subject of study. It would be nice if another person would relate to it in quite the way she did, but people like that don't just magically appear at one's doorstep.
AJ could do some amazing things. She could stare down a bull and ride one out for longer than most. She tamed uncooperative broncos, she could fix tractors and cars, and she nearly ran an entire apple orchard by herself. However, one thing she could not do well was cook without apples. It wasn't exactly her reputation - she was great with apple dishes, and that created a generalized illusion of cooking skill, but apple dishes were all that ran in the family.
"Don't flip it yet! It ain't done!" Granny scolded, watching over AJ's shoulder.
"Granny, it's stickin' to the pan," AJ argued.
"It's supposed to at first. Wait for it to unstick!" Granny ordered.
AJ eyed the chicken warily. It was either burning or turning golden brown. She'd rather be doing a pie or cobbler, but Marion had brought home a partially eaten chocolate cake as a gift, and that meant dessert was accounted for.
Granny dropped her attention to check on the baked apples they were preparing as a side. AJ made a sideways glance over her shoulder, then flipped the chicken in secret. They were still white on the bottom, but at least now they weren't stuck to the pan. When Granny turned back a grim cloud of disapproval darkened her visage. She balled up her fists and brought them to rest on her hips.
"You done flipped that chicken," Granny observed coldly.
Fear washed over AJ. Her mind scrambled to justify for her reckless transgression, but it choked on the details. She'd saved the chicken! It was going to burn and AJ had done what was necessary!
"It – It was stickin' to the pan!" AJ stammered.
With a mighty swing of her hips, the old farmer's wife knocked AJ away from the stove and took over.
"You daft girl! Am I gonna have to guard this chicken from you?" Granny demanded.
"It was stickin' to the pan!" AJ insisted, more sure this time.
"It's supposed to!" countered Granny. "I been cooking for longer than I can remember, and that's how it works!"
"Granny, ya'll can't even remember as far back as this morning," AJ quarreled, crossing her arms.
"Then I been cooking since before then!" Granny carried on. "Besides, woman, you want that young Caldwell boy to think you ain't good at nothin' but bumpkin chores?"
AJ froze. It wasn't just that she'd been insulted. It wasn't about Marion, not that he didn't seem a right fella. Maybe too forward, now that she'd had a chance to be annoyed about that morning. But that wasn't the source of the icy fingers now wrapping around her soul. The dread came because Granny Smith appeared openly invested in AJ's romantic life.
"Granny, I don't know what you're talkin' about," AJ hastily denied.
"Don't you lie to me, girl," Granny refused. "Don't no young lady go blushin' and carryin' on like that if she don't think somethin' of a fella!"
"They ain't bumpkin chores!" AJ toughed, trying to change the subject.
"Of course they ain't! Take pride in your work! But ain't no city boy going to understand the importance of half of what you do without explainin'," Granny replied, obstinately.
"Don't make no difference no how," AJ hissed evasively.
"It does so!" Granny railed, slapping her hand against the counter. "You ain't no girl no more!" Granny whirled around, griping AJ with her eyes. "Darlin', you're a grown woman and you ain't gettin' younger."
"Granny..." AJ sighed.
"I ain't getting' no younger either," Granny said, cocking an eyebrow.
"Don't talk like that. You still got plenty of years left in you," AJ soothed.
Old age tended to do that to people. They started thinking about death and the future, wondering what was going to happen in the little time they had left. Granny was a fighter, she had a lot of spirit and enthusiasm, but too often now the whole family was seeing that energy being challenged by arthritis, bad memory, and borderline narcolepsy.
Granny turned back to the stove and flipped the chicken. This time it was browned on the outside.
"That's what I thought of my old friend Gertrude, but I got a letter just last week sayin' she keeled over," Granny said, vehemence still at the back of her throat, but muffled. "Slipped and fell. One a these days we old folks'll find a way to get revenge on gravity, show it what for, but right now we got no defense but bath railin'."
AJ removed her hat out of reverence.
"Do you want some bath railin'?" AJ asked hesitantly.
"So how much time you think I got left!" Granny berated, whirling on AJ again. "Death is commin' for me, and I don't even have no bath railin', not that I need it!"
AJ exhaled. Admittedly, talking about the death of Granny Smith was morbid, but at least it didn't involve Granny picking out lovers for AJ. There was horrible, and then there was horrible.
"At any rate," Granny continued. "I ain't going to be around forever, and when I go it's just going to be you, Mac, and poor little Abigail lookin' after yourselves." Granny wrung her hands. "And when it comes right down to it, ya'll are just babies to me, no matter how old you get."
"Granny, Mac and I are plenty capable!" AJ harrumphed. "We won't be alone if we got each other."
"AJ don't need no man!" Granny proclaimed, rolling her eyes. "Well just you wait. I know you. Watched you grow up from day one, and I know you'd do everything yourself if you could." Granny threw her hands to her hips again, puffing out like a disgruntled pigeon. "Well if I don't see you have somebody right. somebody to force some of the burden off your shoulders before I die, then you ain't gonna last!"
With that, Granny turned back to her cooking, discussion final.
At the dinner table, the chocolate cake was out of place, surrounded by a compliment of home country cooking that was nervously uncomfortable next to a fancy desert. The cake, however, seemed sweet and not liable to judge. It was here for a reason, and it didn't matter to the cake what its company was.
Granny had gone out of her way to set a place for AJ across from Marion. Mac sat next to him, eating in contented silence.
"So, Mr. Caldwell, what exactly does bring you out to these parts?" Granny prodded.
"Sales, mostly," Marion replied, as though it was interesting to do but boring to talk about.
"To who and for what, exactly?" Granny niggled.
"Oh, it's a pesticides deal," Marion said. "There's a big land owner out here who does a lot of corporate farming, so I'm just here for a while to talk to him."
"Oh, I bet that's Rich," Granny scowled knowingly. "That fool owns everything out here. Even tries to buy our farm from time to time! Sweet about it, but no sir!"
"How come?" Marion asked. The way he turned the phrase implied Granny had a reason, and a good one that Marion would benefit to hear.
"You know how it is!" Granny proclaimed, knowingly, as she stabbed through a piece of chicken with her fork. "You get one big head running everything, and sooner or later he forgets why he's running it! I've heard stories about that boy, Rich! Thinks that just because he owns everything he's in charge!"
"I know how that is," Marion agreed, nodding.
"Well it's fine havin' a wallet to bail you out of hard times, but when they start tellin' everyone what to do regardless of the situation, well then there ain't point in living! Then you're just numbers!" Granny ranted.
Marion appeared to give this a moment's thought, but decided not to say anything. He sighed and nodded his head sympathetically.
The table fell silent. Finances were a little tight at the moment, and the topic of money and managing the farm was a heated issue. It was why they were letting people rent rooms.
"So I suppose you know a thing or two about runnin' a farm, being familiar with pesticides and all?" Granny asked.
"I know the basics," Marion responded. "Are you thinking about trying something different this year?"
"No, no," Granny mumbled. She hesitated. Then, as coyly as she could, "Does it pay well, sales?"
"Well, it's a family wage," Marion admitted, "So I do well for just by myself."
AJ felt every muscle in her body slacken from a tension that had been building up over the whole conversation. The question was coming. Granny would have asked if Marion was single, and at that point it was going to be a social puzzle. If AJ interjected, it was going to be obvious she and Granny had already fought about it. If she said nothing, it would look like AJ couldn't talk for herself like an adult. But now it was out there. Marion was single. AJ wouldn't have to throttle her grandmother before the bathtub got her.
"Just yourself? Well shoot! Are you doing anything tonight?" Granny asked in shrill excitement. "I haven't been out on the town in ages, and as long as you promise to have me back by ten o'clock I wouldn't mind paintin' the town red with a cute boy like you!"
AJ would tell the police the bathtub strangled Granny.
Marion laughed. "Well, actually," he said, "I do have plans! There's a party tonight I was invited to. Pepper told me about it."
Marion looked to Mac to get some kind of confirmation. Mac had the look of a deer in headlights.
"Yep," Mac decided.
If AJ knew her brother, he was probably staying home. He didn't like parties. He liked Pepper, though. Pepper loved parties. AJ was having one of those far-off, unpleasant feelings, like a dream in slow motion. A common nightmare where she could see an irreversible disaster, like falling out of the sky towards the earth, but she couldn't quite tell if it was real. She got like this sometimes when it came to Pepper and Mac.
After dinner, Marion had helped put away dishes. Then he offered to help clean them as Granny bossed him and AJ around. When that was done, he followed AJ back towards their separate rooms. She could smell his cologne again. It came to her in moments - he wore it right.
"So, AJ," Marion began. Not awkward, but a bit transparent all the same. "I don't actually know my way around that well. Would you mind showing me to Pepper's place?"
AJ looked at Marion to reply, and he caught her eyes with his. A little bit of feeling went missing from AJ's fingertips, and a good number of coherent thoughts got lost too. The hallway was on the narrow side, and they were within reaching distance of one another, all alone. Suddenly she couldn't muster a response, and it only got worse as she began contemplating how stupid she'd look if she couldn't produce an an answer right now.
"Oh, uh. I," was the best she could do.
"I was thinking of changing shirts and leaving in a half hour, if that's alright," Marion suggested.
Another part of AJ's brain came back to the surface. The part that had to do with time, responsibility, and the fuss of changing clothes for a party.
"Oh, well," AJ began, sounding defeated, "I've got an awful lot of work to do tomorrow."
"Oh, alright," Marion replied, withering somewhat. "Well, I suppose I'll see you tomorrow, then."
"Alright!" AJ agreed, "Sorry, then. Partner!"
AJ waggled her fingers goodbye, and the two went to their private rooms. AJ immediately felt regret. What the heck? Why did she call him partner? Well, she called a lot of people partner. Marion didn't know that, though. He'd think she was silly. No, more important than that, she turned Marion down for a party. Why'd she do that? That wasn't friendly. She'd have shown a friend to the party, even though AJ didn't like them much more than her brother did.
AJ had half a mind to put on some nicer clothes, go to Marion's room, and catch him before he left. Maybe they could leave the party early. If he didn't like the party. AJ did have chores to do. She could stay up, though. It was because of Granny! If she went to a party with Marion now Granny would give AJ such an "I told you so" lecture. Now AJ was mad at Granny!
No, this was stupid. AJ was still mad at Granny, of course, but she had a lot of work to do and never enough time to do it. Bed. Bed was important. AJ disrobed and laid down, pulling the covers over her head. She'd worked a lot today, and it wasn't long before sleep took over.
Rochelle loved parties. Not Pepper's parties necessarily, but Rochelle loved any excuse to put on make up and get dressed up. The make up itself was a kind of artwork. It was about shadows and highlighting, about having a keen eye for details and a steady hand. Being good at make up wasn't just a display of superficial beauty, but more implicitly, a display of natural talent with colors and emotion.
Clothing was the same way, and Rochelle would know. She made a living making clothing. A lot of women were tempted to throw on a short skirt, to attract men in the most banal of ways, but Rochelle dressed to impress. Clothing could accentuate the body in a lot of different manners – men liked sex, but respect was loftier and carried more weight. Not just men paid attention to clothing either.
Knowing how to dress and how to look was a question of one's society and place. Sometimes Rochelle didn't hit her mark exactly on the head, but no one got noticed for not experimenting with new ideas every now and then. People forgave the infrequent fashion mistake as long as the tried and true methods stayed charming.
At Pepper's parties, the tried methods were usually best. Everyone knew each other in a small town, so shaking things up didn't do much. The drinks came in a plastic cup. It wasn't even an option to chat with the bar tender.
"Rochelle!"
A fiery, red-headed ball of energy was working it's way across the room, tickling guests and laughing the whole way. Pepper. Oh, Pepper meant well. Everyone liked Pepper, but nobody liked Pepper for long stretches of time. Nobody except for her boyfriend, maybe, but that relationship was still on the young side.
"Rochelle, you silly! Watch'ya doin'?" Pepper shouted over the music as she pulled her friend into a one-sided hug.
Rochelle groaned at the invasion of her private space, which only encouraged Pepper to kiss Rochelle on the cheek.
"It's good to see you, Pepper," Rochelle admitted. It was true. Pepper's friendship was a mixed blessing.
"I've got someone for you to meeet!" Pepper sang.
"You've already introduced me to the mailman twice, Pepper," Rochelle complained.
"The second time was just because you hadn't talked in a while and Stan was feeling a little down," Pepper explained. "He likes you! You're pretty!"
Rochelle sighed, but couldn't stop herself from smiling. When Pepper gave compliments, they were hard not to believe.
"Okay, okay, introduce me," Rochelle conceded.
Pepper led Rochelle upstairs, where she intercepted an unfamiliar face. It was a man in your standard attire for a non-formal social gathering. Nice shirt, but off the rack. The slacks, too, were fairly typical. His shoes were nice, but could have done with a shine. Rochelle guessed he worked a management position of some sort. Handsome, though.
"Rochelle, this is Marion! Marion, this is Rochelle!" Pepper assisted.
"It's a pleasure to meet you," Rochelle pronounced with practiced etiquette.
Marion smiled and nodded, shaking Rochelle's hand. He'd probably been introduced to a number of people by now and was running out of storage space for names and faces. That simply wouldn't do for Rochelle. She liked to be remembered. So without another word, she looked the man right in the eyes and brushed past him into the crowd, swinging her hips as she went, as if she had somewhere to be. She'd find someone else to talk to, anyway. The important thing was first impressions!
As she got further away, she was tempted to look over her shoulder to see his reaction. It wasn't a good idea. It would ruin the image. But maybe a coy little smile and an inviting glint in the eye wouldn't go amiss. She turned her head, but Marion was already being introduced to someone else and he wasn't watching.
Rochelle stumbled into someone and spilled a drink to the floor.
"Oh, sorry!" Rochelle cried, clutching the shoulder of the man she'd bumped into. The two engaged in an awkward dance to see who would bend down and recover the cup.
Oh well. Aside from being in bad form, she supposed they recommended not looking back during an alluring charade due to practical reasons as well.
