Chapter 24 – Kira
KIRA
“ I can’t get over how many people showed up,” Hattie lets go of her cocktail to reach out and give my arm a loving pat.
“So many of these people are from out of town and I’ve had several people sign up for doggy baths and trims before they leave tomorrow!
” She clenches her body with excitement, her grin dazzling in the bistro lights that are strung between the tents.
“It really is beautiful Kira,” Mack agrees, appreciatively, before sipping on her straw.
All of us are nursing a cocktail Agnes thought up for the festival and it’s really not bad.
Of course it’s called the Apple Bottom, but no one seems to mind the play on words.
“It feels like a warm town welcome, almost.”
“It does, doesn’t it?” I glance around at all the festivities. For me, it has felt like one big, long, tiring welcome, and it couldn’t be more perfect.
“Alright Ms. Mckenzie,” Toby strolls up, rubbing his hands together like he’s about to get up to something. “Where’s that little cutie, so I can take her for the night?”
“She’s over there with West,” Mack gestures over by the tent where Luna is painting faces for kids.
She’s giving Aria a black and purple kitty face with glittery whiskers.
“But Toby, are you sure you want to babysit?” she bends an eyebrow, looking uncertain.
“She can be really hard to get to go to bed at night.”
Toby waves a hand. “Don’t sweat it!” He insists.
“I’ve fallen hard and fast for Hendrix and now I just need to test his skills with the kiddos.
Glad I don’t have ovaries or I bet they’d be exploding tonight,” his eager tone makes Hattie spit out her drink while mine goes down the wrong tube, making me choke.
“Please take video of Hendrix when he starts to lose his mind,” Hattie requests and Toby responds with a finger gun before quickly turning to me.
“Oh by the way, next weekend I’m dragging Hendrix to Chicago with me. Okay, see ya! Bye!” He tries to tear off but I’m quick to grab the collar of his flamingo pink polo.
“Wait a minute! Why are you going to Chicago?”
“Uh…because it’s where I’m from, duh! And I want to take my boyfriend to meet my family and shove him in their homophobic faces!” He scoffs like I’m the asshole here.
“And it’s also my parents’ end-of-summer save the poor people snooty ass fundraiser,” I remind him of the annual event my parents throw to make themselves look altruistic while they and their prissy friends wander around an ballroom with Swarovski chandeliers rammed up their asses.
“I know, that’s what’s going to make it so great!” Toby’s devious grin is borderline sewer clown as he giggle excitedly. “I’m going to embarrass the shee-it out of my family and it’s going to be glorious.”
“Good thing I’m disowned.” I sigh as my friend goes skipping off.
Wes t
“I like how you think,” Cheyenne applauds me as I jump out of the tow truck and walk around to release the winch.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean setting up right next to a beer tent,” she points out, lazily holding onto one of the poles that holds up the canopy over her designated service area with tables and kegs.
A horde of people scuttle past me, practically kicking up dust as the dog parade is being announced.
I have to hand it to Kira, dreaming all this up and making it a reality.
The whole day has been expedited with finesse.
From the craft tents to the food vendors and the beer garden, save for the occasional drunk yahoo getting unruly.
Surprisingly, Ryan is on his best behavior, standing quietly with some of the other prospects, although he keeps looking over his shoulder to track the whereabouts of Razors daughter.
I cringe, expecting this new him not to last long, but it doesn’t matter.
I accomplished enough of an overhaul on his persona to win my bet with Hunt.
I have the fully restored Rolls up on a small podium, ready for the silent auction and I’m just gathering the tarp off of it to reveal all its glory when the most beautiful sight walks up to me.
“Oh, Hunt my friend…” I hold my arms out wide like I want to hug him.
I won’t, mind you. Not while he’s dressed the way he is.
“This is what I love about you,” I point at him as he stops in front of me, placing a hand on his hip and blowing a strand of blonde hair out of his eyes.
“You lose a bet, you follow through. I’ve got such mad respect for you. ”
“And I have a newfound respect for women,” he retorts, leaning forward, and it almost gives me a peek down his sequined dress before he leans back. “The clothes they wear are so binding,” he huffs, straightening the strap of his dress.
“What, are you wearing a girdle or something?” I tease.
“Excuse me,” he tucks his sparkly clutch under his arm. “It’s called shapewear, and I can’t help it that I was cursed with my mother’s hips!” He scoffs, tossing some blond strands of his wig over his shoulders. “And may I remind you, the deal was for one hour.”
“I know,” I hold my hands up. “And then you can change and show off your mad dance skills.”
“I was forced through cotillion, and again, not my fault,” he shifts back and forth on his heels.
“I’ve made it work to my advantage, and I defy any girl her tonight not to swoon when I push them around the dancefloor,” he declares, looking smug.
Too bad he’s sporting eyeshadow and false lashes along with his short beard.
“Good luck getting anyone to agree to a dance with you dressed like that,” I cock an eyebrow at him, chuckling.
“Fuck you. I can pick up girls dressed like this. The right woman will find it hot that I’m so comfortable in my masculinity.”
“You’re in the clear there, anyway,” I tell him, tapping on the bar and signaling to Chey. “Everyone in this town already knows you. Otherwise, I’d be challenging you to another wager.”
“Buy me a beer?” Hunt tilts his head sideways, giving me a pleading look.
“One for the lady, too, Chey,” I nod at her when she places my drink down in front of me. I’m a gentleman after all.
“Thanks,” Hunt takes the pint glass from me and takes a hearty sip. “And besides, your girlfriend hooked me up by bringing in all these visitors from neighboring towns. There’s got to be a lady in the bunch that will dig my ability to lead them around a dance floor.
“Just remember, you have to say in that getup for one hour,” I remind him and he nods, but he’s in the clear anyway. There’s one more event before we cap off the night with a street dance.
Speaking of which…
There’s cheering and clapping in the background as the dog parade gets underway. Many of the town’s beloved pets and Hattie’s clients have turned out all spiffed up from a recent grooming and of course some sick maniacs have put clothes on their furry friends.
The event is starting to wind down, and I can tell people are starting to get antsy, and let’s face it, thirsty.
The DJ is setting up his booth on the eastern corner of the cross section and new kegs are being brought into the beer garden, ready for the culmination of the Applebottom - fuck, Agnes has me saying that - festival.
I can’t see the street dance and Rolls Auction being anything other than the perfect cap off.
I’m just positioning the posterboard next to the Rolls that states it’s been maintenanced by Shane Auto, hoping that if any out-of-towners pop by they’ll remember the name, -when the pleasant background noise turns to a frantic kind of tune.
“Dammit! No Zsa Zsa! Not right now!” I hear someone cry and I turn just in time to see
Zsa Zsa, the bulldog, drop a steaming load out of the back of her tutu without even breaking stride. Impressive, but who’s going to clean that up?
I look around for either Ryan or Hunt to see if I can still make either of them my bitch, but no joy.
“Fuck,” I mutter as I dig around in my duffel to see if I have a plastic bag or a hazmat suit.
“Oh shit!” Kira squeaks when she notices the steaming dung pile in the middle of the street and then springs into action, grabbing a nearby dustpan that will never be used again after tonight.
She hasn’t even scooped up the bulldog’s waste when Agnes’s friend Georgia strolls past with her fluffy Persian on a harness and leash.
Are you fucking kidding me?
“Georgia!” Kira calls out in protest as she’s holding the now full and offensive dust pan as far away from herself as possible, and trying to scurry her way over to one of the trash drums. “Georgia, this is a dog parade! What is your cat doing here?” She drops the crap in the trash drum, shovel and all, and squirts some hand sanitizer in her palms before hurrying over to Georgia.
“What, you have a problem with cats?” Georgia snootily looks Kira up and down as she adopts a cynical tone to her voice. “Is this not an inclusive event?”
“It’s not that,” Kira protests, holding her hands out, pleading with the elder to see reason. “It’s just that dogs and cats don’t get along very well, and -,”
“What? Are the dogs afraid the cats will take over?” Georgia sneers and it’s now I realize she’s got her handy travel coffee mug that often contains a hefty screwdriver. Oof, she’s a surly drunk.
I hustle over to Kira, just to lend support when Bernie the chihuahua shimmies up to the fluffy cat, making it puff out its fur and hiss.
“Shit! Georgia, see there’s already a problem,” I point out, while trying to keep a safe distance from the demonic cat.
“Well it’s not Silky VonSnugglepants’ fault.”
Bernie gives a small yip in greeting that the damn cat, whose name I’m not even going to attempt, takes completely the wrong way. He lets out a blaring yowl and another hiss before bolting, leaving his harness behind and dangling from Georgia's grasp as it hauls ass down the street.
“Silky VonSnugglepants!” Georgia shrieks, dropping her drink to the asphalt where the lip pops off and a small flood of spiked orange juice starts creeping towards Bernie who looks at it with interest.
Georgia takes off in the direction of her neurotic feline as fast as her rickety legs can carry her until she’s startled by a weak honk.
“Beep beep! Out of my way!” Agnes calls as she zooms by on a rascal scooter. “Don’t panic Georgia, I got this!” She announces, gunning the scooter to about fifteen, following the horde of barking dogs that have followed the cat down Main Street .
“Dammit, this was such a good idea in my head,” Kira groans with her shoulders slumped, and I reach out to let one hand cradle her neck while at the same time frantically looking around for a solution.
Hell has officially broken loose but I get a zing of hope when I see all the townspeople calmly abandoning their activities and marching in the direction of the pandemonium. They’re pulling together and it’s shockingly just under an hour before every dog is rounded up.
Everything is calming down enough for me to snap a photo of Hunt as he stomps back towards the crowd with a pug under each arm, hooker heels and all.
“Not a hair out of place!” I congratulate him as he hands off the fat, wrinkled dogs over to Maggie.
“Why thank you,” he curtsies. “Now, I’ve got a few minutes left in this get up, and then it’s time to put my swerve on.” He struts away with a cheerful wiggle in his ass. He’s been taking lessons from Agnes.
After the mayhem starts to settle, I make my way back over to the Rolls to find several patrons milling about the pretty automobile.
Some are just tire-kickers, but a couple of them look actually interested.
I notice one particular man that looks like he could be me in forty years catches my attention.
The dude is in a black t-shirt, tats lacing down his forearms, relaxed blue jeans, and even though the sun has long since set, he’s wearing a pair of dark sunglasses.
A decent head of salt and pepper hair completes his look and it strikes me that he looks just like the host of one of the gear-head reality shows I watch.
It couldn’t be…
Marcus Ripps is known for salvaging and restoring cars as well as simply collecting rare gems and showcasing them.
I mentally slap myself and head over to introduce myself. “How you doing? West Bradford,” I hold my hand out and he snatches his glasses off his face to return the gesture and it’s definitely who I thought it was .
“Marcus Ripps. Good to meet ya,” he grins and turns to sweep an arm at the car. “Is this your doing?”
“It is,” I nod, resting my hands on my hips.
“It’s beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
“Silent auction?” he inquires.
“Yeah, you bid over by the bar,” I point in the direction of Cheyenne.
“Are you seriously interested?” I can’t help but let my cool slip a little.
I mean, this guy does his show out of Kansas City—he made quite a drive.
I have to give Kira one hell of an orgasm for bringing this car into my life and then getting it on this guy’s radar.
“That I am,” he confirms, crossing his arms and nodding at the car. “It came up on my web tracker and I had to come have a look.”
“Well it’s an honor.”
“Listen, I’m going to keep my bid modest, but if by chance I win this, would you be willing to come on my show and do a segment on how you came by it and what went into it?”
“Again, I’d be honored,” I shake his hand again, profusely this time.
I release him to go back to his perusal of the Rolls and he’s definitely doing his due diligence, checking underneath the carriage.
I hang back as Kira comes scuttling up to me, flustered. “Okay, if I’m still here next year, I’m totally doing this again, but no dog parade,” she blows a strand of dark hair out of her face.
“You will be here next year.” I say, turing her around and pulling her back against me. My arms come tightly around her, bracing her close.
“How do you know?” She tilts her head my way the best she can and I look again at Marcus Ripps, entering his bid.
“Just a feeling,” I smile.