Chapter 36 ZACHERY THE DANCING CHICKEN
Chapter 36
Z ACHERY THE D ANCING C HICKEN
I barely see Kelsey that week. She helps with the tree farm events, decorating, organizing, and fitting in like I’ve never seen her do in LA. Every evening when she comes in, she looks better, more energized. Happier.
Despite all those parties, premieres, auditions, and work meetings we’ve attended together, I’ve never seen her glow this way.
I have to admit that she belongs.
I can’t find any fault with Randy, either. Kelsey says she feels safe and secure with him.
Unlike me, who bashed in the faces of two men as well as literally seduced her into oblivion instead of talking her through her worries like a proper friend would have done.
I was something unwise .
But Friday night brings the big dance, and Kelsey begs me to go as she arranges her hair in a curly golden mass.
She passes me a container of bobby pins to hold. “I only know the family, and they’ll be really busy. I’m petrified that this will be the time people come up to talk, and I’ll be all alone, and I know I’ll say something stupid or out myself as Hollywood.”
“You’re becoming less Hollywood by the day.”
She pulls a pin from the plastic case. “You think so?”
“Look at you. No more glamour makeup, no high heels. You wear nothing but pastels. I bet you’re itching to trade that hybrid for an SUV.”
She jerks her face toward me. “How did you know that?”
“Because there aren’t any charging ports for a hundred miles?”
“You checked?”
“I’ve been doing everything I can to make your life easier.”
She secures another curl, then reaches out to squeeze my arm. “You have been the best friend, Zachery.”
Other than that time I plowed into her against the wall.
“I want the best for you, Kelsey.”
She turns back to the mirror. “What do you think? Do I look the part of the small-town girlfriend, pretty but not flashy, well dressed but not a show-off?”
“You’re perfect.”
She turns to me with a smile that washes over me like warm rain. “You always say that.”
I don’t push the point. “You have your proper small-town icebreakers prepared?”
She sits up straight, then tilts her head with an easy smile. “Don’t you love the look of those pies? I’m always looking for a good chocolate recipe.” She clears her throat. “Are we behind on rain this year? Sure seems dry.”
“Don’t mention global warming,” I warn.
She relaxes into normal Kelsey mode. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Good girl.” Saying those two words, though, makes me think of her, the dress at her waist. I’m going to take this dress off you.
She is not for me.
I’m the one who farts in old ladies’ faces on-screen, who pisses in fountains for the cameras, who dates for visibility, for press, for nothing resembling this shining hope I see in Kelsey.
“I’m ready.” She looks me up and down. “Is that what you’re wearing?”
I glance at my Armani shirt and Luca Faloni trousers. “Too much?”
“It’s over a thousand dollars, each. Can you find anything under five hundred?”
“We could stop by Wally World.”
“Hush. How about jeans?”
“Mine are—”
“Right. Even more expensive than those pants.”
She really is nervous. “Nobody here is going to assess the value of my wardrobe,” I tell her.
“But you look different. You stand out.”
“Should I stay home then?”
“No! I need you.”
“Let me go buy something.” I should have known to buy something less audacious before now. This day was always coming.
“No time. It’s fine. You’re right. It’s just me. Let’s go.”
We take her hybrid rather than my Jag because it looks like a normal car. Mine doesn’t fit in at all among the practical Fords and Chevys.
When we pull up, music pours out of the American Legion hall, the doors thrown open.
I pay for our tickets to get in. The room is brightly lit for a dance. I’m expecting a band to be playing, but there’s a man onstage with a microphone and a laptop, barreling out commands to the groups of dancers all doing coordinated moves.
“I don’t know how to do any of that,” Kelsey says, moving closer to me. “I’m about to chicken out.”
“Most people aren’t dancing,” I tell her, steering her toward the bar. “Let’s get some wine in you, and it’ll be better.”
She takes in the room while I get the attention of the man behind the counter.
But he laughs when I ask for a chardonnay. “We got a box of red back here. Will that do?”
I nod and hold up two fingers. “Wine for you, too?” he shouts over the music, doubt all over his face at my decision.
I realize I better fit in or Kelsey will get even more anxious. “No, I meant two drinks. Make mine ...” I glance over the collection of bottles lined up on a shelf. “Michelob.”
He nods and pulls one out of an ice chest, popping the top with the inside of his elbow. Then he drags the box of wine up to the counter and pours an entire red plastic cup full of it. That’s like half a bottle.
That’ll get her relaxed.
I pay for the drinks and head back to Kelsey. “Here you go.”
She stares at the cup. “What is that?”
“Your Wyoming chardonnay.”
“I better get some pie to slow down that wine,” she says.
We head over to the bake sale. Three ladies guard the pastries. I’ve never seen a spread like it. Brownies, cookies, every kind of cake, at least twenty pies.
“What can we get you?” one asks.
“I’ll have some apple pie,” Kelsey says, then looks at her red wine. “Actually, make that chocolate cake.”
She’s trying to pair box wine with dessert. Classic Kelsey.
“Anything for you, handsome?” The grandmotherly woman gives me a wink.
My trainer would throw himself on the pyre of sugar if he saw this table. “I heard there was someone in this fine town who makes a coconut pie so good that I’ll want to propose marriage.”
All three women start giggling. Kelsey smiles over her cup. I’m pleased to have made her happy.
“Abigail makes the best coconut pie,” the grandmother says, elbowing a tall woman with cat-eye glasses, “but she’s spoken for. I, however, got three proposals based on my bourbon-pecan pie back in my day.”
“I think I must try a slice of this commitment-inspiring pie.”
Abigail nods in agreement. “And Eleanor’s been single since 2004.”
“Oh, hush now, this boy’s no older than my Frankie.” Eleanor cuts a generous slice of a pecan-topped pie and hands it to me. “Enjoy your pie.”
I tuck a handful of bills into the donation jar and toast her with the plate. “I most certainly will.”
The three women animatedly chat as Kelsey and I settle at the end of a long table lined with chairs.
“You’re going to charm the bloomers off the ladies,” Kelsey says.
“And that will make clear that I’m on the lookout, and you’re devoted to their favored son Randy.”
She sinks her fork into the cake. “Smart. This is why I brought you.”
We’ve made it most of the way through the desserts when Randy shows up. “You’re here!” He leans down to kiss her hair.
I avert my eyes, concentrating on a wayward pecan.
“Thank you for bringing her, Zach,” he says.
“Of course.”
“You sure you don’t want me to help out?” Kelsey asks. “I totally can.”
“You’ve done too much already. Enjoy yourself. Zach, you’ll dance with her, right? Keep any other prospects off my girl?”
I stuff down fifty dark responses. “Of course.”
“Great.” He squeezes Kelsey’s shoulders. “Save a slow dance for me, all right?”
“Of course.” She watches him disappear through a side door.
“What does he have to go do?” I ask, pushing the pie away. I no longer have any appetite for it.
“He and Jack are taking turns patrolling the parking lot for fights.”
That gets my attention. “Fights?”
“These events tend to bring out hostility.”
“Okay, then.”
She shrugs. “It was the same in Alabama. Farmers and cowboys, blowing off steam.”
The square dancing comes to an end. “Now for a line dance!” the man onstage announces. A new song begins.
Kelsey groans. “This was a staple at every school dance and wedding where I grew up.”
“What is it?”
Her eyes get wide. “The Chicken Dance. You don’t know it?”
“Should I?”
She laughs and jumps up, pulling on my arm. “Come on. You have to learn it.”
She leads me to the center of the room, where mostly older people and little kids have congregated.
They start making weird motions with their hands, then flap their elbows like a bird.
Oh, I get it. Chickens.
There there’s a hip wiggle and four claps.
“That’s all there is!” Kelsey calls over the music. “You better not just stand there.”
I catch up at the elbow flap and keep going.
Kelsey’s face is bright with laughter. “You’re doing it!”
The next phase seems to be walking around the room, locking elbows with people. I meander, doing the motions, then it’s time to be a chicken again.
“I think I like it now!” Kelsey shouts. “It’s more fun with you!”
It is pretty silly. We make another round of the floor, and a few people say hello to Kelsey and mention Randy.
This brings on the glow. It’s that belonging. She’s been looking for it, ever since losing her mom and having her family scatter. She has no living grandmothers. No female family to speak of anywhere.
Here, she’s got it. Role models in spades. A community.
I’ll flirt with old ladies for her. And I’ll dance like a chicken.
But I won’t be the person who ever takes it away.
I will be happy for her.
I will .