Luck Be A Chicken: a comic novel by Jameson Gregg

Author:Jameson Gregg [Gregg, Jameson]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ignatius Publishing
Published: 2017-01-22T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 29

RUBY SCURRIED ABOUT THE FLYING CLOUD distributing fresh towels and aprons. She heard the roar of a parking car. Obviously, Polly ain’t fixed her muffler. The parlor’s door popped open.

“Hey, everybody.”

“Mornin’, Polly.” Ruby held the door. “Come on in, sugah. It’s just me and you and Li’l Bit right now.”

Polly turned sideways, sucked in her gut and scraped through the door, panting and sweating. “Oh, Lawd, that AC feels good.” Though shorter than Ruby, she made up for it on the bathroom scales. She dropped her shoulder bag in the corner and squeezed into the shampoo chair.

Li’l Bit pawed at her sneakers.

“I see you, Li’l Bit.” Polly reached down and patted her head. “Chiiil’, you gettin’ bigger by the day. And purtier, too.”

Ruby draped a towel over Polly’s shoulders, guided her head back, and massaged warm water through her hair.

“Where’s Tootsie?”

“I give her the mornin’ off.” Ruby kneaded shampoo. “She got engaged and went to Walmart pickin’ things out for her bridal registry.”

“Oh, how marvelous. What’s her fiancé do?”

“He’s a sanitation engineer for the city.”

Polly chuckled. “Yeah, like I said, what’s he do?”

“He’s a garbage man. He used to hang on the back o’ the truck, but now he’s a driver. Claims he’s gonna be mayor one day and Tootsie believes him.”

Polly rolled her eyes as Ruby rinsed. “Yeah, right. If everything Barrelhead promised over the years came true, we’d be livin’ in a mansion, and I’d be drivin’ a Rolls, not that rattletrap outside.”

“You got nuthin’ on me, darlin’, with all them tales Bean keeps dreamin’ up.”

“I think registering at Walmart is smart.” Polly sat up as Ruby toweled her hair. “When we was married, Barrelhead had us register at Bass Unlimited and ’bout all we got was camo clothes and fishing lures—not the first dern thing I could use.”

“Your husband ain’t no different from all men.” Ruby patted the seat of her styling chair. “Bean’s such a Romeo, for our ninth anniversary last year he took me to Subway in Walmart and we got meatball sammichs. How romantic is that?”

“I think they got the best meatball sammichs in town.” Polly climbed the styling chair’s step and squeezed in. “I would o’ liked that. ‘Least he didn’t take you to wrastlin’ like Barrelhead took me last year.”

“Actually I would o’ liked wrastlin’. Li’l Bit, too. Right, Baby Girl?”

Li’l Bit clapped as she sat cross-legged on the floor, glancing back and forth between Mama and Miss Polly, following the conversation like a tennis match. She laughed when Mama laughed, cringed when Mama cringed. It was her birthright, a rite of passage, learning the fine art of conversation and gossip, loading her private bag of tricks for later in life.

Polly fanned her perspiring face with a Last Supper fan. Ruby said, “Sugah, you seem extra hot. Has your bowels moved today?”

“Knock on wood, that ain’t a problem today. It just takes a lot outta me to get from point A to point B these days. And you, Ruby, my feet ache just thinkin’ ’bout yours.

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