Forever Friday Page 8

  “I’d love a real sailing adventure,” Huck said after a tiny sigh, then wondered what it would be like as Captain Gabe’s first mate. She giggled softly, suddenly remembering Mister Jack and the term she’d adopted so many years ago: soul mate.

  “So the lady wants an ocean adventure?” Gabe scooted closer. “Then one day we’ll sail the seven seas, or at least the shallows of Galveston Bay, in a boat named Cleopatra.”

  “Cleopatra?”

  He laughed. “The Egyptians invented sailing. It would only be proper.”

  “Aye, aye Captain!” Huck playfully saluted.

  “And we’ll drink rum from the bottle and eat hardtack and mutineers will walk the plank.”

  “But, Captain … What about pirates?”

  “Pirates?” Gabe’s eyes twinkled. “Well, matey, ’twould be the ghost ship of Jean Lafitte, no doubt. Some say he still haunts the bay in search of his lost treasure.”

  “And what if we find it and he captures me?”

  “I’d die first,” Gabe said, loud enough for people to stare.

  “You would?” Huck asked softly, then realized their legs were touching.

  “I’ll never let you go.” He gently grasped her hand. As their fingers entwined, her body tingled with warmth. A glowing warmth mixed with happiness she’d never felt before.

  The Galveston terminal was located on Twenty-First Street, only blocks from the beach. As they disembarked, the salty sea breeze carried every delightful aroma of carnival fare: succulent smoked meats, roasted nuts, buttery popcorn. Even the sugary smells of cotton candy and saltwater taffy refused to waft by Huck unannounced.

  “There’s a parade starting over on Broadway,” someone called as Huck and Gabe exited the station into the throng of excited Splash Day revelers. “The grand marshal is King Neptune!”

  “Look at the people,” Huck voiced above the joyful roar as they scampered across a busy intersection, then strolled hand in hand down a less crowded side street. “There must be thousands here.”

  “According to a source, there should be several hundred thousand altogether. Since we’re headed toward Broadway, how ’bout we catch the parade? That is, if we can find a place to sit. The bleachers will be packed.”

  “You’re the cowboy captain. And didn’t you mention a beauty pageant?”

  “I did.” Gabe stopped walking and faced her. “But we really don’t have to go.”

  “Why not? I’ve never been to one. It’ll be interesting.”

  Gabe cleared his throat. “Are you aware that this town has a reputation for—”

  “A wide variety of entertainment?”

  He nodded.

  Clark’s forbidding expression flashed before Huck’s eyes. “The pageant sounds fabulous.”

  Gabe laughed. “You’re a fascinating girl, Huck. Is there anything that doesn’t interest you?”

  “Closed minds and hearts,” she answered thoughtfully. “Anything else you want to know?”

  “Does the lady always speak the truth?”

  “Of course.” She gave his hand a squeeze. “Unless it benefits me otherwise.”

  They strolled another block until the brassy blare of a marching band quickened their pace. “Let’s hurry,” Huck said, her voice brimming with excitement. “The parade’s starting.”

  Pulling Gabe’s hand, she led him into the thick crowd. As he’d predicted, the bleachers were full, but Huck smiled sweetly to a stout old gentleman, who let them sit in an area reserved for the yacht club.

  “Besides telling the truth, does the lady always get what she wants?” Gabe asked as soon as they were seated.

  “Of course. But the appropriate smile helps.”

  “Unless it benefits you otherwise?” he finished.

  “Let’s just call it a woman’s prerogative.” With an impish grin, she surrendered once again to his sea-sky gaze, thinking her present engagement to Clark Richards a mistake and unexpectedly wanting to tell Gabe everything. She’d eventually have to tell her mother, but Annise Huckabee could be handled.

  Huck studied the passing parade and shivered. Breaking up with Clark would be ugly. He’d really frightened her during the hair-cutting incident. And it was more than just the fact he’d grabbed and hurt her arm. It was something else. At first, her brain wrestled with her heart, refusing to admit the truth. But each time she reminisced, the scene became clearer, her mind always focusing upon Clark’s eyes. At the height of their argument, something dark had washed over his pupils. Something opaque and ominous. Then it was gone.

  “What happened to that appropriate smile?” Gabe’s mellow tone soothed Huck’s worries, transporting her thoughts back to the present.

  “The smile’s still here, ready to charm its next victim.”

  Gabe spoke in a weakened tone. “I think it already has.”

  When the parade ended they headed toward the beach, after thanking the portly gentleman, who clasped Huck’s hand as if she were his long-lost daughter. The International Pageant of Pulchritude was to begin promptly at two, with several hundred bystanders and a few policemen lining the seventeen-foot-high seawall. A wooden stage had been erected on the wide sandy beach below, with five folding chairs shaded by an awning for the judges. To the right of the stage was a large yellow striped tent with a banner that read, Dressing Area—Contestants Only. To the left a small band shell, complete with an upright piano and five musicians in black tie playing Dixieland jazz.

  “I’m definitely not the only female in the audience.” Huck eyed the other spectators as she and Gabe jockeyed for prime viewing space atop the seawall. She’d heard of bathing beauty contests and was intrigued by the idea. “In fact, there are lots of interested women.”

  “Like you, they appreciate beauty.” Gabe positioned himself behind her, gently resting his hands on her waist. He leaned forward. “Because beauty deserves attention.”

  She turned her head slightly, then giggled. “Did you notice the dozen or so women grouped right behind us? They don’t appear to be the type who would …” She paused, caught off guard by his clean smell.

  Gabe whispered close. “The type who would what?”

  His warm breath upon her neck made her shiver. “The type who’d appreciate being here. They look angry about something. Especially the oldest one. She seems to be their leader.”

  Before Gabe could reply, the band crescendoed into a lively fanfare. The master of ceremonies, a lanky man wearing a lavender pinstriped suit, climbed onto the stage and shouted through a megaphone. “Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to the first annual International Pageant of Pulchritude!” The crowd burst into applause as a line of bathing beauties paraded out of the tent and onto the stage.

  “Harlots!” screamed one of the women from the group behind.

  “Jezebels!” yelled some others.

  The verbal protests continued no longer than thirty seconds as the emcee quickly motioned for three policemen to escort the dissenters out of earshot. “My apologies, folks. I’ll ask our lovely contestants to remain on stage while we try this again.” He turned toward the band. “Gentlemen, the fanfare please!” After the second fanfare and welcome, the crowd burst into an even bigger round of applause.

  “What was that all about?” Huck whispered.

  “Everyone’s clapping because the contest is ready to begin.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

  Gabe leaned closer than before, his lips almost brushing her ear. “There seems to be some opposing views about a woman’s sense of modesty.”

  “That’s silly,” Huck replied. “A woman’s modesty is her own business, unless she’s breaking the law.”

  The band segued into a soft medley of popular tunes as the emcee explained how the girls were judged by beauty and poise. He then introduced each of the thirty-nine contestants, all between the ages of eighteen and twenty-five, wearing the latest bathing attire. The sleeveless swimsuits were colorful and form-fitting,
some with short skirts that could be removed for greater mobility in the water. Many of the girls were Texans, while others hailed from various states as far away as California and New York. There was also a contestant from Cuba, two from Canada, and even a girl from France. The judges chose ten finalists, then to the delight of the crowd, had the contestants present poses from various angles. As the band played a final number, the judges tallied their scores and chose a winner … a slender southern belle from Mississippi. After the emcee awarded her the cash prize, he placed a crown on her head, and she marched across the stage holding an American flag.

  A few minutes later, Gabe and Huck sauntered along the seawall in the warm afternoon sun. What excited him most was that she’d voluntarily grasped his arm once again. A few hours ago he’d been on the floor of a trolley, tangled helplessly in her presence. And now they strolled atop the immense, concrete barrier where land met sea. It was one of his favorite places on earth.

  “Mother says that the prettiest women come from the Deep South,” Huck said. “But that’s because she was born in Alabama.” There had been no more protests and most of the audience had dispersed, ending the controversial International Pageant of Pulchritude until next year.

  Gabe studied the delightful girl holding his arm. He’d been right about her, and she grew more perfect for him with each passing moment. “Your mother sounds like a smart woman, but I have to disagree. The most beautiful girl I know is walking beside me … and she’s from Texas.”

  “Oh no,” Huck replied. “Now we have a problem.”

  “We do?” Gabe began to perspire and slowed them to a stop. As far as he could tell she wasn’t upset, but perhaps he should have been more discreet with the compliments. The last thing he wanted was to scare her away. He reached for a Lucky, then paused, realizing he’d never asked if she’d mind. The smell of tobacco, the smoke, or both bothered some people. Besides, he’d have to turn away from her to light it and she might release his arm.

  “There’s something you should know,” Huck said. “Before we spend another minute together, I want to be honest.”

  “Because the lady always speaks the truth?” Gabe pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and mopped his brow.

  “I guess it’s a Huckabee curse.” She laughed. “Just now, you said that you disagreed with my mother?”

  “I prefer to call it a friendly difference of opinion.”

  “Gabe, dear. This is the problem: no one ever successfully disagrees with Mother, unless they know the secret.”

  “Thanks for the warning.” He smiled and returned the handkerchief to his pocket. Huck had just called him “dear.”

  “Don’t you want to know the secret?”

  “Unless it benefits me otherwise.”

  “Very funny, Mr. Clever. For your information, I’m the only one of her children who knows the secret and it’s saved me enormous grief. I learned it from watching Papa.”

  Gabe started them walking again, relieved that she was comfortable enough to joke about her family. It also meant that she might be planning for him to meet them.

  Huck continued. “Mother’s very opinionated about certain topics, especially education and religion. So when she asks you a question and you don’t see eye to eye, avoid falling into her trap. Lightly broach your answer, then coax the truth toward your own advantage—like an honest politician—making your point while gradually changing the subject. It’s fun.”

  “Hmm,” Gabe replied. “Never heard of an honest politician, but I’ll try your method.” He made a spectacle of clearing his throat, then spoke in a deeper, more distinguished tone. “My dear Miss Huckabee. Isn’t it amazing how even in Texas, the most beautiful women have roots from the Deep South, especially Alabama … a state known for feminine charm and fine southern cuisine.” He grinned, returning to his normal voice. “So how ’bout we get a bite to eat?”

  Huck laced her fingers around Gabe’s arm, resting her head on his shoulder. “We think so much alike, it’s scary.”

  “Are you saying we’re predictable?”

  “Never.” Huck frowned. “Predictable is an adjective that doesn’t pertain to us.”

  Us. Gabe savored the word before he spoke again. “So what adjective does pertain to us, Miss English teacher?”

  “Hungry,” Huck said. “I haven’t eaten all day.”

  They ate under a large umbrella at Mermaids, an outdoor restaurant at the end of a long pier whose sign boasted Dine Out Over The Deep. A fussy waiter informed them that since it was midafternoon and lunch was over, they could only order shrimp cocktail or crab gumbo. But the bar was open, and he’d be right back to take their drink order.

  “What about Prohibition?” Huck asked, as soon as the waiter disappeared. The only liquor she’d ever seen was the amber whiskey her father drank at Christmas. She knew where he hid it—up in the hayloft underneath a loose floor plank. As a child, she’d sneak out that year’s bottle, pretend to take a swig, and act drunk. At age eleven, she dropped it one day and noticed a hairline crack at the base. Petrified, she’d never touched Papa’s “yuletide vice” again.

  “Rumor has it that Prohibition isn’t enforced on the island,” Gabe said. “And you thought the beach was what attracted multitudes.”

  “Do you think we could order pink champagne?” Huck leaned in conspiratorially. “I’ve read about people having champagne brunch. It sounds so daring.”

  “It’s too late for brunch,” Gabe said, then laughed. “And since this meal falls between lunch and supper, we’d have to call it ‘lupper.’ ”

  “Champagne lupper,” Huck replied. “Doesn’t have quite the same romantic ring, at least the lupper part. But the pink part sounds interesting, don’t you think?”

  When the waiter returned, Gabe ordered two shrimp cocktails, two cups of crab gumbo with extra rice, and a bottle of pink champagne. Since they weren’t on any kind of schedule, they ate and drank leisurely, talking about favorite foods, books, and movies, while ocean clouds wisped high overhead and waves white-capped beneath their feet.

  “I think my numb is getting nose,” Huck said finally, then giggled.

  “I think the lady’s had a bit too much bubbly.” Gabe reached for a cigarette. “Mind if I smoke?”

  “Not in the least.” Since childhood, the aromatic quality of tobacco was an odor Huck found comforting. She’d first smelled it on Gabe while riding the interurban, then at the beauty pageant when he whispered close. She laughed softly, reminded of a story.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Papa used to smoke,” Huck recalled, “until Mother finally insisted his suit be sent to the dry cleaners for a proper going-over. The next Sunday, he wore the suit less than five minutes, saying it reeked of kerosene, so he dunked it in her washtub. Said he ‘baptized’ it, the humorous analogy completely missed by Mother. And then …” Huck paused, the remainder of her story floating adrift her brain in the champagne’s smoothness.

  “And then your mother murdered him?” Gabe scooted an ashtray to his side of the table and thumbed open a book of matches.

  “No, silly.” She giggled a third time. “Slow torture is Mother’s way.” Huck peered into her empty champagne glass. “Where was I?”

  “Your Papa dunked his suit in the washtub.”

  “Oh, yes. And then he never smoked again. Began chewing tobacco because he swore the kerosene odor wouldn’t come out. Papa worried about fire and was afraid the flammable fumes had infiltrated his shirts and overalls as well.”

  Gabe laughed. “Why not just buy some new clothes?”

  “What? And waste perfectly good garments?” Huck replied facetiously. “Threadbare/comfortable is Papa’s way, and after almost fifty years of marriage, Mother still can’t persuade him differently.”

  “Sounds like how my folks were.” Gabe lit his cigarette, exhaling the smoke away from Huck. “So what did your father wear to church the day he baptized his suit?”

  “Oh, Papa never goes. Neve
r has. Says he holds nothing against God’s flock but doesn’t need to visit the Lord’s house because he hears enough preaching at home. So when Mother and the rest of the family attend Sunday service, he puts on his suit and quietly reads the Bible. Then he lays the Good Book aside and ‘ponders,’ while chewing tobacco and spitting off the gallery.”

  “I think I like your father.” Gabe appeared lost in thought for a moment. “I’d bet he loves reading the Psalms.”

  “Why, it’s his favorite book.”

  “And he enjoys discussing his ponderings? Especially with you?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “How did you know?”

  “The poetry in your voice.”

  Huck felt herself blush. “Mother’s favorite book is Proverbs. I’ve memorized more than a few.”

  “My next guess.”

  “Because I’m so wise?”

  “My next answer.”

  They laughed.

  “A wise woman who speaks her mind is greatly respected,” Gabe said.

  “Is that a proverb?”

  He shrugged. “I was thinking about your mother. I’d like her too.”

  Huck smiled. Contentment colored the afternoon.

  Gabe signaled the waiter. “Two coffees please.”

  “How did you know I love coffee?” Huck asked, wondering if Papa felt this lightheaded when he drank whiskey.

  “I took a guess.” He grinned. “Besides, doesn’t the lady always get what she wants?”

  Huck smiled back. Even if the champagne had clouded her mind, it was clear her heart wanted Gabe Alexander. And any unpleasant thoughts about ending things with Clark had evaporated, including how and when she’d tell her mother.

  Several hours later, after poking through a variety of souvenir shops and applauding a troupe of sidewalk acrobats, they watched the sun set, munching salted peanuts and caramel corn on a deserted stretch of beach. At one point Huck commandeered Gabe’s hat, which resulted in a merry chase, until both she and Gabe were hysterically out of breath. They kicked off their shoes and stockings beside a lonely log of driftwood, then wandered along aimlessly, the surf slapping their bare ankles under the dusky soar of seagulls.