Pretend Mom (13 page)

"I'm not surprised. I'm about thirty
pounds heavier, and already losing my hair, like my
dad."

"I probably wouldn't know half the kids
I went to school with, now. Say, that reminds me, where is Carol?
I've been dying to see her. My brothers said the two of you got
married."

"Yeah, we've been married for some time
now. She'll be along. She talks about you all the time. She's been
hounding me about going to New York, forever. I told her it costs
too much. She's writing a song. Wouldn't you know? Do you think you
could look at it for her?"

"I probably could. If she has it ready
I'll be glad to take a look at it. Of course I can't promise
anything, you know. And if it's not ready, she can mail it later. I
can hardly wait to see her. It's been so long."

"You probably won't recognize her
either, she's about eight months pregnant."

"You're kidding?" Dixie laughed. "Oh,
that's wonderful. Tell her I'm dying to see her. I guess I better
get ready now, huh?"

"Have you got a suit?"

"Sure, under by clothes. Just let me
know when you're ready."

"Great. Hang on to these tickets, while
I check to see if everything is working properly—we don't want to
have any accidents—then you can hop in."

Seeing old friends, her apprehension
faded. What could be so bad? A few minutes later a couple of kids
wandered up to her and asked if they could be first. She nodded,
taking their money for the tickets, then walked towards the cage.
Handing John Tucker the remainder of the tickets, she slipped
behind the booth and took her clothes off.

The bench hovered above the water and
her toes dangled in its icy depths a few minutes later. A light
summer breeze ran across her newly exposed skin, making her
shiver.

After a nod to John, she prepared
herself. The bench held her easily. From this spot she could watch
nearly half of what was going on at the stage.

She watched the boys take their turns
with the ball. The first one threw it way out of bounds. She sighed
with relief. Perhaps she wasn't as brave as she had thought. With
every throw of the ball she cringed. But the torment of the first
dip was soon over when the second boy stepped up and immediately
hit the target. A shout of glee rose from them as she went
down.

Dixie came back up smiling, glad it had
been boys who dunked her first. That wasn't so bad. She could
handle this!

John looked at her apprehensively as
she remounted the bench, looking like a drenched mouse.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Fine," she said, wiping the water from
her face. How could she possibly sound so confident and feel so
ineffectual? And the problem was, her throat felt
scratchy.

It was still very early, and the crowds
were sparsely scattered over the fairgrounds. She searched the sea
of faces milling the different booths, happy in the knowledge that
her mother and the others had successfully pulled off another good
year. She wondered idly if her brothers were anywhere close. She
felt they must be, but she couldn't spot either of them in the
crowd.

John came up to the cage. "Now look,
Dixie, don't take this personally, but I've got to try to draw a
crowd around here. I'll have to haggle, and I don't want you to get
upset with me, understand?"

A wave of unexpected panic rose inside
her, but she squashed it with a fake calm. This was only a game,
and everyone had blown it out of proportion. Her only fear was fear
itself. She chuckled.

"All for a good cause go ahead," she
encouraged.

John's barker routine was
earth-shattering to Dixie. All her fears assailed her at once and
she suddenly felt vulnerable. This was home, reality. Most of the
people here were, at the least, indifferent to her. She realized
that the day she came home. Here she had no title, no distinction.
She became just another hometown kid who left to make their
fortune. For the first time, Dixie wondered about herself. She left
home a nobody and came back a success. Wasn't anyone here happy for
her? Didn't anyone here care that she was a success? And did all
her friends write songs in hopes of getting them recorded by
her?

"Gather round folks and knock the
pretty lady into the icy waters. Here she is, folks! Our own Dixie
Rose Kincaid. Home town big shot. Now is your chance to even all
those old scores. Make her swim for her trouble. Come on, it's
easy. Come knock the smile off Dixie Kincaid's face …"

Old scores?

Smile?

The laughing crowd—were they all
sneering at her? Did they all hate her, like Mrs. Butie? Or had she
let her imagination scare her silly?

No, of course they didn't. Why, she'd
known a lot of them for years. She recognized—a few of
them.

Still, she read no compassion in their
faces as they pitched the ball with every intention of dunking her.
She suddenly felt as though everyone with a bad life was after her,
persecuting her. She wanted to tell them she wanted to record all
their songs, every one of them. Only that would be a
lie.

She was becoming hysterical, and
laughed at herself. No, not these people. These people were just
hometown friends. Not would-be hopefuls.

The indignity of her position left her
shivering

Suddenly a two hundred and fifty-pound
Neanderthal came up to the booth, laughing loudly. "Give me one of
those balls. I'll knock her off her high horse. Watch this
folks!"

And he did, three times in a row. The
crowd roared. Dixie barely had time to reach the bench before he
had her submerging again. At least she had the good sense not to
wear make-up.

Although John cast her a look of
concern once or twice, he kept selling the tickets as though his
life suddenly depended on it. She caught a glimmer of her brothers
not far away and waved to them.

Both came running.

"You okay?" they chorused.

Wiping the water dripping down her nose
and chin she laughed. "Sure, I'm fine. I'm a hit, I think …" She
gulped as she fell back into the water again.

There wasn't time for conversation; the
big man was knocking her in at every other breath. Gasping and
choking she came up for air, trying deftly to maintain her
composure in front of her worried brothers.

They both ran over to John and
protested but the big man kept buying more balls. "Stay out of
this, kids. I like watching her go down. That's what she's here
for, isn't it? I wanna see how many times I can dunk her without
missing."

"But the beauty contest is startin'
over there, mister." Will diverted the man's attention to the
stage.

"Beauty contest, huh? Well, I wouldn't
want to miss that. She sure ain't much to look at now, is she? But
I'll be back, honey, you can count on it." He tossed Dixie a
warning smile.

Thanks to her brothers, she had a
breather. The crowd began dispersing, most of the men heading for
the stage area, where the girls were already lining up. Her
brothers left once they were confident she was okay. Never had
Dixie been so thankful for a beauty contest.

John shook his head as he came up to
the cage, his eyes going fleetingly over Dixie with keen scrutiny.
"Sorry 'bout that guy, Dixie. There's one in every crowd. But
that's the only way to make any money at this kind of thing. I
ought to know. I've worked the state fair for seven years straight.
You have to have a crowd-pleaser, and unfortunately, you're
it."

His lame apology didn't help Dixie
much, but she knew he was probably right.

"You don't have to apologize. That's
what I'm here for. At least we're selling tickets. Oh, look, the
beauty contest is starting. Looks like most of the crowd is
gathering there. My brothers say Janet is a cinch to win. Wanna lay
odds?"

John shook his head. "Not me. I don't
bet on anything but sure things. Just because her boyfriend is one
of the judges don't make it so, though. Mike's a fair man. A lot of
others up there are just as nice to look at. Come to think of it,
you aren't so bad yourself. Why'd you volunteer for something like
this? Didn't you know what they'd do to you?"

"It's all for a good cause, like you
said."

He nodded and smiled. "You're a good
sport, Dixie. And I take back every rotten thing I ever said about
you."

"Thanks, what rotten
things?"

He laughed.

"Say, John, is Mike Dalton Janet's
boyfriend?" she found herself asking.

"Well, they aren't engaged or anything,
but he sees a lot of her, I'm told. Why?"

"Just curious. I'd heard as much, from
her aunt. I've been gone so long, it's hard to catch up on who's
with who around here."

"Yeah, same old gossips."

He moved away to draw another crowd in.
He nodded at her to take her position.

So Janet and Mike were an item. It had
to be true if the whole town thought so. Not that it meant anything
to her; it didn't—couldn't. But he certainly hadn't acted like he
was attached to anyone.

From the cage Dixie could get a good
view of all the contestants and Janet stood apart from most of the
others, despite what John had said. From the looks of the contest,
the small town of Wylie had turned quite sophisticated lately.
Janet wore the smug look of a girl who knew exactly how beautiful
she was. She'd win. But before Dixie could affirm her own
conclusions she was dunked with little warning back into the icy
waters. She gulped the water away and renewed her attention to the
stage as soon as she came up. It seemed easier to tolerate this
mild abuse if she concentrated on something else. The girls were
behind the stage now, changing into their beautiful flowing gowns.
She envied them, feeling more like a drowned rat than a beautiful
woman.

With her attention diverted, the water
didn't seem so cold, and it didn't bother her so much. Until
another man walked up to the batting range and blatantly declared
his intention to drown her. And he looked as though he could do it,
too.

"Hey, lookie here—" he called, waving
several of his buddies over. The men had been drinking, which
wasn't permitted on the grounds. They were itching for trouble.
"Ain't she cute? Let's see if I can wipe that million dollar smile
off her face."

"Hey, you know who she is?" one of them
called.

"Who?" the man with the tickets in his
hand asked, gazing at his friend.

"She's that New Yorker. Yeah, I know it
is. She used to be from around these parts, I've heard. Got too big
for her britches and moved up north. Works for one of them big
recording studios. Sure it is. I saw her picture in the paper 'bout
a week ago. Way to go, Cal. You're dunking' one of them weirdo
rockers."

"Well, I'll be. How about that? The guy
who dunked the "punk rocker" in the water—about a thousand times."
He laughed.

Again and again he bought tickets.
Again and again his aim was sure, and she fell into the water,
coming up a little more slowly each time. Her attention was no
longer focused on lovely dresses, but rather on
self-survival.

Each time she mounted the bench she
shook a little more. Her skin was cold from the breeze that
feathered her each time she came to the surface. Her lips looked
blue. And her voice …

The man barely gave her time to mount
the bench before he was dunking her again and laughing. His buddies
cheered him on, causing a small crowd to gather and
laugh.

Dixie tried to get John's attention,
but he was no longer there, nor was her brothers. Her mother was on
the other side of the bazaar. Where had everyone gone? Why was she
suddenly alone? Where had all the good, descent people of this
wonderful little community gone?

There would be no rescue from this
torture; it was up to her to survive. Dixie bowed up. This was just
a game, a silly game. No one died during a charity bazaar, and she
wouldn't be the first. She had to use her head.

She had no one to blame but herself for
this, she admonished. She'd been warned! Stubborn!

As her head bobbed above the water, she
spotted Carol, and tried to wave. Tried to shout. Carol recognized
her, and rushed to her husband who was standing at the edge of the
stage, watching the girls. He had sold his tickets, he wasn't
interested in what the baseball throw was doing. But Carol got his
attention, and fast. Poor Carol—to be married to a man like
that!

She kept apologizing and trying to calm
Dixie, but even her voice held panic.

"Do something, John," Carol pleaded
loudly, when the man dunked her again.

"He bought his tickets, Carol. What can
I do? Do you want me to give him his money back?"

"If that's what it takes, yes," Carol
insisted.

"But I can't, they've already taken
most of the money back to the office. I don't have his money any
longer. And he's paid for this. It's out of my hands."

At least Carol's heart was in the right
place, Dixie thought hysterically as the bench went from under her
again.