Cooked Goose

sniffles stopped. “Do you think he’d do all that... just for a B.J.?”
    “He’s male. He hasn’t had sex for ages. It’s a done deal.”
    “Wow, good idea. You give great advice, you know, for a woman who’s never had a man in her life.”
    Savannah grimaced and decided to call a contractor about that escalator. “Think nothing of it,” she replied dryly. “Do you feel better? May I go now?”
    “Oh, sure. I just heard Butch’s truck in the driveway. I’m gonna ask him about... you know...”
    “Good girl.”
    As she hung up the phone, Savannah was only marginally suicidally depressed. Of her seven sisters, all were married except the youngest, Atlanta . And even the baby of the family had a steady boyfriend who had given her a “promise” ring.
    On the other hand, Savannah —the oldest, the matriarch of the Reid clan—was as single as a hag’s front tooth.
    Of course, that was the way she liked it: uninvolved, uncomplicated, no hassle, no dirty men’s boxers on the floor... no deep male voice to whisper “Love you, honey,” before she went to sleep at night.
    It really was simpler this way.
    Or so she told herself when an acute case of the “lonelies” set in.
    Besides, there were very few mood dips that couldn’t be raised by some form of confection.
    No sooner had she taken a sip of the chocolate/liqueur concoction than the phone jangled again. Maybe she had blown it with the marital advice. Maybe Butch hadn’t gone for the bait after all.
    Naw. If Numb Nuts had turned Vidalia down for a B.J., she just hadn’t made her intentions clear enough to seep through to his marijuana-dulled brain cells. It was definitely worth anothertry.
    Savannah snatched up the phone. “Sweetie, I know your tummy feels like it’s about to explode,” she said, “and I’m sure your back hurts something awful, but I’m telling you, oral sex is the perfect solution for what—”
    “I couldn’t agree more. I’ll be right over.” Click.
    Savannah frowned into the dead receiver, then slowly replaced it.
    She sighed. The bubble bath would have to wait. So would the hot chocolate. She had to change the locks, bar the door and cover the windows with industrial-thick plywood.
    Who said she didn’t have a man in her life?
    She had Dirk. Whoopee...
    And judging from his enthusiastic tone on the phone, he’d be there in less than five minutes. Where was that hammer, those nails?

    * * *

    9:45 P.M.

    “I thought I’d treat you to a pizza!” Dirk sounded so pleased with himself as he stood, grinning like a billy goat eating briars, on Savannah’s front porch.
    “Dirk Coulter/treat. That’s a contradiction in terms,” she said, looking for the legendary pepperoni and mushroom pie. By the porch light she could clearly see both of his hands. They were predictably empty.
    “Hey, are you implying I’m cheap?” He honestly looked crestfallen; Dirk lived in a world of self-delusion, in which he was generous, optimistic, well-dressed and articulate.
    “Dirk, I love you, but you’re as tight as my Granny Reid’s Sunday-go-to-meetin’ girdle.”
    “Hey, don’t even kid about a thing like that... mentionin’ me in the same sentence as women’s underwear.”
    She grabbed his sleeve and gave it a playful yank. “Come inside and bring your imaginary pizza with you.”
    He trudged into the living room, his lip protruding in a semi-pout. “I really was going to call and order a pie,” he said. “I got this five-dollars-off coupon, and if we don’t ask for any toppings and we don’t tip the delivery kid—they’re always late anyway—it’ll only wind up costing me a couple of bucks.”
    “Gee, you shouldn’t have.”
    “I know. But I thought it was the least I could do, considering your generous offer on the phone a while ago.”
    “I didn’t know it was you.”
    “That’s kinda what I figured, but since you offered, I thought the least I should do was show up in case you change« your mind and—”
    “Forget it. It ain’t happenin’. How about a beer instead?”

    * * *

    9:50 p.m.

    It took nearly five full minutes for Charlene Yardley to realize she was still alive.
    When the darkness had closed around her, bringing temporary relief from her nightmare, she had thought she was dying. And she had slipped into that black emptiness willingly, eagerly. Anything to escape. Death had become a friend.
    But now Charlene could feel herself rising out of that blissful, womb-like void, in spite