Club Dead (Sookie Stackhouse #3)(19)
Author: Charlaine Harris

I shrugged. "I appreciate my hair and my new nails," I said. "I’ve never done that before."

"You’ve never been to a beauty shop before?"

"My grandmother went every now and then. I had my ends trimmed, once."

He looked as stunned as if I’d confessed I’d never seen a flush toilet.

To cover my embarrassment, I fanned my nails out for his admiration. I hadn’t wanted very long ones, and these were the shortest ones Corinne could in all conscience manage, she had told me. "My toenails match," I told my host.

"Let’s see," he said.

I untied my sneakers and pulled off my socks. I held out my feet. "Aren’t they pretty?" I asked.

He was looking at me kind of funny. "They look great," he said quietly.

I glanced at the clock on top of the television. "I guess I better go get ready," I said, trying to figure out how to take a bath without affecting my hair and nails. I thought of Janice’s news about Debbie. "You’re really ready to dress up tonight, right?"

"Sure," he said gamely.

"’Cause I’m going all out."

That interested him. "That would mean … ?"

"Wait and see." This was a nice guy, with a nice family, doing me a heavy-duty favor. Okay, he’d been coerced into it. But he was being extremely gracious to me, under any circumstances.

***

I rolled out of my room an hour later. Alcide was standing in the kitchen, pouring himself a Coke. It ran over the edge of the glass while he took me in.

That was a real compliment.

While Alcide mopped up the counter with a paper towel, he kept darting glances at me. I turned around slowly.

I was wearing red – screaming red, fire engine red. I was going to freeze most of the evening, because my dress didn’t have any shoulders, though it did have long sleeves that you slid on separately. It zipped up the back. It flared below the hips, what there was below the hips. My grandmother would have flung herself across the doorsill to keep me from going out the door in this dress. I loved it. I had got it on extreme sale at Tara’s Togs; I suspected Tara had kind of put it aside for me. Acting on a huge and unwise impulse, I’d bought the shoes and lipstick to go with it. And now the nails, thanks to Janice! I had a gray-and-black fringed silk shawl to wrap around myself, and a little bitty bag that matched my shoes. The bag was beaded.

"Turn around again," Alcide suggested a little hoarsely. He himself was wearing a conventional black suit with a white shirt and a green patterned tie that matched his eyes. Nothing, apparently, could tame his hair. Maybe he should have gone to Janice’s beauty shop instead of me. He looked handsome and rough, though "attractive" might be a more accurate word than "handsome."

I rotated slowly. I wasn’t confident enough to keep my eyebrows from arching in a silent question as I completed my turn.

"You look mouthwatering," he said sincerely. I released a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

"Thanks," I said, trying not to beam like an idiot.

I had a trying time getting into Alcide’s truck, what with the shortness of the dress and the highness of the heels, but with Alcide giving me a tactical boost, I managed.

Our destination was a small place on the corner of Capitol and Roach. It wasn’t impressive from the outside, but the Mayflower Cafe was as interesting as Alcide had predicted. Some of the people at the tables scattered on the black-and-white tile floor were dressed to the nines, like Alcide and me. Some of them were wearing flannel and denim. Some had brought their own wine or liquor. I was glad we weren’t drinking; Alcide had one beer, and that was it. I had iced tea. The food was really good, but not fancy. Dinner was long, drawn-out, and interesting. Lots of people knew Alcide, and they came by the table to say hello to him and to find out who I was. Some of these visitors were involved in the state government, some were in the building trade like Alcide, and some appeared to be friends of Alcide’s dad’s.

A few of them were not law-abiding men at all; even though I’ve always lived in Bon Temps, I know hoods when I see the product of their brains. I’m not saying they were thinking about bumping off anyone, or bribing senators, or anything specific like that. Their thoughts were greedy – greedy of money, greedy of me, and in one case, greedy of Alcide (to which he was completely oblivious, I could tell).

But most of all, these men – all of them – were greedy for power. I guess in a state capital, that lust for power was inevitable, even in as poverty-plagued a state as Mississippi.

The women with the greediest men were almost all extremely well groomed and very expensively dressed. For this one evening, I could match them, and I held my head up. One of them thought I looked like a high-priced whore, but I decided that was a compliment, at least for tonight. At least she thought I was expensive. One woman, a banker, knew Debbie the-former-girlfriend, and she examined me from head to toe, thinking Debbie would want a detailed description.

None of these people, of course, knew one thing about me. It was wonderful to be among people who had no idea of my background and upbringing, my occupation or my abilities. Determined to enjoy the feeling, I concentrated on not speaking unless I was spoken to, not spilling any food on my beautiful dress, and minding my manners, both table and social. While I was enjoying myself, I figured it would be a pity if I caused Alcide any embarrassment, since I was entering his life so briefly.

Alcide snatched the bill before I could reach it, and scowled at me when I opened my mouth to protest. I finally gave a little bob of my head. After that silent struggle, I was glad to observe that Alcide was a generous tipper. That raised him in my estimation. To tell the truth, he was entirely too high in my estimation already. I was on the alert to pick out something negative about the man. When we got back in Alcide’s pickup – this time he gave me even more help when he boosted me up to the seat, and I was pretty confident he enjoyed the procedure – we were both quiet and thoughtful.

"You didn’t talk much at supper," he said. "You didn’t have a good time?"

"Oh, sure, I did. I just didn’t think it was a real good time to start broadcasting any opinions."

"What did you think of Jake O’Malley?" O’Malley, a man in his early sixties with thick steel-colored eyebrows, had stood talking to Alcide for at least five minutes, all the while stealing little sideways glances at my boobs.

"I think he’s planning on screwing you six ways from Sunday."

It was lucky we hadn’t pulled away from the curb yet. Alcide switched on the overhead light and looked at me. His face was grim. "What are you talking about?" he asked.