Free Stiffs and Swine by J. B. Stanley

me to show you a slide from last year’s contest.”
    R. C. reached over to the wall to turn off the lights and James noticed that the armpits of his shirt were stained with sweat.
    I wouldn’t want to be the one to run this show , James thought, but he decided to pay close attention to the popular venues at the festival in case he could replicate any of them for the library’s next Spring Fling.
    As the room fell dark, an image appeared on the white screen at the end of the room. It showed an enormous and rather hairy-looking black sow wearing a pink tutu. A pink ribbon had been tied around its ear. The photo had been taken directly in front of the judges’ table and the owner, a rather large woman stuffed into a matching tutu, was caught in time making an awkward attempt at a plié. The impression she achieved, however, was of possessing a severe case of constipation.
    “My, my,” Gillian uttered.
    “Is this last year’s winner?” Lucy asked, her blue eyes crinkling with amusement.
    R. C. turned the lights back on. “No. I believe this contestant was one of the larger entries, but she didn’t win. I just wanted you to get a sense of what you’ll be seeing tonight. Of course, there’s no way to illustrate an individual’s personality on screen.”
    “What kind of personality can a pig have?” Bennett muttered, but R. C. overheard.
    “You’d be surprised, Mr. Marshall. Some of these ladies will trot as proudly up the carpet as a thoroughbred racehorse. Some will give you flirty snorts or roll their eyes at you. There’s plenty of ways the contestants can stand out from the field.”
    “I appreciate the respectful manner in which you refer to these contestants,” Gillian said, beaming at R. C. “I was initially afraid that this contest might belittle these lovely and intelligent animals, but I can see that you truly approach this pageant with a high degree of dignity. I applaud you!” Gillian clapped her hands as R. C. blushed.
    Luckily, his walkie-talkie began to crackle and he excused himself to answer what sounded like an urgent stream of babble. As the supper club members watched, the veil of sweat on his forehead began to drip down his temple. He dug a red bandana from his pocket and dabbed at his face. “Are you sure?” he tersely asked the person on the other end and then hurriedly added, “Over.”
    “I’m sure, boss.”
    R. C. replaced the walkie-talkie into its case on his belt. “It seems as though I may need to beg a favor. Four of our judges, who happen to be family members, have contracted pinkeye. Due to the fact that they are contagious over the next twenty-four hours until their antibiotics take effect, they have withdrawn from judging the Brisket category. Could I count on four of you to temporarily step into their shoes?”
    Gillian put her hand to her breast. “I simply cannot come face-to-face with that much meat. I’m sorry, but I must refuse.”
    James exchanged glances with the rest of his friends. They issued him subtle nods. “We four would be glad to help,” he offered.
    R. C. exhaled in relief. “I do thank you. We’ll be reviewing the judging policies for the food contests in the morning.” He distributed schedules and a baggie filled with red tickets to all of them. “These tickets are for the food vendors around the festival. Each ticket is good for a single item. Should you need any more, just show the receptionist your name badge and she’ll refill your baggie. We have a small token of our appreciation for each of you as well, which we will present tonight at the Hog Queen contest.”
    The head judge led them back to the main doors of the recreation center and then marched off to solve a dispute between two barbecue contestants who were both claiming the same parking spot for their campers.
    “That guy’s gonna need a stiff drink before this day is done,” Bennett commented.
    “I’m kind of parched myself,” Lucy said, shaking her bag of red tickets.