Free Stiffs and Swine by J. B. Stanley Page B

judges.”
    The group climbed a small hill leading to the cooking area. “I guess it makes sense to cook as a part of a team,” Bennett said. “Then you can enter every category and have a better chance at winning. Besides, according to this rule sheet, most of these guys will have to take turns staying up all night. Some of these entries, like barbecued brisket, take more than a day to cook.”
    “Looks like they’ve already started.” Lucy gestured at the campground area spread out in front of them.
    The five friends paused, taking in the view of hundreds upon hundreds of RVs parked alongside one another in remarkably straight rows for what seemed like miles. Striped awnings had been unfurled, and lawn chairs and folding tables had been unfolded and decorated with cloths and cushions. Boom boxes competed with one another, though most played country music, while American flags or banners representing favorite sports teams flew from camper roofs. Some of the travelers had even spread out rolls of outdoor carpet in order to make their temporary parcels homier.
    But above all the other pieces of equipment, there was one outdoor fixture that formed the centerpiece of each campsite: the grill. There were grills of all shapes and sizes. James spotted tiny camping grills; full-sized backyard grills with propane tanks; space-age, egg-shaped cookers; and enormous, cylinder-shaped cookers that required their own trailers and were no doubt used by the professional barbecue teams.
    “Those things are so big they’ve gotta be towed behind the RVs,” Bennett stated, looking at the closest professional cooker. “Shoot, I’ve seen European cars smaller than them. You could hide two grown men in one of those grills.” He inhaled blissfully. “Ah, yeah! Folks are cooking some meat, all right.”
    “You just ate,” Gillian pointed out. “How can you sound so enticed?”
    “Doesn’t mean I couldn’t eat some more later, woman,” Bennett replied pleasantly. “You know, they’re gonna have chicken barbecue here, too. You don’t have to eat corn and hush puppies the whole time, unless you’re goin’ full-scale vegetarian on us this weekend.”
    Gillian stared at the grills and curtains of smoke suspiciously. “That is certainly my preference.”
    “Hey! Let’s go check out what the teams look like,” Lucy suggested, hoping to divert Gillian. “I’d like to see what the all-female team is
up to.”
    James hesitated. “Are we supposed to fraternize with the contestants?”
    Lucy shrugged. “We haven’t been given the food-judging guidelines yet. As of now, we’re just tourists and, I’ve got to admit, I find this all pretty fascinating.”
    Gillian put her hands on her hips and gave her toes inside her Birkenstock sandals an agitated wiggle. “ I would prefer to view the sand-drawing event.” She held a map in front of her face. “It’s in Area C. I find the combination of flowing sand and graceful motion very soothing. Would anyone care to join me?”
    Receiving no offers, Gillian told her friends that she would see them later on at the Hog Fest beauty contest.
    “Poor Gillian.” Lindy watched their friend stride away in a flowing skirt of lavender with tiny brass bells stitched on the hem. “I hope she can have a good time at this festival.”
    “Sure she can.” Bennett waved off Lindy’s concern. “Did you get a load of all those hippie vendors? And what about the trained dog performances? And she loves our hotel. She can take nature walks for the rest of the festival once we’re done pickin’ out the piggy princess.”
    As the foursome strolled by RVs the size of commercial buses, they heard the familiar voice of Jimmy Lang. He had his arm slung around a familiar-looking young woman. As the supper club members slowed in order to witness their exchange, Jimmy whispered something into the girl’s ear, gave her a light swat on the bottom, and laughed as she waved goodbye.
    “Wasn’t that