Free Forever Friday by Timothy Lewis Page B

off.
    “Nope. Already know what we want,” Charlie replied. “Two eggs over easy, sausage, biscuits, and gravy.”
    She looked at Gabe. “And you, sir?”
    Silence.
    “Sir? Do you know what you want?”
    “I thought I knew.”
    “Don’t listen to lost boy.” Charlie winked at the waitress. “He’s read that menu a thousand times, knows the plot and the ending. Bring him what I’m having, except bacon instead of sausage.”
    The waitress glanced back at Gabe.
    He nodded.
    Charlie watched the waitress walk away. “Ain’t it a beautiful day?” he whispered. “Don’t you agree?”
    “Agree to what?”
    “Okay.” Charlie leaned forward. “What’s the matter? I know something’s happened.”
    “Nothing’s happened. It’s been an entire month and
nothing’s
happened.”
    “Oh, I get it. You’re still bellyaching over Miss Huckabee. I thought we’d already fixed that situation … several times.”
    Gabe scowled. They hadn’t
fixed
anything, but had discussed Huck out on the loading platform at Cecil’s until Gabe grew weary of hearing Charlie’s pat answer. Why did married men always think there were hundreds of extraordinary women waiting to replace any single man’s girl who didn’t work out?
    “So, what did you want me to see?” Gabe asked, changing the subject. He raised the coffee to his lips and tasted the captivating color of Huck’s hair and eyes.
    “Oh yeah. Wait till you read this.” Charlie pitched the paper across the table. “Editorial section, ’bout middle of the page. Written by some bishop.”
    “I’m really not in the mood to discuss Prohibition.”
    “That’s not what it’s about.” Charlie grinned. “It’ll take your mind off what’s bothering you. Guaranteed.”
    “Then read it to me.” Gabe slid the newspaper back, suddenly in no hurry to forget his obsession. “I didn’t get much sleep, remember.”
    Charlie lowered his voice. “Guess what today is.”
    “I know what today is.”
    “Ever hear of the International Pageant of Pulchritude?”
    “When did you start speaking Latin?”
    “Just answer the question.”
    Gabe shook his head. “Never heard of it.”
    “Me neither. That’s ’cause they changed the pageant’s name this year.”
    “Who is ‘they’?”
    “Folks in cahoots with my jealous wife.”
    “Why should Chloe care about a beauty contest?”
    “Because this one,” Charlie said mockingly, “has become an evil tradition that destroys a woman’s sense of modesty.”
    “Are you talking about the Bathing Girl Review in Galveston?”
    Charlie nodded big. “And the opening of beach season, Splash Day, gorgeous dames.”
    “I went one time, way back, because of all the flak about it then.” Gabe set down his coffee cup. “Nothing to see but a few local girls in the latest swimming attire. You’d think with all the gambling and bootlegging down there, folks wouldn’t notice a little beauty contest.”
    “Well this year, the flak returns with a vengeance.”
    “How’s that?”
    “ ’Cause it won’t be just local gals competing anymore.” Charlie cleared his throat. “And there’s a lot less attire, if you catch my meaning. There’s gonna be parades and fireworks and …” Charlie paused, a huge grin lifting his cheeks.
    “And …?” Gabe asked.
    Charlie picked up the editorial and lowered his voice even more. “This bishop fellow is trying to talk women out of strutting their God-given goods. He says, and I quote”—he looked down at the paper, reading—“ ‘If you come here, you will be asked to parade only in a bathing suit before a motley crowd who will scrutinize you at close range.’ ” Charlie’s eyes grew round. “Know what that means?”
    “The tradition becomes even more evil?”
    “That means from only a few yards away, a man can witness world-class cleavage. And some of them gals will be wearing those new French bathing suits that reveal an entire leg.”
    “What about the other leg?”