Free Dancing Naked in Dixie by Lauren Clark Page B

street—North Eufaula Avenue. I watch for house numbers, and then I see it. An amazing creamy-tan stucco home comes into view. It must be the Jordan’s. I gaze up at it, impressed. Its enormous rotunda entrance with six columns shelters a wide balcony.
    When I step from the sidewalk to get a better look by a young magnolia tree, the lawn feels like a cushion under my shoes.
    The terrace seems empty, so I close my eyes a moment to think about tonight’s gathering. It’s a chance to get great background information for my story. I’ll have to remember to ask about the—
    “Ow! Ouch!” I almost leap out of my skin as something sharp bites at my ankle, then my toes. My skin is burning, like someone lit a match under the arch of my foot. I jump around, brushing at my legs and peer down at the mound of dirt and grass.
    In the streetlight, I see that it is swarming with minuscule red ants. An army of them. There must be five hundred, all on a mission from the devil himself to suck the blood out of my body.
    I step onto the sidewalk and almost lose my balance trying to get my shoes off. The ants are clinging to my wrist and finger, munching on whatever they can find. I slap at my hand and manage not to fall, somehow kicking off one my shoes across the lawn.
    All at once, someone grabs my waist to steady me. It’s Shug, who calmly bends down, smacks at my ankles with a plush, white hand towel, and wipes away the bugs. I am too busy knocking the critters off my knuckles to care about the burn of his hand on my skin.
    With a splash, he pours a cool liquid on my ankles. The intense smell makes me want to pinch my nose, but I’m so relieved that the pain is gone that I don’t even care about being drenched in stinky, chilled vinegar with a hint of apple cider.
    When the jug is empty and I’m satisfied Shug’s taken out the last ant, I look down at my legs and feel a little nauseous. This man kneeling in front of me is inspecting my toes. On top, between, and below each one of them. Thank goodness my feet are clean and my pedicure is relatively intact. The shiny red of my toenail polish glints back up at me.
    I steady myself with one hand on Shug’s shoulder. If I let go, I think I might fall over.
    “Okay, you’re safe. They’re all gone.” Shug flashes a concerned smile in my direction.
    “W-what are those evil, blood-sucking monsters?” I spit out. My ankles are puffy and red in spots. I’m trying to ignore it and maintain my dignity.
    Shug starts to laugh. “They don’t suck your blood. They’re fire ants. They bite.” He nods down at my feet. “And inject a kind of poison.”
    I bite my lip. Poison.
    My rescuer takes in the sick look on my face. “Some people are allergic,” Shug says quickly, “but you’ll probably be okay.”
    I nod and try to put on a brave face, but can’t help that I shudder. It still feels like ants are crawling up my skin with tiny legs.
    Shug tilts his head to get a better look at the small welts knotting up on my toes and the tops of my feet. “You’ll get little blisters. They’ll go away in a few days.”
    I try to ignore the ugly welts. It’s impossible.
    “C’mon,” he says, “let’s get you to a safer place.”
    I hobble along behind him, humiliated. Despite the slight breeze, I’m covered with a slight sheen of sweat. Thank goodness, the rest of his family wasn’t here to witness—
    “Ah-hah,” I hear from behind one of the porch columns. It’s PD, eased back in a rocking chair, the motion of it almost too slight to notice. “Shug to the rescue again.”
    I’m on guard, but since this afternoon, the sharp edge to her voice has softened.
    “Hello,” I call up to her.
    She looks at me, smiling. “We’ll have to start calling my brother the caped crusader.”
    “And this could be Wayne …” I wink at her, “I mean, Jordan Mansion.”
    Ella Rae appears from nowhere, clambering down the steps. “Who’s Wayne?” she asks, throwing herself around