Lovesick by James Driggers Read Free Book Online

if the game is rigged, and this sure as hell is a closed game,” he said. “I could cook circles around any one of the Miss Anns who will enter the contest. But I’m not the . . . image, as you put it.”
    Virginia studied him. He was a large man, not too tall, but solidly built. He had beautiful hands, kept his nails trimmed and buffed. She thought that curious about a man. He had a soft smile, but his eyes betrayed him with their sadness. She understood what he meant—even here, these women shut her out, sensed her as an outsider and treated her just. It appealed to her to have an opportunity to leapfrog over the bitches. The Blankenships would be rushing to know her, to remember her, to claim her. It would provide her status, stature, social heft. It would definitely give her an advantage.
    â€œThe Lady in the White Hat,” she said.
    â€œNot cheating, really,” he said. “You would be the one to make the recipe. I would give you some of mine and teach you to make them. Don’t worry. I would choose things that was easy.”
    â€œI must strike you as somewhat inept,” she said. She tried to toss it off as a quip.
    â€œNo, ma’am,” he said. “That’s not it. It’s about keeping it simple. Think on this. I was at the picture show a couple of Saturdays ago, and the newsreel had a part about the ‘modern housewife.’ Said what she wants more than anything else is convenience.” He paused for a moment to let the full effect of that settle over her, then added, “Easy is convenient.” He smiled, now fuller.
    â€œYes,” she said. “I suppose you have a point. What are you expecting to get from this, George? I don’t imagine you are doing this for charity or for the comfort of the American housewife.”
    He was unapologetic. “I want the money,” he said. “Plain as that.”
    â€œYou would be placing a great deal of trust in me.”
    â€œI’m a lot of things,” he said. “A white woman ain’t one of ’em. I need a partner.”
    â€œAnd I would do all of this in return for what? Certainly you do not expect the whole sum?
    â€œI would be happy with a split. I was thinking maybe sixty-forty. They’re my recipes after all.”
    â€œFifty-fifty,” she said. “Like you said, I have the style.” And with that, their bargain began to take shape.
    The initial phase of the contest required that she submit a short letter about herself and why she would be a suitable candidate to represent the company. Virginia knew which bits to play in her letter—made sure to mention that she was the widow of a war hero. She was proud of her DOC membership. She mentioned the work she did with the group in Fayetteville at the Residence. Butcher agreed, mentioning the VOA was a plus. The group was all about charity, but the religious part was vague and broadminded enough not to offend anyone.
    They were to also include a signature recipe. For that, there had been no discussion. George had taught her to make his biscuits—his angel biscuits.
    â€œYou got two types of biscuits,” he said. “Powder or yeast. My biscuit has both, so you can mix it up and keep it cold in the icebox. Don’t have to mix fresh dough in the morning. Convenient. The yeast gives it texture, the powder keeps it soft. Also, biscuits come in two styles: dropped or rolled.
    â€œWhen I was a girl, we would have beaten biscuits,” she said.
    â€œHard tack,” he said. “We ate ’em in the army as well. Times is hard enough without the misery of a beaten biscuit.”
    â€œI can’t argue with you there,” she said.
    â€œNow,” he continued, “I don’t much care for the dropped, unless it’s on a cobbler. The rolled are just more elegant. You can cut them whatever size you want.”
    â€œA rolled biscuit,” she repeated. “I should have an