Page 63 of Fast and Dirty

“What do you mean?”

“I mean setting up right next to a beer tent,” she points out, lazily holding onto one of the poles that holds up the canopy over her designated service area with tables and kegs.

A horde of people scuttle past me, practically kicking up dust as the dog parade is being announced. I have to hand it to Kira, dreaming all this up and making it a reality. The whole day has been expedited with finesse. From the craft tents to the food vendors and the beer garden, save for the occasional drunk yahoo getting unruly.

Surprisingly, Ryan is on his best behavior, standing quietly with some of the other prospects, although he keeps looking over his shoulder to track the whereabouts of Razors daughter. I cringe, expecting this new him not to last long, but it doesn’t matter. I accomplished enough of an overhaul on his persona to win my bet with Hunt.

I have the fully restored Rolls up on a small podium, ready for the silent auction and I’m just gathering the tarp off of it to reveal all its glory when the most beautiful sight walks up to me.

“Oh, Hunt my friend…” I hold my arms out wide like I want to hug him. I won’t, mind you. Not while he’s dressed the way he is. “This is what I love about you,” I point at him as he stops in front of me, placing a hand on his hip and blowing a strand of blonde hair out of his eyes. “You lose a bet, you follow through. I’ve got such mad respect for you.”

“And I have a newfound respect for women,” he retorts, leaning forward, and it almost gives me a peek down his sequined dress before he leans back. “The clothes they wear are so binding,” he huffs, straightening the strap of his dress.

“What, are you wearing a girdle or something?” I tease.

“Excuse me,” he tucks his sparkly clutch under his arm. “It’s called shapewear, and I can’t help it that I was cursed with my mother’s hips!” He scoffs, tossing someblond strands of his wig over his shoulders. “And may I remind you, the deal was for one hour.”

“I know,” I hold my hands up. “And then you can change and show off your mad dance skills.”

“I was forced through cotillion, and again, not my fault,” he shifts back and forth on his heels. “I’ve made it work to my advantage, and I defy any girl her tonight not to swoon when I push them around the dancefloor,” he declares, looking smug. Too bad he’s sporting eyeshadow and false lashes along with his short beard.

“Good luck getting anyone to agree to a dance with you dressed like that,” I cock an eyebrow at him, chuckling.

“Fuck you. I can pick up girls dressed like this. The right woman will find it hot that I’m so comfortable in my masculinity.”

“You’re in the clear there, anyway,” I tell him, tapping on the bar and signaling to Chey. “Everyone in this town already knows you. Otherwise, I’d be challenging you to another wager.”

“Buy me a beer?” Hunt tilts his head sideways, giving me a pleading look.

“One for the lady, too, Chey,” I nod at her when she places my drink down in front of me. I’m a gentleman after all.

“Thanks,” Hunt takes the pint glass from me and takes a hearty sip. “And besides, your girlfriend hooked me up by bringing in all these visitors from neighboring towns. There’s got to be a lady in the bunch that will dig my ability to lead them around a dance floor.

“Just remember, you have to say in that getup for one hour,” I remind him and he nods, but he’s in the clear anyway. There’s one more event before we cap off the night with a street dance.

Speaking of which…

There’s cheering and clapping in the background as the dog parade gets underway. Many of the town’s beloved pets and Hattie’s clients have turned out all spiffed up from a recentgrooming and of course some sick maniacs have put clothes on their furry friends.

The event is starting to wind down, and I can tell people are starting to get antsy, and let’s face it, thirsty. The DJ is setting up his booth on the eastern corner of the cross section and new kegs are being brought into the beer garden, ready for the culmination of the Applebottom - fuck, Agnes has me saying that - festival. I can’t see the street dance and Rolls Auction being anything other than the perfect cap off.

I’m just positioning the posterboard next to the Rolls that states it’s been maintenanced by Shane Auto, hoping that if any out-of-towners pop by they’ll remember the name, -when the pleasant background noise turns to a frantic kind of tune.

“Dammit! No Zsa Zsa! Not right now!” I hear someone cry and I turn just in time to see

Zsa Zsa, the bulldog, drop a steaming load out of the back of her tutu without even breaking stride. Impressive, but who’s going to clean that up?

I look around for either Ryan or Hunt to see if I can still make either of them my bitch, but no joy.

“Fuck,” I mutter as I dig around in my duffel to see if I have a plastic bag or a hazmat suit.

“Oh shit!” Kira squeaks when she notices the steaming dung pile in the middle of the street and then springs into action, grabbing a nearby dustpan that will never be used again after tonight. She hasn’t even scooped up the bulldog’s waste when Agnes’s friend Georgia strolls past with her fluffy Persian on a harness and leash.

Are you fucking kidding me?

“Georgia!” Kira calls out in protest as she’s holding the now full and offensive dust pan as far away from herself as possible, and trying to scurry her way over to one of the trash drums. “Georgia, this is a dog parade! What is yourcatdoing here?” She drops the crap in the trash drum, shovel and all, and squirtssome hand sanitizer in her palms before hurrying over to Georgia.

“What, you have a problem with cats?” Georgia snootily looks Kira up and down as she adopts a cynical tone to her voice. “Is this not an inclusive event?”

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