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“Damn right,” Lula said. “Take that dress off and I’ll show you. This dress fits me perfect.”
Larry stood and reached for the zipper, and I clapped my hands over my eyes.
“It’s okay,” Larry said to me. “I’m wearing boxers. I didn’t have any nice lingerie with me.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “I don’t want to see Lula, either. Tell me when it’s over.”
“Well, what the heck is wrong with this dress?” Lula said a couple minutes later. “I can’t get this thing together.”
I opened my eyes, and Lula had the dress on, but it wasn’t zipped. There was fat bulging out everywhere, and Larry had his knee against Lula’s back and was two-handing the zipper, trying to pull it up.
“Suck it in,” Larry said. “I have this problem sometimes, too.”
“I’m all sucked,” Lula said. “I can’t suck no more.”
Veins were standing out in Larry’s temples and bulging in his neck. “I’m getting it,” he said. “I can press two hundred pounds, and there’s no reason why I can’t get this zipper closed.”
The heck there wasn’t. The dress wasn’t made out of spandex. And even spandex had limits.
“I’ve almost got it,” Larry said, sweat dripping off his flushed face, running in rivers down his chest. “I’ve got an inch to go. One lousy, motherfucking, cocksucking inch.”
Lula was standing tall, not moving a muscle.
“Yeah, baby!” Larry said. “I got it! Woohoo! Yeah!” He stepped back and pumped his fist and did a white boy shuf; e in his boxers.
Lula still wasn’t moving. Her eyes were all wide and bulging, and she was looking not so brown as usual.
“Can’t breathe,” Lula whispered. “Feel faint.”
And then POW, the zipper let loose, and Lula flopped onto the floor, gasping for air.
Larry and I peered down at her.
“Maybe I could use to lose a pound or two,” Lula said.
We got Lula out of the dress and back into her marigold yellow stretch slacks, matching scoop-neck sweater, and black flak vest. And neither of us mentioned that she looked like a giant bumblebee.
“Are you okay?” Larry asked her.
“Pretty much, but I need a doughnut.”
“No doughnuts!” Larry and I said in unison.
“Oh y
eah,” Lula said. “I forgot.”
“I have to get back to work,” I said to Lula. “Are you coming with me?”
“I guess,” Lula said. “But we gotta stop at your mama’s house. Your granny was supposed to cook up a recipe I gave her.”
ELEVEN
MY MOTHER AND Grandma Mazur were in the kitchen. My mother was at the stove, stirring red sauce, and Grandma was at the sink, drying pots stacked in the Rubbermaid dish drainer.
“I made up the recipe just like you said,” Grandma told Lula. “And then I put the sauce on some pulled pork. It’s in the casserole dish in the refrigerator.”
“How does it taste?” Lula asked. “What do you think of it?”
