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“A naked dress!” Katrina had cried when she saw her. “You’re stunning.”
“Is it that bad?” Maggie said, flaring her nostrils, looking at her reflection. “I don’t have a full-length mirror at the cottage.”
“It’s not bad at all, but it’s a naked dress!” she repeated, laughing. “You should be carrying a can of mace.”
Once they lined up behind the floats, Justin kept hold of Maggie’s hand.
“You’re attracting a lot of attention,” she said, checking out his flat stomach and massive chest covered with tattoos.
“Ah, they’re looking at you, sweetheart,” he said, grinning. “Trying to decide if you’re naked and that dress is just an illusion. I can’t take my eyes off you. Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?”
“Ha! I don’t think they’re looking at me. But I’m glad you think I’m beautiful.”
“I know so,” he said, glancing down at her. “That dress doesn’t hide much.”
“It’s not supposed to,” she replied, grinning up at him.
“I might have to kick some ass tonight if anyone gets too close,” he said, scratching his chin. He tripped a little, and she reached out to steady him.
“You don’t have to keep watching me,” she said, laughing. “Nothing is going to show.”
“Everything is already showing. I can’t take my eyes off you,” he said, snickering.
“At least I’m not half naked,” she said, pointing to his chest.
“Well, you sort of are.”
Justin had switched his costume from a Roaring Twenties, double-breasted suit with a fedora to a pirate’s getup that included dark pants tucked into knee boots, a red satin sash around his waist, and a white pirate shirt that he’d put on once they were in the barn.
“You look suitably debauched,” everyone said, laughing.
For the parade, he and his like-minded friends decided they’d do a tatt contest. Someone had distributed ballots among the crowd, listing the contestants, who all wore a number on their backs hanging by a string around their necks.
No one noticed the clandestine activities taking place on a night like this. In the side street by the hardware store, Alfonso Casson, dressed in a tux for his master of ceremony duties, held the door for Lola, Southern belle, wearing a gown that required a hoop.
“I’m not sure I can get through the door,” she said, laughing.
“Can I pull you out?”
“Help me squeeze this thing together,” she begged.
“You are a sight,” he said, unable to take his eyes off her decolletage. “Wow.”
“I’m glad you like it, sir,” she said, bowing.
“Watch it, woman, your skirt is going up in the back.”
“Oh, right. It’s the hoop. By the way, I don’t have any underpants on.”
“God, don’t tell me that when we’re walking out the door,” he said, grabbing his crotch. “I’ll walk around with a boner all night.”
“Be proud of it, Al. Younger men can’t say the same.”
“Don’t remind me.”
They walked a distance, the conversation they’d had earlier that finally defined what they’re relationship was going to be like in the future dancing on the surface.
He held out his arm, and she hooked hers through his. “I guess we aren’t going to live together,” she said, hinting.
