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“Hey, I’m not the one taking pictures of men’s wood on my 1980s flip phone. And, for your information, I’ve never been to one.”
“What? Bingo night?”
“No, smart-ass, a frat party.”
“Didn’t you attend college?”
“It’s a little hard to make your way down Greek row when you can’t afford a sitter and you’ve got a kid who prefersLate Night with Conan O’Briento early morning cartoons.”
Lucas turned to her and whispered as loud as possible, without bringing any more attention to them than there already was. “Are you honestly looking to me for sympathy?”
“No,” she replied, fidgeting with the cap to her dauber. “Just explaining why I’m not as worldly as you might assume.”
“Worldly.” Lucas chuckled as the caller belted out N-31 “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard anyone use that term to describe a person who grew up in Wayward.”
Lucas managed to secure a table for them so they could chat with some degree of privacy, but not too much, given the number of hearing aids in the room that were likely calibrated to their most sensitive levels.
These women could hear a pin drop.
Before Lucas could ask her what she needed to talk about, Pinkie Wallensky walked inside the double doors of the center and waved to her devoted followers.
The undisputed matriarch of Wayward wore a hot pink velvet track suit with white Skechers, carrying her clutch pocketbook in one hand and a gift in another. Birdie viewed Ms. Pinkie as a cross between the no-nonsense Dorothy fromThe Golden Girls, and Maxine, the grumpy old cartoon lady with tons of attitude.
Ms. Pinkie placed the gift on a table toward the back of the room and then homed in on Lucas and the woman sitting beside him. She sauntered their direction and sat down at the same table, across from them, after picking up several cards and pulling out her own personal dauber from her purse.
Pinkie nodded. “Lucas.” And then with a raised eyebrow. “Birdie.”
Lucas smiled with a tilt of his head and widening of his eyes, indicating to Pinkie that she was to be on her best behavior, despite preconceived notions surrounding the person sitting next to him.
Lucas recited the letters and numbers called out in Pinkie’s absence. This wasn’t the first time the woman had made a fashionably late entrance to bingo night.
“It’s very nice to see you again, Ms. Pinkie,” Birdie said with an astonishing amount of earnest enthusiasm.
The caller, Jean Ann Quimby, who lived on Main Street and had an obsession for British royalty, yelled out, “B-12”.
Pinkie grumbled as she pushed several rows of stacked bracelets up her arm covered with age spots. “When did Jean Ann start talking with an English accent?”
Lucas answered while checking his cards, “I believe it was shortly after binge-watchingThe Crownfor the third time.”
“She sounds ridiculous.”
Lucas responded with, “I don’t know, I think she gives the town a European flair.”
Pinkie grunted and then nonchalantly asked, “How’s Bernadette doing these days?”
“She’s fine. Just told me today how much she misses you. That you should stop by.”
“Why do I always have to go to her? Why can’t the stubborn woman ever come to my house?”
“You know she hasn’t left the house since Rachel’s funeral.”
“She needs to get on with her life.” And then as if thinking twice, Pinkie added with a softer tone, “I’ll try to stop by tomorrow. Bring her some groceries.”
“She’d like that,” Lucas said with a smile. “No need to take groceries, I have a service that delivers food to her every week.
The caller belted out O-69 and the women in the room tittered behind their hands in unison.
At first, Lucas thought it was the British accent and then his face turned red, realizing it was the letter and number combination.
