One Foot in the Grove Read Online Free PDF Page B

jewelry. Although not beauty-pageant, plastic-pretty like Bambi, Judi was attractive in a smoldering, earthy sort of way. Judi barely looked up at me as she continued speaking to her husband.
    â€œWhy not, Sal?” she said. “Women have used olive oil in beauty routines forever, right, Bambi?”
    â€œUm-hum,” said the blonde as she nodded. The expression on her face didn’t change at all.
    I set each china plate—filled with pan-fried Georgia trout drizzled with pecan brown butter, pork-seasoned simmered crowder peas and butter beans, buttermilk coleslaw, and pan-fried okra—in front of each woman. Then, I went to the kitchen door, where Loretta waited with two more plates of food.
    â€œIt’s a cockamamy idea,” growled Sal. “You girls waste my time with harebrained crap.”
    â€œI remember mother heating olive oil and putting it in my hair as a conditioner. And great-grandmother used to mix it in her night cream. Didn’t you guys do the same, Bambi?”
    â€œUh-huh.” No change in her expression. Bambi placed a pressed linen napkin in her lap and studied the food on her plate.
    I served a plate of food to each man.
    â€œSal, we could feature all sorts of skin care products,” continued Judi. “We could call the company ‘Olive Glow Bath and Body’ or ‘Judi’s Natural Beauty.’ What’s wrong with that?”
    From the kitchen, Loretta handed off a basket of cracklin’ biscuits and pitcher of sweet lime tea.
    â€œI like ‘Beauty from Bambi,’” said Bambi in a soft, sultry voice. “Remember, we talked about it on our walk today, Judi.”
    I set the biscuits on the table and began working my way around the guests, pouring tea. As I reached around Judi for her empty glass, Sal banged the table hard with his fist.
    â€œI’m not havin’ any wife of mine gettin’ into any business,” croaked Sal sharply. “Business is man’s work. Besides, like I said, the only way to make money in olive oil is how we’ve been doin’ it for years. Bottling and distribution.
That’s
our biz. So, stay out of it and shut up about it.”
    I finished pouring and gently set the last glass down on the linen tablecloth in front of Sal’s plate.
    â€œYou know, Sal, I’m getting tired of the way you treat me,” scolded Judi. “Bambi and I’ve got good ideas. The least you could do is listen.”
    â€œYeah,” echoed Bambi. “We know lotsa stuff.” She stabbed a single crowder pea with her fork and held it up to examine it. “How about ‘Bambi’s Beaudacious Beauty’? I like that name.”
    â€œWhat does that have to do with olive oil?” asked Judi. “It’s supposed to be about olive oil.”
    â€œYou’re both stupid,” said Sal, grabbing a biscuit. “Right, Guido?”
    â€œRight, boss.” With coleslaw on his chin, Guido shoveled a huge forkful of trout and crowder peas into his noisy mouth.
    â€œI don’t see why we can’t have our own business. It gets boring around the house all day long. Hey, speaking of olive oil, that reminds me,” said Judi. “Miss.” She turned in her chair and looked up at me as I crossed behind her. “Bambi and I were on our power walk earlier, and we noticed some of the olive trees didn’t look too good. Are they sick?”
    â€œSay!” interrupted Bambi, looking at me. “You’re that girl in the YouTube video, aren’t you? The runaway bride? From Boston?” Holding a single piece of fried okra on her fork, Bambi’s hand froze midair as she stared at me. With her batwing eyelashes and pouty, poofed-up lips, she looked like a surprised blowfish. The fried okra dropped to her plate. “Oh, phooey!”
    â€œDamned if it isn’t!” said Guido, staring at me as he pushed a mound of trout and coleslaw into his plump