The Potluck Club Read Online Free PDF Page A

I’m glad I was able to worm my way into the Grace Church Potluck Club. God knows they need me and my barbecued brisket. And soon, I can guess, I’ll be in charge of the whole shebang. I’ll be Queen of the Potluck, all right.
    I love the sound of that—and the sound my gold bracelets make every time I reach for the turn signal. I just love noisy baubles or anything that sparkles, like the two-karat rock I wear on my left ring finger. I had to do some fancy talking to get that one out of Henry. But I managed to get my way, as usual.
    Speaking of sparkle, that’s exactly my plan for the members of the Potluck Club. I’m going to give those pale-faced women a Mary Kay makeover. It’s not like I need a pink Cadillac. Shoot, I’d sell that makeup at cost just to improve the scenery around here. I want to rescue those drab women from their dry skin and wrinkles. The Colorado climate is a bit harsh, and some of those women look like well-weathered sailors. But I’ll fix that with my soothing layers of creams, pink foundation, and a bit of rosy blush. I can’t wait till I can get those gals together with a tube of lipstick. Let’s see, I think I’ll paint Evangeline’s lips a luscious bashful berry. Vern might even want to kiss lips like that.
    I always check my rearview mirror when I laugh, and now was no exception. My teal blue eyes look good with laugh lines, not to mention with my copper and gold eye shadow. I still look pretty good, despite the fact I haven’t even had my first face-lift. And even though I like to cook—like my mama before me—I don’t eat most of what comes out of my oven. I have to work hard to wear those size four petites. I never miss a day of Jane Fonda leading me in a workout, either. That’s unlike some of the Colorado “native” women around this town, who are, let’s say, a bit pudgy? No, I’ve never seen them on the hiking and biking trails around here. Maybe that’s what makes the trails so lonely.
    Yes, it’s a good thing I’m here. Why, I’ll shape all those little darlin’s up and put a bit of sparkle on them to boot.
    I have to admit it; the Potluck Club was a hard nut to crack. My lands, it wasn’t that difficult to become a member of the Woodlands Country Club. If it hadn’t been for Pastor Kevin’s wife, Jan, I’d still be out in the cold. These Colorado women are so cliquish! But not Jan Moore or her husband, Kevin. Really, the Moores are darlin’. Like me and Henry, they’re retired Texans. All the local folks of any character are, of course, from Texas. And it’s only natural for Texans to migrate to these parts. In 1836 Colorado was part of the Republic of Texas. Texans only come here to check up on their former claim and to put some life back into the place.
    But thinking back to the Moores, I can’t help but admire them. They’re in Summit View on kind of a working retirement. They’ve got the right idea, really. They’re only in their fifties and they’ve got a purpose. I use to have a purpose too—after all, I was the president of my community service sorority, the president of the soccer club association, and the president of the church choir, not to mention the mother of two children. Sure, I miss my clubs, but they’re behind me and my kids have outgrown me. My son, Nelson, is a nineteen-year-old sophomore at the University of Texas, a surefire party major, and twenty-three-year-old Mandy has been married only a year and will soon be a mother herself.
    I’ve got to get my purpose back. And I think I’ve found it at the church. After Henry and I visited Grace Church for the first time, Kevin and Jan drove up to our townhouse for a cup of coffee and some of my famous cinnamon rolls. But I have to give credit where credit’s due. Warm cinnamon rolls always help a friendship get off to a good start, and it certainly helped put me on Jan’s good side.
    Still, I had to work like a dog to find out what the social scene in the church was all