Stand By Your Man.

Beth had argued Sam's decision to go to the local wide spot in the road for lunch. However the realtor had recommended the restaurant's pies and Sam had become quietly enraged when he found her folding laundry.

Sam:  You're not to work.

Beth:  Well, neither are you.  And you didn't have any more clean underwear
and here sits this nice washer and Deb did sneak in a bottle of detergent.
What am I supposed to do, leave you dirty?

Sam:  I have plenty of underwear.

Beth:  You put the massage oil in your drawer.  The cap fell off.  You
think you want to wander around in slimy sandalwood smelling shorts?

Sam:  Go on, get alliterative.  I'm not laughing.  You're not cooking
any lunch or dinner.  We're going into town.

Beth:  I like cooking for you.  I WANT to cook for you.  I enjoy it.

Sam:  And there's nothing I like better than to eat what you cook, girl.
But you've done nothing but work since we got here and that's enough.  Went
walking yesterday and what are you doing, picking wild blackberries.  Then
you had to get up at the crack of dawn to make blackberry pancakes and
sauce to being them to me in bed...

Beth:  And then I spilled them on you and had to clean them off...and you
got so whipped up I have to wash the sheets now and I don't know if I'll
ever get the blackberry juice out of them...

Sam wrapped his arms around her, letting one hand slip down the back of 
her shorts.  Warm skin against warm skin, he caressed her gently, then
lifted her up and away from the open dryer.  She heard the seams beginning
to let go, wrapped her arms around his neck and used it to support her 
weight and save her shorts.  Sam's hand slipped farther down and Beth
shuddered.

Beth:  Do we really need lunch?

Sam:  Yup.  Need to keep your strength up.  Go on, do what you're gonna
do and let's go.

Sam set her down and pulled his big hand away in a movement that kept 
heading up her spine after he'd withdrawn.  A stray finger had touched her
deeply on its way out, and Beth had to grab his arms to retain her feet.
She was shaking.  She wanted to drag him upstairs, she wanted him in the
bathtub wet and slippery under her hands, she wanted him in bed with the
sheets tangled around his hips and if he was too big to drag up the stairs
she would be more than happy with the deep couch.  But he grinned evilly,
he knew what she wanted, he turned her around, slapped her bottom hard
enough to make her jump but not hard enough to hurt, and sent her upstairs.

Beth:  Sombody's gonna pay for this.

Sam:  Send me a bill, Darlin'.

Beth:  I'm gonna bring you a bill, big boy!

Sam:  And you're not leavin' until I collect, either.  Go, go on, get
prettier.  I can wait.

He busied himself with his underwear, went to make sure the boat was
adequately fueled, watched the sky because it looked like rain despite
what the realtor had promised.  Eventually she came outside, wearing faded
jeans and a simple yellow blouse.  He couldn't help but smile at the sight 
of her, mostly because her grin was as evil as his had been earlier.  When
she stepped up beside him, he knew why.  She wore a certain perfume - he had
no idea what it was called and was probably lucky because if he'd known he
might have inundated her in it.  The fragrance always brought him graphic
visions of lovemaking.  It was this fragrance, a shy little something, that
drifted to his nostrils when he hugged her.  She stepped back, rested her
hand casually next to the front pocket of his jeans, then laughed softly.

Beth:  Now can we stay home?

Sam:  Nope.  Better bring your jacket, honey, we might get wet.

Sam dropped his USM jacket over her head, hoisted her up in his arms,
and playfully lugged her to the landing.  They felt sprinkles and Sam
insisted she hold the jacket over her head, but the real rain held off until
they got to the car.

Billy had decided he wanted an evening out.  He made this decision at three
in the afternoon, and gave me until three-twenty to get ready.  I protested.
In truth, I wanted to be alone with Billy, but to say this meant I was
risking more crap, and while crap usually led to other things I didn't feel
much like trying to keep up with his mouth.  I needed to shower before I 
could go anyplace, and dry my hair. and change my clothes, and maybe apply
a little makeup.  Twenty minutes wasn't going to be enough.  I hoped he
would tell me to take my time, and that he would get interested in some kind
of football game he would decide he had to see, and I could curl up along-
side him on the couch.  This entailed its own risks - being too close to 
Billy when he disputed a call could result in a headache, if not a minor
concussion, but I was willing if it meant a night alone in the house with
Billy.

Billy:  I said twenty minutes, girl.  You just shot three of 'em bitchin'.

Deb:  Oh, hell.

Billy:  Move it.  You ain't out here I'm leavin' withoutcha.

I showered, dried my hair and changed.  It would have to be enough.  
When I joined him he was already in the truck, laying on the horn, antsy to 
get going.

Billy:  You wearin' that?

Deb:  I have it on.

Billy:  Ain't you got anything...tighter?

Deb:  No.

Billy:  Damn.

Deb:  Where are we going?

Billy:  Meet some friends.  Raise some hell.

Deb:  In that order?

Billy:  Hope not.  Let's rock.

If these so-called friends of Billy's weren't the Bail Jumpers, they 
were damn close.  Before Billy and I had been in this shitkicking bar ten
minutes we had appropriated a corner, filled it with tables and covered the
tables with pitchers of beer.  I drank lightly, for a few reasons.  For one,
on the last few occasions that I had tangled with the noble hops and barleys
that comprised a fermented beverage, I had come out a distant second.  Also,
too many of the people crowding the corner were dedicated Dixies, with big
hair and correspondingly tiny brainpans.  I didn't put it past Billy to try
something with one of the idiots, just to prove he could.  So I watched the
Dixies with a jaundiced eye, whaled on Billy's thigh a lot to remind him I
was watching, warned a few of the cows off with displays of waving
claws, and fought the need to go to the ladies room.  Billy was my
magnificent obsession, and I wasn't about to let him out of my sight.

At seven, I had to give up and excuse myself.  I couldn't avoid making the
trip anymore.  A woman in the ladies room had seen me threading my way out
of the corner, we'd entered the restroom at the same time, and we stood
side by side at the sloppy sinks to wash out hands.  She didn't look or act
the least bit like a Dixie.

Woman:  You know Bill Strannix?

Deb:  Know him?  He's the love of my life.

Woman:  You poor thing.

The two of us left the bathroom - to find ourselves in the middle of a
bar brawl.  George Thoroughgood's 'Bad To The Bone' was playing over the
bar's sound system, Billy was joyously dispensing generous amounts of
whoop-ass to all comers and I was inclined to let him get it out of his
system until two things happened almost simultaneously.  One, I heard the
bartender phoning Lubbock's finest.  Two, and what set me off, I saw a
Dixie leap onto Billy's back.  He went on pounding people as though she 
wasn't there, while she tried to get his attention by bouncing certain
oversized, tightly spandexed portions of her anatomy off his ears.  I saw 
red.

Beth decided that small town, home grown restaurants were probably the
same from one end of the country to the other.  This could have been any
hole in the wall in Texas except that there were no cowboy hats or boots,
and rather an overabundance of blaze orange hunting vests.  Sam led her to 
a corner booth, tucked her in and sat beside her, dropping a light kiss on
her ear.

Sam:  Kind of on the small side, isn't it?

Beth:  Sometimes you get the best food in places like this.

Sam:  Decided to make the best of it?

Beth:  I'll get my revenge.

She leaned closer, giving him a noseful of her perfume.  He breathed
deep and shuddered, tightening his hand on her shoulder.

Waitress:  Coffee?

Sam:  Please, one, and an iced tea.  And two of whatever the special is 
today.

Waitress:  Haven't seen you two around here before, ya know.

Sam:  This is our first weekend.  I'm Sam Gerard and this is my lady, Beth Franklin.

Waitress:  Sam Gerard?  Sounds familiar...EMIL!!

Emil:  What now, Annie?

Annie:  You ever head of Sam Gerard?

Emil:  Cop in them Tommy Lee Jones movies.  Hell of a man, ya know!   
Oughta get him up here, he'd show them DNR idiots how t'catch deer shiners.

Annie:  He's out here!  In our restaurant.  Emil's my husband, ya know.
Come on out here, Emil!

Beth knew she was getting red in the face.  Deb had warned her about
the incessant 'yaaaah' and 'ya know' and 'you betcha' that was common
speech in Minnesota.  She had said it made people sound like they did about
33 1/3 in a 45 rpm world.  They would seem like mental defectives, even if
they weren't.  That the guys who made 'Fargo' hadn't been that far off.
Sam's hand on her shoulder reminded her not to laugh out loud.

Emil:  Sam Gerard!  In my restaurant!  I'll be a son-of-a-gun!  Annie!
Get 'em their coffee, fer Gaahd's sake.  Stand around much longer, you'll
put down roots.  Sam Gerard!  I'll be a son-of a gun...

Sam's big foot was pressing down on Beth's instep.  She snorted lightly
but managed to maintain.

Annie:  Emil, specials are up, ya know.

Emil:  So get 'em off the grill and bring 'em out, fer Gaahd's sake.  Where
you and the lady stayin', Sam?

Sam:  I just bought us a place on an island in the middle of Echo Lake.

Annie:  Yaaah.  Gunnar said he just sold the Amundsen place, ya know.

Emil:  Shut your head, woman!  They'll die of starvation before you get
their lunch out to 'em, fer Gaahd's sake.  Woman's tongue's hung in the
middle so it can run on both ends, ya know.

Annie:  You betcha, Emil.  You should talk, ya know.  Here ya go...and 
it's on the house.  It's an honor to have you with us, Sam.

Beth was nudging Sam repeatedly.  These seemed to be lovely, kind
people but if she didn't get out of this restaurant she was going to 
explode.

Annie:  Emil...EMIL!  Let's leave these two kids alone, fer Gaahd's sake.
They didn't come in here to make conversation with the likes of us, ya know.

Annie and Emil retreated to the lunch counter, allowing Sam and Beth to
regard their 'specials'.  Beth didn't even bother with her plate at first,
instead she all but shoved Sam out of the booth and fled to the ladies
room, where she turned on the water and sat, laughing horribly and hoping 
the running water covered the sound.  She splashed water on her face over
and over, to try and bring the color down, and finally felt capable of
rejoining Sam.

Sam:  Okay now?

Beth:  Unless they come over here and start yakking at us again.  I feel
like I stumbled into some real life 'Fargo'.

Sam:  Eat your lunch.  It's good.

Beth:  I don't know if I can.  It's all deep fried.

Sam:  They were good enough to give it to us...

Beth:  I know, I know.  I'll manage.  But, Sam...if I've got a mouthful...

Sam:  Beth.

Beth:  Sorry.  Fer Gaahd's sake.

Sam:  Oh, shut up.

Fortunately for Beth, Annie and Emil left them alone unless they needed
refills of coffee or tea.  Annie came to take their plates, and without
being asked brought them huge slices of strawberry pie with real whipped
cream.  Beth had to surpress an image of strawberry glaze running down
Sam's chest, with herself slowly licking it off..  Sam might have had a
similar problem.  He abruptly excused himself and hurried off to the mens
room.  Beth noticed that the room Sam went into was labeled 'Bucks' while
the room she'd used was labeled, what else 'Does.'  Was there no end to the
stereotypes up here?  Of course, there were any number of places in 
Texas where the restrooms were labeled 'bulls' and 'heifers' or 'stallions' 
and 'fillies' or 'setters' and 'pointers', so maybe it wasn't so much the
stereotype as it was the way it was expressed.  Annie came to their table
with a fresh glass of tea and the coffeepot.

Annie:  Yah've got quite a man, there, ya know.

Beth plunged her nails onto the palms of her hands.

Beth:  Yes, I know.

Annie:  And he loves ya to death.  I can tell by the way he looks at ya, 
ya know.

Beth:  I try to deserve it.

Annie:  It doesn't take a fool to see how ya feel.  You two gonna be
married?

Beth:  I don't know.  It hasn't come up.

Annie:  Well, ya should talk about it, ya know.  Ya make a beautiful
couple and any time a man loves ya the way yours loves you, ya grab on and
don't let go.

Beth:  Can I ask...how long have you and Emil been married?

Annie:  Fifty years next year.  Almost lost Emil three years ago, cancer.
Awful scary, ya know.  I don't know what I'd do without him.  Loved him
when I was a girl, loved him enough to marry him, and I love him now.

Beth:  So you speak from experience.

Annie:  Yaaah, you betcha.  Keep hold of your Sam, honey.  Oh...here he 
comes.  With my Emil hangin' off his beltloop like a growth...EMIL!  Leave
the man alone!

I went barrelling across the bar, into the center of the brawl.  Where
else would Billy be, certainly not on the fringes of such an exciting
event.  I was able to dodge to flying fists and beer bottles and chairs
with a genius borne of fury.  I wanted that pneumatic bitch on my Billy's
back and I wasn't going to settle for anything less.

Deb:  You better let go of that man right the hell now!!

'Dixie':  Billy...

Deb:  Is MINE!  Get off his back or you're gonna have one mad bitch
hangin' off the end of your nose!

I yanked at her shoulders.  I pulled her off, causing Billy to stagger
and probably not get blasted in the head with a chair.  The Dixie stumbled
on her high heels and fell to the floor.  I went down on my knees beside
her and went after the hair, first.  I decided I was going to rip it out.
The woman and I were going at one another, screaming and slashing with
long red claws, and my righteous anger was carrying the engagement.  I was
getting close to putting the final touches on the Dixie's rearranged face
when I felt two big hands on my shoulders, dragging me backwards.

Billy:  Christ on a pony, woman, git outa the damn way before ya get hurt!

Deb:  Shut up!  I'm gonna put this witch in a world of hurt!

Billy didn't respond to that happy statement, instead he shoved me to the
floor.  A fist filled the space where my head had been.  Billy knocked his
assailant across the room.  I kept waiting for the banjo music to start up 
and the General Lee to screech into the parking lot.  Instead I went back
to work on the Dixie.  She was yelling for Billy, Billy was yelling at me
and I was warning Strannix that I intended to finish the job.  Billy
hauled me off the woman again.

Billy:  Dammit, knock it the hell off, I been told!  I know where to go if I
want some sugar!  She's a coyote date, baby!

Deb:  Coyote...?

Billy:  Yeah, ya wake up next to that, ya chew your damn arm off before ya
wake it up!  Down!

I dropped to my knees.  Billy deflected a chair, swatting it away like a
fly so it wouldn't land on my head.

Billy:  What the hell crawled up your ass besides her?

Deb:  We've gotta go!

Billy:  Like hell!  This is just gettin' fun!

Deb:  The cops are coming!

Billy:  Let 'em!  I'll beat their ass!

Deb:  I'm sure you'll try, big guy, but if they pick you up Sam'll be down
here to file charges tomorrow if he has to crawl every foot of the way!
Come on!

Billy:  Probably got an alert out or some damn thing, I'll bet you're right.
Okay, come on, let's go home.

Billy and I drove as sedately out of the parking lot as he could manage,
he only laid a little scratch.  Billy was making a right at the corner
when we saw the police converging on the bar.

Billy:  I'll be damned!  You saved my neck again, baby.

Deb:  You're welcome.

Billy took my hand in his, raised it to his lips and lightly bit my
palm.  I moved as close as I could.  If his hands wanted the European plan
for the evening - roamin' and rushin' - then they, and he, were welcome.


TO BE CONTINUED...