The three high school seniors occupied a booth at the local Dairy Barn. Hutch and Lamar shared one vinyl bench. Neal was sprawled along the other, across the pink Formica table.
“I don’t believe a word of it,” Hutch said.
“My old man took me to her.”
Lamar grimaced at the thought. “Weren’t you embarrassed?”
“Hell no.”
Hutch looked at Lamar scornfully. “He’s lying, you fool.” Turning back to Neal, he asked, “Where is this whorehouse?”
Neal checked his reflection in the plate glass window at the end of the booth. His handsome face gazed back at him. Just the right amount of dark blond bangs dipped low over the brows above his sexy green eyes. His maroon and white high school letter jacket looked well used and hung jauntily off his shoulders.
“I didn’t say he took me to a whorehouse. I said he took me to a whore.”
Hutch Jolly wasn’t as physically attractive as his friend Neal. He was a big, gawky boy with wide, bony shoulders and bright red hair. His ears poked straight out from the sides of his head. Leaning in closer, he licked his fleshy lips. His voice was soft and conspiratorial. “You mean to tell me there’s a whore right here in town? Who is she? What’s her name? Where does she live?”
Neal gave his friends a lazy smile. “You think I’m going to share a secret like that with you two? Next thing I’d know, you’d be beating down her door, making damn fools of yourselves. I’d be ashamed to claim I knew you.”
He signaled the waitress and ordered another round of cherry Cokes. Once their fountain drinks had been delivered, Neal sneaked a silver flask from the inside pocket of his letter jacket and liberally laced his drink before offering it to the others. Hutch helped himself to the bourbon.
Lamar declined. “No, thanks. I’ve had enough.”
“Chickenshit,” Hutch said, gouging him in the gut with his elbow.
Neal slipped the flask back into his jacket pocket. “My old man says there are two things a man never gets enough of. Whiskey and women.”
“Amen.” Hutch agreed with anything Neal said.
“Don’t you agree, Lamar?” Neal taunted.
The dark-haired boy shrugged. “Sure.”
Frowning with displeasure, Neal flopped back against the booth. “You’re getting downright serious on us, Lamar. If you can’t keep up, we’ll have to start leaving you behind.”
Lamar’s dark eyes filled with worry. “What do you mean ‘keep up’?”
“I mean like raising hell. I mean like getting laid. I mean like getting drunk.”
“His mama doesn’t like for him to do those bad things.” Hutch effeminately folded his large, ruddy hands beneath his chin and batted his eyelashes. Speaking in a falsetto voice, he looked and sounded ridiculous. Lamar took the jibe seriously.
“I puked my guts out the same as y’all last Friday night!” he exclaimed. “Didn’t I steal those watermelons this summer like you told me to, Neal? Wasn’t I the one who bought the spray paint when we wrote that graffiti on the post office wall?”
Hutch and Neal laughed at his vehemence. Neal reached across the table and slapped Lamar’s cheek. “You’ve done real good, Lamar. Real good.” Unable to keep a straight face, he burst into laughter again.
Hutch’s bony shoulders were shaking with mirth. “You puked up more than the two of us put together, Lamar. What’d your mama think of your hangover yesterday morning?”
“She didn’t know I was feeling bad. I stayed in bed.”
They were bored. Sunday nights were always boring. The bad girls were recuperating from Saturday night bacchanals and didn’t want to be bothered. The good girls went to church. There were no sporting events scheduled on Sundays. They hadn’t felt like crabbing or fishing that evening.
So Neal, always the leader and strategist, had rounded up the other two in his sports car and they had cruised the streets of Palmetto, looking for something to do to amuse th
emselves. But after cruising the main drag several times, they had failed to find any action in town.
“Want to go out to Walmart and look around?” Lamar had suggested.
The other two chorused, “No.”