“Eeeww, Gross Jen. He’s too fat. No way.”
“Pearline, please. I gotta finish countin’ this drawer.”
“I didn’t go to Beauty College for that!” she pointed, “and you don’t pay me enough.”
“Pearl, please.”
“No.” She folded her arms.
“Sweartagod. If you weren’t my best. You are the biggest pain in the—Deb, DEB! Comear.” Jen hissed.
“Yes ma’am.”
“Jesus, what’d I tell ya about that ma’am shit. Jumbo. Just walked through the door,” Jen said with a nod. “He’s riflin’ through the Paul Mitchell. Go see what he wants. Watch he don’t steal nothin’.”
“Yes ma’am.” Jen rolled her eyes. Deb turned and went to help the morning’s first customer. The sounds of metal gates being rolled up echoed as the mall came to life. “Morning, don’t you love his leave-in conditioner?” Deb drawled.
Looks at his watch, “I’m in town for the day and I have limited time. I need a pedicure.”
“Come in.” She turned and led. The well worn leather recliner let out a long, squeaky woooosh as he settled. “What brings you to Mobile?”
“I’m here for a writer’s conference.”
Deb’s eyes brightened. He untied his shoes. “You write?”
“I'm a literary agent. Look I have a headach--”
“You're a agent?! Wow, HEY PEARLINE, this guy’s a agent.” She pointed.
“Pearline’s wrote a book. She’s been lookin’ for a agent.” With a sinking feeling, he tried not to look.
“Oh hell no she didn’t,” Pearline said under her breath. She snatched something up off the counter and started in their direction.
“Pearl,” Jen growled.
OH MY GOD how do I get myself into these situations he raged inwardly, now in stocking feet. He removed his socks as she shoved the manuscript under his nose.
“Sweet baby Jesus toes, them are the prettiest feet I seen in a coon’s age!” Pearline exclaimed. Up close the rest of him looked pretty good too.
A Dog by Any Other Name: The Truth About the Southern Male. He was intrigued by the title and opened to page one.
“I mean I been lookin’ at feet a long time. Perfect cuticles. Hell mister, I ain’t seen feet like yours since I done Audry Hepburn’s.”
He read: While it is a fact well known to women the world over that most men will at least attempt a pretense at civility upon first meeting, this is not so of the southern male. He would rather dry-hump your leg. “Your first sentence is a bit long, but your thesis is quite clear. Orson’s my name,” he said, extending his hand.
“Pearline,” she said. They shook.
“May I take this back to my room for a further look." Orson felt a stirring. "You may have something here.”
“Only if you’ll let me get a picture of them feet.”
“Pearline, if I promised not to dry-hump your leg, would you join me for dinner at the Marriot.”
“Mister, I’d love that.”
"Pick you up at six."
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