The Man She Married. Ann Defee
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and screwed up her face.
Liza waited a few moments before speaking. “Actually what?”
“Actually, I have an ulterior motive.”
“Duh.” Liza crossed her arms. “Sweating isn’t exactly your thing, and believe it or not, Sweet Cakes, when you exercise you glow, big time.”
Every Southern girl knew that horses sweated, men perspired and women glowed. Maizie didn’t bother to suppress her grimace. “I have some waterproof makeup. It stops up your pores so I don’t normally wear it, but in this case I’ll give it a shot.”
“Look.” Liza propped her chin on her hand. “What is this really all about?”
“I want to make Clay jealous.”
“What?”
Maizie couldn’t help feeling uncomfortable. “Clay’s been ignoring me lately and I want him to realize that even though I’m middle-aged and plump, some men find me attractive.”
Liza massaged her forehead. “Let me get this straight. Please God, tell me I’m understanding this. You’re planning to flirt with some dude on the tennis court to make Clay jealous?”
“Sort of.”
Liza smacked her hand on the wooden table. “That’s one of the dumbest schemes I’ve ever heard. Let me make one thing perfectly clear. You are a gorgeous woman. And plump, please! Women all over the country pay good money to have what God’s given you.”
“Don’t get your knickers in a twist.” Maizie leaned forward to let Liza in on a secret. “It’s perfectly innocent. All I’m going to do is flirt with the new tennis pro. I checked him out, he’s not married, or engaged or even dating anyone.” She’d researched his relationship status by calling a friend who was a member of the club and a tennis fiend. “I’m certainly not planning to do anything other than get Clay’s attention. How can anything go wrong?”
Chapter Six
Maizie had tried to sound confident when talking to Liza, but to be totally truthful she wasn’t that sure her plan would work. And no matter what Liza said, she had gained several pounds—most of it right on her caboose.
However, she’d learned early in her beauty-pageant career that self-confidence could mask a ton of deficiencies, and fortunately that included a sizable derriere. It also required a certain amount of assistance, and in this case that meant a sexy, new tennis outfit.
Maizie and Clay were having breakfast when she volleyed the first shot in her “make my hubby jealous” campaign. “I’m going into Atlanta this morning to do some shopping.”
“Okay,” he answered.
“Just okay?” Why was she being so snarky? She frequently went to Atlanta, so why should this trip be different?
Clay put down the paper and shook his head.
“I’m sorry,” Maizie said. “That was uncalled for.”
He stared at her a few seconds and gently laid his hand on her cheek. “I love you. You know that, don’t you?”
The tenderness of his touch gave Maizie pause.
“Do you want me to come with you?”
“No! Uh, I mean, that’s not necessary.” Having him along would screw up the purpose of her shopping trip.
“Okay, if you’re sure.” Clay took her hand and kissed the tips of her fingers. Darn that man. He knew how to push every one of her buttons. She just wished he’d do it more often.
MAIZIE PULLED INTO THE parking lot of a tennis and golf superstore. It was a gigantic warehouse filled with sports equipment and clothing. She was more familiar with tony boutiques than places like the Tennis and Golfarama. Maizie was out of her element and didn’t have a clue where to start.
“May I help you?” a clerk asked when she walked in. The young woman was tanned brunette wearing skintight warm-up gear. There wasn’t an ounce of cellulite on that buff body.
“I need some tennis…uh…stuff.”
“A racquet or clothes?”
“Both. Actually, I haven’t played in years so I need everything, right down to the socks and bloomers.”
Maizie’s admission elicited a laugh from the saleswoman.
“I’m Cindi,” she said, sticking her hand out for a shake.
Maizie would just bet she dotted the “i” with a heart.
“I’m sure we can find exactly what you need.”
An hour later Maizie’s credit card was limp from exhaustion and she was the proud owner of three new tennis outfits—all super sexy, of course—a top-of-the-line racquet and a pair of shoes guaranteed to put a spring in her step. Now all she needed was a plan, preferably one that had a chance of working.
MAIZIE’S FRIEND AT THE TENNIS club had also informed her that Trip Fitzgerald wasn’t as young as he looked. He was actually closer to her age than to the young matrons who swarmed him like bees to honey.
But even so, Maizie had serious doubts about her ability to attract his attention. She wasn’t twenty anymore, nor was she a size zero. Would he think of her as nothing more than a middle-aged groupie? The last thing she wanted was to come off as a pathetic cliché.
That would be incredibly humiliating.
Maizie was closing in on D-day, or T-day, as the case may be. She had the clothes, the racket, the shoes and she’d signed up for a series of lessons. The only thing she lacked was confidence. So naturally she made an impromptu visit to Cousin Kenni’s salon, Permanently Yours.
Liza wasn’t on board with her “make Clay jealous” plan. Perhaps Kenni would be more encouraging. What would Maizie do if her cousin jumped aboard the “ohmigod, that’s a bad idea” bandwagon?
The Permanently Yours salon clientele ranged from senior citizens with tight perms to trendy adolescents and everyone in between. Like Miss Scarlett’s Boudoir, it was a happening place.
“Hey, Toolie, what’s up?” Maizie said as she walked in. Tallulah—aka Toolie—was an ex-pat from Atlanta, cute as a button and totally cool. Today she was sporting a spiked purple do that showed off her multiple earrings.
“Not much. Kenni’s in the back doing Laverne Hightower’s hair.” She made a face to indicate her “ick” reaction.
“Gotcha.” Maizie gave her a high five before heading toward the back of the salon.
“Hey, Raylene.” Raylene was Kenni’s other stylist. She specialized in the curly styles that were de rigueur with the over-eighty crowd. The hairdresser responded with a three-fingered wave.
“Hi, Kenni.” Maizie smiled at her cousin in the mirror.
“Hello, Mrs. Hightower. How are you doing?” She knew when to suck up.
“Hello, Maizie Walker. How are you?”
“Fine, thank you, ma’am. You haven’t been to the boutique lately. We’re about to have a sale. You need to drop by, now ’ya hear? I always have gourmet coffee brewing.”
“Gourmet, huh?” Laverne was renowned for grazing through the free samples at the Piggly Wiggly.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Kenni secured the last pink foam roller and twirled her customer around. “I’m going to put you under the dryer now.”
Kenni made sure Laverne was comfortable under a hood that looked like an old Saturday Night Live cone of silence and then crooked her finger at Maizie.
“Let’s go to the office.” The salon’s office/break-room