“Poor Johnnie,” I said, slipping back into the borrowed gown.
Pearl picked up a piece of paper off her table and handed it to me. “I chanced leaving the cab unlocked since you were coming, and I planned on being home in time and would’ve, had I not run into damn Perry. Just in case, I thought you’d go on in and find this note.” She handed it to me, and I read her note. Honey, ran to town for eggs. Be back soon—make yourself comfortable.
I was surprised that Pearl would leave her cab unlocked, even for a short time.
Pearl pulled down a big colorful tin can off the shelf, pried it open, and pulled out a large bottle of Chicken Cock whiskey and poured a drink. “Sorry. Can you forgive me?”
“Only if you promise to forgive me.” I smiled sheepishly, deeply embarrassed by my outburst, worried I would lose her friendship, my sister. But Pearl had a generous soul, the words were sincere, her eyes kind, and I didn’t think she would be that small to let the riff come between us. “What do you think about Guyla Belle, Pearl?”
“I feel it’s bad and we should tell someone about her. Maybe the sheriff?”
“Not sure about the sheriff. He’s kin to Perry and Robbie, but we can try.”
Pearl shuddered. “If the men at the store hadn’t run Perry off, there’s no telling what he would’ve done.”
“I know Perry is evil, after seeing him hit Guyla Belle and threatening me.”
Pearl sighed loudly. “I think we could both use a drink. And some fun.” She handed me the glass of bourbon. “I’m off, my relief is over at the base, and it’s time for our party.” She raised the bottle with the rooster and pretty flowers on the label, wriggling it. “Only thing better than a fine bottle of Kentucky straight whiskey is having the address of a friendly bootlegger.”
I raised my brows, questioning.
Pearl threw back her head and laughed. “I couldn’t dare go to Devil John. And it’s a dry county, so I asked Francis. He said Devil John won’t sell to teenagers. But he pointed me to a discreet fella who used to work with him and dabbles in the bootlegging now and then.”
I laughed with her. “Looks like Francis not only steals kisses, but touts prized puddings and good whiskey.”
“Go ahead, Honey, have a drink. It’ll warm you up, and you’ve earned some fun.”
Hesitant, I sniffed the bourbon, then took my first drink of hard liquor and swallowed, coughing and choking on the burning liquid. My nose burned and eyes watered. Noting the time, I suddenly realized it was too late to call Papa about Francis. “Tell me more about pajama parties,” I wheezed and shook my head, tipping back the glass again.
“Well”—she looked at me a little teasingly, trying not to laugh—“you never wear wet ones to a party. Especially to a sleepover. Lest someone think you peed the bed.”
I giggled, feeling the whiskey hitting me.
Pearl poured herself another shot. “We should have some music, Honey.” She pulled out a small cream-and-red suitcase and another from under her bed and opened the bigger one. It was a new phonograph.
“That looks just like the ones in the magazines,” I said over her shoulder, glancing around the cab. “Never seen so many newfangled contraptions, and all in one place.” I sat down beside her on the rug.
Pearl handed me the small suitcase beside it. “Here’s the carrying case for the 45s. Pick out the records.”
I unlatched it to see the records lined between metal racks like the ones advertised in magazines. There had to be twenty, maybe more. Not knowing a lick about music, other than the hymns and ballads Mama taught me, I handed her one that read “The World Is Waiting for the Sunrise” by someone named Les Paul and Mary Ford.