Femme Noir by Clara Nipper Page B

counter and ordered the same.
    “Sweet or sour?” the enormous woman behind the counter drawled. She was the color of milk chocolate and had beautiful glossy skin that was clear and shiny with oil. She wore a head rag and a stained white apron.
    “Sweet or sour what?” I asked uncomfortably. This was the first time I had been anywhere in the South and also the first time I had ever had what I suspected to be authentic barbecue. I felt the woman in the corner staring at her.
    “Sauce,” the counter woman answered.
    “Sweet.”
    “It’s mighty hot.” The woman eyed me, full of doubt.
    I regained some composure and smiled seductively. “Just the way I like it. Hot and sweet.”
    “Uh-huh.” The woman rolled her eyes and took my money. “No refunds. I’ll bring it when it’s done. Have a seat.”
    I walked over to the person I had tailed and asked if I could sit with her. She let her eyes wander pointedly over the two empty tables nearby, then back to me. I resisted any explanation and just stood silently. At last, the woman shrugged and shoved a chair out with her foot. With a nod of thanks, I sat. The woman picked up another rib with both hands.
    “I’m Nora Delaney.” I gave my power smile.
    The woman let go of her rib with one hand and without wiping it, she stuck it out for me to shake as she growled, “Sloane.”
    I shook her sticky, greasy hand briskly. Sloane had big muscular mitts thick with yellow calluses on the palms. I swallowed, just slightly uncomfortable. I remembered taking dates to Ethiopian restaurants in LA so I could check out their hands. Ethiopian food came without any utensils, so I was free to observe my dates’ style and grace as they ate. This woman’s hands told me: caution.
    “Sloane Weatherly?” I asked.
    “Yep.”
    “I’ve heard of you from a couple of people.”
    Sloane looked up, grinning unpleasantly. “Ah, my reputation precedes me.”
    I laughed, unable to relax. Usually, I was the intimidating one, the strongest one, the predator…in my game, in my job, in my love life. But this bulky-bodied butch was a little scary. She was built like a fireplug and every ounce was muscle. The way her shoulders bunched over her plate, Sloane reminded me of a grizzly devouring a salmon. I was solidly muscular too, but I felt like a toothpick in comparison.
    “Places are open later here than I would’ve expected. I thought you’d roll up the sidewalks at six,” I said, attempting humor.
    Sloane studied me without blinking. “We only leave open the places we need. The absolute essentials. ”
    “Here’s your dinner.” The counter woman set a tray of ribs and sauce, coleslaw, potato salad, white bread and butter, whole jalapenos, a slice of raisin pie, and a strawberry soda on the table. “Enjoy.”
    “Thank you.” I smiled again, and again, got nowhere with it. The woman harrumphed and switched her big ass tantalizingly all the way back to the kitchen.
    “You got the same thing I did,” Sloane observed.
    “Yeah, I figured you would know what is good.”
    “I sure do,” Sloane answered. I got a picture of Max in my mind and thought of the two of them together. A sick wave of jealousy washed over me, and suddenly I wasn’t hungry, in spite of the delectable aromas. My hands itched for a cigarette. I longed to dash this plate to the floor and grind my heel in it. I needed a drink. A strong one. What had Max been drinking? Gin and tonic. My mouth ached for something to pull on. My lips needed to close around something and suckle it.
    “Aren’t you going to eat?” Sloane asked, dropping a rib bone.
    “I guess.” I picked up a rib, fat with meat and glossy with sauce. My teeth crunched in the crispy flesh that was saturated with smoke and sauce. The meat was chewy and tender. Ah, yes, this was the Real. The counter woman/cook had thrown in plenty of burnt ends. Mmmm, mmmm, goddamn, this was holy. It felt good in my mouth. I thought of Max’s thighs, as ivory and milky