September Fair by Jess Lourey

be released from a 1980s time machine. I recognized her tight rainbow shirt, Guess? jeans pinned at the ankles, and the acid-green jelly shoes. I think I’d worn them in my senior photo. Of course, I was ten plus years younger than Kennie, and that had been twelve years ago. She plopped the weave back on her platinum-blonde head. “In an effort at day-tawn-tay, I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”
    Détente? Kennie Rogers was to diplomacy what termites were to wood. “Hi, Kennie.” The mayor and I had reached an uncomfortable truce recently, after she’d been dumped by the Chief of Police for God. The experience had made me feel sorry for her, which was not the same as liking her, but better than wanting to drown her. “What’re you doing here?”
    “I came to see how city funds were being spent. The trailer was paid for by the Chamber of Commerce, you know.”
    It was still a marvel to me how Kennie got away with her thick Southern accent. She was Battle Lake, born and raised, except for a short stint in beauty school which hadn’t stuck. “How’d you get in the trailer?”
    “Key from Ron. And the bed in back will do just fine, thank you.”
    “Oh no,” Mrs. Berns piped in. “You’re not staying here. And even if you are, that’s my bed.”
    I started to walk away. My plan was to find a nice barn, pretend I was a cow, and live it up for the rest of my life. Worst-case scenario, I’d get committed and sent someplace where at least the people know they’re insane.
    “Where’re you going?” Both women called out in unison. I kept my stride.
    Kennie continued, her voice cajoling. “That mean you don’t want to know when Johnny’ll be here?”
    I stopped. My blood ran hot and cold, creating little explosions in locations where the temperatures met. Johnny Leeson was the Adonis of Battle Lake. The mere mention of his name brought delicious quivers to women. He had thick and wavy dirty-blonde hair, eyes blue enough to scare off clouds, sensuous and strong lips, and arms that could pick you up and throw you over his shoulder, if he wasn’t too nice of a guy for such a caveman move.
    He and I had a history, and like most histories, there were a lot of conflicts and misunderstandings. He was sexy, kind, and smart, too good for me, and I think that was the root of most of our problems. That, and my Dork Wattage shot off the charts when he appeared. It was his hands that made me the craziest. They were sunbrowned, big and capable, his fingers lean and perfectly proportioned. I couldn’t look at them without imagining them tangled in my hair, or moving down my naked back, or pulling me in fiercely for a passionate kiss that set us both on raging, all-consuming fire. Of course, any of that had yet to happen outside of my fertile imagination.
    “Might wanna put your leg down,” Mrs. Berns said. “I think you just sprayed that gentleman.”
    I blushed and nodded at the cowboy walking past. Then I turned and marched past the ladies and into the trailer. “We’re going to sit around the table and discuss this. All of it. Come on.”
    Suddenly, Mrs. Berns and Kennie were a team against me, honking like geese as they entered the Airstream. Kennie squawked the loudest. “Where did you leave off with him, anyhow? Have ya’all even gotten to first base?”
    “Doubt it,” Mrs. Berns said, taking the bench by the door. “Mira’d have better luck falling up than she does falling in love.” They both giggled.
    I shook my head. “Johnny and I have decided to back it up a little. To be friends, and see where that goes.” This was after he had profoundly disappointed me last month.
    “You can’t back up from nowhere, girl.”
    “Yeah, I think you have to actually be somewhere to back up from it, honey.”
    Sad but true. My past was sprinkled with men who had a drinking problem, thought that making sure you were awake first constituted foreplay, and/or were so afraid of commitment that they didn’t