Island of the Sequined Love Nun Read Free Page A

Confederacy at their annual "Let's Lynch Leroy" pecan pie bakeoff, held every Martin Luther King Jr. Day. (She didn't agree with their politics, but the belles could sure sell some makeup. If the South did not rise again, it wouldn't be for lack of foundation.)
    Today, as Mary Jean came through the doors of the main lobby, she was flanked by a tall predatory woman in a black business suit-a severe contrast to Mary Jean's soft pastel blue ensemble with matching bag and pumps. "Strength and femininity are not exclusive, ladies." She was sixty-five; matronly but elegant. Her makeup was perfect, but not overdone. She wore a sapphire-and-diamond pin whose value approximated the gross national product of Zaire.
    She greeted every orderly and nurse with a smile, asked after their families, thanked them for their compassionate work, flirted when appropriate, and tossed compliments over her shoulder as she passed, without ever missing a step. She left a wake of acutely charmed fans, even among the cynical and stubborn.
    Outside Tucker's room the predatory woman-a lawyer-broke formation and confronted the maggotry of reporters, allowing Mary Jean to slip past.
    She poked her head inside. "You awake, slugger?"
    Tuck was startled by her voice, yanked out of his redundant reverie of unemployment, imprisonment, and impotence. He wanted to pull the sheets over his head and quietly die.
    "Mary Jean."
    The makeup magnate moved to his bedside and took his hand, all compassion and caring. "How are you feeling?"
    Tucker looked away from her. "I'm okay."
    "Do you need anything? I'll have it here in a Texas jiffy."
    "I'm fine," Tucker said. She always made him feel like he'd just struck out in his first Little League game and she was consoling him with milk and cookies. The fact that he'd once tried to seduce her doubled the humiliation. "Jake told me that you're having me moved to Houston. Thank you."
    "I have to keep an eye on you, don't I?" She patted his hand. "You sure you're feeling well enough for a talk?"
    Tucker nodded. He wasn't buying the outpouring of warm fuzzies she was selling. He'd seen her doing business on the plane.
    "That's good, honey," Mary Jean said, rising and looking around the room for the first time. "I'll have some flowers sent up. A touch of color will brighten things up, won't it? Something fragrant too. The constant smell of disinfectant must be disturbing."
    "A little," Tuck said.
    She wheeled on her heel and looked at him. Her smile went hard. Tuck saw wrinkles around her mouth for the first time. "Probably reminds you of what a total fuckup you are, doesn't it?"
    Tucker gulped. She'd faked him out of his shoes. "I'm sorry, Mary Jean. I'm…"
    She raised a hand and he shut up. "You know I don't like to use profanity or firearms, so please don't push me, Tucker. A lady controls her anger."
    "Firearms?"
    Mary Jean pulled the Lady Smith automatic out of her purse and leveled it at Tucker's bandaged crotch. Strangely, he noticed that Mary Jean had chipped a nail drawing the gun and for that, he realized, she really might kill him.
    "You didn't listen to me when I told you to stop drinking. You didn't listen when I told you to stay away from my representatives. You didn't listen when I told you that if you were going to amount to anything, you had to give your life to God. You'd better damn well listen now." She racked the slide on the automatic. "Are you listening?"
    Tuck nodded. He didn't breathe, but he nodded.
    "Good. I have run this company for forty years without a hint of scandal until now. I woke up yesterday to see my face next to yours on all the morning news shows. Today it's on the cover of every newspaper and tabloid in the country. A bad picture, Tucker. My suit was out of season. And every article uses the words 'penis' and 'prostitute' over and over. T can't have that. I've worked too hard for that."
    She reached out and tugged on his catheter. Pain shot through his body and he reached for the ringer for