Stiffs and Swine (7 page)

The five friends had filled their empty bellies with sausage and corn and shared two elephant ears among themselves. After they dusted confectioners’ and cinnamon sugar from their pants, they decided to check out the area where the barbecue contests would take place.

The judging area consisted of a large white tent erected on a section of grass that would normally serve as part of the park’s soccer field. The two tent openings were cordoned off using thick pink twine. A sign taped to the twine warned that admittance was granted to contest
officials only and that should contestants enter without permission, they would be instantly disqualified.

“This barbecue contest is so serious!” Lindy exclaimed. “I had no idea.” She shifted through the schedules in her hand. “Does it say what the prizes are anywhere?”

James pointed at an orange sheet of paper as he tried to suck fragments of corn from between his back molars. “The festival champion gets the biggest prize. Anyone who wins that title gets five thousand dollars, a new commercial trailer cooker—valued at almost nine thousand—and a contract with Heartland Foods. You heard Jimmy at lunch. That contract’s worth a lot of money.”

“Who’s Jimmy?” Gillian frowned, poking at a piece of corn caught in her lower teeth with her fingernail. “Did you have lunch with a barbecue aficionado?”

“You could say that.” Bennett sniffed. “Mostly we watched as he inhaled enough food for three people.”

“That’s because half of it ended up on his shirt, the tablecloth, and his beard,” Lindy scoffed.

“He’s one of the contestants,” James explained to Gillian. “He has, ah, a rather
large
personality. Calls himself The Pitmaster.”

“According to this schedule, everyone competes in teams.” Lindy studied the orange paper. “Jimmy’s team is called the Pitmasters, but there are five other teams competing.” She grinned. “You guys are gonna love these names. The other teams are the the Thigh and Mighties, an all-female team called Adam’s Ribbers, the Marrow Men, the Tenderizers, and the Finger Lickers. Each team has a leader, or spokesperson, and theirs is the only name listed in the program. They’re the ones who’ll be turning in their team’s food to the judges.”

The group climbed a small hill leading to the cooking area. “I guess it makes sense to cook as a part of a team,” Bennett said. “Then you can enter every category and have a better chance at winning. Besides, according to this rule sheet, most of these guys will have to take turns staying up all night. Some of these entries, like barbecued brisket, take more than a day to cook.”

“Looks like they’ve already started.” Lucy gestured at the campground area spread out in front of them.

The five friends paused, taking in the view of hundreds upon hundreds of RVs parked alongside one another in remarkably straight rows for what seemed like miles. Striped awnings had been unfurled, and lawn chairs and folding tables had been unfolded and decorated with cloths and cushions. Boom boxes competed with one another, though most played country music, while American flags or banners representing favorite sports teams flew from camper roofs. Some of the travelers had even spread out rolls of outdoor carpet in order to make their temporary parcels homier.

But above all the other pieces of equipment, there was one outdoor fixture that formed the centerpiece of each campsite: the grill. There were grills of all shapes and sizes. James spotted tiny camping grills; full-sized backyard grills with propane tanks; space-age, egg-shaped cookers; and enormous, cylinder-shaped cookers that required their own trailers and were no doubt used by the professional barbecue teams.

“Those things are so big they’ve gotta be towed behind the RVs,” Bennett stated, looking at the closest professional cooker. “Shoot, I’ve seen European cars smaller than them. You could hide two grown men in one of those grills.” He inhaled blissfully. “Ah, yeah! Folks are cooking some meat, all right.”

“You just ate,” Gillian pointed out. “How can you sound so enticed?”

“Doesn’t mean I couldn’t eat some more later, woman,” Bennett replied pleasantly. “You know, they’re gonna have chicken barbecue here, too. You don’t have to eat corn and hush puppies the whole time, unless you’re goin’ full-scale vegetarian on us this weekend.”

Gillian stared at the grills and curtains of smoke suspiciously. “That is
certainly
my preference.”

“Hey! Let’s go check out what the teams look like,” Lucy suggested, hoping to divert Gillian. “I’d like to see what the all-female team is
up to.”

James hesitated. “Are we supposed to fraternize with the contestants?”

Lucy shrugged. “We haven’t been given the food-judging guidelines yet. As of now, we’re just tourists and, I’ve got to admit, I find this all pretty fascinating.”

Gillian put her hands on her hips and gave her toes inside her Birkenstock sandals an agitated wiggle. “
I
would prefer to view the sand-drawing event.” She held a map in front of her face. “It’s in Area C. I find the combination of flowing sand and graceful motion very soothing. Would anyone care to join me?”

Receiving no offers, Gillian told her friends that she would see them later on at the Hog Fest beauty contest.

“Poor Gillian.” Lindy watched their friend stride away in a flowing skirt of lavender with tiny brass bells stitched on the hem. “I hope she can have a good time at this festival.”

“Sure she can.” Bennett waved off Lindy’s concern. “Did you get a load of all those hippie vendors? And what about the trained dog performances? And she loves our hotel. She can take nature walks for the rest of the festival once we’re done pickin’ out the piggy princess.”

As the foursome strolled by RVs the size of commercial buses, they heard the familiar voice of Jimmy Lang. He had his arm slung around a familiar-looking young woman. As the supper club members slowed in order to witness their exchange, Jimmy whispered something into the girl’s ear, gave her a light swat on the bottom, and laughed as she waved goodbye.

“Wasn’t that Eleanor’s daughter?” Lindy asked, appalled.

Just then, the side door of a mid-sized RV opened, and a wide-hipped, thick-thighed woman with blonde hair and black roots stepped down onto the trampled grass, eyeing Jimmy warily. “Who you talkin’ to, Jimmy?”

“No one, sugar lips,” Jimmy replied in a hoarse bark. “Your Big Daddy’s sure thirsty, though.” Once again, Jimmy was sweating profusely. “Can you be my baby doll and get me a cold one?”

The woman pulled her tank top down over a roll of exposed flesh protruding from her tight jean shorts. “Sure, hon.”

At that moment, Jimmy looked up and saw the supper club members staring at him.

“Why, if it ain’t the beauty judges!” he bellowed with a smile, displaying his repulsive flaky lips and mouth filled with yellow teeth. “I’m sure glad you popped by. I’ve got some ribs that are just ’bout ready to eat. Gotta wait ’til the bark’s just right.”

“The bark?” Bennett asked, curiosity sparkling in his brown eyes.

“Yessir. That’s the crust of rub that forms on the outside of the meat when it’s been cooking loooong and sloooow. It’s so good you’d think you’d died and gone to heaven.” He swung around as the woman reappeared with his beer. “Thanks, darlin’. Y’all, this is my old lady, Hailey.”

James and his friends shook hands with Jimmy’s girlfriend. James figured Jimmy was about fifty years old, but Hailey was easily ten years Jimmy’s junior. A tattoo of a dove flew across the round hump of her left breast, and James couldn’t help but stare at the revealed flesh. Noting his gaze, Hailey pulled down the tank top, revealing a fuchsia lace bra and the rest of the dove’s body.

“Isn’t she purty?” She smiled at James. “I did some time in juvey. Had a drug problem until I found Jesus. Now, I’m clean and free as a dove, so that’s why I got this tattoo. Those were the only good things that came out of all my days as a user. This tattoo and my Jimmy Bear. ’Course, he’s clean now, too.”

“That’s right, baby.” Jimmy looked less than pleased at Hailey’s confession. Wiping his puffy face with a dishcloth, he said, “Why don’t you fetch these fine folks some brewskis? They’s judgin’ the pig contest in a bit and are gonna need a bit of a buzz.” He took a pull of his beer and frowned. “Just doesn’t taste like it used to,” he mumbled.

“That’s okay, thanks,” Lucy quickly said to Hailey to prevent her from getting more beer from inside the RV. “We’re really full. We just finished dinner, actually.”

James made a show of looking at his watch. “And we’d better head over to the contest area.”

As he and his friends moved to turn away, a woman dragging several small dogs behind her passed by Jimmy’s cooking area. She stopped abruptly when she saw Jimmy and Hailey. Her eyes narrowed and her lips curled in anger and disgust. To James’s surprise, the trim and petite woman then marched over and spit on the closed lid of Jimmy’s cooker.

“I hope your meat rots on the bone!” she hissed acidly. “I hope your sauce tastes like mashed maggots! I hope that you lose every single contest you enter for the rest of your life!” She spit on the cooker again as Jimmy stood in amused silence, his meaty arms crossed over his mammoth gut. The small smile playing around the corners of his mouth only incensed the woman further. “You redneck bastard! I hope you drown in beer and barbecue sauce and bad luck! I hope you get
exactly
what you deserve in this life!” She looked at Hailey. “You’re with a
bad
man. He’s going to bring you down. Mark my words.”

With a jerk on the leash, she stormed off.

As Hailey issued Jimmy a bewildered look, Jimmy shrugged and saluted the woman’s back with his beer. Craning his neck in order to view her retreating form, he shouted, “Everybody hates a winner!” His tone was both mocking and filled with a merry laughter. “Yessir. That’s me! There’s losers all over this here festival, but I ain’t one of ’em!” he shouted louder, attracting the attention of the competing teams, who broke off conversations in order to listen to the ravings of the leader of the Pitmasters.

“That’s right!” Jimmy called out to them. “You can count on nothin’ but second place, suckers! I’ve got the secret to perfect ’cue and you ain’t got it! I’m the winner! I’m the champion! I’m the future face of Heartland’s barbecue line. Y’all can go on and pack up now. Save yourselves the trouble. Jimmy’s here and Jimmy’s as good as won! Y’all hearin’ me?” He guffawed. “Y’alls’ entry fees are goin’ straight into my pocket. So this Bud’s for you! Thanks for givin’ me a little more
spendin’ money!” He drank deeply from his beer.

Most of the men and women standing around their cookers scowled angrily at Jimmy, but no one responded directly to his taunts. Several flipped him the bird, and one of the women from Adam’s Ribbers called him a fat pig, but the majority of the other competitors elected to ignore his boasts.

Jimmy walked back to his cooker, lifted the lid, and began to remove foil-wrapped meat from within using a pair of metal tongs. He whistled as he worked, as though his behavior was both expected and perfectly acceptable. On the other hand, James couldn’t help but notice Hailey’s face as she stood on the steps leading inside the RV. Her gaze was fixed somewhere behind James and her eyes were wide with fear.

Before James could investigate the possible source of Hailey’s dread, Lucy grabbed him by the arm and pulled him away. “Come on, James. We can’t keep the future Queen of Hog Fest waiting.”

Hundreds of onlookers
were gathered around the park’s outdoor track in order to view the Queen of Hog Fest Beauty Contest. Gillian, who already was seated in a high-back chair at the judges’ table, broke off her animated conversation with R. C. Richter to wave her friends over.

“Look!” she exclaimed, gesturing at their table. “Isn’t this elegant? I
feel
so celebrated by these touches of finery.”

Indeed, the setup was impressive. Their table had been draped with a pink linen cloth and lush buntings in a darker shade of pink encased the perimeter. Crystal water goblets with matching pitchers had been set before each judge’s seat. Saucers containing slices of fresh lemons and limes were positioned next to the pitchers of ice water. Gillian poured water into her own glass and motioned for her friends to follow her lead.

“We’re going to need this
pure
and
refreshing
spring water, my friends. The local baker, Mrs. Phelps, has made us a special treat.” She smiled, her good humor returned in the face of such royal treatment. “R. C. told me that Mrs. Phelps is bringing us strawberry cupcakes so famous that people have been known to drive down here from D.C. just to buy a dozen.”

“Yes indeed.” R. C. nodded proudly. “Mrs. Phelps uses real pieces of strawberry in the icing, and she frosts all the cupcakes upside-down so there’s more buttercream per square inch.” He looked up as a woman in her early seventies carrying a covered tray approached the table. “And here she comes now.”

“Welcome, folks!” Mrs. Phelps gave them a hearty smile as she placed the tray on the table. With a flourish, she removed the domed top and waited for a reaction.

All of the supper club members murmured appreciative
oohs
and
ahs
when they saw the confections Mrs. Phelps had created for them. A pink cupcake rested in the exact center of a china plate drizzled with strawberry glaze. Each cupcake bore a unique pig’s face, complete with candy eyes, a cookie nose, and strawberry wafer ears. However, Mrs. Phelps had given each cupcake its own look by adding rainbow sprinkle eye shadow, licorice lace eyelashes, a chocolate-chip beauty mark, pursed lips made from Red Hots, or powdered cheeks created with white gumdrops.

“Enjoy!” she told the judges and then winked at R. C. “I’ve got one for you, too, Mr. Richter. I left it in your office ’cause I figured the frostin’ might get too gooey before you had a chance to sink your teeth into it, you bein’ so busy and all.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Phelps. I hope you’ve got plenty of extra help this weekend, because after I mention your shop in this evening’s
announcements, folks are going to be lined up elbow to elbow, wanting to buy some of your delicious homemade goodies.”

“Oh, I’ve got plenty of help, sir. This weekend’s my bread and butter. This here festival keeps me goin’ durin’ the leaner months. That’s why all of us in Hudsonville are right thankful for all of your hard work.” Mrs. Phelps beamed.

“It’s my pleasure, Mrs. Phelps.” R. C. colored, embarrassed by the compliment.

The baker appeared to be in no hurry to move away. “’Course, I’m sure it’s the same thing for you and your RV business,” she said. “I bet you get plenty of sales after folks feast their eyes on the fancy trailers they’ve got down there in the barbecue cookin’ area.” Noting the time on her digital watch, Mrs. Phelps wiped her hands on her shirt and seemed surprised to discover that she wasn’t wearing an apron. “Well, good luck, y’all!” she told the judges, took one last look at her baked handiwork, and then disappeared into the crowd.

“I guess this festival generates good revenue for the majority of the local businesses,” James said to R. C.

“Our coffers would certainly be emptier without it,” R. C. agreed. “And Hog Fest grows bigger and bigger every year. I’m very proud of its success. Why, Hudsonville has been featured in fifteen national magazines as a result of our little barbecue party.”

“Have you always lived here?” Lindy asked.

R. C. nodded. “My whole life.” He then paused and let his eyes pass over the faces in the crowd. “Everyone I love is here. My business is here. My roots are here. The woman I love is here. Yes indeed, this town is
everything
to me,” he added passionately and then cleared his throat. “Excuse me, but it’s time for the contest to get underway. I’m going to make a few announcements and then we’ll get started. Are you all ready?”

“I can’t wait to check out the sexy sows!” Bennett exclaimed and Gillian shot him a dirty look.

“We’re all set,” Lucy replied more sedately and then took a delicate bite of her cupcake. “Wow,” she breathed. “Wow!” She took another, heartier bite. “I’m going to come back and judge every year if they give us these.”

“What about your protein diet?” James teased.

“Forget it,” Lucy said lightheartedly. “I’m on vacation with my best friends! I’m going to eat whatever I want.” She hesitated. “Well, at least for tonight anyway.”

“Here, here!” Lindy clinked forks with Lucy as R. C. stepped up to the microphone. After plugging his own business and then encouraging the audience to patronize the Main Street Bakery, R. C. introduced each of the supper club members by name and embellished upon their wisdom and courage in solving crimes in the Shenandoah Valley.

As the audience clapped for them, the judges blushed in embarrassment. With the exception of Lindy, who waved at the crowd as though she were a state dignitary, they were all relieved when R. C. invited the first contestant to step out onto the strip of purple carpet that emerged from a large tent where the beauty queen hopefuls waited. The carpet passed by the judges’ table and then ended in a small pen where the contestants and their owners were required to wait while the judges came to their final decisions.

“Our first contestant is Little Miss Twinkletoes!” R. C. hollered out.

The crowd roared as a massive pink pig stepped onto the carpet. She wore a silver skirt and had a wreath of silver stars set upon the bristled hairs of her forehead. Her ears were longer than James had expected, and they flopped up and down as Little Miss Twinkletoes did her best to dance down the carpet. As she came closer to the table, James noticed that her leathery skin was covered by silver glitter. Her owner was dressed in a silver evening gown that revealed a large portion of her cleavage, and her eyelids sparkled with the same silver glitter that adorned her pig.

Stopping in front of the table, the woman turned Little Miss Twinkletoes in a circle before the judges and then said, “Dance, Twinkletoes!”

The sow lifted up her front hooves one at a time and then snorted. Pleased, her owner blew some glitter in the judges’ direction and then led her pig to the holding pen.

“Damn that woman,” Bennett grumbled after the owner was out of earshot. “She got fairy dust in my cupcake.” Scowling, he pushed his plate away and made fierce marks on his score sheet.

“Remember,” Gillian chided. “You cannot judge the
contestant
based on the behavior of its
handler
. Don’t pout. Here, have some of mine.” She cut off a portion of her cupcake and placed it on Bennett’s napkin.

The next pig was named Ms. Harley, and she was appropriately dressed in a leather skirt and a metal-spiked collar. Harley seemed bored by the entire event and had to be dragged down the carpet by her owner, a fearsome-looking bodybuilder wearing leather pants that appeared painted on her bulbous limbs. Her white ribbed tank top was stretched so tightly over her muscular torso that the judges could see the shadow of a black bra beneath the thin cotton top.

After Harley labored off to the pen, the judges were introduced to Jasmine, an enormous black pig dressed as a hula dancer; Cherub, a brown-spotted pig wearing wings and a halo; Candy, who wore the trademark Playboy bunny ears and tail; and Annie, a spunky sow wearing a cowboy hat and a red bandana.

Bennett’s eyes grew into round moons as a pig named Hot Stuff strutted onto the carpet clothed in a gold sequined bikini and a sunbonnet. It wasn’t the pig that caught Bennett’s attention, however. Her owner, who led her animal using a silk ribbon instead of a piece of rope, wore a matching string bikini that barely covered either her bosom or her rump. Smiling at the barrage of whistles and catcalls from the male members of the audience, the curvaceous woman wiggled her derriere. As she did so, Hot Stuff wiggled hers, and the crowd broke into raucous laughter, followed by some lewd commentary from a handful of men.

“Where is that woman’s dignity?” Gillian huffed, and she jabbed at her score sheet.

“Remember,” Bennett said, poking Gillian in the ribs with his pencil. “You can’t judge the owner, just the pig!”

James’s favorite contestant was a pig so large that her belly almost swept the ground as she waddled down the carpet. Her name was Barbie Eden, and she wore filmy pantaloons and a veil like the original
I Dream of Jeannie
. Barbie’s walk was deliberate and graceful, and when she reached the judges’ table, she dipped her head, blinked her eyes, and wriggled her wide snout.

The delighted audience chanted Barbie’s name.

Finally, all of the contestants were contained in the holding pen to await the announcement of the victor. The queen would then be crowned with a golden wreath, and a sash indicating that she ruled Hog Fest would be placed around her neck. To the immense relief of the supper club members, who had little experience with large swine, R. C. had volunteered to handle these tasks. Once she was crowned, the queen would take a final walk on the purple carpet and then head home for a good night’s sleep. The next day, she would ride in the back seat of a convertible from the recreation center to the barbecue contest area. Her arrival would symbolize the official beginning of the cook-off portion of the festival as well as the first day of her new life as a local celebrity.

James had no trouble tabulating his scorecard. He voted for Barbie Eden to win. Bennett, who sat on his left, did not bother to hide that he had chosen Hot Stuff. Gillian had shielded her clipboard as though it contained the blueprints to a new weapon of mass destruction, but as R. C. held out his hand for her score sheet, James could see that she had picked Twinkletoes. R. C. collected scorecards from Lindy and Lucy, glanced over all five of them, and smiled.

“We have a winner,” he said to the judges, thanked them, and approached the microphone.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have seen some lovely females here tonight. Let’s give them all a hearty congratulations.” He paused while the crowd whooped, whistled, and applauded for the pigs and their owners. “We’ve seen talent, creativity, and the beauty of a few extra pounds this evening. However, only one contestant can be named the Queen of Hudsonville Hog Fest. That lucky lady will enjoy a life of fame and leisure on a local Hudsonville farm and her owner and a guest will be treated to a wonderful, all-expense-paid trip to Jamaica along with five hundred dollars in spending money. Sounds like the
royal
treatment to me.”

He waited, allowing the dramatic moment to build. “Is everyone ready to hear the winning name?” The crowd cheered and R. C. grinned indulgently. “All right folks, I won’t make you wait a second longer. I am proud to announce that the winner of this year’s pageant, weighing in at four hundred and forty-four pounds, goes to none other than Miss Barbie Eden.”

Barbie’s owner shrieked in delight and then gave her pig a big kiss on the snout. Barbie grunted in return and calmly accepted her crown and sash. As Barbie took another walk on the purple carpet, flashbulbs clicked and the theme song for Miss America played on the loudspeakers. As James watched the new queen walk past, the music couldn’t help but make him think of Jimmy Lang and how the loud-mouthed barbecue expert had sung the same song during lunch at Fox Hall.