I’d never been to Texas before. But having managed to snare a super-discount rate, I decided to take advantage of it to interview Miss Mae, owner and proprietor of Miss Mae’s Diner in Bluebonnet, Texas. I swear, the town’s smaller than the airport I have to fight my way through, but I manage to make it to the restaurant, ready to talk to one of the great characters in Celia Stuart’s new novel, ONCE IN A BLUE MOON.

Miss Mae is gracious enough to spare a few minutes, even though the place is teeming with the after-church crowd. Mindful of the limited time I have before my connecting flight, I whip out my steno notebook, trying to focus and ignore the wonderful smell of food that floods the restaurant.

“My name is Raine Weaver, Miss Mae. And I’m here because I’ve heard you were an expert on the small-town cowboy type, having watched the Boudreaux boys all your life. I’m particularly interested in your take on the Alpha-Beta-Gamma male theories, and—”

Miss Mae snorted, fanning herself with a delicate lace handkerchief. “Alpha-Beta-whosa?? If you’re lookin’ for some kinda fraternity here, you’re sittin’ in the wrong pew, sweetie. This town’s barely a fly on the rump of Texas.”

Slumped shoulders, big sigh. It’s going to be another one of those interviews. “But Cece told me…but I came all this way because…”

“I hear you’re tryin’ to write for a livin’.”

“Well…yes…”

“Then you can’t be silly enough to think men here are any different than anywhere else! No, no, that’s not why you came here. You came here to eat. Everybody comes to Mae’s to eat. Let me start you off with a nice plate of chicken.” :mrgreen:

“Oh, that’s right. I hear your specialty is chicken fried chicken. Is that sorta like refried beans or something?”

“No, silly! And it’s GOOD!” she grinned. “We get raves over our chicken fried chicken. Even our chicken fried steak. Hell, we’ve even got chicken fried corn dogs. I call ‘em ‘dick on a stick’.” She burst into laughter, raising her hand like she was testifying. “It ain’t really fried dick, y’know. But some of the ladies just laugh and laugh when I call it that. You should see ‘em, rippin’ and tearin’ at that meat with their teeth when I say ‘dick on a stick’. Kinda makes you wonder about their love lives, don’t it?”

“Kinda.”

“And wouldn’t that just make the bestest kinda horror story you ever heard of? A spurned woman, servin’ real dicks, with a side of tongue and steamin’ hot buns? Why don’t you write somethin’ like that?!”

I felt no need to tell Miss Mae that I was way ahead of her, and had already made the notation in my notebook. Hey, I’m willing to cross a genre or two for success. “Miss Mae, what can you tell me about the little tiff between Ty Boudreaux and his ex-wife, Rhea? I hear it attracted a little attention here at your diner.”

“Ah, well, young people hardly ever know what they really want. And they’re usually too blind to see it when it’s right before their eyes. Like Bad Betti and Ty, y’know? Those two always belonged together if ya ask me. Can I get you somethin’ to eat, child?”

“Well…I am in a hurry… but as long as it’s not on a stick…”

‘It’ turned out to be the best extra-crispy fried chicken I’ve ever tasted. As I stuffed my face, Mae went on as if we were old friends. “The problem was that Ty was just too good to Rhea while they were married. Now, you might say ‘it’s not possible to be too good.’ Well, it is when a woman marries into the Boudreaux family, and folks don’t think you’re good enough—especially when she really don’t think much of herself. Rhea mistook kindness and love for weakness. That’s her loss.” :thumbsup:

I nodded, refusing to stop gorging myself.

“Now Betti’s a different breed. Bad-ass all the way, but in a good way. Always knew who she was and what she wanted. She wanted Ty. Don’t blame her. He is one gorgeous hunk of man. And it just took a little waitin’, and one night of knock-‘em-dead nookie to hook him.” She grinned as I nearly choked on my laugh. “You save some room for a piece of pie, honey. My homemade lemon meringue’s the best. The secret’s in just the right balance of tart and sweet. Just like sexual attraction. Betti could tell you a thing or two about that too.”

She leaned in to give me a wink, and I gaped at the low cut of her blouse. “That’s quite a wad of money you’ve got stashed in there, Miss Mae.” :poof:

She smiled, whispering coyly. “My cleavage is as legendary as my pie ‘round these parts. Alpha, Beta, Gamma—doesn’t really matter. Honey, I can pay my rent on the tips alone that I get from my gentlemen customers. You’ve got a nice, healthy rack there. Give it a shot. Maybe next time you’re enjoying a corn dog.” :twisted:

I’m way ahead of Miss Mae again. Notation already in steno pad. I tasted the huge chunk of lemon meringue pie she’d slid in front of me, and knew I’d died and gone to heaven. And yes, I stayed for dinner and missed my flight, opened a couple of buttons on my blouse, visited the dancehall, and got rowdy with the Boudreaux boys.

And I even made time to jot down the first sentence of my next novel: :grin:

“Miss Mae smothered a sinister smile, her large bosom brimming over her top as she served the platter of corn dogs to the ravenous women…”