Sour Grapes

exactly what you’re trying to pick up... and it ain’t no piece of paper for a lady.”
    He said nothing, but Savannah noticed that his purple nose turned three shades darker, and his gray eyes burned with an anger so intense that she quickly realized: This man was more than your run-of-the-mill pervert; he was potentially very dangerous.
    So, it was even more important to make her message unmistakably clear.
    Savannah stepped closer to him, and since he wasn’t a particularly tall man, and she was wearing pumps, they were standing eye to eye. “Let me put it this way, Mr. Addison,” she said, her voice ominous in its lack of inflection. “In the future, when you look at our pretty little girls, you better put all those wicked, nasty thoughts right out of your mind, ‘cause they’re gonna get you in big trouble with me.
    “You see, I’m working Security at this pageant...” Just for effect, she lifted her skirt a few inches to reveal the holster and pistol she had strapped to her thigh. “So, I’m looking out for all the girls. But that one girl you were trying to hit on—well, let’s just say you’ve got good taste but rotten luck—she’s my little sister. And I’m very protective of my family members.”
    “I’m sure you are,” he replied in a tone that was for too casual for her liking. He still hadn’t gotten the message.
    “If you know what’s good for you, Mr. Addison,” she said, moving even closer until her nose was almost touching his, “you’d better behave yourself at this here pageant Because if you don’t, I’m gonna get hold of a great big knife and lop off your tallywhacker. Then I’ll feed it to you on a hot dog bun with mustard, relish, and extra onions. Do you understand me, sir?”
    He didn’t answer but gave her a curt nod. She could tell, by the fine sweat breaking out on his upper lip and the shortness of his breath, that her unladylike, but graphic description had produced the desired effect.
    She started to turn away, then reconsidered. “Oh, yes, by the way... when it comes judgment time, you’re not to hold this conversation between you and me against Miss Atlanta Reid. And you don’t need to give her any special consideration because of it either. You rate her like you would anyone else, and you and I will get along just fine.”
    She left Frank Addison standing there with his inflated blood pressure and deflated ego and returned to the tasting room, where dinner festivities were coming to a close. Anthony Villa had finished his speech, the dessert dishes were being cleared away, and the rich aroma of coffee filled the room.
    Glancing over at Atlanta’s table, Savannah quickly noted two facts: Barbie Matthews still had not made her appearance, and Savannah’s younger sister was positively livid, her eyes shooting blue lasers across the room at Savannah.
    “Ah, the joys of sisterhood,” Savannah said with a sigh. “Oh, well, it just goes to show you: No good deed goes unpunished.”

    Savannah had expected a certain amount of hostility the next time she conversed with her youngest sibling. But nothing had prepared her for the storm that descended upon her head when she crossed the path of Hurricane Atlanta in the gallery half an hour later.
    “Get away from me! I am not speaking to you!” Atlanta said with a Vivian Leigh toss of her head. “In fact, I’m considering never speaking to you again. Not for as long as I live. Not for as long as you live. Not for as long as—”
    “Okay, okay, I get your drift.” Savannah sighed and ran her fingers wearily through her hair. Her “do” had long since died, along with her hopes of wringing any enjoyment from this assignment.
    She glanced across the gallery and saw Mrs. Lippincott, surrounded by a circle of tired staff. Ryan was with them, looking as fresh and debonair as he had at the beginning of the evening. Dang his hide, she thought.
    She lowered her voice, not wanting an audience for this little domestic squabble. “I understand that you’re very upset with me, ‘Lanta,” she said. “So, what else is new? Older sisters are a lot like parents; they seldom, if ever, do anything right... at least according to the younger kids in a family.”
    “But you were rude to a judge! A judge, Savannah! And he was being so nice to me. He probably would have given me really high marks, if you hadn’t stuck your big, fat nose into things.”
    Savannah reached out, put her hand on Atlanta’s forearm, and