There is zero resemblance between the fictitious characters herein and those George Anderson so carefully crafted in his much-imitated classic, and only one has the same name. Assume this happened after ol' Marc got traded, maybe, and understand that the Texans herein may lack some of the qualities of introspection and thoughtful consideration the original characters possessed. It's a lark, folks, so relax and take it in that vein.
*
The four couples had just been seated at their reserved booth and were kicked back enjoying their first drinks of the night. It was a curiously comprised group, age-wise, with two couples who appeared to be in their early thirties, one that looked mid-twenties, and an older couple that appeared 'ageless', in the sense that they could be thirty-something or fifty-something. They were laughing and talking like old friends, or maybe relations, but that there was little resemblance among them dispelled the 'relations' idea.
The men were wearing jeans, fancy pearl snap western shirts with embroidered yokes, boots, and Stetsons. The women also wore denim and boots, but their denim was dresses, and there were significant differences between those of the twenty-something brunette, the raven-haired thirty-somethings, and the ageless blonde. The ageless beauty's dress was modestly short and open at the neck, and it followed her curvy body without being tight; she wore black cowboy boots. She wore a pearl necklace and earrings with her denim.
The taller thirty-something with long, raven-black hair wore a body-hugging mini-dress with a big zipper down the front. That big golden zipper, and the multiple of golden necklaces hanging over it, seemed to beckon you to unzip the zipper. Her cowboy boots were bright blue and called attention to her long, slender legs.
The shorter one with bigger boobs was displaying them immodestly, but her skirt length was more modest. The silver conch and turquoise belt called attention to her small waist; she wore cowboy boots with turquoise inlaid on rust-colored leather, and her ebony hair fell in tangled curls around her beautiful oval face.
Still, the twenty-something was the shiniest. Her short dress had red snaps down the front with red roses embroidered in places that accentuated her smallish but proud, high boobs. She wore a red belt cinched around her tiny waist, and the 'skater skirt' fell over her lush behind before ending at mid-thigh. Her cowboy boots were red with a high heel, her full lips were painted red, her posture was genteel, and she was strikingly eye-catching.
Their entry a few minutes earlier, following a previous engagement, had momentarily stilled the crowd and turned a lot of heads, including those of five large men seated at a table catty-corner near the dance floor. Those men had rather blatantly repositioned themselves to watch them be seated, and in so doing had garnered the attention of the eight people at the table and two men watching from the shadows.
The second round was bought and drunk and a third ordered before anyone ventured to the dance floor, and then they went as a group. The band played mostly country with some southern rock, and the group of eight stayed on the floor for more than twenty minutes, trading partners after each song. They linked arms for a line dance, the men laughing at their own clumsiness but appreciating the grace, coordination, and rhythm of the women.
The older gentleman walked over to the band, where he was greeted with awe and respect, and they quickly honored his request for the old Bob Wills classic, 'Stay a Little Longer'.
There was lots of twirling, spinning, and dipping as the women showed off and the men acted as their foils for the old swing song. Not many joined them; this old-fashioned ways of dancing were lost on the more upscale crowed.
The big guys at the table by the dance floor got a closer look at the women they coveted, and learned that the bikini panties of the brunette matched the red buttons on her dress and pouty lips. Lavalliere growled, "That bitch is mine! I'm gonna hang those red panties on the mirror of my Porsche for a month! Best air freshener available!"
When the western swing experience ended, the men called for a break and a drink; the women linked arms with their original partners and proceeded back to the table where the third round was being solicitously placed.
The arrogant smirks of the five men were noted, but ignored, as the group passed by their table. This wasn't the first time their women had drawn attention; in fact, fighting every time they drew attention and sexual comment would be a full-time job for their men. They were hot; they knew it, their men knew it, and the ladies would be disappointed if no one else noticed.
They reseated themselves, with the youngest couple at the end of the booth, facing the leering men. The older couple was beside them, with the other two couples seated around the end and on the other side.
"Norma, you always look SO put together!" effused the shiny brunette. "Whether you are on stage, with your family, or dancing, you ALWAYS exude the grace and class to which we all aspire!" "Thank you, Chrissy. For a country girl like me that is high praise indeed, coming from you!"
"She's right, Norma! You always look 'put together', as Chrissy called it, when you are at a rodeo or roping or when you are decked out in the latest fashions at an awards presentation!"
