When we’re sufficiently out of hearing range, she waves at my tray. “Bring that closer.” I do so, wondering what she’s up to, and she dips into her cleavage and takes out a packet of brown powder. I wince. “Ma’s concoction?” “Hey, it’s never failed us before.” She divides the contents of the package among the four champagne flutes and stirs it with her index finger until everything is dissolved. She pauses and quirks an eyebrow up at me. “You gonna whine about it being unhygienic?” I shrug defensively. “I mean, no.” I kind of was. She unbuttons the top two buttons of her top, until the lace
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