He sipped his bourbon, studying his face behind the bar—delicate yet handsome, is what his mother would say. He lifted the drink and toasted no one in particular. A pro football game played on all six screens in the room as he sat there alone, a bowl of mixed nuts in front of him instead of dinner, waiting to be ushered back to taste the fucking soup.

The goddamn thing of it all was he never intended to get in so far. He figured he really might be doing some good up there, his family always looking to give away money, as that was the best way to get your picture in the society rags. And, damn, if his mother didn’t love hosting a party. Her acceptance and appreciation of Caddy Colson was real. Caddy Colson was exactly the kind of tragic case she just ached for. His daddy, on the other hand . . . His daddy had other ideas.

Bentley took a sip, lifting his eyes again beyond his shaggy-haired reflection and over at the flat-screen, watching the Titans taking on the Texans. He really could give two shits about pro football, those spoiled rich assholes trying to knock one another’s goddamn heads off. Once those boys left Ole Miss, he was done with them and on to the next season.

“Are you gonna eat?” the waitress asked, back now, even more flirty, standing close, resting her bare arm on the bar. She even did a nice little hair flip, playing a little with the ends.

“Waiting.”

“OK,” she said. “You tell me if you need anything at all.”

Damn. Caddy. He liked her. He really did. Bentley had gotten into north Mississippi politics on his dad’s urging back when Stagg ran the show. There was even a time when he thought he had a true partner in Jason Colson. The entire point of him being up there was to work as a go-between for Stagg and his daddy’s friends. But when Jason bailed again—no wonder his kids hated him—he was left to comfort Caddy, check in with her, spend some time at the waystation she called The River, and keep tabs on the new people, Skinner and that nasty bitch, Fannie Hathcock. How damn stupid had Bentley gotten to believe he was now doing some good, drinking the holy water Kool-Aid Caddy Colson served at her Sunday service? What in the world would his pals at Jackson Prep and Ole Miss think about him now? Maybe his daddy had been right. After the party at their horse barn when his dad met Caddy, he told Bentley, “Why don’t you learn from your mother? You can sleep with country trash, but don’t bring ’em back to where you live.”