"In solidarity with Cliff, I'm going to the house, too," Frank said.
Terry Kay spent the night cussing and turning the pig all by himself. When the 100 guests gathered the next evening, we fed them the best barbecue I have ever eaten. I have never been praised with as much promiscuous gusto as I was for the moist, vinegar-anointed meat at that barbecue in Atlanta over 20 years ago. I found friends moaning over their paper plates, and people returning for seconds and thirds. Terry Kay, a sensitive man who was not talking to any of us because of his justifiable anger at our defection, left the party early. I heard a woman ask Bernie who cooked the pig, and I was not surprised when he answered, "I did. Pat and Frank and Cliff helped."
Cliff caught the spirit quickly and said, "I'm exhausted. We were up all night."
"None of us have slept for twenty-four hours," Frank added.
"Terry Kay told me that he cooked the pig," the woman said.
The four of us laughed and shook our heads. Then I said, "Give Terry credit, boys. It was his idea, but we stayed up to cook the pig. Terry Kay went to bed."
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