One of the quirky things about Widespot is that every woman of childbearing age in this hood is, indeed, with child! Given the scarcity of baby-daddy options it means more than one dude has been spreading the love around. But none of them are married (to each other) or obviously en-coupled so the storytelling angle is obvious, just asking what the hell is going on. I didn't really change the fledgling backstory, as seen in the album pics, just fleshed it out as I went along.

Curiously, none of the adults (as opposed to the elders) in Widespot are employed (iirc) with the exception of Hamilton Beech, who is his mother's puppet—I mean, right hand man. With nothing much to do small wonder they're all knocked up. I modified this, slightly, for the backstory (ironically, of a community lot).




Dixie admires her big sister Mary and doesn't want to be one bit like her.*



Mama did hair back in her day. Sort of. 'Mean Dixie can't say she's a fan and it was only ever an on-the-side job while sellin' plates.
But they've got the chair. Mama keeps it mainly for Ms. Daytona's sake now that Ms. Angel's passed away but Dixie's been eyeing it a lot lately.
She did her own braids and she thinks she's really found her calling. Plus, while she needs the practice, Mary really needs a new look. Really.



Mary just wants to encourage her sister, who's got a tendency to not give a 'you-know-what' if she's gotta work too hard for what she wants.



"Dang. I'm, I'm sorry, Mary."

"What? Oh. It's okay, Dixie. No,

it's ok. Don't worry about it."

(Please ignore the continuity error with the chairs, no matter how many times I tried to re-stage with
the grungier chair I'd given them Dixie categorically refused to give Mary the right wrong makeover!)


After she washed out her hair, Mary was feeling pretty good.
She liked the way it looked wet and you couldn't even tell where the uneven pieces were.



Her mama had her own opinion.

"Now you know your hair is not gon' look like that when it dries. Then what'll you do with it?"

Beulah was from the old school, no matter how 'progressive' her marriage to Homer might have seemed to folks back home.
Everything in her body and soul had told her Homer was the man for her, no matter what his colour. But she wasn't a pioneer.
Old habits of mind lived on and what she knew—what she believed was you needed to look presentable.
Beulah rolled her hair religiously every night, just like she was taught.

Lovely, ain't it?
(The Shirley Temple curls on an elder? Could not resist. In fairness, she probably looked adorable...back when she was little Delta's age.)


Mary submitted to her mother's judgement.


"But—but what are the scissors for, Ma?"



"There now. And it still looks young, too. But it suits you. Go on now, take a look."



Whether Mary truly appreciates her 'new look' is between her and her mirror.
She did keep it, however, and got straight on with the business of the day.
Once the chores were out of the way, she took over the cooking.

Ms. Daytona came by later to pick up a plate.
Looks like Mama forgot to make her pie but maybe she'll take some of those cakes Mary baked.

Suddenly, a queasy-like feeling started spreadin' all through her.

She barely made it after kickin' Scot out from in front of the mirror!



Gettin' sick like that...all on a sudden...something tells Mary she should be worried.


"Where'd Mary go? I wanted to ask her about her cake. Is that pineapple?"

"No pineapples 'round here, must be lemon. I tell you I don't know what's
got into that girl today. She done slinked off somewhere and she
knows I wanted her to do me a favour."

~~~




..might as well join 'em.

Rhett kinda wishes he wouldn't. He hates
competing against Pop. He always loses.

**knock at the door**

Daytona had offered to take over the meal Beulah wanted to send by Mary to the Harts. It's the neighbourly thing to do but, to tell the truth, Daytona
wasn't half so friendly with the late Angel Hart as Beulah. They were cordial. And knowing a bit about their past before Widespot, and the scandal
and all, she had to respect a woman who took charge and reined her family in for a new start. Hard luck about that sudden death syndrome.



See something you like there, Daytona?

Possibly, but she also can't help noticing the man still wears his wedding ring.


"Well, I just wanted to drop that by for you. Beulah's the nurturing type but it's good to have somebody looking after you all and your appetites."



Before she left Valentine insisted she step into his trophy room for a look around.

He's sure she'd have been disappointed if he hadn't.

Daytona Beech does not run errands or even do favours for a friend unless there's something in it for her.
And since she's being so neighbourly, why not give her the full tour?


And this is his bedroom.

Valentine is never wrong about the ladies.
Call it instinct, call it experience, call it his cat-daddy charm but 'watch-out-now', it's game on.



Daytona came to play.


Um, Daytona?
Nope, never mind, never mind!
We'll, uh, we'll chat later.


Valentine figured now was as good a time as any to ask a favour of Daytona.
It's something he's been thinking about for a little while and today was the clincher.
She's probably the only one who can help him out.
"About Rhett..."






Candy honestly has no idea how she lost!


Daytona believes all friendships should come with benefits, of some sort. She's a politician.

And just look at that smile! Valentine does not disappoint.

Besides, Valentine Hart is a very useful contact to have, his fame alone is a great draw for Widespot, for when the tourists come rolling
in now that the highway is mostly done. She's been after him to open up some kind of sports-themed business in town for the longest
but he's been reluctant, for whatever reason. But she's finally getting to him now, it looks like, and Daytona's all about the quid pro quo.

So long as he's scratching her back she's more than willing to give him a scratch back. Rhett's hired.


Huh?
It never once crossed his mind that it was 2am and all the noise he was keeping up might be, like, a problem.
Rhett spends his fair share of time on the darts but this is Pop's space with all his sports crap on display. Trophies. Hmph.
This tiny corner here with his piano, this is Rhett's corner, it's where he can do his thing and zone out into his own world.
But while he was disturbing the peace was there nobody wondering why he's spending so much time at home in the first place?
It's been days that he's been at home, underfoot, when usually he'd be out sniffing around Penny or somebody. What's going on?



Candy, for one, isn't at home to be bothered, or to care.
After she lost another round of darts to Rhett when she could've sworn she was winning she remembered she didn't have to be there.
There were other things, things more fun than losing, that she could be doing. The back door at the Mann Manor was
left unlocked for her and she did that signal thing to let him know she was there before heading to "their" room.
But hurry up Mann, it's sooo boring just waiting all alone.


Aha!

What kind of hussy sneaks into a Mann's home while
his family is sleeping the sleep of the innocent?


The best kind!

It wasn't only the bare, naked fact that she had no scruples that got Rich going,
it was that she wasn't aware there was such a thing as a scruple to be had!
She was the most natural vixen he'd ever met, simply following her heart or her
hormones wherever they led.

Yes, oh yes, she satisfied his sweet tooth, and then some.
His sweet, tart Candy Hart.


Devious Mann is devious.
Check out his uber-devious grin.




Rich left her to regain her energy, ha-ha, and set off to re-join Lana.

There was the thrill of the illicit having her here and yet no chance of discovery. Junior sleeps upstairs
and the master bedroom is on the opposite side of the house in the east wing. This set-up is to his liking.

(clock needs winding, it's nowhere near 9 o'clock)


What, is this a conscience, Rich?
Oh, just a headache.
Too bad. This partial and prejudiced narrator has resolved not to interfere just yet.
So you'll find your stash of that discontinued headache powder in the cabinet next to the Old Spice and you can go ahead and climb back into bed beside your sleeping wife.



Breakfast at the Hart's often takes place standing around the kitchen because NONE of these slobs will clean up the dirty dishes infesting the table!
Ironically, while Candy is the only Hart with near middling neat points she's too damn lazy to care. And, of course, she's 'not down yet' this morning.


Rhett found his way back to his bed to lounge away the Sunday but here comes Pop just barging in.

"Got you a job," Valentine informed him.


"What the hell? What are you talking about, a job?"

"Look here, I worked hard for the life I've got but everything in this house is mine. The clothes you
kids wear, the food you eat, even these naked ladies you put up on the wall here. All of it belongs
to me. You and Candy are looking like squatters right about now so if you want to maintain your
style of living you gotta at least pretend to play the game, boy. You're working for Daytona."



Good plan.
But with every choice there will come consequence.