Divas Do Tell Read online

  Chapter 3

  “OH, I THINK DIXIE Lee’s making all that up to get publicity for the movie,” said Bitty as I steered my car out of the airport parking lot and into a slow-moving lane.

  We’d just taken my parents to the airport for the first leg of their journey to Italy, where they’d then board a cruise ship to sites around the Mediterranean. While I was sure disaster awaited them, they looked so happy to be leaving I didn’t have the heart to repeat warnings about pirates or icebergs. So I’d watched them trundle off to security where they’d be X-rayed in the government’s reminder that people are naked underneath their clothes. They didn’t even seem to mind that horrifying intrusion, although my mother had remarked that she should have worn lead underwear.

  Now they were gone, and I was left with dozens of feral cats and a billy goat masquerading as a dog. Brownie is not stupid. The minute he saw their suitcases he knew they were leaving and went into an immediate decline. He’d spent most of the night before in my mother’s arms, a pitiful creature that would recover the moment I got back, only to relapse at first sight of my mother again. They should find a part for him in Dixie Lee’s movie. The dog is an excellent actor.

  “I have to ask—you didn’t write those letters, did you, Bitty?”

  “No, but I did consider something like that. Then I decided it might be too helpful.”

  “I can’t imagine the movie would want that kind of publicity. It’d be negative advertising.”

  “Nonsense. Any gossip generated is better than nothing. I wouldn’t put it past Dixie Lee to have invented that story so we’d all be talking about her and fussing over her.”

  “You might be right,” I compromised. “I’m not sure there’s anything we can do anyway. Those letters were too vague.”

  Bitty smiled. “I liked the first one. ‘Die, bitch’ is very similar to what I feel like saying to her.”

  “Good lord, Bitty. You’d think you two would have gotten over that feud by now. It’s only been thirty-something years.”

  “Thirty-three years, and I have no intention of forgetting how she lied about me just so she could be Sweetheart of Lambda Chi.”

  “Well, she didn’t get Sweetheart either. They chose someone else. Probably because both of you acted like idiots.”

  Bitty sniffed her disdain for my version of events. “They chose someone else because Dixie Lee Forsythe was vindictive and mean. I was very gracious about everything.”

  That wasn’t at all the way I remembered it. Of course, by then I’d left Ole Miss and gone off to sit-ins with Perry, who ended up as my husband, but I got the entire story from Mama. Bitty and Dixie Lee got into a screaming match in front of the student center and had to be separated before they snatched each other bald-headed. Back then Aunt Sarah, Bitty’s mother, was still alive, and she’d been ready to tear her hair out over Bitty’s antics. My dear cousin has always been somewhat of a prima donna.

  “I didn’t tell Mama and Daddy about Dixie Lee’s letters,” I said to distract Bitty from the insult of three decades before. “I didn’t want them to worry while they’re gone.”

  “There is no point in them worrying for nothing. By the time they get back home maybe all this movie stuff will be over with anyway.”

  “I don’t think so. It takes a while to shoot all the scenes. The movie people will be here a month or so, the way I heard it.”

  Bitty took out an emery board and sawed at one of her fingernails. “Last time they only shot the outdoor scenes and house scenes here. The rest of it was done out in Hollywood or wherever. So if we’re lucky they won’t be here long at all.”

  “It’s good for local retailers,” I said. “Extra people coming in, eating at the restaurants, shopping in the stores, all add up to more revenue.”

  She opened her Jimmy Choo purse and dropped in the emery board. “Honestly, Trinket, you act like you’re glad they’re here. I’d think you of all people would be upset. Who do you think is going to play you in the movie? Jennifer Garner? You’d be lucky if your part was played by Hugh Jackman.”

  Bitty forgets who she’s talking to sometimes. I rolled my eyes. “So you’d be played by whom? Shorty Rossi?”

  “Who’s that?”

  “The little person on Animal Planet who rescues pit bulls. Pit Boss.”

  “Oh. I’ve seen that show. No, he’s too old to play me. He’s not an actor anyway, is he?”

  I sighed. Sometimes she deliberately misses the point. “In the first place, I’m not in the movie and neither are you. We’re barely in the book. Most of the action is centered on the events surrounding Billy Joe Cramer and Susana Jones. We were little kids when all that happened.”

  “I heard that Billy Joe tried to sue the book publisher and the movie producers. He didn’t get very far, of course. His name isn’t used, and things were changed just enough that no one can say for sure that it’s about him and Susana. I’m sure he’s pretty upset about that. I mean, we all know who Dixie Lee is talking about, but most of the world doesn’t have any idea.”

  “He should have known better. Publishers and producers can afford the best lawyers.”

  Bitty nodded. “Billy Joe tried to hire Jackson Lee, but not only did he not have enough money, if he had a million dollars Jackson Lee still wouldn’t have taken the case. Last I heard, Billy Joe decided to just boycott the movie and anyone who had anything to do with it.”

  “So that means he’s going to boycott the entire town, I guess.”

  “Probably. He never was the brightest bulb in the pack.”

  “Do you want to stop somewhere for lunch before we go back?” I asked as I nosed my car onto I-240. “It’s your turn to pick a place.”

  “Showboat Barbecue. I love their barbecue sauce and their fried okra.”

  I headed for the Mt. Moriah exit. Once we were sitting at a table in the barbecue place, me with a huge pulled pork sandwich with slaw and delicious sauce and Bitty with a plate of pulled pork, sauce, beans and fried okra, we didn’t talk much about anything for a few minutes. Photographs plaster the walls behind tables, mementoes of trips the owners took to places all over the United States. A huge showboat is painted on the outside window, a reminder that Memphis is a town founded on the Mississippi with a long history of riverfront commerce.

  By the time I finished my sandwich I had barbecue sauce on my chin and blouse. Bitty sighed and handed me a napkin. “You’re wearing your food again.”

  “I know. I can’t help myself. Besides, who eats barbecue without getting messy?”

  “I do. That’s why I get the plate. This blouse is dupioni silk, and I don’t want to ruin it.”

  “I’m assuming that means it’s expensive.”

  “Not really. But it is one of my favorites.”

  “Not expensive to you and not expensive to me are two terms worlds apart,” I said. “You wear shoes that cost more than my car.”

  “Oh Trinket, you always exaggerate.”

  “Just a little. Your cars cost more than the last house I bought, though.”

  “That’s understandable. The last house you bought was twenty years ago. How did you stand all that moving around so much?”

  “It wasn’t like I had a choice. Perry would quit one job and have another before I knew anything about it. In retrospect, buying that house wasn’t the smartest thing I ever did, but I was trying to keep him in one place for a while.”

  Bitty shook her head. “You can’t change someone who doesn’t want to change. I learned that in my first marriage.”

  “Which does nothing to explain your next three marriages.”

  “I’m an optimist. You’re a pessimist. Have you ever thought about remarrying?”

  “No. Not seriously. Why mess up a perfectly good relationship with community property issues?”

 
“But you could have a lovely wedding if you and Kit got married. And I’d pick out your dress for you. Think of the fun we’d have trying on satin dresses down to the floor. And veils sheer enough to be a mist around your head. How lovely.”

  “Perish the thought. Besides, I think you just like wearing wedding dresses. You could start your own resale shop just with the ones you’ve worn.”

  “If you’re trying to annoy me, Trinket, you’ve succeeded.”

  “Good. Stop trying to marry me off. Kit and I are perfectly happy with the way things are now, thank you very much. And I don’t see you and Jackson Lee rushing to the altar.”

  “We’ve decided to take things slowly, is all. He works so much. Which reminds me—his new partner in the Ashland office is single. I wonder if Dixie Lee is seeing anyone since her last divorce.”

  I was flabbergasted. “You’d set her up on a date? I thought you don’t like her.”

  “I don’t. Jackson Lee’s new partner is one of the dullest men I’ve ever met in my life. He’d be perfect for her.”

  “Honestly, Bitty. You’ll do anything to infuriate Dixie Lee, won’t you?”

  “Just about. What I won’t do is spend one minute of my time worrying about someone sending her death threats. It’s all a crock, and I don’t believe it for a second.”

  “I hope you’re right,” I said. “If not, the next month or so is going to be very interesting.”

  Have I mentioned how prophetic I can be?

  FAST FORWARD THREE days. I had just finished feeding the furry flocks when my cell phone rang. It’s not a device I care much about, since it too frequently connects me to people I’m trying to avoid. This time, however, it was Kit on the other end of the pesky thing. Kit Coltrane is our local veterinarian and my Significant Other.

  “Hey,” he said, and my heart went pitty-pat. I can’t help it. When he calls or I see him I revert to my teenage years. It’s one of the facets of being over fifty that I find most unnerving.

  “Hey yourself,” I responded cleverly. Witty repartee is not my strong suit. “What’s going on?”

  “I just wondered if you’d like to take a break one evening this week. We could go out to dinner and a movie. What nights are you free?”

  I could have said every night. It’s usually true. This week, however, I’d reluctantly agreed to go with Bitty to one of her meetings for the upcoming pilgrimage. I wasn’t looking forward to it.

  “Any night but Thursday,” I said, and Kit promptly suggested we go out Tuesday night. I agreed, of course. I may not be interested in remarrying, but I’m definitely interested in keeping company with the handsomest man in all of Holly Springs.

  I was still smiling when I went into the house to clean up after my stint as zookeeper. Brownie met me in the kitchen. He was sulking because I wouldn’t let him out while I fed all the cats. He likes to keep the yard bird and squirrel-free, and while the cats may have the same goal they aren’t that fond of a beagle-dachshund mix running crazily around and baying at the sky while they’re lining up at food bowls. It makes my life a lot easier when I skip that part of the routine.

  My mother had left Brownie’s food frozen in ice cube trays. Each little cup held exactly the right amount of homemade food to go atop his dry food. It had to be microwaved first so he didn’t have to eat cold food, of course. Mama chooses to ignore the fact this is the dog that ingests metal, paper, and cat poo without regard to proper warmth or consistency. But I dutifully heated his food, mixed it in with his dry, and set his bowl on the nice little placemat my mother keeps in a kitchen corner. For a dog that showed up as a stray on the back deck one cold day a few years ago, he certainly has it good now.

  I’d just put a frozen pizza in the oven for me when the house phone rang. There’s one on the wall in the kitchen and another cordless phone in the den. I grabbed for the kitchen phone.

  Bitty said without preamble, “Have you been watching the news?”

  “What news? You mean on TV? Has something happened I should know about?”

  “Just go turn on the TV, Trinket. And don’t hang up. I want to be with you when you hear about it.”

  “Hear about what? Bitty, is this another one of your silly dramas? Has the price of gold gone up? Or there’s an embargo on designer shoes? Has—”

  She rudely interrupted with, “Turn on the TV, Trinket. CNN or MSNBC.”

  Annoyed, I went into the little den off the kitchen, found the remote, and switched on the TV. It took a moment, but I found CNN just as the announcer said, “. . . and the Italian cruise ship that ran out of fuel and power in the Mediterranean is in danger of drifting out to sea. Authorities have begun to rescue passengers. More details as soon as they become available.”

  My head got light. Black spots danced in front of my eyes. I didn’t even remember sitting down, but I must have because suddenly I wasn’t standing up. Bitty’s voice in my ear sounded far away.

  “Trinket? Are you still there? Talk to me. Talk to me, or I’m calling nine-one-one. Trinket?”

  There was a loud buzzing in my ears, but I managed to say, “I’m here. Did they say the name of the ship?”

  “Costanza Regencia. Is that the one they’re on?”

  I tried to think. They’d told me of course, several times in fact, but the information hadn’t stuck since I was so annoyed and apprehensive about them going anyway. But I did recall that they’d left their itinerary under a magnet on the refrigerator. Somehow I made my way to the kitchen. There it was. I took it off the refrigerator door and anxiously scanned it. It listed their departure and flight numbers, the name of the airline and arrival times, their hotel reservations for the night before they would board the cruise ship, and the time and place they were to board. Everything but the name of the cruise ship.

  “It doesn’t say,” I got out.

  “What doesn’t say?”

  “Their itinerary. They left me one so I’d know just how much to worry and when. They’re on that ship, Bitty, I just know it. Maybe that’s why I’ve been so nervous about them going off like that. My God, right now they could be floating in the ocean on a lifeboat—or trapped in their cabin while the water rises and they slowly drown—I don’t think I can take this, I really don’t think I can.”

  “Give me the information off their itinerary.”

  I read it off to her but started hiccupping before I could finish. My breath was short, and my ears still buzzed like a hornet’s nest, and I started to cry.

  Then Bitty said, “I’m on my way.”

  When the phone went dead I walked to the kitchen wall and carefully replaced it in the cradle. In a matter of two minutes my world had upended. I didn’t know what to do, where to get information, who I should call. I didn’t even know how to make an international call. What could I do?

  Something nudged me, and I looked down to see Brownie gazing up at me. His doggy brow was furrowed in a frown, and he had a worried expression. Maybe he was just picking up on my stress. Maybe not. Maybe he knew my parents were in trouble. Then I did something I rarely do. I bent down and picked him up. I needed comfort. I went into the den, turned up the volume on CNN, and collapsed on the couch.

  I was still sitting numbly on the couch with Brownie in my arms when Bitty got there. She didn’t bother to knock but just came into the house. She’d brought her gargoyle. Brownie immediately defected. He leaped from my lap to the floor and headed straight for the pug. He likes Chitling for some reason. Maybe because they’re both spoiled rotten and share tips on how to manipulate their guardians.

  Bitty set a big wicker basket on the couch. “I’ve called Jackson Lee, and he’s calling Italy. He’ll find out what’s happening and if Uncle Eddie and Aunt Anna are all right. Something’s burning. Are you cooking?”

  “Oh. I forgot my pizza in the oven.”

 
“Just stay there. I’ll take care of it.”

  Since Bitty has single-handedly managed to burn up the kitchen in her house I should have been more aware of my burning pizza. That shows you how far gone I was in my stupor. I let her handle it. She disappeared into the kitchen, and I heard a loud squeal, some cussing, and the slamming of the oven door. Then she was back in a few minutes with a small glass and fried hair. A sooty streak darkened her face.

  “Your hair,” I started to say but she shook her head.

  “It’s nothing. I didn’t know pizzas can actually catch fire. It’s out now. Here. Hold the glass. I brought something to help settle your nerves.” She took a bottle of brandy out of the wicker basket and poured two inches in my glass. “Drink all of it. I brought dinner, too.”

  I knew Bitty doesn’t cook, for obvious reasons, so I just nodded as she took a casserole dish out of the basket and took it to the kitchen. I heard the dinging of microwave buttons before she returned. She eyed the glass of brandy in my hand.

  “You didn’t drink all of it,” she said. “It’ll help. If I had Valium I’d have brought you one, but I don’t have any.”

  “Brandy and lasagna will do. That is lasagna I smell, isn’t it?”

  She nodded. “Yes. Sharita just made it this morning. It didn’t even have time to freeze.”

  Sharita Stone is a local woman who cooks a week’s worth of meals for limited clientele. She also owns a small catering business and a little shop that sells delicious baked goods and homemade jams and jellies. If not for Sharita, Bitty would probably have starved to death years ago. Sharita’s brother is Marcus Stone, an officer on the Holly Springs police force. There have been a few times we’ve had the benefit of his professional attention, not always a positive thing.

  The brandy warmed me, which was good since I’d begun to shiver like I was standing out in the cold with no coat. With the setting of the sun it felt like January again. I should turn up the heat. Or put on a warm robe. Since I was still in my barn clothes—a plaid flannel shirt over a tee shirt and an old pair of Lee jeans with frayed cuffs—I didn’t want to put a clean robe over clothes that smelled like cat food and barn dust.