Dixie Divas (25 page)

“Bitty,” Melody said, “I know you’ve met Dr. Johnston, but I thought you two should get better acquainted.”

Introductions to me were made, and Jefferson Johnston seemed the proper gentleman as he politely shook hands, welcomed us to his home, asked after our needs, and then turned his smile on Bitty. “I understand you have extensive knowledge of antiques, Mrs. Hollandale.”

“Oh please, call me Bitty. Everyone does.” Bitty returned his smile with one so dazzling I swear it was like a flashbulb going off. I took a sip of champagne to keep from saying something regrettable.

“Only if you call me Jefferson,” Johnston murmured, sounding much too intimate in a square of two too many people. I looked over at Melody, who had a fixed smile on her face. Uh oh.

“Bitty dear,” I said, “would you mind helping me find the buffet table? I’m famished.”

“Oh, I’ll take you right there,” Melody said immediately, and linked her arm through mine to turn me away. “It’s against that wall over there, out of the way so people have room to mill about. Everything seems to be going nicely, don’t you think?”

I looked at her. She sounded rather proprietary, a note I’ve heard before in countless tones from countless hostesses, usually at Tupperware parties.

“Yes,” I said, “it’s absolutely lovely. Dr. Johnston’s home is magnificent.”

“You should see the nineteenth century sunroom off the back. It has one of those peaked roofs so popular back then, all this Victorian scroll work, and big elegant wicker furniture that Queen Victoria herself once owned.”

“I see you’ve taken the fifty-cent tour,” I said with a laugh, and Melody smiled.

“Actually, since I started work for Dr. Johnston as his receptionist, I helped him plan this party. I hope everything goes smoothly so he doesn’t fire me.”

“I’ll bet you get a big raise. This is a wonderful party.”

That was sincere. There didn’t seem to be a false note anywhere, from the complicated flower arrangements sitting on tables, to the immaculate sheen of wood floors and brass work, to the expansive buffet spread out on a table right in front of us. An ice sculpture of intricate design rose from a gigantic bowl filled with ice and shrimp. A closer look at the sculpture, and I saw it was a castle.

“Is that Blarney Castle?” I asked, and Melody looked very pleased.

“Yes it is, you have a good eye for things. Dr. Johnston is part Irish, and of course, I am as well, so this is a favorite holiday. We have soda bread, Irish stew, and of course, tidbits to snack on, all the dishes you could want. There’s Beluga caviar in that dish.”

I nodded politely, though I had my eye on the stew and soda bread. Something filling. I hadn’t been exaggerating when I’d told Bitty I hadn’t eaten all day. I’d had a half-slice of toast for breakfast that morning, taken Brownie out on a leash with plastic bag in hand and a futile hope he’d eject my other earring, then fed the cats and released the caged ones after their final dose of medicine—thank God—and gone with Bitty to get my hair cut, nails done, and even a pedicure. By the time I got back, it was time for another round of canine and feline room service; then I’d soaked in the tub with bath salts while soft music played, and had fifteen minutes before I needed to dress. Quite a busy day.

Melody, as assigned hostess, left me at the buffet to tend to other guests. I watched her go across the room, her slender figure clad in a form-fitting emerald green dress that highlighted her dedication to exercise or excellent genes, her dark hair loose and flowing around her shoulders. A very pretty girl.

“Bitty seems to be having a fine time tonight,” a familiar voice said, and I smiled up at Jackson Lee.

“Bitty always has a fine time.” I noticed that Jackson Lee couldn’t take his eyes off her, and felt a little sorry for him.

“She’s always the belle of the ball,” he said.

“Yes. I’m not sure how she does it, but I think it has something to do with those hypnosis classes she took in college. You know, How to Mesmerize Men and Make Them Mindless Minions.”

Jackson Lee grinned. “Whatever she does, it’s pretty powerful.”

“So I’ve observed.”

“She’s wrapping Jefferson Johnston around her little finger right now.”

There was something wistful in Jackson Lee’s tone, so I said, “That doesn’t worry me. He is not only too young for her, but I don’t think a foot doctor makes that much money, despite this house. Not in Holly Springs, anyway. There can’t be that many people here with bad feet and good insurance.”

A slight frown creased Jackson Lee’s brows. “You know, I’ve worked on some medical cases, so I had to do a little research one time on podiatry. Maybe things have changed, but I’m not so sure Dr. Johnston is that good at it.”

“Well, he must be doing something right, because I’ve heard he stays booked up and it’s hard to get an appointment.”

Nodding, Jackson Lee said, “Then he probably makes more than enough money.”

“Last time I heard, no one got rich from taking Medicaid patients.”

Jackson Lee laughed. “You have a sharp sense of humor, Trinket.”

“It’s a gift,” I said modestly. “Most people think I’m just bitchy. I’m glad you’re able to recognize the difference.”

“Being bitchy has definite advantages, so don’t give up hope.”

“Are you kidding? I prefer it this way. Keeps the rabble at bay.”

Bitty’s laugh rose above the conversation and stringed quartet, and Jackson Lee looked her way again. “Think I’ll just go on over and join in,” he said.

“Take your hip boots,” I advised, “it might get pretty deep.”

With all distractions temporarily aside, I applied myself to the buffet. Shrimp and cocktail sauce, of course, three different kinds of cheese, soda bread and stew, several olives, a slab of roast beef, slice of ham, generous chunk of roast chicken topped with pulled pork, and tender asparagus tips in cheese sauce. My plate was almost too heavy to hold, so I looked around for a place to sit.

“The sunroom,” a deep voice said at my left shoulder, and when I turned, he added, “It’s almost empty of people, and has lots of little tables and comfortable couches and chairs.”

I didn’t know quite what to say. The last time I’d seen this man, I’d had moldy straw in my hair and jelly on my face. And we’d discussed canine bowel movements.

“Dr. Coltrane,” I said faintly, then lied, “It’s so nice to see you again.”

He grinned. “How’s Brownie?”

“Alive only by the grace of God and Metamucil,” I replied.

“And the other earring?”

“Unseen. He may have hidden it for a midnight snack. I’ve been watching him, but so far haven’t been able to track him to his secret lair.”

It was ridiculous the way my mouth went suddenly dry and my heart plummeted to my stomach. The plate of food became superfluous. No doubt, my heart would soon be digested.

“Brownie probably has several hiding places. It’s his nature to burrow. Look under beds and in the back of closets,” he said. Coltrane continued to smile while I continued to babble.

“My parents will be back soon. My mother may be familiar with his current lair. I think he has the ability to become invisible. He makes me nervous when he just disappears for a while. I’m considering a bell for his collar.”

“That might help. Care to join me?”

While I briefly pondered the implications of that invitation, Dr. Coltrane spooned some caviar onto his plate next to crackers and chicken, and picked up the glass of champagne he’d set down on the table. Light from tall candles in Hurricane glass flickered on his face and hair, and picked out the distinguished silvery strands that only make men look handsome and women look old. I remembered suddenly that I had no use for men.

“I’m fifty-one,” I blurted, and he smiled kindly.

“My middle name is Hayes. The sunroom is this way. We’ll continue sharing statistics where it’s quieter.”

I found myself being pulled by some magnetic force that sucked away free will. I played rat to his Pied Piper. That’s how I found myself alone in a Victorian sunroom with subtle lighting and Dr. Coltrane. Music from the stringed quartet playing in some alcove drifted out to us, a nice background for conversation. The inevitable buzz of conversations, laughter, and occasional loud voice sounded far away.

“Much better,” Dr. Coltrane said when we were seated in white wicker chairs with six-inch cushions, and tiny little white wicker tables held our plates. “It got a bit noisy out there for me.”

“I hate parties,” I said, and internally cringed at the implied insult to Dr. Johnston, who may very well be his best friend. “Not the people who give them, of course. Or the people who go to them.” My underarms got damp and my face felt hot.

“I’m only here because I have the night off and am supposed to be representing the staff of the clinic. Or whatever excuse they used to get me here to meet single women.”

Brain function ceased. So did the physical ability to move. I wondered how long it’d be before I keeled over onto the floor out of sheer embarrassment. If only I could be like Brownie and become invisible. Then I’d go out to the parlor or living room, or wherever Bitty was flirting her curvaceous little ass off, and pound her to an unrecognizable pulp. Then I’d pull out every last strand of her blond hair and weave it into a poncho I could wear to prison. Like a reverse Martha Stewart with her pretty poncho made by a fellow prisoner at Camp Cupcake.

Dr. Coltrane looked up at me. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

“Suddenly, I’m not as hungry as I thought.” I tossed down the flute of champagne and harbored other mean thoughts about Bitty while Dr. Coltrane pushed caviar onto a cracker and ate the disgusting stuff.

“I hope I’m not inconveniencing you by bringing you out here with me,” he said after a moment. “It’s just that when I saw the friendly face of someone capable of discussing more than a TV reality show or be-bop, I grabbed you like a life preserver. Can’t women under forty talk about anything else?”

It occurred to me then that Bitty
might
not have sabotaged me, that Dr. Coltrane had been lured here to meet candidates others considered suitable; like sweet young things most men of his age and stature wore as arm candy.

Rather cautiously, I said, “Hip hop.” When he looked at me with a puzzled expression, I added, “Not be-bop. That’s fifties music. Hip hop is today’s preference.”

He shook his head and sighed. “Just someone screaming language my daddy would have taken his belt to me for when I was a teenager. Fifty-three.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m fifty-three. You’re fifty-one, I’m fifty-three.”

“And your middle name is Hayes. My middle name is May.”

We both smiled.

Since I realized that I was really just a life preserver and not a romantic candidate, I felt much better about the entire sunroom thing, and we both relaxed and talked about whatever came into our heads. Mostly how much Holly Springs has changed since I came back and he came here to work, having spent a summer here on an internship years before.

“I got tired of big towns and bigger cities,” he said, leaning back in the wicker chair that looked much too flimsy for his large frame. “The pace is hectic, and the clients more spoiled than their pets. I’ve had women bring their cat or dog in to be euthanized just because they’ve redecorated and the animal no longer goes with their new furniture. The first time that happened to me, I thought the client was kidding. When I realized she was not only serious, but impatient that I didn’t understand Fifi went with the French style and she’d changed to Oriental, I’m afraid I said some very unkind things that vets aren’t supposed to say.”

“Did you euthanize Fifi?”

“Hell no. I gave her to my mother. Of course, I told the client that since I’d spoken out of turn, there was no charge for the euthanization and disposal of her precious poodle. I was young then. I’ve learned more subtlety now.”

“I think that sounded pretty subtle.”

“But it’s what I should have said first. Then I started charging for it, since we usually had to hold the animal a while before finding it a new home with no danger of it being traded in. So what brings you back to Holly Springs after being away for a while?”

“Divorce. And of course, I had this ridiculous impression my parents needed me to care for them in the twilight of their years. I had no idea they’d turn into hormone-driven teenagers the minute I came back.”

He laughed. “They probably just hid it from you when you came for visits. There’s a point when the kids leave home and you’re alone that you suddenly remember how it felt to be teenagers again.”

“You sound like you speak from experience.”

Some of the laughter faded from his face and I felt as if I’d intruded. Before I could change the subject he said, “My late wife and I had a very brief span of the second honeymoon syndrome. Then she was diagnosed with melanoma. We hardly had time to accept it before she was gone.”

“I’m so sorry. What a terrible time it must have been for you.”

After a moment, he said, “There’s nothing like the death of someone you love to make you appreciate the time you had together, and even the time you’ve got left when they’re gone. For me, it made me think about my priorities, and I came to the conclusion making more money than I need isn’t one of them. Making memories is.”

Transfixed by his tone of voice, the way his mouth curved up in a smile when he talked about his late wife, and his personal philosophy, it took a moment for me to realize that we were no longer alone.

“Trinket,” Bitty said in a tone of voice indicating it wasn’t the first time she’d spoken, “I’ve been looking for you everywhere!”

I looked up at her. “And now you’ve found me. Good job.”

A vision in her rose dress with delicate green jewels, and her blond hair loosely framing her lovely face, Bitty looked from me to Dr. Coltrane and smiled. “You can’t hide forever, either of you. Come brave the masses. People will begin to talk about you, and I prefer being the topic of local conversation.”

“Then you should always be happy,” Dr. Coltrane said with a grin, having already risen to his feet when Bitty showed up, “because I’ve heard more about you in the past few weeks than I ever knew about anyone.”