Yankee Doodle Dixie (17 page)

What about the great ones he did play?
“I was a little sad he didn’t play that one, but he has so many. I thought the show was amazing.”

“He should have played it,” Edward says definitively.

“Oh well, maybe next time.” Hoping to get off the awkward topic, and after a prolonged and uncomfortable moment or two, I ponder introducing him to the girls. I’m honestly afraid of the look Alice might give him, but I see no other way around it. We’re all standing here like statues. “I’d like for you to meet my best friends,” I say lightly, touching his arm. Once I introduce each of them to Edward, he nods and in turn introduces us to his wife, Shelly, and their children, Edward and Shelly. They proceed to plant their feet right there in line with us.

Seconds later, Liam’s walking up to us, well he’s walking straight up to me.
Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my goooooood.

“Hello, Leelee,” he says, with alluring charm.

“Hi, Liam,” I say assuredly, his earlier wave from the stage has heightened my self-confidence. If my thoughts were played on a TV monitor right now, I’d never be able to show my face in public again.

There’s an awkward moment of silence before Virginia nudges me. “Oh! Sorry, this is my dear friend, Virginia. And my other dear friends, Alice and Mary Jule.” Am I supposed to reintroduce Edward? He’s staring at me like I should. I decide against it.

Virginia says, “Nice to meet you. Thanks for the tickets.”

“Yes, thank you so much,” Alice says.

Mary Jule just smiles. I can tell she’s about to lose it. In fact, her smile appears a little contrived. That happens when she’s nervous or flustered. Like the time her mother-in-law, who she’s a little embarrassed of, gave her a homemade potpourri tower at her wedding shower. I’ll never forget it as long as I live. When she opened that gift—a tall glass vase, with white lights swirling through a mound of stale, apple-scented potpourri—Mary Jule had a look on her face that was phonier than a knockoff Gucci purse.

“You’re welcome. I’m glad you guys could make it. Did you enjoy the show?” Liam asks.

“Oh yes. It was incredible. We have all your records. I just love ‘Miss Thing,’” Alice says, not knowing what else to say to a famous musician.

“Me, too,” Mary Jule says, her voice shaky.

“You guys couldn’t have been more than eight or nine when that song came out.”

“But we listened to the radio all the time,” I tell him.

Edward, who’s not been acknowledged by Liam yet and is standing there like a bump on a log, chirps up. “Where’s your next stop, man?”

“Florida. We’re in several cities there, as a matter of fact,” Liam says politely, after taking a deep breath.

“Did you hear that?” Edward says to his son, who appears to be around eight. “Mr. White is headed to Florida.”

Edward Junior’s eyes are practically closed and big Shelly is holding little Shelly in her arms. Clearly this outing is past their bedtime, though Edward Senior seems oblivious. Edward grabs his son’s left shoulder and shakes him so hard the poor little thing almost loses his step. “Florida? Your favorite place? Shells, the beach, boogie boards?”

Little Edward just stares at big Edward and Liam, smile-
less
.

“What city do you land in first, buddy?” Edward asks him.

“Jacksonville, I think.”

“I love Florida,” I say, my head darting at the others for confirmation. Clearly I’m still nervous myself.

Alice can tell and she tries to help. “Oh yeah, Destin is our favorite place. We’ve spent many a crazy day on that beach. Have you ever been there?” she asks Liam.

He shakes his head. “I don’t think so. That’s on the Panhandle, right?”

“Yes. With the whitest beaches in the whole world,” I say.

“Wait a minute, I take that back. I had a gig in Panama City once. Isn’t that close to Destin?”

“That’s in South America,” Edward says, drawing out each word, like he’s the only person with a brain.

A very long silence follows.

Liam cocks his head and gazes at him. Alice, on the other hand, can’t help herself. “No it’s not. It’s in Florida. An hour from Destin. Not far from Seaside.”

“I’ve heard about Seaside,” Liam says, completely ignoring Edward. “Isn’t it a community of pastel houses and restaurants right on the gulf?”

“It’s this side of heaven,” Alice tells him, her Southern drawl painting quite the scene. “
Unbelievable
restaurants. And the homes are to die for.”

Liam starts to comment but is interrupted by Edward. “I’ll have to fly down there sometime,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Is there a private airport nearby?”

We all look at each other and shake our heads. How on earth would we know that?

“I’m a pilot.” He rocks from the balls of his feet back to his heels several times, determined to impress Liam.

“Cool,” is all Liam says and changes the subject right back to Seaside.

All of us stand there chatting about Florida for about five minutes, during which Shelly, holding a sleeping child in her arms, intermittently asks Edward if they can go home. When Edward finally decides to honor her request, he pokes Liam with his elbow and says, “I’d love to chew the fat all night, buddy, but”—he sighs deeply—“got to get these kids to bed.”

Liam simply nods his head.

“See ya, champ,” Edward says and then turns to me. “Are you leaving soon?”

“Oh. In a few minutes,” I say.

“I’ll see you bright and early then.” Edward and family finally stroll off.

As soon as my boss is only five feet away, Liam leans his face close to mine and under his breath says, “What was up with him taking your seats?”

I shake my head and shrug my shoulders. “They were better than his.”

“What an idiot.” He turns around to Deke, who’s been hovering behind him the whole time. “Let’s get out of here. Come with me, ladies, I’ll buy you a drink.”

Next thing we know the four of us are being led through the lingering crowd, out the green room and down another hall. I can’t bear to look behind me. The image of Edward—hands on his hips, eyes narrowed, and lips pressed together is as haunting as my memory of Daddy the morning he stumbled upon his brand-new Lincoln sitting in the garage with a large dent in the trunk. Oh well. I’ll worry about it tomorrow. I’ll make sure to get to work bright and early. Not a second late.

“This is not happening,” Alice says under her breath as we make our way down the long hall. “What are the odds?”

When we reach a dressing room with a large gold star on the door, Virginia scoots up behind me and pinches the back of my arm. I practically have to pinch myself, too—Liam was our teenage idol, something about him makes me feel like a young girl again.

Once inside, I’m taken aback by the cornucopia of food spread out on the counter below the large makeup mirror. It’s the kind with big clear lightbulbs spaced two inches apart, tracing the outside of the mirror. Fresh cantaloupe, honeydew, mango, red grapes, raspberries, blackberries, and kiwi—arranged to resemble the petals of a flower—circle a bowl of poppyseed dressing. A gorgeous platter of imported cheeses with goudas, cheddars, époisses, and havarti looks like a still-life painting next to assorted crackers, apple slices, and breads. Jumbo shrimp spills out over a small ice sculpture shaped like a guitar. There’s a bar set up in the corner.

At first, it seems a little awkward to be in his dressing room. Knowing what in the world to say to a rock star can be a little bit intimidating. Fortunately Alice and Virginia have no problem. Earlier trips to the bar have aided that predicament. Even still, Mary Jule and I are a bit more timid.

Liam is a gracious host. He shares his magnificent food and pours his expensive wine freely. Rombauer chardonnay. I recognize it immediately, and seeing the antiqued white label with gold embossing brings back a memory so sudden it hits me in the gut. For a moment, I’m not in Liam White’s dressing room … but back in front of the fire at the Peach Blossom Inn, with Peter’s inquisitive mouth swirling the buttery wine on his tongue. When I hired him as the chef, we spent long hours revitalizing the menu and wine list—and paired with his braised scallops, the Rombauer was as close to bliss as you get, considering it was winter in Vermont.

Once we’ve each partaken of a dainty plate of food, Liam offers us a seat. There’s a sofa in one corner, where Mary Jule and Alice settle onto the downy cushions. I sit down on a less comfortable chair. It’s metal, but the seat cushion is at least padded.

Virginia settles back in one of the overstuffed club chairs and crosses her legs. “Leelee knows all about wine,” she tells Liam, as she swirls the chardonnay in her glass. “She used to be an inn owner in Vermont.”

“Vermont?” He glances at me from the bar, where he’s pouring himself a glass of Rombauer. “For real?”

“For real,” Alice says. “She had a four-star restaurant up there.” She points to the ceiling as if that’s where Vermont is. “And you should have seen the wine cellar. Lord have mercy.”

“Four stars? That’s saying something. Wish I could have eaten there.” He pops a shrimp into his mouth. “I would imagine that was quite an adjustment. Memphis, Tennessee, to Vermont.”

“Trust me. It wasn’t her idea,” Virginia says.

Liam must be wondering if I even talk.

“Really.” He pulls a chair out from the makeup area, it’s like the one I’m sitting in, and sets it down next to mine. He swings his right leg over the seat and sits on the chair backward. “Tell me more.”

“Well, let’s see. I only lived there fourteen months. My life became one big nor’easter and then—”

“She got the hell out of Dodge,” Alice says, taking another sip of her wine.

A cute smile follows bright eyes. “Why? What happened?”

“Oh, one thing after another really. I—”

“For starters, she had to fire this German witch of a bitch, whom she bought the inn from, and then the witch turned around and swindled it back, right under Leelee’s nose.” Virginia’s gotten into the habit of talking for me, well, they all have.

“That’s no fun,” he says.

Mary Jule, who has been practically mute until now, suddenly sits up in her seat and turns on her Dixie charm. Not only does she have on a new dress, she made emergency appointments for a blow-dry, manicure, and a spray tan—and now she’s determined to make them work for her. Her vowels have never been as long as they are tonight. Even Scarlett O’Hara never worked that hard. “Theen, her huusband leaves her for an
oolder
woman who Leelee finds out has had oodles of plastic surgery.”

Liam finds Mary Jule’s comment so hilarious, he spits out his wine.

I, on the other hand, stare her down like she has lost her ever-loving mind. My face turns as red as the big curtain on the stage and I have a pretty good idea of how that looks next to my fiery hair. Not only do I have no desire to discuss this tidbit of information with superfluous people like Tootie Shotwell, discussing it with a rock star who has invited us to his show is way worse.

When she sees my face and realizes it has embarrassed the fire out of me, she tries her best to recover—minus the exaggerated accent. “But Leelee didn’t do anything wrong, though.” She waves her hand in front of her face as if she’s fanning away a bad smell.

This unfortunately gets Virginia going. She stands up, tops off her wine at the bar (it’s sloshing over the top it’s so full) and prances right up to Liam, chatting to him like they’ve been buddies for years. “She was rich as all get out though, and Baker—that’s Leelee’s ex—fell for her wiles. But Fiery did not let that stop her. Oh no. Once he left she turned the inn into a romantic
Southern
getaway. Well, we all did.” She sweeps her free hand, palm up, toward all of us. “We surprised Leelee when that asshole left and helped her redecorate the inn,” she says, with an emphasis on “ass” and a prolonged vowel to put Mary Jule to shame.

Alice stands, raising her voice over Virginia’s so she can now be the center of attention. “New paint, new wallpaper, we even changed the name of the place from the Vermont Haus Inn to the Peach Blossom Inn. Right after she fired Helga.”

“Helga?” Liam’s eyes dart from one of us to the next, trying to keep up with who’s on first.

“Yeah. Who names their child Helga? And let me tell you, she fit it, too. Six feet tall, hair slicked back in a tight gray bun. Mean as a snake. Leelee couldn’t stand her,” Alice says.

“I can’t stand her myself,” Liam says, chuckling.

Mary Jule chimes in again. “We even got rid of her hippos.”

“Okay, now you’ve stumped me. Her hippos?” He looks directly at me, with a delicious grin and an amused smile on his lips … clearly he’s charmed by my friends.

I shift in my chair and sit closer to the edge, uncrossing my legs, and attempt to make any bit of sense out of the insane fragments my tipsy friends have sputtered out during the last ten minutes. “Her pride and joy. When she sold us the inn, there was a collection of about twenty ceramic hippos that she insisted could not budge off the fireplace mantel. Several months later, when I dared to replace them with my own Herend china figurines, she flipped. I thought she might spontaneously combust, she was so angry.”

“We were there, witnessed the whole thing,” Mary Jule says and sweeps the hand that’s holding her wine through the air. Of course a little spills onto the floor. “Oops,” she says. “Sorry.”

“Princess Grace even hated her and she loved everyone,” I tell him, finally loosening up.

“Okay. Now you’re killing me. Who in the hell is Princess Grace?”

Virginia, who never really liked Gracie, rolls her eyes and sighs loudly, purposefully bringing attention to herself.

I roll my eyes and shake my head in Virginia’s direction. “She was my precious little Yorkie who died in Vermont after her blood froze to death. Don’t even get me started on that one. I didn’t think I’d be able to bury her. Vermonters don’t bury their dead in the winter, you know.” I sit back in my chair and cross my arms.

“What?” He swings his leg over the back of the chair and heads to the bar, filling his glass almost as full as Virgy’s. “You guys are moving so fast, I can’t keep up with you. What is this about Vermonters not burying their dead?”