Dancing Naked in Dixie (19 page)

After the announcement, there’s a rush of bodies toward the rear of the Mansion. The swell of excitement carries almost everyone toward the lush tables filled with food. Mary Katherine locks her arm in Shug’s, preparing to steer him away from me and the front door. Desperate for help, I try to signal Roger, who’s still talking.

It’s the perfect time to escape for a moment, regain my composure, and pretend to take a few pills.
What’s taking him so long?

I cast a glance toward the front door and see PD through the glass. Her arms are loaded down with trays and she’s struggling with the latch. Shug’s sister teeters and rights herself, still jiggling the door handle.

I’ll help!

Without another thought about Roger’s strict warning, I spring up, wobble on my right ankle, and promptly collapse on the floor.

Chapter 21

“It’s broken,” I cry out, holding my ankle. The shoe has snapped in two, leaving a gilt-covered cylinder nearly five inches long in the palm of my hand.

This is what I get for trying to balance in stiletto heels
, I tell myself.

Shug rushes over and kneels down; Roger is two steps behind, with his hands fluttering in the air like bird wings. Mary Katherine is glowering red hot between the two men, so angry I think that she might self-combust into flames.

“Julia, are you hurt?” Shug asks, taking my foot in his hands and examining for broken bones. With careful fingers, he slips my toes out of the broken shoe. At his touch, I tremble. His dark eyes find mine and I can’t help but feel lightheaded.

“She’s fine, sweetheart,” May Katherine pulls at his coat sleeve. “Now, be a good boy and let PD in the door. I’ll look after Julia.”

With the mention of his sister, Shug relinquishes his position and gets to his feet, brushing off his pants. “Be right back,” he murmurs.

Wide-eyed, Roger shoots a look of pure terror in my direction, then watches as Mary Katherine sidles nearer to inspect the damage.

“Oh, Julia, my goodness, bless your heart,” Roger exclaims as he practically pushes her tall figure out of the way to get to me first. He bends down and pulls me closer, tilting his face toward my ear. His voice is hushed but emphatic and clipped. “Didn’t you hear me the first time? I said—it might be
your shoe
.”

“Oh no, I thought you…” I cover my eyes and shake my head back and forth.

Mary Katherine is closer. Hovering. Circling like a bee to pollen. And ready to sting.

Roger stops talking. Shug’s girlfriend is inches from my foot.

“Princess?” Roger shoots a half-annoyed, half-amused look in her direction. “You run along with the other girls and play nice.” He shoos her with an adoring look. “Pretty please? Don’t miss all of the fun. Besides, Miss Shirl is dying to know where you picked up those stunning earrings.”

Mary Katherine brightens, “Oh?” She tosses her long blonde hair over one shoulder to reveal an intricate design of gold and diamonds.

“They are lovely,” Roger gushes. I sit still, not breathing, watching in awe as Shug’s girlfriend softens before my eyes. “I took a guess. That little antique store in Charleston? Or the one in Savannah?” He taps his upper lip. “But, when she asked me, I told her to go straight to you.” Roger takes Mary Katherine’s hand in his. “Let’s walk, shall we dear? Shug and PD will be along in just a moment.”

Open-mouthed, still sitting on the floor, I yank off my other shoe. My toes are red and pinched, but when I stand up, I almost sigh in relief. I hobble to the foyer of the Mansion, feeling much like Cinderella after the ball, and step outside. The naked soles of my feet retract against the cold marble and I practically dance down the steps, my broken heels swinging next to my bare thighs.

“What happened?” PD exclaims from the curb, hoisting another tray from the trunk of her car. “Shug? What’s going on?”

“Wardrobe malfunction,” I explain.

Her brother, who’s pulling another stack of desserts from the back seat, stands up and sees me. “Julia,” he says. “Wait. Why aren’t you inside? I thought Mary Katherine and Roger—”

“It’s all under control,” I nod for emphasis, and step carefully over the cracks in the sidewalk, watching for fire ants. “They’re fine. And I’m fine. Really. I just need to run back to the room.”

PD is taking this all in. “Shug, be a sweetheart and carry the rest of these in for me? Pearl’s in the kitchen—or Mama—and they’ll take it from there.”

“Are you coming in?” He glances from his sister to me. “Aren’t you?”

PD answers for me. “Shug, honey, I think Julia needs a new pair of shoes. She can’t go traipsing into the lunch with bare feet—someone would snap a photo and it would end up on the front cover of the
Eufaula Tribune
.”

I nibble the edge of my lip and inch closer to PD’s car, trying to look helpless so that she’ll take pity on me and rescue me from further humiliation.

To my relief, Shug’s sister waves me over. “Jump in.” I waste no time, dance across the blacktop and slide into the front seat.

PD turns back to her brother. “I’ll run her back to the B&B while you smooth things over with Mary Katherine. We’ll take a little girl time, freshen up, and take a drive around town,” PD suggests. “I can play tour guide for a bit,” she offers.

Shug rubs his jaw. He knows she’s right, but offers a mournful scowl. “Julia?”

“I’m fine,” I confirm this with a shrug and a wide smile—all teeth.

His sister reaches over and pokes his arm. “Hey, we’ll be back in a bit. I need a teensy break. I’ve been in the kitchen since five o’clock this morning; I’ve memorized that menu in there.” She waves at Shorter Mansion. “I’ve cooked most of it—including my new masterpiece, yet to be unveiled—which you hold in your hands.”

Shug perks up at the thought. “Really?” he asks his sister, putting his nose close to the edge of the tray and peeking under the edge of the coverlet. He pretends to swoon in delight.

I laugh out loud at his reaction and PD giggles. “Go ahead. Be the first. Well, actually, the second, since I let Ella Rae sample one this morning.”

“Great!” Shug says and unwraps the edge. He unearths a pastry that is golden brown and flaky. It’s in the shape of a triangle, and he takes no time in biting off half. “Mmm,” he is chewing and raising his eyes in ecstasy. When he swallows, he asks, “Sis, what is this?” before popping the last of it into his mouth.

“Haven’t named it yet,” PD muses. She looks up at me. “Want to have one, Julia?”

Shug offers the tray through the open window.

“Absolutely! Yum. Ingredients?” I ask, taking one of the delicacies in my hand and taking a small nibble.

“Puff pastry, marshmallows, Nutella,” PD offers a sly look. “Then a sprinkle of powdered sugar.”

I finish the treat and lick my fingers unabashedly.

Shug is watching me and I blush in spite myself.

“Totally. Absolutely. Fabulous.”

“Are you okay with this?” PD asks as we leave Shorter Mansion in her rearview mirror. “I know you’d like to be in there, but you’ll have plenty of time tonight to chat with folks. It’ll be the same crowd, maybe a few extras.”

“Whew. Good. Actually, Roger introduced me to about a million people before…” I look down at my toes and wiggle them.

PD purses her lips. “Well, I hope you’ve got something a little safer for tonight.” When I don’t answer, she slows the car. “Julia?”

“Left my bag in Atlanta. The one with my dresses. And good shoes,” I explain. “Roger came to the rescue and took me shopping.”

Peals of laughter bubble up and burst from the other side of the car. She is laughing so hard, tears run down her cheeks, creating wet lines through her blush and foundation. When we pull up in front of Roger’s, she gasps for air and regains regular breathing. “That explains a lot,” she coughs and fans her face.

“Not exactly my style, was it?” I cock my head and grab my purse and shoes off the floor before I push open the car door.

PD puts a hand to her lips. “Bless your heart,” she murmurs.

I stop and turn my head. “You know, when I first got here, I thought that particular phrase sounded exceptionally sweet, but I’m beginning to think that you Southerners use it as ‘code.’” I shape my fingers into quotation marks and narrow my eyes. “Like,
oh gee, she really messed up—
or
—that dress belongs on a dancing hippo
. Am I that far off the mark?”

After I’ve slung the question across the seat at PD in true Yankee fashion, I realize that I’ve probably just overstepped another unwritten boundary of politeness. What’s worse, that means I’ve also insulted Shug’s sister, and all others who use the same phrase—three words most likely to be included in a linguist’s bible containing two hundred years of honored Deep South colloquialisms. I don’t say another word.

Shug’s sister blinks at me for a moment, speechless, like I’ve shouted John Besh’s cooking sucks. Or worse, that the Confederate soldiers could have done more to win the so-called “War of Northern Aggression.”

Then, PD looks down at her lap, and smiles. “Not at all.”

“Sorry,” I blurt out. “I just say things. And they don’t come out right. It was just an observation and I should have kept it to myself. I get into such trouble sometimes…”

PD reaches a hand across the seat and pats my knee. “You’re funny. And not afraid to speak your mind. It’s a rare quality.”

“Um, thank you,” I sputter and wrinkle my forehead. “I think.” I twist and put my bare feet on the sidewalk, thinking about what she’s saying. PD’s not upset at all. In fact, the girl I thought I would really dislike has turned out to be pretty spectacular. I close the door behind me and lean on the frame of the open window.

With a twist of her lips, PD continues. “I’ll admit, at first, I was skeptical about a Yankee coming to Eufaula to cover the Pilgrimage. But, you’re funny and real. You have an awfully good sense of humor, especially since my daughter smashed your windshield five seconds after you rolled into town.”

“It’s a rental,” I remind her and roll my eyes.

“Thank goodness.” PD leans back against the seat and headrest. “Well, I’m glad you came. I like you, Julia. And my brother does, too.”

“I’m flattered,” I manage to get out. “The feeling’s mutual.” I rush to clarify. “In a very professional, friendly, business way of liking. Right?”

PD is trying hard not to smirk. “Go get changed. I’ve got a little tour all planned out. We’ll hit Reeves Peanut Company and swing by a creepy cemetery or two.” She makes her voice low and mysterious. “Hope you like ghost stories.”

With PD’s words rattling around inside my head, I pull the dress over my head and toss it on the bed, while setting my beaten-up shoes in the corner. With pleasure, I slip on my favorite jeans, simple flats for walking, and a light sweater. I grab a jacket just in case, my camera, and check the mirror on my way out.

After running a brush through my hair, catching it in a ponytail holder, and swiping on lip gloss, I realize that the face staring back at me in the mirror is flushed and glowing. I ponder this for a moment.

Sure, I’ve taken dozens of glamorous trips to exotic locations, but it’s been a long time since I’ve been excited and near giddy for a little off-beat adventure. There’s a part of me that I didn’t realize existed. A part that likes the quiet and easy charm of a small town, the warmth and friendliness of complete strangers, and the elegance of homes that have stood for hundreds of years, surviving war, weather, and the test of time.

My romanticizing ends when I remember Phase III. With a sigh, I throw my purse under one arm like a football, close the door, and remind myself to ask PD about it later. For right now, I’ll play tourist, and let her show off the beauty of her hometown.

She’s waiting where I left her. As I buckle in, she snaps her fingers.

“I want to show you something else, too,” PD says as she cranks the wheel left and eases into the traffic. We travel less than a mile, ending up in front of the brick building on East Broad Street.

It’s a sprawling brick structure built in the Renaissance Revival style, with twin gables, arched doorways, and windows. In the center of the façade, there are painted white letters which spell out Reeves Peanut Co. Above that, a rectangular cement insert is etched with the numbers ‘1903’.

“So, why does it say ‘Cotton’ at the top?” I ask.

“Back at the turn of the century, cotton was crucial to Eufaula’s economy. The Chattahoochee River was used to transport hundreds of bales to far away ports, like New York and Liverpool. The building used to house the Eufaula Grocery Company, and likely carried cotton in addition to other staples people needed. I’ll have to ask Shug to make sure.”

“And now?”

“It’s still a functional warehouse for Reeves. They shell peanuts here, and have since 1932. You can see the ventilators—those metal lattice pieces in the center of each façade.”

I get out my notebook and pen to scratch down the dates and details. “I’m going to grab a few photos,” I tell PD.

We step onto the blacktop, and I crouch down to get a better angle. “What was the other thing you remembered? Something else that you were going to show me?” I adjust the camera’s viewfinder to capture the blue sky and wisps of white clouds behind the red brick.

“Over here,” she cups her hand and gestures me closer.

I brush off my pant legs and follow her to the smaller building to the right of Reeves Peanut Company. She’s only gone a few steps—when she takes out her keys, fumbles through half a dozen of them, then chooses one to insert into the locked wooden door.

“All right,” she warns me. “Come on in. But keep an open mind.”

The sweet smell of brown sugar and melted butter tickle my nose and I inhale deeply. There’s the scent of cinnamon, with a hint of cloves. On the far counter, fifty-pound bags of baking flour sit like old men on a broken-down sofa.

“This is what Shug was telling me about? Your bakery?” I exclaim, walking around and running my hand on the worn stainless steel appliances. “It’s amazing. Wonderful.”

PD beams with pride. “I’d been looking at the property for a while now, but I couldn’t afford it. My brother signed the lease a few days ago and surprised me. MeeMaw gave him some money. She really wants me to pursue my dream of opening a bakery. We’re supposed to bring her over here tomorrow and show her.”