Divas Do Tell (11 page)

Montrose is a beautiful home that now houses the Holly Springs Garden Club and events like weddings or graduation parties. It also hosts the annual April pilgrimage. I don’t think it looks a thing like the house where Darcy Denton lived, but since I’m not a location scout, it doesn’t really matter what I think or how it’s related to the book. I’d only read the first three chapters yet so there was no telling how Dixie Lee depicted characters and scenes later on in the book.

“So you’re shooting in Montrose today?” Bitty asked. “How exciting. You’ll love the house.”

Sandra smiled. “All of Holly Springs has been so nice to us. It’s true what they say about southern hospitality, because I’ve yet to meet someone who isn’t lovely.”

Sandra’s hazel eyes were direct and smiling, her gleaming brown hair done in a French twist very similar to one like my mother used to wear when I was young. Mama’s hair was blonde back then, and Daddy had dark brown hair that was almost black. My twin sister Emerald takes after Mama. I have the Truevine genes. That means I’m tall and have brown hair. Mama’s Irish ancestors provided the glints of red in it, but since I’ve hit fifty there’s not as much red as there is gray in my hair unless I put on a color from Walmart.

Bitty seized on Sandra’s comment about southern hospitality to say, “You really must come to a Diva meeting if you have time, Sandra. We’re always happy to welcome new friends and guests.”

“Dixie Lee was telling me all about your group and how much fun you have at your meetings. Is it true that you’ve had a transvestite stripper entertain at a meeting?”

Since the only way Dixie Lee could have known that is if she heard it from her sister Cady Lee, we were a little taken aback. A cardinal rule is to never tell what all goes on at our meetings. Not even Miranda Watson, the town crier of all things juicy, had violated that rule after attending a meeting, although a guest attendee had once said too much, to her later regret.

Bitty looked stunned by this flagrant violation of Diva rules.

Dixie Lee has pretty decent survival skills. She jumped right in to say, “Oh, that was just a rumor going around, Sandra. Nothing has ever been proven.” She gave her a big wink, and we all laughed.

Except for Bitty. Her laugh sounded more like a strangling frog.

I once more leaped into the fray. I was beginning to feel like the Coast Guard. “How long are you going to be in town, Miss Brady? Is most of the movie being filmed here?”

Sandra nodded. “A lot of it. There are some exterior shots that are vital, of course, and while we could do some of the interior scenes on the studio lot, Simon feels that authenticity always makes for a better film.”

Simon was the director, Simon Donato. He’d won an Oscar for his film about the holocaust, but his forte had long been movies about key events in history. Civil Rights would definitely be included as a key event.

“He’s already shot some scenes up in Memphis. I think one of them included real footage of a speech by Dr. Martin Luther King,” said Dixie Lee. “It’s so exciting to think that my little old work is going to make such an impact, bring to life all the struggles of people just trying to survive, and how hard it could be on anyone daring enough to cross the racial divide.”

“It was certainly brave of Doris Dancey to confront an entire town about the dishonor of Joe Don Battles,” said Sandra. “And poor Sharona—to think of her shame and anguish at falling in love with a man who would discard her like day-old bread is just heartbreaking.”

Bitty had just started to say something that I was certain was going to be derogatory about Dixie Lee when there was a loud noise, and the café door slammed open with a crash. We all turned to look.

The very subject of our discussion stood just inside the café, and there was a look on his face like murder when he spotted Dixie Lee. Her face went ashen, and her hands trembled as she tried to shrink back into the corner, but it was no use. Billy Joe Cramer lunged toward us like a drunken grizzly bear, waving a newspaper in one hand.

“Damn you, Dixie Lee Forsythe,” he shouted loud enough for people over in Benton County to hear, “for bringing up all that shit about stuff that never happened like you say it did!” He was breathing hard as if he’d run all the way from his machine shop. “You did this just so you could make money off a book? What the hell is the matter with you? You’ve ruined my life and hurt my wife and kids for nothing!”

“Billy Joe,” Dixie Lee started to say, but he drowned out anything she might have said with his next accusation.

“You’re a vicious bitch who don’t know nothing about what went on. Susana made up all those lies just to cover her own ass,” he snarled, and flung down the newspaper on the table next to our coffee cups and empty pie plates. “If you’re going to do interviews with reporters, you damn well better get it right. My life ain’t ever going to be the same because of you. My wife is talking about leaving me. Damn you, Dixie Lee.”

Sandra Brady surged to her feet, her tone icy as she confronted him. “That’s enough. You should have thought about all this forty-five years ago. It’s a little late now to whine about repercussions. Get out of here and stop harassing Dixie Lee, or I’ll call the police.”

Billy Joe’s face went white. He looked from Sandra to Dixie, then over at Bitty and me. He shook his head. “This is wrong. It’s just plain wrong. None of this never needed to be dug up again. No, I’m going,” he said when Sandra reached for her cell phone. “Just remember it’s on your head that you ruined people’s lives, Dixie Lee.”

It was so quiet in the café you could have heard bread rise once Billy Joe left. Dixie Lee looked stricken, and Sandra Brady looked just plain mad. After a minute she sat back down and said calmly, “Pay no attention to him. None of this is your fault, Dixie Lee. Now let’s see what the reporter said that has him so upset.”

She picked up the newspaper, took out a pair of reading glasses, and slipped them on, then as the café started to return to normal Bitty said, “I already read that article. My paper comes real early. I didn’t know you’d had another interview with the Memphis
Commercial Appeal
, Dixie Lee.”

With her voice still shaky, Dixie Lee said, “Yes, two days ago. We just talked about the events behind the book and how I drew from real life situations then fictionalized them. I didn’t even mention Billy Joe’s name. I didn’t mention anyone’s real name, just the characters in the book.”

I said as gently as possible, “People have long memories in small towns. Everyone recognized the people and the events, even though you fictionalized them very well. It was bound to happen.”

Sandra twitched the edge of the paper down enough to look at all of us. “Old sins have a way of coming back to haunt people. You didn’t do anything wrong, Dixie Lee. My guess is that Billy Joe’s conscience is smarting. Just ignore him.”

It had been a scene worthy of a movie, I thought, and later when we stood back outside in the cold that had warmed only a little from the sun, Bitty agreed with me.

“I thought Dixie Lee was going to bust a gut,” Bitty said with a pleased smile. “Did you see the look on her face when he was shaking that newspaper at her? She looked like she’d just swallowed a frog. All that croaking she did, too.”

“You’re deriving too much pleasure from this,” I observed, and Bitty nodded.

“I am. And I haven’t even had to lift a finger yet. Dixie Lee is getting what she deserves. I love it. Do you think Sandra Brady will really come to a Diva meeting?”

I could see this was going to be a frequent topic. So I said, “I have no idea. I think the director wants us to walk up the steps again. Abby is waving at us.”

By the end of the day I felt like I’d walked up enough steps to get me halfway to Georgia. The scene had only been filmed once, on the next to the last take, but all the lighting was right, and everyone did what they were supposed to do, so it finally went well. My legs hurt, I was cold to the bone, and Bitty was irritating me. When she suggested I come inside her house to get warm before I went home I refused.

I’d parked my car in her driveway to let her out. I shook my head. “I have to feed the creatures. Brownie needs to go out. They ate so early this morning they’re all probably starving by now.”

“It’s not even dark, Trinket. A little bit of Irish coffee won’t hurt.”

“I’m so tired it’d make me drunk, and Marcus Stone would arrest me before I got to the highway. Or Rodney Farrell would pull me over. That would be embarrassing.”

Rodney Farrell just lives to give Bitty traffic tickets. Most of the time the police know who is a menace on the roads and who isn’t, and a lot of officers let things slide that big-city police might not do. Rodney Farrell isn’t one of them. He’s a young newbie on the force and lurks around the corner from her house to catch Bitty just slowing down for stop signs or not wearing her seatbelt. He looks and acts a lot like Barney Fife from the old Andy Griffith TV show. Bitty and I frequently quote lines from that show.

“‘Nip it, nip it,’” said Bitty, and we both finished together, “‘Nip it in the bud.’”

It was a Barney Fife quote that we loved to use. We’ve watched a lot of TV in our lives, and there are quite a few movies we can quote verbatim as well. I’m sure we’re very annoying to a lot of people.

“Well,” said Bitty as she opened my car door to get out in her driveway, “I’m going to drink my coffee with brandy tonight. I don’t feel like I’ll ever get warm again. So—do you think Sandra Brady will come to the next Diva meeting or not?”

“I have no idea. She does seem very nice, not at all like I thought a big movie star would act. She sure put Billy Joe Cramer in his place, didn’t she?”

Bitty smiled. “I liked that almost as much as I liked him yelling at Dixie Lee.”

“This is starting out to be a wonderful year for you already, isn’t it.”

“Turning out beautifully. Now, if Dixie Lee will just fall into a tub of acid or drop off the face of the earth, I’ll be a very satisfied woman.”

On the way home I thought about Johnny Payne saying close to the same thing about Dixie Lee falling off the face of the earth. Really, I was beginning to worry about the death threats she’d gotten. I didn’t think it was random or a coincidence or someone just trying to get publicity. There were a lot of people who hated her enough to hurt her.

I said as much to Rayna the next day when she called to ask all the details about the confrontation in the café. “Dixie Lee may actually be in danger, Rayna. If you’d seen the look on Billy Joe’s face—if he could have gotten his hands around her throat, I think he’d have choked the life out of her.”

“Now that he’s acted the fool in public, I doubt he’ll be dumb enough to do anything like that. He’d be the first suspect the police would want to talk to. I wish I’d been there though. Just to get my own perspective on things, of course.”

“Of course.” Rayna was no different than the rest of us. We lived vicariously through a great deal of other people’s dramas. And except for the times we actually got involved in other people’s dramas, it was a harmless enough pastime. “And I can’t help remembering the look on Johnny Payne’s face, or the expression on Maybelle Greer’s face when she thought no one was looking,” I added. “Dixie Lee has done a reckless thing by resurrecting so many old sins.”

“She certainly has. I’m not sure if there’s anything anyone can do to help her, though. I mean, she brought all this on herself, so she’ll just have to get through it the best she can. I’m pretty sure Billy Joe won’t act on his threats. He did threaten her, didn’t he?”

“Not in so many words, but it was implied. If Dixie Lee ends up hurt or dead, Billy Joe Cramer is going to be in a peck of trouble,” I predicted.

Sometimes I’m a mile off on my prophetic visions.

SHARITA STONE, WHO cooks all Bitty’s meals, was hired for craft services, which is the movie’s term for catering. It’s sometimes called “crafty” we discovered, and we also discovered that the food was for the crew and not extras. Extras get to make their own food arrangements. Crew and actors get to dine on food spread out on tables under a big tent. Crews have boom operators, best boys, set designers, key grips, gaffers, and a host of other titles. All confusing.

There are a lot of rules on a movie set. Some of them I understand, like being quiet when we’re not required to speak, being where you’re supposed to be, and doing what you’re supposed to do without being micro-managed. Have I mentioned that Bitty sometimes needs micro-managing?

“You’re going to get us thrown off the set,” I hissed into her ear when she spent too much time rearranging her hair and not enough actually listening to the director. “We’re supposed to be hitting our marks, not staring at our reflection in a window.”

“Hitting our marks? My, you’ve picked up the jargon so quickly.” Bitty turned from the glass-front window of the hardware store where she’d been admiring her reflection and positioned herself on the strips of masking tape on the sidewalk. “Is that better, Mr. DeMille?”

I rolled my eyes. This scene called for two women to accidentally bump into Buck Prentiss, who was playing the part of Billy Joe Cramer, in the hardware store. We were supposed to stare at him with disapproval, then deliberately avoid going anywhere near him. Sandra had wrangled the parts for us. I was sure Bitty had been responsible for that in some way but couldn’t accuse her of it until I had proof. She knew I didn’t want to be in the movie. I’m much happier watching movies with a bucket of popcorn and a box of Junior Mints, but she was bound and determined that we were going to break into Hollywood by hook or by crook. I felt like giving her a left hook at the moment, but kept my pleasant façade so we didn’t have to shoot the stupid scene a third time.