Dancing Naked in Dixie (11 page)

I hurry to pass the dish and hear Mary Katherine start to titter. That is, until Shug snaps up the okra pieces from around my plate and pops them into his mouth like candy.

PD, who’s been feeding MeeMaw with microscopic spoonfuls, stops and makes a face at her brother. Mary Katherine glares in Shug’s direction, like he’s just licked the floor clean. Ella Rae giggles and mimics her uncle, but a few of her okra pieces hit the floor.

“Shug,” PD whispers. “Manners.”

Shug winks at his sister and digs into his mashed potatoes with vigor.

Aubie, who’s missed the whole performance, is wobbling to stay upright. “Julia dear,” she slurs, “we are so excited you’re here to preview the Pilgrimage.”

Before I can answer, TJ cuts in. “Now Aubie, I know that’s your pet project.” He turns to me. “There are big plans for ramping up tourism in the area, and not just in the historic district.”

I see Shug frown into his dinner plate.

“Just remember, there’s a lot more to Eufaula than just the Pilgrimage,” TJ lifts his fork at me to emphasize his point.

Aubie ignores her husband’s comment. “When I was just seventeen, in 1965, the city held the first-ever Pilgrimage.” She sighs and clutches her napkin, dabs it to her lips. “There was this reporter.”

PD clamps her mouth tight and closes her eyes.

“It was the event of the century, with lovely parties and so much celebration.” Aubie pauses, her eyes resting on a photograph to her right. I follow her gaze, taking in the young girl in a billowing skirt. A young man is by her side, unsmiling.

“He took that photograph,” Aubie says dreamily. “That reporter. I can’t remember…” Aubie rubs her forehead with his fingertips.

“I get to wear a dress like that to the Pilgrimage. It has a pink bow!” Ella Rae pipes up.

“Shhh!” PD scolds Ella Rae, then directs her attention to Aubie. “Mother, I’m sure Julia would love to hear about the actual Pilgrimage, not—”

“He was so handsome,” Aubie persists, swaying with the memory like she’s dancing. “A real gentleman. And I wore that dress. I still have it, you know, in the closet.” She tries to take another sip of sweet tea, and then scowls into her now-empty glass.

At this point, everyone’s stopped eating. TJ is red-faced, rebuffed. Ella Rae plays with the vegetables on her plate, lining up the okra and creamed corn into a smiley face.

Shug shifts in his seat, watching his mother. I forget about my tingling leg.

Aubie leans her chin toward her open palm. When she does, her jaw misses her hand and lands on the table. The impact makes the silverware bounce and the water in my glass slosh dangerously close to the edge.

“Mama!” PD’s words come out a gasp, but it is Shug who pushes back his seat and springs up. Mary Katherine, annoyed, tries to grab his wrist. Shug shakes off her touch and bends over his mother, whispering in her ear.

I’m holding my breath. Aubie doesn’t respond. Her cheek is pressed against the tablecloth.

“That’s enough,” TJ slams a heavy hand on the table. Ella Rae jumps and begins to sob silent tears. Her small shoulders quiver. TJ doesn’t notice. He glares at Aubie.

“Bless her heart,” Mary Katherine murmurs to herself, her fork poised in the air. She’s not looking at Aubie, though no one else notices. Her gaze is focused on TJ, like he’s the only person in the room.

Shug heaves his mother to her feet. As they step out of the dining room, Aubie clings to her son, head lolling back like a rag doll. Their awkward footsteps sound down the hallway.
Clump-slide, clump-slide.

Ella Rae finds her feet and rushes off. I don’t stop her. Neither does anyone else.

A door closes on the other end of the house, and in moments, Shug is back at the table. He grips the napkin he threw down on his plate.

“Ella Rae’s in her room,” he says to PD. He makes no mention of his mother.

I swallow and wonder how many times a month this happens. And whether anyone reacts any differently.

“So, Julia,” Mary Katherine dabs at her lips with her napkin, the smile of a Cheshire cat behind it. “Tell us all about New York City.”

So, this is how it is, I think. Hit rewind, and it’s like Aubie was never here. I glance at Mary Katherine’s plate, still arranged with her pitiful chicken leg and five lonely beans.

My appetite has disappeared. “What would you like to know?” I answer, keeping my voice even.

Mary Katherine peppers me with questions about shopping and shows, celebrities and clubs. I describe restaurants, exotic dishes, and talk about museums and new projects.

“There you go,” TJ booms. “New buildings, renovation, growth. So much opportunity. Just what Eufaula needs.”

“I don’t know about that …” I struggle to answer. “Speaking of construction, why don’t you tell me about what’s happening in Eufaula. Give me some background for my article.”

TJ looks pleased at my suggestion and Shug’s eyes light up.

“That’s why we’re so excited that you’re here,” Shug begins. “We have some significant renovation projects we’re trying to get off the ground. The Bluff City Inn, next to the Honeysuckle Diner, was built in 1885 by Dr. Reeves as a one-hundred room, three-story hotel.”

TJ clears his throat, looking bored.

“There’s also the Lakeside Hotel and Restaurant. It’s on the shores of Lake Eufaula. Another eight miles up the road is the area’s state park,” Shug adds. “It’s in sore need of modernizing, but we’re trying to tackle the project with some funding from the government.”

TJ now drums his fingers on the table. “Are you done?” he asks, when Shug takes a breath. “Mr. Encyclopedia of Historical Knowledge over there.” TJ jabs a thumb across the table. “Aubie’s brainwashed him into thinking we need to save every shack in Barbour County.”

“It’s my job,” says Shug, his jaw set.

“Well, if you got your candy-ass over to the construction company full-time maybe we could go ahead with some of those building projects I want to tackle.” TJ’s voice is fiery hot. “Some of them houses—”

“I figure you’ve got it covered, Daddy,” Shug says calmly.

“What I think is that you need to get yourself a decent house instead of that office you’re living in. It’s a disgrace,” TJ fumes. “A
Jordan
living like they don’t have a dime to his name.”

Mary Katherine forces a giggle. “You boys are always fighting. Y’all don’t want to leave Miss Julia with a poor impression of our sweet town with your arguing, now do you?” She dabs at her lips daintily, but her eyes shoot fireworks at both men.

TJ throws his napkin on his plate but doesn’t answer. Shug flushes red.

“I’m looking forward to seeing all of it,” I interject into the silence. “The new work and any plans for the future. That can be part of the article—just as much as the history.”

Mary Katherine claps her hands. “Yay! You’ll be so impressed with all of the work Jordan construction is doing. Why,
we’re
one of the oldest family-based companies in Eufaula. MeeMaw’s father started it, back in the day.” She pauses to give Shug a loving look.

The
we’re
strikes me as oddly territorial, yet no one has corrected her. I can’t resist asking, “What about you, Mary Katherine, how are you involved in Jordan Construction?”

Her eyes fly open wide, then flicker in embarrassment. “Well, no. Actually I’m not. I’m in commercial banking. In my spare time, I do some modeling, some pageant coaching—”

TJ coughs and pushes back from the table. “C’mon Shug, let’s see who’s playing.”

I immediately stand and start stacking dishes as Shug and his father exit the room. As I grab for the empty platters, PD touches my arm. “You don’t have to help clean up.”

“I insist.” The dishes clank together noisily as I balance a few glasses on a plate.

The kitchen door swings shut after PD. MeeMaw appears to be dozing. As I bend to collect her plate, the glint from her ring blinds me. I have to blink and turn my head.

“It’s lovely, isn’t it?” Mary Katherine muses, almost talking to herself as she gazes at the huge diamond. “I’ll have this one or one like it soon.”

The dishes almost slip from my hands. I glance around, wishing Shug or anyone else in the family would come around the corner and hear what she’s saying. MeeMaw’s eyelashes flutter the slightest bit as I pick up another plate, concentrating on not breaking dishes.

Mary Katherine gives me a coy smile. “They love me. And I adore them of course.” I watch as she gazes around the room like she owns it. “Isn’t it a great house for entertaining?”

She doesn’t wait for my response.

“PD’s the celebrity chef in the family. You’ll have to try some of her desserts,” she confides. “Silly old Shug won’t let me near the kitchen. He doesn’t trust me. Last summer, I turned on the gas stove and forgot all about it.”

I swallow hard as Mary Katherine titters and continues her story.

“He came in, sniffed the air, switched off the gas, and yanked me outside. You should have seen him.” She spreads her arms wide, “Five seconds longer, and Whoosh! The whole place could have blown up!”

“Wow,” I cringe, imagining the house exploding into smithereens.

“Close call, right,” she bites her lip and shrugs. “I’m so much more careful now. I have to be.” Mary Katherine lowers her voice to a hush. “This is all going to be mine soon.” Her words are concrete, like the mold’s already been cast, the tiny pieces left over smoothed and sanded away. Her blue eyes are granite, determined. “Mine and Shug’s. Someday. Very soon.”

Chapter 12

The next morning, Marietta calls before I’m out of bed. I rub my eyes with both fists, trying to wake up.

“So, spill it. What’s it like?” she asks. I can see her twirling a piece of hair, feet propped up, laptop open. “Do you love it? Is it like
Sweet Home Alabama
—or more
Deliverance
?”

She is joking, of course. “The city’s lovely, there are some gorgeous homes,” I confide. “Now, I have met a few characters.” I describe Elma and Stump at the Citgo station and can’t help but giggle out loud.

The sound rings across the room and I cover my mouth. Other people could be trying to sleep. Or enjoy the quiet. For that matter, I don’t know if Roger is in the next room. And he doesn’t need more to gossip about.

In the background, someone yells for Marietta and she muffles the phone. “That’s David, for the second time,” she finally whispers. “You didn’t tell me he’s such a slave driver.”

I wince and want to shrink into my skin.
Workaholics are like that
. “Sorry, I should have mentioned it. I guess they misplaced the perfectionism gene when they got around to me. I was handed the can’t-pay-attention unless the room is on fire DNA.”

“Well, you rival each other in the patience department,” she whispers. “I’ve got another fifteen seconds before he blows a gasket. Just have to finish typing this memo.”

“Good luck,” I say.

“Okay. Hurry back.” I can hear Marietta clicking on her keyboard as we talk. Another phone rings in the background. “Bye.”

“Bye,” I say to the dial tone and roll out of bed.

With a stretch, I begin my morning routine. After a quick shower, I get dressed, and fix my hair. With a glance at the clock, I realize that somehow, I’m ahead of schedule.
That never happens.
I don’t meet Shug for another twenty minutes.

With a cursory glance around the room, I confirm there’s nothing else to do. I packed last night, and Roger promised a late checkout, so I leave my bags lined up by the wall.

I ease over to the door, unlock it, then turn the handle as gently as possible. Mercifully, it doesn’t squeak. The wooden slab protecting me from the rest of the world swings open, welcoming in the perfume of freshly-baked biscuits and bacon.

The sound of whistling lifts through the air, followed by the bangs of pots and pans, the rush of water in a sink. An off-key voice sings the lyrics. Roger.
Camptown Races here we come, doo-dah, doo-dah. Camptown Races …

Gingerly, I take a step onto the hallway onto an oriental rug so thick my heel seems to sink several inches. I pull the bedroom door shut behind me and it clicks into place.
Doo-dah, doo-dah …

There’s a small piece of guilt clinging to me.
Roger took the time to make a nice breakfast.
His singing trails off into a soft hum. I continue to tiptoe, arguing with myself the whole way to the foyer.
If I stop, I’ll never leave the house, I’ll be late for my appointment, and I’ll never get back to New York and the rest of my life.
A little drastic, yes, but enough to convince me to keep moving. I ease toward the front of the house. Just three more steps.

“Julia?” Out of nowhere, Roger appears.

I scream in fright.

Roger squeals and leaps out of the way, clutching a large wooden spoon and his striped apron in panic. “What is it? What did you see?” His eyes dart back and forth, searching every nook and corner. He’s up on tiptoes, prancing like embers are smoldering under his feet.

“I’m not sure,” I gasp.

A few startled guests peek around the corner. Roger spots them and immediately assumes his cool persona, letting his apron drop. “Nothing to be worried about, y’all,” he coos. “Julia almost tripped. Frightened her to death, bless her heart.”

Reassured, one by one, the faces disappear. “Be right there with the biscuits,” Roger trills after them.

I inch toward the door.

Roger puts a finger to his lips then creeps toward me. “Was it Mr. Wiggles?”

“Who?” I mouth.

My host holds up his palm, turns it up to the ceiling, and makes his other fingers crawl across the flat of his hand. “Mr. Wiggles,” he breathes.

It dawns on me. He’s talking about a mouse. “I-I don’t know,” I say, making my voice tremulous.

Roger looks sick. His face is purple. “I thought those people took care of him,” he sighs, wipes his brow with an embroidered handkerchief, and shakes his head. “They were supposed to catch him and set him free,” he confides in a hushed tone.

“Oh,” I say and press my lips together. I should tell Roger the truth, but he’s already rushing me out the door.