Divas Do Tell (15 page)

A full cup of bourbon later, Bitty busied herself trying to salvage what was left of her high tea while I retrieved the silver teapot, creamer, and sugar bowl from the Persian carpet, returned with a whisk broom and paper towels, and tried to listen in on the interview Miranda had recovered enough to begin. What can I say about being nosy? It’s a Truevine trait, apparently.

Miranda had out her notebook and pen, looking a little worse for wear with tea-drenched hair but game enough to continue. She smiled at Dixie Lee, who still sat safely out of range on the antique settee.

“So tell me what motivated you to write about the Holly Springs residents, and when you first conceived the idea for the book.”

Dixie Lee started what was probably her standard interview speech. “I’ve always been creative, inventing stories in my head since I was a little girl. So many wonderful people live in the Holly Springs area that during my years living away, I thought of their lives and stories. It was the Civil Rights issues that sparked my imagination as a backdrop for
Dark Secrets Under the Holly
, however.”

When she paused to take a breath Miranda jumped right in with another question. “When did you decide to use events with real people as your characters? And do you think Billy Joe Cramer’s suicide is a direct result of what you wrote about the fictional Joe Don and Sharona’s experiences?”

For a brief instant the air grew still. I stole a glance at Dixie Lee. She looked like she’d just been hit with a two by four. Sandra seized the moment to interject her interpretation.

“Darcy Denton was a real character whose counterpart in the book and movie is a courageous woman who made a big difference. As Darcy aka Doris Dancey, she confronted the racial tensions and divide, and as a result Joe Don and Sharona were able to defy the culture and social mores of the time and begin a new life together.”

“True,” said Miranda, “but that’s not what happened in real life. Billy Joe and Susana didn’t end up together. It ended disastrously despite Darcy’s well-intended and determined efforts. How do you think that’s affected people who still remember those events, Dixie Lee?”

After inhaling a deep breath, Dixie Lee said, “My book is a work of fiction. While the characters and events closely parallel some incidents, they are products of my imagination. I would never—and I repeat,
never
—deliberately set out to cause someone harm.”

Sandra, sitting next to Dixie Lee on the uncomfortable horsehair settee, put a hand on her arm, but her comments were directed to Miranda. “While there’s a difference in what was written and the actuality of the ultimate ending of the characters, Miss Watson, Dixie Lee gave them a happy ending, perhaps the happy ending they deserved and what might have happened had it not been for the dissention between the races. It’s a tragedy that two people were hurt, and an even bigger tragedy that Billy Joe Cramer’s private life caused him to make such a final choice, but it was inevitable given his circumstances. Alcoholism and divorce are the two leading causes of suicide. I’m sure you’ll keep that in mind.”

“Of course I will. It’s well-known that Billy Joe drank too much and that he and his wife have had their differences. But I would be doing my readers a disservice if I didn’t at least ask the questions that have everyone talking.”

I looked back at Sandra and Dixie Lee. Sandra smiled. “I admire your thoroughness. Of course, you must give your readers your best work. They expect it of you. I know that as a journalist, you’re going to give them the truth and not sensationalism.”

Miranda nodded thoughtfully. “Of course. I do try to report the facts even if I may occasionally get it wrong. There are times one person’s truth is another person’s fiction.”

I thought no truer words had ever been spoken.

“IT COULD HAVE gone better,” Bitty agreed once everyone had left and we were cleaning up the bulk of the disaster.

“I’m not one to say ‘I told you so,’” I said, “but I told you not to let your pug loose in polite company.”

“You love to say ‘I told you so’ and don’t pretend otherwise.” Bitty sounded testy, so I didn’t remind her of the last time Chen Ling had inserted herself into the midst of polite company. It had ended in much the same way. We never did figure out how she escaped the upstairs bedroom.

Not that Divas are always ‘polite company’ either. Sometimes we may get a bit rowdy. It depends on how much Jack Daniel’s and California wine are available.

“Still want to invite Sandra to a Diva meeting?” I asked when we had the dishwasher loaded and the pimento cheese scrubbed off the velvet. “No telling what could happen.”

“I’ve already invited her, so we have to take that chance.” Bitty tossed the used dishrag into the trash can. “Maybe Chen Ling can have a play date at Luann’s house that day.”

Luann Carey rescues pugs. She lives over on Higdon Road and has a yard full of them at any given time. When Bitty first “borrowed” Chen Ling, I’m sure Luann congratulated herself on successfully finding a sucker—I mean owner—for the grumpy little Buddha. I must admit, it’s worked out very well for all concerned.

“That would be best,” I said without gloating. I love being right. It happens so rarely.

“I wonder what Miranda is going to write about Dixie Lee’s part in Billy Joe’s suicide. I mean, she did practically kill him.”

I was appalled. “Bitty! She did no such thing. If everyone committed suicide because of a little personal humiliation there wouldn’t be billions of people on the planet.”

Bitty shrugged. “Whatever. At least Miranda wasn’t badly hurt by the hot tea. I thought it might scald her. I don’t want to be sued.”

“Nice to know you have her best interests at heart.”

Bitty looked annoyed. “You know that no matter what I think about her personally, I don’t want to see anyone actually hurt.”

She was right. I did know that.

Bitty obviously was still fuming about Miranda’s pig, too. “Even her silly little pig. Did you see that sweater she had on? It’s almost an exact copy of one I bought for Chen Ling.”

“Without five hundred dollars’ worth of diamonds on it, though,” I pointed out.

“Don’t be silly. She doesn’t have a sweater with diamonds on it. It’s her collar. And it’s not five hundred dollars’ worth, either.”

“You just can’t stand it because Miranda got a pig named Chitling that she treats like you treat your pug named Chitling.”

“Her name is Chen Ling, as you know very well.”

I waved my hand in the air. “Whatever. Not that we should be even worrying about all that when there’s a possibility Miranda may make it worse for Dixie Lee.”

“While I still think Dixie Lee deserves to have to wear second-hand clothes and cheap shoes the rest of her life, I don’t want the entire town taking opposite sides. The Cramer family is up in arms saying Dixie Lee is responsible for Billy Joe killing himself, and half the town is saying the book doesn’t have anything to do with it. It’s not good.”

I nodded agreement. “Hopefully Miranda’s column will go a long way toward easing tensions.”

“Well, we don’t know that for sure. Miranda has been known to be contrary.”

I worried all the rest of that day and part of the night about what Miranda’s column would say in the next
South Reporter
. It almost ruined my date with Kit.

“It’ll be fine,” he said for probably the tenth time in an hour. “Miranda has a vested interest in saying just the right thing.”

We sat in a Mexican restaurant in Olive Branch, a bedroom community just across the state line from Memphis that’s a cluster of chain stores and restaurants only twenty-five minutes up 78 Highway from Holly Springs. Lovely subdivisions surround the new stores and old Olive Branch.

“What makes you think she has an interest in whether or not Dixie Lee’s responsible for Billy Joe killing himself?” I asked after a particularly spicy bite of my
chile relleno
.

“Miranda still has to live in Holly Springs. While Dixie Lee might not live here, her sisters and other family members do. Not to mention her old friends.”

“Most of whom aren’t speaking to her now,” I pointed out.

“It doesn’t matter. Miranda won’t be foolish enough to alienate everyone. She’ll find a way to soothe all the ruffled feathers without widening the rift.” He smiled, candlelight reflecting in his dark eyes as he looked at me. “Tonight I want to focus on just being with you. Tomorrow will take care of itself.” My heart did a little flip.

“I hope you’re right,” I said calmly enough when inside there was a little woman jumping up and down shouting
yippee! He likes me!
I’m still not quite used to that. I’d pretty much decided that after my divorce I’d be alone the rest of my life. Kit proved me wrong. How wonderful.

Kit held up his margarita glass, and I bumped it with mine. “Here’s to peace in Holly Springs,” he said, and I smiled.

“There’s always hope.”

I must say, the rest of the evening was lovely. We skipped the movie and ended up driving down to the Memphis river bluffs. The huge M-shaped bridge across the Mississippi lights up at night, and the water looked dark and mysterious with the reflections of dozens of tiny lights churning about in the rushing currents. A barge slipped past, the small light in the wheelhouse all that signaled its passing. Kit left the heater on and motor running as we parked in Tom Lee Park, a well-lit area at night. Behind us the pedestrian bridge on the riverwalk was also lit up. There were two more cars in the lot, and to the north a red blinking light atop The Pyramid punctuated the darkness.

We talked about everything except the book, the movie, and the suicide. Those were subjects we deliberately avoided. And yes—we necked like teenagers, just for fun. When we finally left the park and caught the interstate to 78 Highway, I was feeling relaxed and content. Life could certainly have its wonderful moments.

In retrospect, I’m glad I had that night of relaxation. It was the last one for a while.

Miranda Watson’s column comes out in the weekly paper on Wednesday mornings. By noon that Wednesday another Civil War had started.

Chapter 9

SCENE: DARCY’S MEETING with Susana. Location: Montrose. Players: Sandra Brady, Trinket Truevine, and Bitty Hollandale. Take one: Sorry. I love to get into the behind the scenes action sometimes. As long as I can stay behind the scenes and not actually be in one, I’m just fine.

“Did you hear the latest?” Sandra Brady asked us, leaning closer from her actor’s chair and lowering her voice. When Bitty and I stretched out our necks like a couple emus to hear what she had to say, she smiled. “Tasha Donato is in town and threw a big fit on the closed set last night.”

“Tasha Donato?” Bitty echoed. “Isn’t she Simon’s wife?”

Sandra nodded. “She snuck in and has been hiding out in town the last two days checking up on him. Of course, we all knew it was bound to happen. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“We did?” I asked when Bitty just nodded and pretended she knew what Sandra was talking about. “Checking up on him for what?”

Sandra looked a little surprised. “Don’t you keep up with the gossip? Simon always has an affair on a location shoot.”

“With one of his stars?”

“Usually. This time, though, he really lowered his standards. I suspected who it is, but wasn’t sure until last night.”

“Who is it?” I couldn’t help asking.

Just as she started to tell us, Simon Donato strode onto the Montrose set. I looked behind him for anyone who might be his wife, but all I saw was Abby. She had an armful of stuff, including her ever-present walkie-talkie that seemed like an extension of her arm.

Simon Donato is a tall, rather lean man with a healthy tan and thinning hair. He wears a baseball cap most of the time, sunglasses that Bitty said cost a thousand dollars and I said were ugly, and a cashmere scarf always around his neck, color varying to match one of his sweaters that cost more than my car, and expensive Italian loafers. Movie people are fascinating. They live on an entirely different plane than the rest of us mortals.

Someone hollered, “Last look,” and the makeup designer came toward Sandra with her box of magic potions. Bitty and I were relegated to the hallway along with our canvas chairs I’d bought at Walmart so we’d have something to sit in when Sandra invited us to a shoot. It was a privilege not many got to share, especially the interior scenes. Sandra had already told us a closed set had been used the night before for Joe Don and Sharona’s fictional love scene. Since the real Billy Joe and Susana had never shared intimate details with anyone, Dixie Lee—or Desirée—had invented what she thought happened. At least Billy Joe had never had to face that humiliation, I thought, although his family would have to deal with it.

For the spectators, and frequently the actors, filming a movie scene can be very boring. A scene involves lighting technicians, electricians, cameramen, key grips, best boy grips, makeup, hairdresser, costume designer, script supervisor, and approximately a dozen other people running around making sure it was perfect. If one little thing is off with the lighting or actor’s position, it has to be redone several times. Masking tape marks on the floor position where everyone is supposed to be. While exterior takes involve long tracks for camera dollies, interior takes are less mobile but just as complicated.