Yankee Doodle Dixie

by Lisa Patton

  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?”

  “I’m serious. Vermonters can’t bury people in the winter. Guess why?” I say.

  “I have no idea,” Liam says—and means it.

  “Because the ground’s frozen,” I tell him.

  “I’m a California dude. Never thought about that.”

  “Neither did I!” Virginia and I both say at the exact same time.

  “But it’s true, shoog,” Alice says.

  “What happens if some poor soul kicks the bucket in January?” he asks.

  “He lies in a mausoleum until The Thaw. That’s the term the Vermonters use for spring, which, by the way, actually doesn’t even exist, but that’s what they call it. I’m getting riled up just thinking about how quirky Vermont is,” I say.

  Liam takes another sip of his wine. “You girls are a hoot. This is the most fun conversation I’ve had in years.”

  Deke, who has poked his head into Liam’s dressing room twice already, says to him, “We’re almost ready to pull out, man.”

  “Give us five more minutes,” Liam tells him, still laughing.

  Everyone, and I mean everyone, in the room is well on their way to finding themselves three sheets to the wind, or “toe up” as Virginia calls it. Everyone, that is, except me. With a mother who preferred vodka to water, I’d learned early on what my limits were … not to mention what that can do to a fam
ily. For as long as the four of us had been stealing sips from our parents’ liquor cabinets, I have been the designated driver.

  After Deke comes in a fourth time, Liam looks at him and waves. “Okay, I guess we have to be on our way. Where are you guys parked? We’ll drop you off.”

  “Right down on Beale Street, in a parking garage,” Virgy tells him and I can tell by the way she’s flaring her nose that she’s tingling inside. This night is one for the Gladys Kravitz Agency history book, that’s for sure.

  When I glance at my watch, I’m shocked to see it’s almost one o’clock in the morning. As we pass back by the green room I can’t help but peek in, scanning the place for Edward in case he’s somehow resurfaced. Fortunately, he’s gone and so are all the instruments that once graced the stage. A few of the men who must have cleared all Liam’s gear are still milling around.

  Liam guides us out the stage door, down to his bus parked on the side of Beale Street and the four of us step onto Liam White’s tour bus like we own the joint. Almost as if it’s a reflex, I look around to see who’s watching. Although I’m acting like a groupie, I certainly don’t want anyone to think I’m one.

  The minute we enter the bus, the hair on my arms sticks straight out and I can feel myself shivering. Thank god I’m wearing a padded bra. I notice Alice doing the same thing. The temperature inside is not much different than the climate outside.

  “Welcome to Alaska,” Liam says.

  “Gah-lee, why do y’all have it so cold in here?” I ask him. “I might as well be back in Vermont.”

  “Because he’s got control of the thermostat.” Liam points to his bass player.

  “Hey. It’s not only me. Dan likes it even colder,” the guy says.

  “Dan’s our driver,” Liam says. He looks behind him and points to Dan, who’s sitting at the wheel with a big piece of pepperoni pizza in his hand. “Phil’s talking trash about you, dude.”

  Dan swallows in haste. “I heard him. Not true, not true.”

  “Let me show you guys around.” Pausing to introduce us to his bandmates, he says, “Hey everyone, meet Leelee, Alice, Virginia, and…” He hesitates. “I’m sorry, is it Mary Jane?”

  “It’s Mary Jule. But don’t worry about it. Happens all the time,” she says.

  The Liam White band members have all changed into sweats and long-sleeved T-shirts. None of them is wearing shoes but all of them have on heavy socks. His keyboard player, the only woman, has on a zip-up fleece.

  Some wave, some say hello (none of them stands) before turning back to the show they’re engrossed in on the tube.

  They’re all stretched out on black leather, deep comfortable sofas that face each other on either side of the bus. The windows are darkened. A huge flat-screen TV hangs from the ceiling in the corner. I notice two pizza boxes with the tops open sitting on a banquette table which is right next to a small stove with four burners. A sink, fridge, and a microwave make it a mighty cute little kitchenette.

  When we walk through the kitchen there’s a piece of paper taped to a door to the left. “You Dump, You Pump,” it says. All of us notice the sign but Alice is the only one who acknowledges it. “I wouldn’t want to be the one to break that rule.” She giggles and raises her eyebrows.

  “Trust me. You certainly wouldn’t,” Liam says, chuckling.

  He holds open a door, just past the kitchen, and we walk through a hallway with six individual curtains on either side of the bus. “These are our bunks.” He pulls back one of the curtains on the middle row to show us the inside. “There’s a TV in each bunk and we use these headphones so we don’t disturb one another.” He picks up a pair and throws it back down on the bed. “The TV rarely works, but the DVD player usually does. The woes of a bedroom on wheels.”

  “So y’all have a satellite?” Alice asks him.

  “Yep, we sure do.”

  “I’ve always dreamed of riding on one of these,” Mary Jule says, glancing around.

  “Come go with us,” Liam says, chuckling.

  “Unless I want to find myself huusbandless, chiiildless and with all grandmotha’s silva’ sold to a pawnshop when I get back, I bett’a not.” Here go the vowels again. Okay, Scarlett, that’s enough.

  Liam bursts out laughing. It’s obvious that he finds Mary Jule completely hilarious.

  One more door, leading to the back of the bus is the only place left to view. “This is my room,” Liam says, opening the door. “But I only use it to sleep.” There’s a queen-size bed with a large mirror above it, another big flat-screen TV and a whole stereo system built into the corner. One of his guitars is resting underneath the window.

  “This is really nice. Do all y’all share the same bathroom?” Virgy wants to know.

  “Yep, no big deal, though. We don’t shower here. We always have hotel rooms in every city.”

  Deke pops his face into the room, which barely fits the five of us anyway. “Hey, man. We need to know where to drop off the girls.”

  “Okay. We’re done here,” Liam says, and asks us to go up front to show the driver where we’re parked.

  When we get to the parking garage, Liam hops off the bus and makes sure we make it safely to our car. “Who’s driving?” he asks.

  “I am,” I say, as I’m digging for my keys. Once they’re in my hand, I hit the open lock button on the remote.

  Virginia leans over and whispers to him. She doesn’t think I can hear her (that always happens when she’s tipsy). “She won’t tell you this part. But she’s a champion. Leelee turned that whole inn around and made it work. The only reason she left is because she was so homesick.”

  He whispers back but I can hear him, too. “There’s something about a redhead that intrigues me. Something that tells me she’s got fire on the inside. Enough to make all kinds of things happen. I can just tell that about her.”

  “You don’t know the half of it,” Virginia tells him.

  He opens my door and steps aside for me to sit down in the passenger seat. “Cute car.”

  “Thank you.” I put my hands on the wheel and lean back in the seat. “It’s a miracle she made it through a Vermont winter, but she’s a tough ole cookie.” I tap the steering wheel and tuck my hair behind my ears. I feel like I’m telling my date good-bye after the eighth-grade dance, with the parents watching.

  After we’re all inside the car he bends down outside my door. “Great meeting all you girls.”

  “You too, Liam,” everyone says.

  “Be good.” He winks and shuts the door.

  All of us watch in awe as he slowly ambles away from my car. Once we’re sure he’s out of earshot, we erupt into high-octave screams.

  I turn around to the backseat. “Did that really happen?”

  “It was history in the making,” Alice says.

  “I’m serious. Did Liam White honestly invite us to his dressing room and then give us a ride on his dang tour bus and then walk us to my car?”

  “I’m framing this dress,” Mary Jule says. “I’m asking Al to do that for me for Christmas.”

  “So are we groupies now?” Virginia asks.

  “No. Groupies wouldn’t have gotten off the bus,” Alice says.

  “What is it with me and guys that wink?” I say, placing my car in reverse.

  “What do you mean?” Mary Jule asks, leaning up from the backseat.

  “He winked at me twice. Peter always did that.”

  “Peter who? He’s a loser, too,” Virginia says.

  Stopping my car in the middle of the parking lot I turn around to look at her. “No, he’s really not a loser at all. He’s wonderful. He’s just no longer interested in me, I suppose.” Even though we’ve just had the time of our lives, the mention of Peter’s name always makes me sad.

  Mary Jule massages my shoulders from behind as I drive out of the garage. “It’s not that he’s not interested, Leelee. He doesn’t want to tie you up with a long-distance relationship. He’s a man. He’s got the job he’s always
wanted and he’s getting paid well to do it. That’s hard for a man to do.”

  “What’s hard?” I ask her, picturing him with a sauté pan in one hand, a grill pan in the other, hunched over the stove at the Peach Blossom Inn with a bandana wrapped around his forehead sponging up the sweat from his brow.

  “To leave his job with no guarantee of another one.”

  “I guess,” I say, wishing for the first time since returning home that I was back in Vermont.

  * * *

  By the time we get back to Virginia’s it’s one thirty in the morning. The thought of having to be up in four and a half hours is worse than a Vermont black fly bite on the back of my neck. Well, maybe not that bad. But it’s a miserable thought all the same. I keep the car running while I run in to get the girls who are sound asleep on a palette on the floor of Virginia’s playroom. John carries Sarah and I carry Issie out to the car. That John, nothing ever bothers him. Virginia can stay out all night with a rock star, and instead of being bugged (as Baker would have been), he’s elated. There’s nothing he won’t do for Virginia or for any one of us. Baker would have been sound asleep wearing earplugs.

  As I’m driving off, I can’t help but fantasize what it would be like to be on the arm of a real rock star. As great as it sounds, the thought occurs to me that, like everything else, it must have its downside. There’s got to be a drawback to his lifestyle. It’s fun to dream about, though, so I indulge in the fantasy most of the way home.

  By the time I tuck the girls in their own beds though, my fancies have already turned into angst. I have to face Edward in six hours.

  Chapter Eight

  All hell’s broken lose at FM 99.

  When I walk in the front door of the station Jane waves me down from the receptionist’s desk. “Thank god, you’re here,” she says. “This phone has been ringing off the hook.”

  Four more lines buzz. She presses a button and holds up her hand. “Hold on.”

  My heart sinks. Paranoia in all its irrational glory bombards my mind. Could it have something to do with me joining Liam White in his dressing room and staying there till one in the morning? Could Edward have possibly found out about the tour bus ride?