Dixie rocked back on her heels with a knowing nod. “Ah, yes, the devil’s work. I should think that wouldn’t surprise you, Em. Wasn’t your nickname for me back in high school Satan’s Sidekick or S.S. for short? Don’t think I didn’t hear through the grapevine.”
Marybell choked out a laugh while Em flushed a pretty pink. “You were mean.”
“I was. Seeing me reduced to this should go a long way toward filling up my ‘payback’ account. Marybell was just givin’ me a practice run. Do you want to see my cheat sheet? It has all sorts of interesting words—”
“I most certainly do not!” Yet, her eyes strayed to the stapled papers on the desk, curious and wide before snapping back to Dixie’s. “I heard all I needed to hear. I was just checkin’ in on you to reassure myself you’re stickin’ to all those rules Landon made before I left to go home for the night. It’s my job.”
So there. Dixie internally cheered Em’s new backbone, fighting a grin. “Then job well done, Em. Landon couldn’t have picked a better, more efficient mediator had he been the one mediating himself.”
Em relaxed a little, finally inching across the room and perching on the end of a chaise longue positioned far enough away from command central for her comfort. “Don’t you try and win brownie points with me, Ms. Sidekick. I know you and your low-down dirty tactics, all complimentin’ me while you steal my number two pencils right out from under my nose because I was stupidly greedy for acceptance. You won’t pull the wool over these eyes. No, ma’am.” For emphasis, she pointed to her eyes.
Dixie grinned. “I’m going to buy you ten packs of pencils to make up for that incident, in any color your heart desires. No wool. All on the up-and-up. Cross my heart.”
“You can’t cross a heart you don’t have,” Em said, relaxing a little more.
Dixie placed her hand over her heart and slumped back in her chair. “Well, if I had one, you would have just pierced it, and rightly so. So where are you off to tonight? Home to the boys?”
“First I have to check on Mr. Smexy and be sure Catherine’s got him under control, and then I have a personal mediation with my own snake to attend.”
Dixie’s eyes went sympathetic. The rumors she’d heard about Em’s divorce were few and far between, but they weren’t any less painful to hear knowing the breakup of her marriage left two boys without their father. “Clifton?”
Em’s intake of breath was broken up and choppy. “You’d think after thirteen years of marriage to a woman who cooked and cleaned like she was born to do it, two fine young boys, and a pretty little ranch house, the old dog would at least be willin’ to let me have my two favorite things in the world besides my boys.”
“What are your two favorite things? If you don’t mind me askin’,” Marybell said, her coal-covered eyes genuine when she cast an interested glance in Em’s direction.
“Our iguana Beauregard Jackson, the boys just love him to pieces, and—and...” She put a fist to her mouth, lines of worry crowding the sides of her sincere eyes.
Dixie slid her office chair toward her and patted her thigh, sensing Em’s discomfort. “You don’t have to tell us, Em, if it’s too personal.”
“My dresses!” she shouted with a burst of words rocketing into the room.
“Dresses? Why would Clifton want your dresses?” Dixie paused and caught herself, letting out a dramatic, Magnolia-worthy gasp. The cad. “He doesn’t want to give them to his new harlot, does he?”
Em waffled, her eyes driving nails into the lush carpet at her feet. “Not exactly...”
Marybell’s head shot up while Dixie was just plain confused. “Did your husband Clifton like to wear your clothes, Em? Was he a cross dresser?”
Emmaline’s whimper confirmed Marybell’s statement. “Yes. Clifton liked to dress up as a woman, and now that my shame is lying all over this house of debauchery’s thickly carpeted floor, I’m going to sneak off to the woods out back at Coyne Wilkinson’s and look for a cave to spend the rest of my life in. I hope my boys learned how to build a campfire after all that boy-scoutin’ they do. We’ll need warmth come winter.”
“Clifton likes to wear women’s clothes?” Dixie repeated, fighting a squeal of disbelief. Clifton Amos, descendant of one of the founding fathers of Plum Orchard, a flannel-wearing, coon-hunting, tobacco-chewing, six-pack guzzling, all ’round good ol’ boy liked to wear women’s clothes?
Em’s face went instantly defensive, her eyes hot with more emotions than Dixie was able to count. “Yes, he likes to wear women’s clothes, Dixie Davis. Shoes and nylons, nail polish and pretty underwear, too! I didn’t know about it, and when I found out, I tried to understand it while I prayed no one in town would ever find out. It was a tryin’ time, to say the least. But for all my prayin’, Clifton just knew I couldn’t find my way.”
“Oh, Em,” Dixie murmured.
“Now don’t y’all misunderstand me. I don’t hate the idea. In fact, it doesn’t bother me almost at all. What I hated was that Clifton did it behind my back. I hated that he didn’t think I was worthy enough to share his secret with. A secret he says is so deeply personal, it’s only meant for someone who truly supports him. I hate that he thought I’d love him less.”
“And where does the other woman in Atlanta figure into this?” Dixie asked.
Em’s sigh was pained. “He’d go off to Atlanta on weekend trips to a secret world I didn’t know about, and he didn’t want me to be a part of. That’s where he met the woman he left me for. He left me for her because she understands him,” she said with gooey disgust. “Oh, that word! How could I have possibly understood him if he didn’t ever tell me what I was supposed to be understandin’?”
Dixie’s heart clenched for her frenemy. Left here in judgmental Plum Orchard to fend off unwanted inquiries about her husband’s whereabouts had to be worse than anything she’d endure short of death.
Add in babysitting Caine and Dixie, and it made for a recipe with “stressful” as the number one ingredient. “Oh, Em. I’m so sorry, honey. How can I help?”
Em stood ramrod-straight, defiance marring her full lips. “You can help by not helping. Don’t use it against me when it suits you. Because you have plenty o’ times before. And I’m sure you will again... I think...”
“Wow.” Marybell whistled, her eyes wide. “Wasn’t this whole thing with you two twenty years ago? No disrespect, but that’s a long time to hang on to a high school grudge, don’t you think?”
“You have no idea what acceptance means to a soul as insecure as I was. It stays with you a long time, but mostly, I just like remindin’ Dixie about it to get my licks. It’s a self-preservation reflex. Sort of like the sign of the cross to ward off demons,” Em teased.
“But it’s also true,” Dixie admitted. “I manipulated people to my advantage, I teased, I cheated and I lied. I might not have been stealin’ people’s lunch money and beatin’ ’em up in the schoolyard, but there wasn’t much I wouldn’t do to come out on top.”
Em’s eyes honed in on Dixie. “Someday, we’re gonna talk about what motivated you to be so mean, Dixie Davis. What made you tick.”
“So what did make you turn over a new leaf, Dixie?” Marybell asked. “It’s all people talk about. Dixie Davis the man-eater. Dixie Davis, Plum Orchard’s answer to all things rebellious and wild. Bad Dixie. I’ve heard them talk about it all, when they’re not talkin’ about the rest of us anyway.”
Dixie’s stomach clenched. Mason. Mason brought this on. Instead, she said, “It just happened. I’m living a clean life free of man-eatin’ manipulative deceit. You’ll see.”
“Did you have an intervention an’ everything? Like, did they take your makeup and sexy push-up bras away so you couldn’t woo unsuspecting men back to your lair?” Marybell choked out before resorting to stifling her squeals of laughter.
No. She’d
taken them away from herself. But that enormous change in her life was deeply personal, and she wasn’t willing to open up about Mason.
Dixie forced a straight face. “They didn’t take my makeup, but I did have to give up my lace panties. That pained me like nothing else. And flirting? I went on a flirting fast. Probably the hardest part about a mean-girl intervention. You get lots of speeding tickets without the superpower of the flirt in your arsenal’s purse. It was a dark, dark time....” She finished, finally cracking and joining Marybell in gales of laughter.
Marybell wiped a tear from her eye, smudging her eyeliner. “Someday, I want to hear all the stories. I’m countin’ on it.”
Em shook her head, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I don’t know what’s happened to me since you landed on Plum Orchard soil, Dixie, but I don’t like it. Here I am, spillin’ my guts all over Landon’s house of ill repute. Sanjeev will never get it all out of the carpet at this rate.”
“That’s the least of what’s been spilled here,” Marybell snickered, winking at Em.
Dixie raised her right hand, palm forward, her eyes latching onto Em’s. “No one, not a Plum Orchard soul, will ever hear a word of it from my lips, Em. Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me about it.”
The turmoil on Emmaline’s face instantly melted. Dixie noted Em’s shoulders didn’t quite sag the way they had when she’d entered the room. “C’mon, Em. I’ll walk you out to your car before I have to start my shift.”
This time when she held out her hand, Em took it with much less reluctance. But trust, total trust, was still far off.
As they strolled out of the guesthouse, entering the soft glow of the pool area, Em yanked her close and whispered in her ear, “I swear to you, Dixie, if one soul finds out, I’ll know it was you or Marybell. No one, not even my mama knows. This would crush the boys at school, not to mention Clifton’s parents. They have no idea. I don’t care how progressive Plum Orchard claims it is. We both know this town’s still stuck somewhere back in the 1950s. Why, if Landon hadn’t been so important and had all that money and connections and done so much for this town, they’d have run him and his crazy ideas right out of here.”
“I get it, Em. I—”
“I mean it! I won’t have my children or my in-laws mocked like I was when I was a child. They know nothing about what their daddy’s up to, and I still don’t know how to explain it. Don’t you hurt my boys or I’ll borrow old Coon Rider’s gun and shoot your kneecaps right out from under ya, you hear?”
The mother bear in Em stole Dixie’s breath for a moment.
A well of admiration sprang from deep within Dixie’s gut. She gripped Em’s clammy hand hard. “As I stand before you, not even the jaws of life could tear this secret from my mouth. I’d rather be toe-up in Purgeeta’s Cemetery.”
Em’s hard edge softened a bit, but her words were still cutting. She gave Dixie’s shoulder a poke. “Just you keep that in mind. And remember, I’ll be the sole attendee at your funeral ’cause Louella Palmer’s gonna be too busy plannin’ a party the likes of which Plum Orchard’s never seen. A big gala that’ll make Landon’s off-to-the-afterlife bon voyage look like a kiddy party at Chuck E. Cheese’s.”
“Is that my name I hear being used in vain?”
Dixie’s eyes swung past the string of colored lanterns lining the awning of the pool house to catch her first glimpse of none other than Louella Palmer, sashaying her way toward them through the huge silver palms along the cobbled path.
Her white sandals clacked against the stones. Each step she took marked Dixie’s long-overdue dressing-down.
Dixie tucked Em behind her, but not before she tugged on a strand of Dixie’s hair and muttered a fierce warning in her ear, “You remember what I said. Not a single word.”
Dixie squared her shoulders as Louella approached. Incoming.
Em’s stiff body fairly hummed with tension from behind her with maybe even a little fear. Dixie reached around and gave Em’s hip a reassuring pat as if to say, “Not on my watch.”
Still as ethereally pretty as ever, Louella was immaculate in a lime-green frock, one that hugged her figure just enough to show off the easy swell of her flowing curves, yet still met the confines of good Southern decorum. She strolled toward them, confident and lean, and her sure strides almost didn’t betray her lingering anger.
But Dixie knew better.
A humid breeze lifted the soft tendrils of her blond hair, artfully arranged to fall loosely around her face. The barrette, partially holding her locks up, matched her dress, and her nails, a pretty pink, mirrored her toes.
Dixie flashed her a warm smile, opening her arms wide for a hug. “Louella Palmer! It’s been too long.”
Louella bent from the waist, ignoring her offer of a hug and instead offered up an air kiss somewhere in the vicinity of Dixie’s cheek. She straightened, folding her arms across her chest. “So look who’s back,” she said, showcasing the kind of restraint that was the hallmark of etiquette and good breeding. It was in her tight smile and glittering, uptilted eyes. In the way she lifted her chin and stood so straight, her spine just might crack.
Dixie, in return, ignored Louella’s cool reception and dragged her unwilling frame into a hug. She gave her a tight squeeze, then grabbed her hands, entwining her fingers with Louella’s to spread her arms wide. Her sweeping glance was full of approval. “Look who’s still as pretty as a picture. You positively glow, Louella.”
Dixie was surprised to find it had taken almost two whole days before Louella came to pick her way through the remaining debris of the train wreck that was her life. Aside from seeing Caine for the first time, this was the meeting she’d dreaded the most.
Dixie decided to keep things light, whether Louella liked it or not. The best way to bury the hatchet was to steal the weapon from your opponent’s hands before they could even lift an arm to swing it. “So what brings you to Landon’s?” she asked on a smile.
“What kind of leader of the Magnolias would I be if I didn’t come and pay you a visit, Dixie? We welcome everyone new and those returning. I didn’t have the chance to give you my condolences personally. The Mags send their condolences, too, of course. I’m sure they’ll be dropping by soon.” There was a brief moment of genuine sympathy in her eyes, but they turned cool quick. “It’s just that I was so caught up with Caine as my escort to the funeral, it darn well slipped my mind.”
Dixie flapped a conciliatory hand at her, giving her another welcoming smile. “I know firsthand just how charismatic that man can be—even at something as somber as a funeral. Don’t you concern yourself with something as silly as courtesies. Manners just fly out the window when it comes to the charms of Caine.” She used the same hand to fan herself.
Em poked her in the ribs with a dig of her red fingernail, clearly to serve as a reminder that Dixie was egging Louella on by openly reminding her who the first of their once tight-knit group had been to experience Caine’s charms.
Damn. Old habits died hard.
Louella folded her hands together, propping them under her chin, and tilted her head as though she was genuinely interested in Dixie’s welfare. “So, how’s the restaurant business treating you?”
Her first instinct was to shoot back. Louella knew as well as anyone else how life was treating her. She was here under the guise of her leadership of the Magnolias, but in reality, it was the first warning of an all-out attack.
The Mags stuck together, and when you were out, you were out with a vengeance. She should know.
If she were truly reformed, not even the woman who’d accused her of having a sexually transmitted disease would bear her wrath. So Dixie held up her palms in defeat, her gaze purposely humble. “Not nearly as well as I hope the phone-sex business will.”
Em poked her head around Dixie’s. “You should see how good she is at
it, too, Louella. She took to it like a duck to water.” Her voice had a certain amount of pride in it, and it might have been wonderful, even supportive. Em was just trying to ease the palpable tension—except Louella wasn’t going to let an opening like that slide.
Dixie winced in preparation before Louella went straight for her jugular. “Now that doesn’t surprise me at all, Emmaline. Not in the least. We all know Dixie’s good at ropin’ men in like cattle. She’s left her panties...I mean mark from here to Atlanta.”
That was only semitrue. “Well, to be fair, it wasn’t quite as far reaching as Atlanta. Maybe just Johnsonville, and I never left a good pair of panties behind.”
Em jumped to Dixie’s defense, startling her. She waved an accusatory finger at Louella. “That’s unkind, Louella, and you know it! Dixie’s in a bad spot right now. Takin’ such pleasure in someone else’s pain makes you ugly and cruel.”
Louella feigned a look of wonder, her eyes hardening as they zoomed in on Em. “Would you look at the two of you? Bondin’ over your bad spots. How cozy. Who would have ever thought you and Dixie would end up the best of friends in your despair. How quickly we forget,” she added dryly, glaring at Em who was no doubt now doomed to have the title traitor added to her list of Magnolia betrayals.
By tomorrow, no one would speak to her for associating with Dixie.
Dixie heard Em’s sharp gulp and knew her fear of everyone finding out about Clifton was where it stemmed from. She absolutely wouldn’t risk exposing Em. Not even if it meant begging and pleading. “Look, Louella. Why don’t we just call it even? Let bygones be bygones, and leave Em out of this. She has nothing to do with what’s passed between us. She’s only doing her job working for Hank Cotton. Surely we can behave like ladies after all this time? It’s been almost ten years.” Her tone was pleading as she faced Louella, begging her with her eyes to let Em alone.
Louella’s ironic laughter met Dixie’s ears. “Oh, Dixie. It’s funny, but I remember saying almost those exact words to you several times in high school. I think I might have cried once or twice while I did it, too. But probably not near as much as you did at your engagement party, I’d bet.”
Talk Dirty to Me Page 12