Talk Dirty to Me

by Dakota Cassidy

  Cat’s gaze was filled with concern again. “You gonna be okay?”

  “Could be I’ll have matching black eyes,” she joked on her way out the door. She hadn’t seen Jo-Lynne since the night of her engagement party. Another one of the many regrets she had. Not only had she ruined the friendship between her and Caine’s mother, but she’d screwed up having one of the best mothers-in-law a girl could hope for.

  Jo-Lynne represented some of the very best things about her childhood. She was kisses and Estée Lauder-scented hugs, gooey slices of pecan pie, tater-tot hot dish, and a million Band-Aids on knees torn and scraped from trying to keep up with two boys for your closest friends.

  She’d loved Jo-Lynne like a second mother, and she’d spit in her face as surely as she had Caine’s by not even apologizing for her part in their engagement fiasco.

  One deep breath, two silent prayers later, and Dixie was face-to-face with the woman who’d given birth to the man she couldn’t manage to stop loving.

  Jo-Lynne rose at the sound of the office door opening. Her features, a softer version of Caine’s, were serene as always. She wore her hair in a silky, sandy-brown bob that hugged the shape of her face to perfection. A smile flitted across her red lips before it tipped upside down, and she was putting her navy purse on Dixie’s desk and rushing to her side. “Dixie! Oh, sugarplum, what happened?”

  More tears? Really, Dixie? Who are you? The concern in Jo-Lynne’s voice, the way she dropped everything to examine her scrapes and bruises, unlike her own mother, had Dixie in the grips of another display of her out-of-control emotions. She’d called Dixie that all her life. Sugarplum.

  In fact, she could only remember two or three times when Jo-Lynne had actually used her given name—and one of those times was at her engagement party. Just after everything had gone sideways.

  Dixie held up a hand to keep her at bay. A hug filled with warmth and sympathy was far more than she deserved. “I’m okay. Really. Just some scrapes.”

  Jo-Lynne pointed to the garish chaise longue. “You sit down this instant, young lady, and let me look at you. You’re an absolute mess!”

  Dixie did as she was instructed because you just didn’t cross Jo-Lynne. Her perfume, classic and as elegant as she herself was, drifted to Dixie’s nose while her gentle hands, aged only slightly, smoothed Dixie’s hair back. “So you gonna tell me what happened?”

  “You don’t know?”

  “I certainly do not. I just got in tonight from Atlanta and came straight here to meet Caine.”

  Dixie shrugged in embarrassment, putting her hands in her lap. “I got into a fight.”

  Jo-Lynne nudged her over and sat beside her, holding Dixie’s hand under the ceiling lamp to inspect the deep scratch Louella’s heel had left. “With?”

  “A gang of wandering thugs?”

  “Try that again, miss.”

  “Some people?”

  “One more time.”

  “Flash mob brawl?”

  Jo-Lynne’s lips thinned. “Dixie Cordelia Davis...”

  That was the warning. All three given names spoken at once. “Louella and some of the Mags. Two, to be precise.”

  Jo-Lynne’s eyes flashed, angry and outraged. “They did this to you?”

  “I sort of did it first. Then they did this back.”

  Jo-Lynne gave her back her hand, folding her own hands in her lap. Here came the disapproval. “I’m guessing that spoiled Louella deserved it?”

  Had the entire world gone mad? Had Plum Orchard moved to some sort of alternate dimension where Dixie was always right and everyone else was at fault?

  She shook her head. “She didn’t deserve to be mowed over like I was driving a John Deere and she was an acre of unkempt land. I shouldn’t have resorted to physical violence.”

  Jo-Lynne pursed her lips. “I want to hear every detail.”

  Dixie explained only that she was defending a friend then waited for her lecture on violence with quiet apprehension.

  Instead of giving her hell, Jo-Lynne nodded her head in agreement. “Well, it doesn’t surprise me that Louella was a part of pickin’ on someone. I’m here to tell you, I never liked Louella. I know I should because she’s the daughter of a Mag, and we’re all supposed to be like family, but sometimes you’re forced to tolerate family you don’t like.”

  Dixie’s astonishment bled into her words. “Wait. You believe me without anyone backing up my story?”

  “Of course I do, sugarplum.” She patted Dixie’s hand.

  She’d been far worse than Louella once. It was only fair to point that out. “But I picked on people, too—all my life, Miss Jo-Lynne. I coerced, connived and in general mowed down anyone or anything in my path, especially Louella.” In fact, had Landon brought the Call Girls into town just ten years ago, she probably would have behaved just as reprehensibly.

  Jo-Lynne’s eyebrows rose. “So Louella gets a free pass because you did it, too? I’d like to own a yacht, so I should steal one just like all the other criminals? You were a child. A rebellious, out-of-control one, but still a child. Louella’s no child, Dixie Davis. She’s a grown woman who should be long past this kind of judgmental behavior.”

  Dixie stubbornly refused to agree. “I wasn’t a child when I—”

  Jo-Lynne’s finger flew upward, cutting her off. She pressed it to Dixie’s lips, giving them a pat. “No. You were still a child back when you were engaged to Caine, sugarplum, whether you knew it or not. Life hadn’t taught you your lessons just yet, so you’d appreciate what you’d been given instead of taking it just because you wanted it. You had to learn those things in Chicago where no one cared that you were Dixie Davis, didn’t you?”

  After all the humiliation and heartache she’d caused both she and Caine, Jo-Lynne was defending her as though Dixie had never left her watchful eyes. As though she still thought of Dixie as the daughter she never had.

  The revelation cut her to the quick. “Yes...ma’am...” was the best she could manage.

  “So tell me, this fight with Louella, was it over this phone-sex business you and Caine are wrapped up in because of my dearly departed Landon?”

  Dixie couldn’t hear the words phone and sex come out of Jo-Lynne’s mouth. It was like hearing her tell you about her private bedroom matters.

  Rather than clap her hands over her ears, she kept her reply simple. “Yes. Louella called one of the other operators out in front of everyone at the annual autumn dance, and it was cruel and humiliating. I was determined to make her stop. I just didn’t stop her in the way reasonable adults do.”

  Jo-Lynne was pensive for a moment as though she was tempering her words. “You know, the Mags don’t like what Landon’s done here, Dixie, and I’m not saying that I’d suggest the youth of Plum Orchard consider it a step toward a solid future in telecommunications. I realize some of the women involved haven’t been afforded the kind of lifestyle the girls here in town have. They’re makin’ their way, is all. But I say who’s it hurtin’? If it wasn’t for some good old-fashioned makin’ love, not a one of us would be here to begin with. It isn’t for us to judge if it’s right or wrong.”

  If one could call flogging and foot fetishes old-fashioned.

  Jo-Lynne’s justifications for the Call Girls were just shy of blowing Dixie’s mind. “I’m not sure what to say. I didn’t expect you to be so understanding. Mama certainly isn’t.”

  “Your mama and I didn’t always see eye to eye on everythin’, especially about raisin’ you. I think you know what I mean by that.”

  “Mama’s a hard woman to please. We don’t talk much anymore. Not since the restaurant fell apart...”

  “There’s somethin’ I’ve always wanted to say, and because I don’t give a hoot about what anyone, especially a Mag thinks, I’m just gonna say it. Your mama’s a mea
n woman, Dixie. Cold and controlling and as superficial as the day is long. But you’re a strong woman. You were a strong child with an even stronger will. Your way was to rebel against that iron fist of hers. She demanded you wear your skirts below the knee, you ripped the hem out and cut them to midthigh.”

  “I wanted her to love me.” She cringed as her voice cracked. God. She’d really wanted that. Just once, she’d wanted her mother to love her instead of always reminding her she owned her.

  Jo-Lynne smiled a watery smile. “I know that, Dixie. You’re not the reason I’m angry with Pearl Davis. It has nothing to do with connections or money or any of the things your mama’s so angry about. Those are all superficial things. It has to do with how she pushed and pushed you until you exploded.”

  Trapped. That’s how she’d felt when she’d stupidly left college out of boredom and came back to Plum Orchard with no degree and no purpose. Her mother reminded her every day how time was wasting.

  If she were deeply truthful with herself, at first, Caine had been an answer to all her problems. Marrying him would get her mother off her back and her approval—approval Dixie was hungry for, all in one fell swoop. But he’d become so much more. Suddenly, he wasn’t just to-die-for gorgeous, or kind and honorable— he was everything she’d never had.

  In the process of finding the answer to her mother’s constant badgering, she’d found love without conditions and judgment, and she’d fallen head over heels for him.

  But it had been too late to put the brakes on the bet.

  A sharp rap brought their eyes to the door. Caine popped it open and smiled when his gaze connected with Jo-Lynne’s—that warm, loving smile he’d always reserved for his mother. “There you are.” He scooped her up in a hug, kissing her cheek, while Dixie hoped to blend with the chaise. “We still on for dinner?”

  Jo-Lynne squeezed his arm affectionately. “Give me two more minutes with Dixie, and I’ll be right there.”

  Caine’s hesitance was reflected in his reluctance to leave. He put a hand under her elbow, his expression playful when he used a teasing Darth Vader impression to persuade her. “Mother, if we do not hurry, Madge will be all out of fried pork chops and gravy. How can we have enough energy for total universal domination?”

  Jo-Lynne almost cracked a smile then waved him out with a determined motion. “Shoo, Caine. I’ll be right there.”

  Caine sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Mom, Dixie’s had a rough couple of days. Give her a break and let her be.”

  Caine’s attempt to prevent what he clearly feared would be a confrontation was sweet, but falling on deaf ears.

  “I can see that, Caine. Now out, young man!”

  Poor Caine. He didn’t stand a chance. Dixie put a hand on his arm, almost incapable of looking him in the eyes after their lovemaking last night. “It’s okay, Caine. You go.”

  His fingers threaded through hers for a moment, dangling there for seconds, the connection making her heart pump harder, before he gave his mother a pointed look. “I’ll be right outside this door.” He hitched his unshaven jaw in the direction of the door. “Play nice.”

  The moment Caine left, Jo-Lynne pulled Dixie up by her hands and looked her square in the eyes. “There’s something else we need to discuss.”

  Dixie swallowed hard. Atone, Dixie. If Jo-Lynne wanted to purge, scream, yell, call her names after what she’d done, she’d roll out the red carpet for her. She stared straight ahead, bracing herself for her due. “Yes, ma’am.”

  But Jo-Lynne’s eyes were soft. “You were a horror, Dixie. From the day you were born you were cranky and colicky and difficult to please. I know, because I rocked you at many a Mag meeting when your mama needed a break. And I loved you like you were my own. Not much changed with you for many years. You were ugly to people. I knew it. Everyone knew it, but I still loved you. And then you did somethin’ so awful to my son—”

  “I’m sorry,” Dixie rushed out the words she’d waited forever to speak, steeped in more remorse than she’d ever be able to properly express. “I should have said that the night it happened, but I’m so sorry I ruined everything. I’m sorry I embarrassed your good family name. Most of all, I’m sorry I hurt Caine.”

  Jo-Lynne cupped her cheek. “Never you mind about family names and all the other silly ideals they feed you here in the Orchard. My name doesn’t matter nearly as much as my son’s heart does—his happiness. So I’m here to tell you true, Dixie Davis—you hurt him back then, bad. I don’t want that to happen again. But mostly what I want you to know is I love you, I always knew you’d work past it one day—and I can see you have. But if you do it again, if you hurt my boy like you did last time, I’m comin’ for you. Understand, sugarplum?”

  She managed a smile, keeping her sigh of relief to herself. “Understood.”

  “Now, give Miss Jo-Lynne a big ol’ hug. Don’t know if I’ll still be standin’ after I eat one of those greasy pork chops Madge makes with my cholesterol bein’ so high. So let’s hug it out just in case.”

  Dixie let Jo-Lynne pull her into an embrace, savoring the familiar hug scented with remnants of her childhood. She rested her head on her shoulder, fighting another slew of tears.

  When Jo-Lynne pulled away, she held her at arms’ length and granted her a smile straight from her childhood. “Look at you, even all beat up, you’re still just as pretty as you ever were.”

  She didn’t feel pretty, but she did feel less dark on the inside than she had in a long time.

  “Now, you make sure you come over in the next few weeks for some of my chili and corn bread. I won’t take no for an answer. I’ll make sweet tea just like always, and—” Jo-Lynne pulled her in close “—I’ve forgiven you, Dixie Davis. All was forgiven, a long time ago, sugarplum. Now forgive yourself.” She dropped a warm kiss on Dixie’s cheek, gathered her purse, and she was gone, leaving Dixie to war with more acceptance, more generosity of spirit.

  Forgiven. Used in reference to Dixie Davis? Yes. The world had become an episode of Fringe. This had to be the “other” Plum Orchard.

  She paused for a long moment, looking at the clutter of messages on her desk and the unopened emails in her inbox from clients without really seeing them.

  Her muscles ached, as did her mind, full of Jo-Lynne’s words of forgiveness, and more—words of acceptance. As she sat in her chair, ready to attack her inbox, it was with a lighter load on her shoulders tonight.

  Lighter than she’d been in almost ten years.

  Sixteen

  An hour later, her phone chimed in her ear, reminding Dixie she was supposed to be working. After Jo-Lynne left, she was finding it hard to concentrate. Her face was on fire, her eye throbbed, and her mind was a vacuum of mixed emotions that left her all tangled up and simultaneously warmed to the core.

  Stuffy of nose, she grabbed a tissue and answered, “This is Mistress Taboo. Are you worthy?”

  “It’s Walker.”

  Her heart skipped that ridiculous beat it had the last time she’d heard his voice, so smooth and silky against her ear. Over the past few days, she’d toyed with what part of the country he came from. His accent said Louisiana; it was very like Harry Connick—cultured and sigh-worthy on the ears.

  “You sound like you’ve been crying. Are you okay?” When he asked personal questions about her, she found she had to remind herself, it really wasn’t personal. Those questions were more about the client becoming familiar with her and building a rapport. They were questions that were typical, a way to strike up a conversation much the way one would in a real life circumstance.

  Except Walker’s questions didn’t quite feel as if they had anything to do with striking up conversation. They left her feeling a million things. Sometimes probed, sometimes cornered and exposed, but most times they left her hungry for more contact with him. Could be, her e
motional state had her reading a whole lot more into this than was realistic. Maybe she was just overly sensitive these days, and talking with Walker hit her hot buttons.

  “Mistress Taboo? Were you crying?” His question sounded almost possessive. As though he’d take out whoever had made her cry.

  Another ridiculous notion. It had to be or she’d have to question her mental state. Callers easily became attached to the operators, but the operator probably shouldn’t take girlish pride in the idea or worse, cultivate it.

  Still her cheeks warmed, betraying her better judgment. “Nope. Just my allergies.”

  “You never mentioned allergies.”

  Why would she mention them to some man hiding in his mother’s basement, making phone calls to a cartoon figure on a computer screen? And why couldn’t she keep her perspective with this man?

  She’d talked to plenty of men lately. Why did this one man make her question his every motive? “I don’t think we ever touched on the subject of medical afflictions,” Dixie offered, attempting to lighten the mood. “So how have you been?”

  “How have you been?”

  Again, Walker probably didn’t intend for it to sound as if it held meaning, but there it was, that intensity, that gravelly lilt in his deep voice that made her feel as if he had a stake in her well-being. “Oh, I’m real good.”

  “You know, I’ve noticed something strange about you.”

  What about this bizarre attachment to him she’d acquired wasn’t strange? Had he noticed it, too? “What’s that?” She tried cooing the words to come off flirty, yet it sounded contrived and forced.

  “Your accent.”

  She sat up straight, forgetting her spine felt as if someone had run a train over it. “What about it?”

  “It sort of comes and goes. Sometimes you’re all Southern, and then all of a sudden, it goes away. What’s that about, Mistress Taboo?”

  Dixie laughed, almost relieved to hear Walker wasn’t going to try and pinpoint the dialect of her accent. “That comes from the time I spent in Chicago. I lived there for almost ten years. It sounds silly, but I was trying to fit in so they wouldn’t think I was some country bumpkin who didn’t know her backside from a cornfield.”