The Fixer Upper

by Mary Kay Andrews

  By the time the huge platters of prime rib and baked potatoes arrived at the table, I’d polished off all of my salad and half the basket of rolls. Jimmy, on the other hand, merely picked at his salad, while downing two beakers of bourbon. There hadn’t been time for him to eat, because every minute or two, his cell phone rang, or an old friend wandered up to the table to say hi and trade golf jokes.

  “This is Dempsey,” he’d say, by way of introduction. “Oh yes,” came the invariable response. “Can’t wait to see what you’ll do with Birdsong.” And after an awkward pause, “Hope the thing in Washington works out.”

  After the third variation of the Birdsong theme, I sighed. “Everybody in this whole damned town knows all about me.”

  Jimmy stabbed a piece of beef and chewed thoughtfully. “You’re a hero, Dempsey. From what all we hear, the FBI tried to push you around, and you told ’em to stick it up their W-two. This is still the heart of Dixie, darlin’. We may make noises about the New South and all that mess, but what we really mean is, ‘Fergit, hell.’ So you’re kind of a celebrity. Don’t sweat it. Sit back and enjoy the ride.”

  I was about to tell him how little I was enjoying this particular ride when I saw a familiar figure get up from a table in the far corner of the room. I’d have known that mane of silver hair and erect posture anywhere. As I watched, he pulled out the chair for his dining companion, a striking brunette of about fifty, dressed in a low-cut black sweater, pearls, and well-cut black slacks. The woman stood, gave him a warm kiss on the cheek, and they strolled through the room, hand in hand, stopping at one table to chat.

  “That’s Carter Berryhill!” I said in surprise.

  Jimmy turned and strained his neck to see. “Yup.”

  I felt a stab of something—jealousy?—in the pit of my stomach. “Who’s that woman with him? I’ve never seen her before.”

  “That’s because she hasn’t been around for the past year or two,” Jimmy said calmly. He took another bite of beef. “Damn, they do a mean prime rib here.”

  “Jimmy!” I rapped my knife on my water glass. “Pay attention here. Who is that woman who was kissing Carter Berryhill?”

  He put down his fork. “Why, that’s just ol’ Veronica Lanier. Or maybe she goes by her maiden name now, which I never did know, since she gave poor ol’ Hammond Lanier the heave-ho. Your buddy Carter was Veronica’s divorce attorney, which was good news for her, because between Carter and Tee, they made sure that Veronica got the gold mine, also known as all the Coca-Cola stock, the house in Highlands, and the newspaper, and Hammond got the shaft. Poor dumb bastard.”

  “Wait. That’s the woman who owned the paper—and she didn’t want to pay the Berryhills’ legal fees, so they ended up taking over the Citizen-Advocate?”

  “Same one,” Jimmy agreed. “Well, not the exact same. I think ol’ Veronica’s had some work done. I know she’s been livin’ down in Florida, but those grapefruits she’s sportin’ tonight were just oranges before she took Hammond to the cleaners.”

  I gave him an annoyed look. “You’re a pig, Jimmy Maynard.”

  He chuckled and took a sip of bourbon. “So I’ve been told.”

  “Tee told me they had to take that woman to arbitration after she disputed their legal fees. You’d think the Berryhills would have a grudge against her. But here’s Carter, playing kissy face with her in dark corners at the country club. I totally don’t get it.”

  “You don’t have to get it,” Jimmy drawled. “But from the looks of things, ol’ Carter’s gonna be getting a little sumthin’ from Veronica. Hell, maybe she’s working off those legal fees you’re so worried about. I say good for Carter. There might be snow on that roof of his, but there’s still some fire in the furnace.” He grinned that bad-boy grin of his, drained his drink, and signaled the waiter to bring another.

  Jimmy leaned across the table, took my hand, and kissed the palm. “See? Us old farts, we’ve still got a lot to offer a woman. What do you say we skip dessert and go back to my place for some fun?”

  I snatched my hand away. When had he turned from endearing charmer to slobbering drunk? Maybe right after his third Knob Creek?

  “Jimmy,” I said sweetly, “I do think we should skip dessert. But I’ve had a really long day today, starting with an early morning trip to Macon. So, if you don’t mind, I’d really like to go home now.”

  “After I finish my drink, okay?” he said, craning his neck toward the bar to check on the waiter’s progress.

  I turned around, hoping that the waiter would not be on his way back to our table, just in time to see another member of the Berryhill law firm walk into the dining room with another gorgeous brunette in tow.

  Jimmy saw him at the same time I did. “Hey, Tee!” he called, a little too loudly.

  Tee looked around the room to see who was greeting him. When he saw Jimmy, waving madly, he gave a perfunctory smile. Then he saw me, sitting right beside Jimmy, and the smile froze.

  36

  “Awwww, sheee-uut,” Jimmy drawled. “I didn’t see he was with her.”

  “Quick, who is that woman?” I demanded. “They’re coming over here!”

  “You don’ wanna know,” Jimmy said.

  Tee and the brunette approached the table.

  “Hey, Jimmy,” the brunette said. She wore a cream-colored business suit, had sapphire-colored eyes, a pointy chin, and full, pouty lips, and in her four-inch spike heels, she towered over Tee by at least an inch. “Who’s your friend?”

  “Hey, Shirlene,” Jimmy mumbled, looking away. “This is…uh, Dempsey.”

  “Hi, Jimmy, hi, Dempsey,” Tee said. There were two bright pink spots on his cheeks. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his slacks. “So…this is awkward.”

  “Ain’t it just,” Jimmy said, jiggling the ice in his empty glass. “Good thing we were just about to leave.”

  The brunette grabbed the glass out of his hand and gave it a sniff. “Jimmy Maynard! Have you been drinking bourbon?”

  Jimmy slumped backward in his chair and gave her a lazy smile. “Why, yes, ma’am, as a matter of fact I have.”

  Shirlene rolled her eyes and gave a huff of exasperation. “Dempsey? Is that your name?”

  “Dempsey Killebrew,” I said, holding out my hand.

  She took mine and gave it a brief shake. “Shirlene Peppers. Look, Dempsey, did Jimmy drive you over here tonight?”

  “Unfortunately, yes.”

  “Lorrrrd,” she said. She had both hands on her hips and she looked down at the two of us as though she’d caught us skipping school.

  “If you’re gonna sleep with the man, there’s something you need to know. You never give Jimmy Maynard bourbon. He just can’t handle brown liquor. Everybody in town knows that. He can drink wine and beer till the cows come home, and a little vodka at parties, even, but you do not give this man whiskey. Understood?”

  “Whoa! Time-out. Who said I was sleeping with him? And besides that, I didn’t give him anything,” I protested. “The waiter brought him over a drink before we even sat down.”

  The aforesaid waiter had the misfortune to arrive back at the table at that exact moment, with another beaker of poison water for Jimmy Maynard.

  “Manny!” Shirlene said, whirling around to face him. “Is this true? Did you serve Mr. Maynard bourbon, even after what happened the last time?”

  Manny stared down at his lace-up black shoes. “Yes’m.”

  “Lorrrrd,” Shirlene said again, shaking her head with disgust. She looked from me to Jimmy to Tee. “Well? What are you planning to do about this mess?”

  Why did I feel like I was the one facing detention—or worse, expulsion? “I was hoping to get out of here without causing a scene,” I said in a low voice. “But I think that’s probably a lost cause now.” When I looked up, a dozen people sitting at the tables around us glanced quickly away—down at their plates, or off into the distance.

  Shirlene waved away my concern. “Oh, don’t mind these people.
They know how Jimmy gets when he drinks whiskey. So—can you drive home? Because I promise you, he cannot.”

  “Uh, no. I never learned to drive a manual transmission.”

  She gave another exasperated huff. “I forgot about that damned Jeep of his. Idiotic car for a grown man to drive. Tee? Would you mind? I’ll get Manny to pack us up a couple of to-go boxes. We really can’t let Jimmy loose on the highway.”

  “Hey!” Jimmy said. “I resent that remark. I can drive just fine.”

  “Shut up!” Tee and Shirlene said in unison. Jimmy put his head down on the table and closed his eyes.

  “I’ll drive the Jeep back to my house and he can walk over and get it in the morning, after he sobers up,” Shirlene said. “Tee, can you guys load him into your car and take him home? I really can’t deal with him after he’s been drinking.”

  Tee shrugged. It didn’t appear that you gave Shirlene Peppers any guff once she started issuing orders. He put an arm under Jimmy’s shoulder. “Come on, Jimbo. Time to go home.”

  It was no easy trick folding a six-foot-two drunk into the front seat of that Prius, but somehow, between us, we managed to wedge him into the passenger seat. I had to go around to the driver’s side to squeeze into the tiny backseat.

  Tee drove, the silence broken only by Jimmy’s occasional snore. I could tell from the ramrod set of Tee’s shoulders that he was pissed. Well, I was pissed too, if you wanted to get right down to it.

  But I was more worried than pissed, worried that Tee would think Shirlene Peppers was right about my relationship with Jimmy Maynard.

  I cleared my throat. “Not that it’s any of your business,” I said finally. “But I am definitely not sleeping with Jimmy Maynard.”

  “Fine,” he said curtly. “You’re right. It is none of my business. Sleep with whomever you please. But you were having a cozy dinner with him, weren’t you? Funny—every time I ask you out, you’re too tired, or too busy, or too worried about what people think about you.”

  “That’s bullshit!” I cried. “I would have gone to dinner with you tonight. Hell, I even asked your dad if the two of you could go to dinner to celebrate tonight. He made up some pathetic excuse about you having to cover the county commission, and said he had a previous engagement. I guess he did! I saw him earlier with that Veronica Lanier woman. She was all over him, like cheap perfume. And then you march in with your own little cutie-pie. You really should have checked with your dad, Tee, before showing up in a public place with another woman.”

  Tee’s head whipped around to look at me. “Dad? You saw him with Veronica? Where was this?”

  “Right there at the country club, they left no more than ten minutes before you and Shirlene came in,” I said, fuming. “I guess the country club is where the Berryhill men have all their affairs, right?”

  “I’ll be damned,” Tee muttered. “I didn’t know Veronica was back in town. He never breathed a word to me, the sly old dog.”

  “It’s none of my business,” I went on. “But it seems to me that Shirlene Peppers is just a little bit long in the tooth for you. What is she, fifty or something?”

  “She’s the same age as your boyfriend Jimmy here,” Tee shot back.

  “He is not my boyfriend!”

  “Well, Shirlene’s not my girlfriend. Come on, Dempsey, give me a little credit here. Dad told you the truth. I did have to cover the county commission meeting. That’s where I met up with Shirlene. She’s the county attorney, for God’s sake. I was trying to pump her for details on the search for a new county manager. Shirlene and I went to law school together.”

  “Sure you did,” I said coldly. “Only it must have taken Shirlene a good ten years longer than you to get out of law school.”

  “You’re impossible,” he said. “It took Shirlene six years to get out of undergraduate school, going nights and working days. It wasn’t until after she divorced Jimmy that she could afford to go to law school.”

  “What did you just say? Did you just say Jimmy and Shirlene used to be married?”

  “He didn’t mention that?”

  “He told me the first or second time we met that he’d been married and divorced several times. I remember he talked about a wife named LaDonna, and yeah, I guess, now that you mention it, he did mention being married to somebody named Shirlene.”

  “Yeah, she left him for Wayne Peppers, a gastroenterologist here in town. I think she regretted marrying Wayne about two seconds after they got back from the honeymoon. Unfortunately, Shirlene hired some hack from Griffin to handle the divorce. She got hosed, even though Wayne was the one doing the running around.”

  I closed my eyes. How did these people in Guthrie keep all these exes straight? “Wait.” A sudden thought occurred to me. “You’re telling me Shirlene was married to a Dr. Pepper?” I started to giggle. “That’s hilarious.” Once I got started, I couldn’t stop. “Dr Pepper!” I yelped. “I’m a Pepper, she’s a Pepper. Get it?”

  “Peppers plural,” Tee said, his voice cold. “Wayne Peppers. Not Pepper. Get it?”

  “Dr. Peppers,” I said, my voice strangled with laughter. I couldn’t stop giggling. I giggled so hard I snorted, and then I giggled some more.

  “You have a weird sense of humor,” Tee said, shaking his head.

  “I know, but I haven’t had a lot to laugh about lately,” I said, wiping the tears from my eyes. “That’s why I wanted to go to dinner with you tonight, to celebrate.”

  “What were we going to celebrate?” he asked cautiously.

  Suddenly, Jimmy sat up straight in his seat. “She told the FBI to go fly a kite!” he said, slurring the words. “Old Dempsey here’s a badass.” He belched loudly, then slumped back down in his seat again.

  With great effort, the two of us managed to pour Jimmy Maynard out of the Prius and into his own bed in his own house. “I’m fine,” he kept saying. “Lemme finish my prime rib.” Tee dragged him into the glass-walled bedroom and pushed him over onto the bed. He pulled Jimmy’s loafers from his feet and looked over at me. “I draw the line at some things,” he said. “He can just sleep with his clothes on tonight. It won’t be the first time.”

  We locked up the house and walked back to the Prius. I got in the front seat and handed Tee the Styrofoam to-go box from the country club. “Here’s your dinner,” I said lamely. “I’m sorry you didn’t get to eat it in peace.” I took a deep breath. “And I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions about you and Shirlene.”

  “You should be sorry,” Tee said. But he reached across the gearbox and took my hand in his. He glanced over at me. “You doin’ anything tonight?”

  “I was hoping to have a celebratory dinner with my gentleman friend.”

  “Your place or mine? Wait. I’m thinking my place. Unless you confiscated that broom from Ella Kate.”

  “What about your dad?” I asked. “It’s kind of late. Won’t we disturb him?”

  Tee chuckled. “Oh, I’m pretty sure with Veronica Lanier in town, the silver fox is spending the night out tonight.”

  37

  Tee unlocked his front door and pulled me inside. As soon as the door was closed, he had me pinned against it. He ran his hands down my arms and locked them around my waist, pulling me to him. “Where have you been keeping this outfit?” he asked, nudging the blouse neckline over my shoulder with his chin, kissing my skin as he bared it.

  “In the closet,” I managed, but I soon realized his question was largely rhetorical. In very little time he’d pulled my blouse free of the skirt waistband, and with his thumbs, he pushed my breasts out of the bra cups. He lowered his head and kissed them until I was dizzy and breathless.

  “Hey,” I said, catching his chin in my hands. I kissed him on the mouth, he kissed me back, and we stood there like that, melted into the paint for what seemed like a long time.

  “What about your dinner?” I asked, when I managed to pull away for a breath.

  “I hate prime rib,” he told me. “Come on.” He tugged me
by the hand into the silent, darkened house.

  We stopped in the living room. He shrugged out of his blue blazer and tossed it over the back of a nearby chair. He pulled me down onto the brocade sofa, and flung the heap of needlepoint pillows onto the floor with one sweep of his arm. “Come here,” he said. We sank into the cushions. His kisses were sweet and urgent, and his hands were busy. In what seemed like seconds, he’d worked the zipper of my skirt down, and my arms free of my blouse. I managed to loosen his striped rep tie and unfasten the top button on his heavily starched dress shirt. But my fingernails, broken off short by all my labors at the house, fumbled ineffectively with the next one.

  “Why do they make the buttons on men’s shirts so tiny?” I asked, tugging his shirt loose of his slacks and running my hands up his bare chest.

  “Don’t know,” he mumbled, kicking off his loafers. “We’ll have to look into that. Later.”

  I heard the slow, reassuring tick of the clock on the mantel as I worked at unbuckling his belt. My blouse came fully off. His shirt buttons finally came free of the buttonholes.

  “Wait!” I said urgently, as headlights shone in the front windows. I sat up and reached desperately for my clothing.

  A moment later, the lights were gone.

  “False alarm,” Tee said, pulling me back down onto the sofa. “I told you, Dad’s out for the evening. Now, will you relax?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Show me how sorry you are,” he suggested.

  I stood up again and let the skirt fall to the floor.

  “That’s a good start,” he said, his arms crossed behind his head. “What else ya got?”

  I stepped out of the skirt and kicked off my ballet flats. Dressed only in my bra and panties I took a step toward him. Headlights swept the room and I dove onto the sofa, right on top of him.

  “I’m sorry,” I said again. “I just feel so exposed here.”