Southern Hospitality (Hot Southern Nights)

by Amie Louellen

  Like that was going to happen. It stuck in Malcolm’s craw. They’d given themselves a night, and then basically a weekend. So why couldn’t he get her out of his head? Why couldn’t he wash the scent of her from his sheets? Why couldn’t he forget her as easily as she dismissed him?

  “I will,” he managed to croak.

  “And thanks for sending over that memo. I wasn’t really mad at you that night. I was drunk and mad at the world.”

  Malcolm came around the desk and walked Eric toward the door. “Don’t worry, my friend. That bill is going to hit the floor again without the rider and—” He stopped. He wouldn’t be there to see it through because in less than a month he would resign his seat in Nashville and throw his hat in the ring for the US Senate seat opening next year.

  He felt strangely sad about not being there when the construction bill went through. He’d been in on so many great laws passed. He’d pushed for tougher drug laws and helped raise teacher pay. He loved Tennessee and although he’d known one day his place would be in D.C., he didn’t want to leave.

  You can’t be president and live in Jefferson County.

  He dragged his attention back to Eric.

  “Darla and I want to have you out for supper sometime soon to show you our thanks.”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  “We think it is.”

  Malcolm smiled. “Then I’d be honored.”

  He opened the door to his office and held it for Cameron. The other man smiled as he stepped out into the warm August sunshine. He took two steps away then turned back to Malcolm.

  “Hey, Daniels.”

  Malcolm looked up.

  “War Eagle,” he said, saluting Malcolm with the battle cry of his beloved Auburn University.

  “Eric, I went to Vandy.”

  Cameron grinned. “I know.”

  With half a smile on his face, Malcolm returned to his desk. But the papers in front of him couldn’t hold his interest. He couldn’t help but think about the construction bill he’d authored. The rest of the committee would see that it passed, but he wouldn’t be there to celebrate that victory.

  He would have other victories. His win in the US Senate, then one day the presidency. The joy of those would outweigh a Tennessee state law. He’d known for as long as he’d had a thought in his head that he would be president. His father planted the seed. Truman had kept it alive. But Roxanne’s words haunted him.

  And you’re going to make all of their dreams come true?

  Is that what he was doing? Making someone else’s dream a reality?

  He shook his head. Being president was the highest honor, the crème de la crème of the political realm. He would be president.

  He pushed the niggling little voice away that kept whispering about the dreams of others.

  It was past time to get on with the rest of his life.

  • • •

  By the time her plane landed at Memphis International, Lila’s palms were sweaty and her stomach queasy. By the time she got her bags and fetched her car from long term parking, she was a bundle of nerves. By the time she was on her way to the Peabody Hotel to meet Malcolm for supper, she was a wreck, a certifiable wreck.

  She had to tell Malcolm what had happened between her and Miss Gertie’s great-nephew from Hattiesburg. That she had fallen in love with Elliot Douglas. Not the secure, strong, faithful kind of love, but the wild-eyed, I’ll-do-anything-for-you kind of love.

  She sighed as she merged her car with the I-240 loop traffic. The four and a half hour flight from New York had been uneventful, and jet lag hadn’t really set in yet. With any luck, she would be back in Jefferson County before the exhaustion overtook her.

  She pulled her car into the first available parking space and got out, smoothing her hands over her wrinkled clothes. She wished she’d had time to change outfits. But her flight had been delayed leaving New York, and she’d barely made it to town in time to get to the hotel by Malcolm’s seven o’clock reservation. Her ivory colored linen skirt and aqua blue silk shell would have to do. She’d dressed it up with a chunky gold bracelet and earring set and high-heeled matching sandals.

  The hostess showed her to the secluded table, where Malcolm—handsome as ever in his dark gray suit and deep purple silk tie—was already waiting. Ever the gentleman, he stood as she approached, that gorgeous smile stretching across his tired features. Even in the golden light of the restaurant he looked pale, a little drawn. While she was on the beach in Barbados he’d been fending off the press and trying to work damage control on his upcoming campaign, never once realizing that she had fallen in love with someone else.

  He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek and waited for her to get settled in her chair before returning to his own seat.

  “How was your flight?”

  “Fine. How was your drive over here?”

  “Not bad.”

  Was this incredibly awkward, or was it just her?

  Thankfully their small talk was interrupted by the waitress.

  Lila watched him interact with her. He seemed stressed and yet a little more relaxed as he ordered their drinks. White wine for her, scotch for him. A double. Johnny Walker Blue. Yep, he was nervous all right. Any man who ordered seventy dollars’ worth of spirits that would fit into a juice glass had to be on edge.

  Suddenly she wished he’d ordered a scotch for her—she would have even settled for something less expensive, Bubba Brand Scotch, the official drink of chickens. She needed some liquid courage and tonight a fine Zinfandel wasn’t going to cut it.

  “I love this hotel,” she said, gazing around the restaurant. “I mean, I know we’re in the Grill, but the hotel itself. It’s had such a rich history. Opened in…What was it? 1929?”

  “Twenty-five, I believe.” A tiny frown puckered his brow.

  “1925. Survived a World War and social change and everything. And the ducks. They’ve been here since the thirties. Well, not these ducks, but the tradition of the ducks. I wish I had gotten to see them today. I don’t know how many times I’ve watched them march up that red carpet to “King Cotton March,” but I never get tired of it.”

  She drew in a breath realizing she was talking way too much. She was acting nervous. She was nervous. She should just slow down and relax before she hyperventilated talking about the attractions of the Peabody Hotel.

  She managed to make it through the appetizer and main course without passing out from oxygen deprivation or spilling her drink or calling Malcolm by the wrong name.

  Malcolm seemed strangely quiet during their meal, or maybe he had to be because of her erratic speeches on everything from the food they were eating to the weather in New York. She felt a little like a car with water in the fuel line. Start, stop, start, stop, sputter, start, stop.

  Thankfully their server came and took their entrée plates away and brought their desserts. Lila could only stare at the scoop of white with the juicy berries thinking only of that Dixie bowl with the blue and yellow flowers around the edge filled with butter pecan and strawberry ice cream with mini marshmallows, chocolate syrup, and no nuts, because Elliot had forgotten them.

  “Excuse me,” a sweet little voice sounded from behind her. Lila turned, startled out of her memories by an elderly couple.

  “We’re so very sorry to bother you, but tonight is a special night for us and—” The snowy haired gentleman stopped as his equally snowy haired wife interrupted.

  “Oh, they’re eating, dear. If we’d known you were still eating, we wouldn’t have asked.”

  “It’s okay,” Lila said. She wasn’t sure if she could actually eat the ice cream. Just looking at it made her stomach hurt. She must be turning lactose intolerant. Okay, so a person couldn’t actually have stomach problems from looking at food, but it was the best excuse she had.

  “If you’re certain it’s no bother,” the man started.

  “We were hoping you could take our picture,” his sweet little wife finished. “We were
going to ask our server, but she disappeared and well … ” She shrugged and her husband picked up where she had left off.

  “It’s a very special night for us.”

  Lila was happy for the distraction. “Do you mind?” she asked Malcolm, knowing full well what his answer would be.

  He took a bite of his ice cream and gestured vaguely with his spoon. “Go right ahead.”

  Lila stood and the elderly woman handed her a camera, a digital model, not too fancy, and showed her how to use it—where to look and what button to push when the picture was all in line.

  Ice cream forgotten and Elliot momentarily pushed to the back of her mind, Lila focused in on the couple, centering them in the tiny screen.

  They must have just gotten married, she thought, watching them with a ghost of a grin tickling her lips. They only had eyes for each other. Imagine being in your golden years and starting a new life with the one you love.

  He slid his arm around her and she did the same, but they had turned, nearly facing the other.

  “Okay. Smile,” Lila instructed, but instead of looking at her, the couple smiled at each other. Lila snapped the shot anyway. She took two to make sure, and the couple still smiling, still touching, came closer to see how they came out. Perfect. No red eye, no closed lids, just a couple very much in love.

  “It’s a special night?” Lila asked, not wanting to actually pry, but her curiosity getting the better of her.

  “It’s our fifty-third wedding anniversary,” he answered.

  It took a ton of willpower to keep her chin in place. Luckily she was a model. Diets, exercise regimen, offers of drugs and sex on demand had all honed her willpower to a fine point.

  “We come here every year to celebrate,” the woman continued.

  “Except our fiftieth.”

  “Our children thought we’d enjoy a cruise.” She shuddered.

  “I take it you didn’t,” Lila ventured.

  “Well, it wasn’t that, dear,” she explained. “It just wasn’t the same. We love coming to the Peabody every year.”

  “We met here, you see.”

  “In the lobby,” she added.

  “The cruise was fun, but it wasn’t the same,” he said.

  “We came here the following weekend after the cruise. Our boys just shook their heads.”

  Lila was enamored by the couple. She wanted to hear more about their half a century old romance. “You have boys?”

  “Six of them. Jack, Jason, Robert, Dan, Paul, and Stephen.”

  “And one girl,” the man added.

  “Our sweet Lila,” his wife said.

  “That’s my name.”

  “Isn’t that something?” he said.

  “And we have sixteen grandchildren and two great-grands.”

  “Ethel, show her baby Hugh. He was named after me, you know.”

  “No, I didn’t.” Lila hid her smile, glancing over to Malcolm who was regarding them with mild interest, his own half-eaten dessert pushed to one side.

  Ethel pressed some buttons on her camera and the sweet little face of a newborn appeared on the screen. Baby Hugh was precious. “There he is.”

  “He’s adorable,” Lila said.

  Ethel turned toward Malcolm, and smiled. “Why, I do declare. Hugh.” She nudged him with her elbow. “That’s Malcolm Daniels.” She turned back to Malcolm. “We were so busy chatting I didn’t realize that it was you. I remember seeing you on the TV and everything. I don’t keep up with Tennessee politics like I used to. We’re over in Forest City now. But land sakes, I’d have known you anywhere.”

  Malcolm stood then and shook her hand, murmuring something about being honored she recognized him.

  “You aren’t in the senate too, are you, young lady?” This from Hugh.

  Lila shook her head.

  Hugh stroked his chin in a thoughtful manner only a true southern gentleman can achieve without appearing trite. “You just seem so familiar.”

  Lila smiled her best pageant smile; after all it wasn’t an expression she used in the catalog. Now if she gave him that pouty look and had a wind machine blowing her hair back from her face ... well, now that’d be a different story. “I get that all the time.”

  That seemed to satisfy the man. He shook her hand, and Ethel gave her a hug as Malcolm returned to his seat.

  “Thank you for taking our picture,” Hugh said. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have a date with a hot tub.”

  Ethel, bless her heart actually blushed. “He’s just the dickens,” she said with a girlish giggle.

  Hugh waggled his bushy white eyebrows and mouthed “Viagra” to Malcolm, before he escorted his wife from the dining room.

  “Don’t even say it,” Lila warned, once she was seated again.

  Malcolm hid his smile—but not very well. “I’m just wondering what’s more talk-worthy. The whole Viagra thing or the fact that he recognized you.”

  “Well, I thought they were sweet.”

  And so obviously still in love after all these years.

  “Lila.” Malcolm’s smooth as silk voice drew her out of her own thoughts. She jerked her attention to him as he continued. “We need to talk.”

  She reached across the table and captured his hand into her own. “I know. I … ” She stopped. “I’m sorry. I never meant for this to happen.”

  Confusion sparked in his deep brown eyes.

  But she continued before she lost her nerve. “I love you. I think I always have, but Elliot—”

  He blinked. “Miss Gertie’s nephew from Hattiesburg?”

  She shook her head, then nodded. “Do you … do you think it’s possible to fall in love at first sight?”

  “I don’t know.” He paused as if gathering his thoughts. ”But I do know that you never know when you’ll meet your soul mate. I suppose some of us are better at recognizing them than others of us are.”

  “It’s a different kind of love,” she continued. Not safe. Wild. Fantastic.

  “Are you breaking up with me?”

  She nodded.

  “For Miss Gertie’s nephew?”

  “I’m sorry. So sorry.”

  He raised her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her fingers. He smiled at her then, a sort of sad, kind of rueful, and most poignant smile. “I love you, Lila. I always have. But we’re not in love. And I think we deserve better than that.”

  “I—” She looked through the restaurant where Ethel and Hugh had disappeared earlier. “I want what they have. I want that passion, that lifetime together. Is that too much to ask?”

  “Not at all.” He signaled the waitress for their check.

  “So where do we go from here?” she asked as he settled their bill.

  “Back to Jefferson County?” He pocketed the receipt and rose to pull her chair out for her to stand.

  He was so close, it was all too easy to turn and cup one hand on his cheek. “You are the most amazing man, you know that?”

  He smiled. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

  Ever the gentleman, Malcolm opened the car door for her.

  “If you’ll wait, I’ll follow you back to Jefferson County,” he said once she was behind the wheel.

  “I’m not going back home. I’m going to Hattiesburg.”

  Malcolm smiled. “Be careful on the road. I’ll call you in a couple of days.”

  “Take care of you.”

  “You take care of you,” he said in return.

  She started the car.

  “And Lila … ”

  She turned.

  “He’d better treat you right, or he’ll answer to me.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Malcolm stretched his legs out and propped his shoeless feet up on Truman’s coffee table. It was Sunday afternoon. Time for football.

  Della’s second arraignment had started on Wednesday, and he was exhausted. It had been almost two months since her confession, and Malcolm knew the trial was taking its toll on his guardian. He could only
imagine how the older man felt watching the woman he had once loved and trusted face murder charges. She had entered a plea of not guilty by reason of insanity and would probably receive a lighter sentence because of it, but Malcolm couldn’t fathom her getting less than life without parole.

  Now the only thing for Truman to do was go on. Malcolm was doing his part to get things back on track. Each fall for as long as he could remember the two of them had wagered on the Sunday football games, cheering on their teams and making good on their bets. Sometimes they bet beer, sometimes favors. A few years ago, Malcolm—overly confident in his team’s ability to win—had bet Truman a house painting. When his team lost, Malcolm had tried to pay a service to paint the eggshell White House, but Truman would hear nothing of it. Malcolm had spent every weekend off of the next spring’s session painting the mansion. Thank heaven for spray painting machines, or he might still be painting today.

  It was hard to admit, but Malcolm could use the tradition as well. He needed something—anything—to help him get his mind off Roxanne. He couldn’t help but wonder what she was doing right now. While he was getting ready to watch the Bears and the Chargers, was she watching the same game? Was she crashing parties at the mayor’s house? Or writing ridiculous stories about alien sightings in Wyoming? What was she doing besides driving him slowly out of his mind?

  He shook away those thoughts. Funny, but he’d had the notion when she left, his life would return to its peaceful rhythm.

  Not.

  It had been seven weeks and six days since she’d left Jefferson County—not that he was counting—and he hadn’t heard from her once. No call. No postcard. No message in a bottle. Had a great time. Thinking of you.

  Nada.

  “Did you see today’s paper?” Truman asked.

  “I’ve tried not to.” It was too much seeing Della’s picture splattered over every publication from the Jefferson County Daily—which, surprisingly enough, came out weekly—to the glossy pages of People.

  “Lila and that doctor have set a wedding date.” He handed Malcolm a Heineken and the Living Section of the Sunday edition of The Tennessean folded to show Lila’s smiling face and announcement of her upcoming nuptials.