by Lin Stepp
Vivian rarely wore her hair down, but tonight she chose not to bind it up into her usual professional bun. She let it fall down her back instead.
“You need every wile you have to catch a fox,” she said, smiling at herself softly in the mirror. “We’ll just see how things go. And, as Reverend James said, be patient.”
Chapter 15
Scott felt more like his old self when he showed up at Vivian’s door later that night. He knew he looked sharp, and he was ready for a comfortable evening with the Greenes. He’d picked up a bottle of Quint and Ellen’s favorite red wine, a Merlot that went well with grilled ribs. After a hard day at the camp, he’d worked up a good appetite as a plus. Scott was, by nature, a social being, and he was ready for a good time.
When Vivian opened the door, he, admittedly, had to take a quick breath. She had let her hair down. He’d never seen her hair down, and it rolled over her shoulders like the rich mane of a chestnut mare. Dark blue slacks hugged her long legs and she was wearing some sort of soft, silky blue blouse that set off the deep blue of her eyes perfectly. He wondered if she knew that.
“Good evening, Vivian.” He made a courtly half bow in her direction. “I was wondering if you would remember that we were to go to the Greene’s tonight.”
“Of course,” she replied with an easy smile. “How could I forget when Chelsey was so excited about it.”
Vivian started down the porch steps without waiting for him to take her arm, and Scott found himself relieved. She didn’t appear miffed tonight; she wasn’t pouting or sulking over what happened last night. Those were two of the things Scott hated about most girls. They usually never let a slight go and they sulked for days over it. But Vivian was just walking along casually, talking about how the blossoms on the white snowball bush glowed in the twilight.
“I’ve never seen anything like this before,” she said, pointing toward the snowball bush. “Is it only that shrub that does that? Is this just a Tennessee thing?”
Scott picked up his pace to keep up with her. “A lot of white shrubs hold the sun’s light and glow for a short time in the twilight. Look over there at that baby’s breath bush. It’s got a shine to it, too.”
“Not as much as this snowball bush.” Vivian stopped to look at it more closely. “It’s just like magic, isn’t it?”
He gave her a teasing grin. “Is that some of your Andrew Lang fairytale talk?”
“No.” She lifted her chin. “But I can visualize fairies liking a bush like this, carrying the blossoms like lanterns to light their way.”
Scott grinned. “It amazes me how a professional academic woman like yourself can be so fanciful. You teach dense literature that most of us labor to read through and then talk about fairies carrying blossom lanterns in the next breath.”
“Perhaps I’m like a line from Whitman,” she explained. “You will never know who I am or what I mean, but I will be good health to you nevertheless …”
“And filter and fiber your soul,” he finished.
“Very good, Mr. Jamison.” She smiled at him warmly.
“Thank you professor.” He sent her a smile back. “We’re not all illiterate up here in these mountains.”
“I’ve never said you were.” She gave him a frosty look. “People always assume professors are mentally weighing everyone they meet to see how they measure up. It’s not true, you know. In between the job, we’re just people. Actually, it’s nice to get away from having to carry that role of evaluating and grading whenever possible.”
“Good point. I’ll remember that,” he said.
They walked along in companionable silence for a while, enjoying the evening, listening to the outdoor orchestra of creek frogs and tree locusts.
“Vivian,” Scott said into the silence. “I think I was a little out of line the other night. I want you to know it’s fine with me for us to just be friends. In fact, I think it’s better. You’ve got your work to do and you’re only here visiting in the area temporarily, and I’ve got my camp season coming up. It’s not a real good time for either one of us to get heavily involved, and it complicates things.”
Vivian didn’t say anything for a few minutes. Nor did she show by the reaction on her face what she was thinking. It made Scott a little nervous waiting for her to respond.
“And you think?” he finally asked her.
“I don’t recall you asking me what I think,” she said diplomatically and without giving away even a trace of emotion in her voice.
“Well, of course I want to know what you think.” He scowled, feeling cross that he had to explain himself. This wasn’t going at all like he had planned.
“The idea of friends sounds fine to me.” She reached out to casually pluck a honeysuckle blossom off a shrub by the path and lifted it to her nose to sniff. “We’ll see how that goes. I’d like to make some friends while I’m here, have some people to share good times with. Like visiting with the Greenes tonight.”
“Well, all right then.” Scott blew out an inward breath of relief. She was okay with them just being friends. He was glad of that. Hadn’t that been what he wanted? For her to agree with him? For them to put their relationship on a new level? And yet there was a bit of irritation in his mind that she had agreed so easily. She hadn’t brought up any of the details of the night before, expressed any regrets. He waited to see if she would do that. He tried to watch her face to read her emotions. But she just walked on along with those long graceful strides of hers, keeping pace with him easily, seeming relaxed and comfortable with herself and enjoying the evening. He found himself feeling oddly provoked.
She asked him some polite questions about the camp then. They made some small talk, and the awkward moment passed away. Or it seemed to.
The walk to the Greene’s place was a short one. Ellen and Quint’s house was a big, brick two-story at the end of a U-shaped drive in a grove of maple trees. The wide front porch had tall white pillars and Ellen and Quint had left all the front porch lights on to guide Scott and Vivian down to the house.
Scott noted with pleasure that Vivian was quickly enveloped into the goodwill of the Greenes as soon as the door opened. Quint was round-faced and friendly, with the easy smile and ways of a family physician. Ellen was practical and warm-hearted with a good sense of humor. Scott had always thought Quint and Ellen made a nice couple. Chelsey attached herself to Scott’s leg as soon as he came in the door, and he was soon rough-housing with her on the den floor while Vivian got acquainted with Quint.
Evidently, Quint had often visited in California as a boy, and he was asking Vivian about places he remembered, trying to learn how things might have changed.
“I don’t think Disneyland ever really changes,” Vivian told him, laughing. “There’s always Mickey Mouse and Cinderella and the castle – and there’s always a multitude of rides, shows, and color. I never get tired of it.”
Quint settled back into the sofa comfortably. “I’d like to take Chelsey there when she’s older – either to the Disneyland in California or the one in Orlando. Ellen’s been to the Orlando Disney once.”
Ellen looked over from the kitchen where she was working on dinner. “I liked Sea World better when my family visited Orlando. But I’d like Chelsey to see all the Disney characters she’s read about and seen in the movies. That was fun for me, and I was nearly grown when I went down to Disney.”
“You know, Dollywood opens up this month,” Scott put in. “We don’t have to go far at all to get to Dollywood for a day of fun. Did you guys buy your season passes yet? They’re discounted now, you know.”
“Renewed mine in January.” Quint grinned. “We’re all ready to go.”
“What’s Dollywood?” Vivian asked.
They all laughed and joked then about Vivian being so unfamiliar with one of the area’s major tourist attractions.
“It’s a local theme park on the order of Disneyland,” Quint explained to her. “Not as big as Disney, but unique and colorful. It used to
have another name a long time ago, Silver Dollar City or something, but Dolly Parton, our resident country music star, came in and bought the park and has been updating and improving it ever since. You’ll have to get to Dollywood while you’re here in the area. It’s memorable.”
“I can take care of that,” Scott said. “I always get a bunch of complimentary tickets every year through my old advertising buddies. Vivian can have one. The International Festival is in full swing now. We’ll make a day of it and all go together.”
They all visited easily and talked about Dollywood and local tourist sites for a while, and then Scott left Vivian with Ellen to go outdoors to help Quint grill the ribs. Out in the back yard, he and Quint argued, as usual, about barbeque recipes and sports and had a generally great time.
In fact, dinner and the whole evening turned out to be a good one, despite Scott’s earlier misgivings. Vivian was congenial company and fitted into their group like she had always known them. By the time they finished their meal and the dishes were done, Vivian even had Chelsey artfully charmed. She now sat on the floor with Chelsey, drawing pictures with her, while Chelsey argued unsuccessfully for a later bed time.
The little five-year-old offered Vivian one of her engaging grins. “Vivian, will you come read me a bedtime story before I go to bed? Please? Please?”
Ellen frowned at her. “Chelsey, Vivian doesn’t have to do story time with you, so quit pestering her. She’s our special company tonight.”
“No, I’d love to do it.” Vivian looked up with a smile. “Besides, I’ve already promised Chelsey one of my fairytale stories. I have a big repertoire of those from all my folklore research. This will give me the perfect chance to see if I can still remember one of them all the way through.”
Ellen grinned at her. “Well, okay, but you’re a glutton for punishment. Chelsey will have you reading as long as she can talk you into ‘just one more.’ So set some limits when you start and stick to your guns. I’ll go up and stuff her into her pajamas for you and show you where everything is upstairs. You haven’t had the tour up there anyway. I’ll show you around.”
“You can see my room and all my dolls!” Chelsey hopped up and down with excitement.
“Yes, and those two baby dolls and two baby beds I heard about,” Vivian reminded her, smiling.
Scott and Quint settled down on the den sofa, and Quint flipped to a ballgame that was playing on television.
“You two can have that set for fifteen minutes,” Ellen warned. “But then I’m coming down for my show. You know it’s Thursday and The Foster Girls is coming on. And Quint, don’t you dare moan and groan like it’s only a chick show. You know you watch it every Thursday night with me. Plus, we have to find out tonight what’s going to happen with Veronica and her cousin.”
“Oh, I can hardly wait,” Scott said in a high falsetto voice.
Ellen glared at him. “Don’t you say another word, Scott Jamison. You know you watch this show, too. I’ve heard you talking about it often enough.”
Scott grinned in defeat and looked at Vivian. “Are you a Foster Girls fan, too?”
“I don’t watch much television,” Vivian confessed. “But I have read the books the series is based on and watched a few of the shows.”
Ellen picked up Chelsey to carry her upstairs. “You know, the library here has every one of the books, and they’re almost always checked out. I’ve read all the books, but I really like seeing them come to life in the television series. They’ve done a pretty accurate job with portrayal, don’t you think?”
Ellen and Vivian disappeared up the stairs, their voices drifting away as they reached the upstairs hall.
“Well, that’s a rare woman that isn’t glued to the television on Thursdays to watch The Foster Girls,” Quint commented when they were out of earshot.
Scott was tempted to say that Vivian was not an ordinary woman in any way, but he bit his tongue on the words. He knew it might make him sound too interested.
Quint propped his feet up on an ottoman. “Nice girl. Plus Ellen really likes her.”
“Vivian is easy to like,” Scott said noncommittally.
Quint raised his eyebrows. “Made any passes yet? She’s a pretty good-looking woman. Nice legs, too.” Quint knew Scott was a leg man.
“Quint, I think I’m going to leave Miss Delaney off limits since she’s renting at my Gramma’s Jamison’s house and living right next door.” Scott smiled casually at his friend. “But I’ll certainly enjoy watching her while she’s here.”
“What happened to that little Jeannie girl you brought over here with you a few months ago?”
“She got too serious, so I introduced her to a banker friend of mine who had the ‘itch to get hitched.’” Scott laughed. “They hit it off and are getting married next month, I think.”
“You’re good at matchmaking your old girlfriends off among your friends,” Quint said.
Scott grinned and settled back into the sofa. “I believe in sharing the wealth.”
“No, you believe in getting out before it’s time for any serious commitment,” Quint countered. “However, to be quite honest, Ellen and I would have been a little disappointed if you’d actually hooked up with any of that string of girls we’ve met over the last year or so.”
“Why’s that?” Scott asked.
“Nice to look at, but nothing much up here.” Quint tapped his head. “Plus some of them were a little ditsy, if you don’t mind me saying so. We never quite figured out what you saw in them.”
Scott raised his eyebrows in a telling look.
“Oh, well, that,” Quint said, a little embarrassed at the subject. “I was never much of a playboy type myself. It was a lucky day when I met Ellen at the hospital where I was interning. There was just always something there with Ellen from the beginning that was different. Maybe someone will come along for you like that some day.”
“Funny how you married guys are always trying to get us unmarried guys hitched up.” Scott grinned and gave Quint a punch on the arm.
“Yeah, yeah,” Quint said back. “I used to think that, too. But it’s really great when you find the right person, Scott.”
“I’m not knocking it.” Scott lifted one shoulder. “It just hasn’t been my time. Besides, I think I’m one of those guys who could always be a happy single.”
Ellen came back then, and the three of them soon got involved watching The Foster Girls.
“You said there were books this series was based on,” Scott commented to Ellen on a commercial. “Who’s the writer?”
“Her name is Viva Leeds,” Ellen answered. “But she’s one of those very secretive writers. There’s not a lot out about her. The press are always trying to find her, chasing around any leads on her like the paparazzi, saying she has another life – all that kind of thing.”
“A mystery woman?” Scott asked.
Quint threw in a remark. “Might be a mystery man. I read an article just the other day about these guys who take female pseudonyms to write romance novels. They say women wouldn’t trust a romance written by a man so they use a fake name.”
Ellen frowned at him. “I don’t think any man wrote The Foster Girl books or the scripts for the series. They tap into the heart and minds of four young women too clearly, and they’re too sensitive for a man to have written.”
“See?” said Quint. “I’ve made my point.”
They were still arguing over this later when Vivian came back into the room.
“Who do you think wrote the Foster scripts, Vivian, a man or a woman?” asked Quint.
Vivian sat down beside Ellen. “There’s a woman’s name in the credits for the scripts – Roz Devlin.”
Quint looked away from the television screen. “Who reads the credits after a television show?”
“Oh, shut up, Quint,” Ellen put in. “You’re just mad because your theory is blown. And because Vivian has proved there’s a woman script writer.”
Not wanting to give u
p the argument, Quint added another point. “Roz could be a pseudonym for a man.”
“Yeah, and George Washington might have been a woman in disguise,” Ellen quipped.
They all laughed.
“Shhhh. Shhhh,” Ellen admonished. “It’s back on. And this is the last fifteen minutes.”
“I thought you didn’t watch television much,” Scott whispered to Vivian as the sitcom resumed. “So how come you know the credits on this?”
Vivian shrugged. “I notice odd things sometimes. And odd names like you see in credits. The name Roz is unusual; I noticed it and remembered it.”
Her actions seemed to prove her out in a minute, as she got up during the last ten minutes of the show to go get a coke in the kitchen, leaving the drama behind her without a backward glance.
“You missed the big kiss scene,” Ellen told her when she came back in the room. “Veronica kissed her own cousin. That can only go nowhere, her getting mixed up with her cousin Cliff.”
“He isn’t her first cousin; he’s her second cousin,” Quint put in, flipping off the TV now that the show was over. “So, it’s not a big deal.”
“But he’s still her cousin,” Ellen insisted. “I just knew something was fizzling between those two last week. Now what’s that poor girl supposed to do after that great kiss? You saw her crying later. Obviously, she’s fallen in love with her own cousin. What a bummer.”
“It’s a television show, not real life,” Scott reminded her, grinning. “What happened in the book, Ellen? Maybe that will put you out of your suspense to know.”
Ellen frowned at him. “Oh, pooh, that shows what you know about it, Scott Jamison. The publishers hold the books now until after the series airs. That’s one reason they’re always after the elusive book writer, trying to find out what’s going to happen next to leak it out in the press ahead of time.”
“And to find out if it’s a man writer,” said Quint, purposely goading her.
