by Riley Adams
Seb looked briefly annoyed, then gave a short laugh and said, “Oh, you know. That hippie gallery owner, Susan something—is out in the dining room. Mother’s got a bee in her bonnet about fixing me up with her. It drives me right up the wall.”
Ben picked up his tongs and said, “Well, I know it gripes you, but I’d appreciate it if you could go out there anyway. Not to flirt with Susan,” he added as Seb opened his mouth to protest, “but to schmooze with the Cooking Channel folks. You’re the Taylor clan’s best schmoozer.”
Seb stood up. He knew an indirect order when he heard one. And he wasn’t exactly in the position to say no. The last thing he wanted was to slink back to New York with his tail between his legs. Without a job, he wouldn’t be able to pay rent. And the debt collectors would be thrilled at having another crack at making him pay up.
Lulu and the Graces bantered back and forth while food came and went and people came over to say hi. Everyone appeared to know them. Then Rebecca’s cell phone, which looked capable of doing everything short of baking bread, rang, and she abruptly slid out of the booth and hurried off to chat.
Everyone she’d been sitting with gaped in surprise at her rudeness. Tony, Rebecca’s cameraman, noticed their reaction to her abrupt departure. He took a last bite of his red beans and rice and walked across to the vinyl booth. He wore an apologetic grin. His handsome face and Mediterranean coloring spurred the Graces to forget their shock and dive into their pocketbooks for their lipsticks. Cherry sized Tony up with an expression that Lulu recognized as indicative of future flirtation. “That,” Tony said emphatically, “was some good barbeque. I’m not the official scout, but yours was the best barbeque plate I’ve ever eaten.”
Lulu beamed at him. “I’m so glad you enjoyed it, hon.” Then she caught sight of Seb poking his head out from the office door and glancing around the restaurant. Lulu motioned him over. He hesitated, and Lulu frowned and waved him over again. “Don’t be shy, Seb!” she called.
Seb reddened. “For heaven’s sake!” said Lulu. “You’re not usually so bashful. You can at least say hi to Tony here. And Tony, let me introduce you to some of my friends. . . . Tony here is the cameraman for the Cooking Channel.” Seb shook his hand and then Lulu introduced Tony to the Graces.
“You should be meeting Miss Adrian, too, but she’s gone off for a little stroll.”
Jeanne, one of the Graces, said, “Well, at least she’s trying to be thoughtful. It can be really rude when people talk on their cell phones.”
Flo snorted. “You are way too sweet, Jeanne. That woman just doesn’t want us to listen in on her calls.”
Tony laughed, “You got it, Flo. Rebecca always walks off to make calls. Sometimes I think she’s placing bets with her bookie.”
Seb gave an uncomfortable chuckle. “Well, hate to say it, but I’ve gotta run. See you later, Mother. It’s nice to meet you, Tony.” Lulu frowned, irked that he hadn’t even met the food scout. The least he could do was to stay and visit for a while.
Rebecca finished her conversation and walked up to the booth. Lulu noticed that she wore a pair of stilettos to compensate for the fact that she was clearly less than five feet tall. “Have you got what you need?” she asked Tony. Then she gave a short laugh. “I mean for the story. I can see that you’re set as far as pigging out goes.”
Tony ignored her. “I think we’re good. Let’s head out.” He shouldered his bag and walked toward the door.
“What,” breathed Cherry, “a beautiful man. Reminds me of you know who.” And she patted her Elvis helmet, in case anyone had any doubt whom she referred to.
Rebecca gave a quick roll of her eyes. “We’re going to go. It looks like the dinner crowd is coming in full force. I’ll be here tomorrow,” she said to Lulu.
Flo grabbed Rebecca’s arm, startling her. “I know what we should do! Let’s go out with Rebecca and Tony. We could show them some Memphis nightlife.”
Tony, who had returned to the booth since Rebecca seemed to be waylaid, looked hopeful at this idea. When they’d arrived in town last night, he’d noticed Beale Street throbbing with energy. “I don’t care about the nightlife,” Rebecca said. “It’s not part of my story.”
Tony said, “Beck, they’re not talking about the story. They’re inviting us to have fun.” Partying on Beale with locals sounded to Tony like an excellent way to accomplish having fun.
She pursed her lips, considering. “Well . . . I wouldn’t mind getting some ideas for the piece. But I don’t feel like going out anywhere. How about over at the Peabody? It has a bar.”
Flo lit up. “Sure! I love those ducks. What time is it? She glanced at her watch. If we leave now, we can watch the duckmaster put the ducks up.”
Rebecca groaned. “Oh no. Not the duck people.” She rolled her eyes at Tony, who looked confused. “You were out doing Memphis location shots this morning, so you didn’t see the ducks. By the way, did you get some good stuff for the location shots?”
“Sure, lots of footage. And some great shots of the pyramid,” said Tony.
Cherry said, “Oooh. You know, I think that’s one of my favorite things in Memphis. I love lookin’ at it, with the sun going down and glinting on all that steel.”
“A pyramid. In Memphis.” Rebecca winced. “That’s not going to work, Tony. I’m doing a quirky story.”
“Pyramids aren’t quirky?” Tony asked.
“I mean quirky-oddball, quirky-colorful. Southern eccentric,” said Rebecca.
“Pyramids aren’t eccentric?”
“Okay, never mind. We’ll edit the tape later. Back to what I was saying. While you were out this morning shooting pyramids, at . . .”
She looked questioningly at Flo, and Flo supplied, “Eleven o’clock in the morning.”
Rebecca nodded. “You explain it to him, please.”
“At eleven o’ clock, they roll out a red carpet from the elevator at the Peabody, and out from the elevator waddle the cutest ducks ever. They spend all day splashing and swimming in the fountain at the Peabody, then at five o’clock the duckmaster calls them and sort of directs them with his cane, and they waddle back into the elevator and go up to the Royal Duck Palace on the roof.”
Tony looked charmed. “The Royal Duck Palace?”
“Well, honey, they have their own suite up there! With sun decks and a fountain and their very own miniature Peabody coop.”
All the talk of duck palaces and duckmasters irritated Rebecca. “And hordes of people line up with cameras and push and shove to see the ducks. And they play Sousa.” She heaved a rather tortured sigh. “But I definitely need a drink. Let’s head out.”
Sara’s nephew, Derrick, who’d been trying to look cool and listen in on the conversation at the same time, asked, “Is it okay if I come along too, Flo?”
Flo called Lulu over. Since Sara was out helping Susan with the show, and Ben had his hands full of dry rub, Lulu would have to stand in for the parental oversight.
“To a bar? What are you thinking, young man?”
“It’s just the Peabody.” Derrick shrugged. “I thought I’d go see the ducks and hang out with the Graces for a while.”
Flo said, “If he wants to come along, I’ll keep an eye on him, Lulu.”
Lulu figured Derrick was happy to be anywhere but home. He’d shown every indication of being completely miserable since moving to Memphis from Chicago and seemed determined to infect everybody else with his suffering. Lulu got it—he’d rather be with his mom, Sara’s sister, in Chicago. Too bad his mom didn’t agree with him.
“Okay,” Lulu said. “But only for a little while. Then you can still drive over to the church and make it to Youth Group.”
This time Derrick didn’t make the face he usually made whenever Youth Group was invoked. Although his manners weren’t well developed, he had an unerring instinct for getting his way. In his estimation, a blatant show of cooperation would engender more goodwill than his customary churlishness.
“Soun
ds like a plan, Lulu. Thanks, Flo,” Derrick added meekly.
Flo looked over at Big Ben, Buddy, and Morty, the three old regulars who were still trying to listen in on their conversation—Big Ben quite obviously, since he had his hand cupped around his ear. “Want to come along?” she hollered at him.
“Do what?”
“Want to come along to the Peabody bar with the ladies? We’re going to hang out with Miss Adrian and Tony for a while.”
Big Ben gave his rasping chuckle again. Buddy answered for them all, “No thanks, honey. Y’all go ahead and have fun though.” As he and Big Ben watched them go, Buddy said, “I think our days of hanging out in hotel bars are done, don’t you?”
Morty smiled. He looked for all the world like a black version of Mr. Clean—even down to the earring. Except that Morty always had a twinkle in his eye. And now a dreamy, contemplative look stole over his features that meant he was going to tell a tall tale. “Remember back in the day? We really did some traveling with the band, man. And a pretty lady in every hotel bar in every town we played.”
Buddy snorted. “Traveling? We stayed mostly in Memphis, remember? And when we did travel, the dumps we stayed in didn’t have bars. And I sure don’t remember any pretty ladies.”
“Emmaline. I remember Emmaline with her pretty braid.” Lulu rushed by, and Morty pushed up from the table. “Think I’ll go tell Lulu about Emmaline. She always likes my stories.” He wandered off toward the counter at the back of the restaurant.
Buddy sighed. “Thinking about the old days and being young makes me want to sing the blues.”
“But we always sing the blues, Buddy,” boomed Big Ben.
“Maybe that’s why we’re usually happy.”
Big Ben changed the subject. Or maybe he couldn’t actually hear the subject. He barked, “So whatcha going to do now, Buddy? Got any plans?”
“Well, it’s almost five o’clock now. I’m thinking about sitting on my front porch and waving at cars for a while.”
“That so?” Big Ben considered this, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully with a big hand. “That might be enjoyable. Better than my plan, anyhow. Mind some company?”
“Feel free,” said Buddy.
“Might there be a beverage of some kind offered?” Big Ben looked hopeful.
“I do have a Domaine Vincent Dauvissat Chablis Les Preuses in my possession right now. For a special occasion.”
Big Ben’s eyes widened.
“Which waving at cars, unfortunately, doesn’t qualify as.”
Big Ben nodded slowly. He could understand that. “Sweet tea, though?”
“Let’s grab a gallon to go, since we’re here. There’s no way my sweet tea can compare with Aunt Pat’s.”
Cherry left the restaurant a few minutes behind the other Graces. She was just climbing onto her motorcycle when the storklike figure of fellow regular Mildred Cameron approached. Cherry always felt very sophisticated in her jazzy, bright, tight clothes, jangly bangles, and Elvis helmet. She had a soft spot for spinster Mildred, who wore clothes that hung on her gangling frame like they were draped on a clothes hanger.
“Hey there, Mildred! How’s tricks?”
Mildred beamed at the friendly greeting. “Good!” She glanced at her watch, which slid like a bracelet on her skinny wrist. “You’re done eating already?”
Cherry laughed. “We did things a little different today. Ate early, now we’re going to see the ducks at the Peabody. That Cooking Channel scout is here, remember?”
“Oh, I forgot. What’s she like?”
Cherry considered the question. “Tee-tiny, like a little blond doll. And she has this perfect cupid-bow mouth. She seems kind of mean, though. But she sounds like she knows ever-so-many people in New York. She told the Graces all about the movie stars she knew and the places she went. She’s going to look at Sara’s art tomorrow morning at Susan’s gallery. She might connect her with some big shots in the city that she knows.”
Mildred splayed her fingers across her face. “Oh! Do you think . . .” she stopped and caught her breath. “Do you think she knows any publishers in New York? Could she find me a publisher for my book?” She looked for all the world like the Scarecrow asking the Wizard of Oz for a brain.
“I don’t see why not. To hear her talk, she knows everybody there is to know up there.”
Mildred swung abruptly around and walked back into the parking lot.
“Hey!” called Cherry. “Didn’t you forget to eat?”
“I’ll come back tomorrow,” said Mildred. “I’ve got a manuscript to prepare!”
Dreaming was romance writer Mildred Cameron’s stock-in-trade. In fact, she’d been dreaming for so long that now she moved and felt and acted like she was stuck in the dream all the time.
Dreaminess aside, though, she was a determined cuss. And patient. Who else would spend forty years on the same romance novel, just to get it perfect?
Mildred may not be as innocuous as everybody thought. Maybe she wasn’t only a pleasantly eccentric oddball, but something a little more indefinable. And now that she was about to turn over her romance into the capable hands of Rebecca Adrian, she daydreamed of book signings.
Sara Taylor pushed open the squeaky screen door to the restaurant. “Time to go home, girls,” she called. She was taking a quick break from helping set up the show around the corner, and she decided to stick her head in to take the twins home. She was preoccupied with her own thoughts and didn’t notice the face Ella Beth made.
But Lulu did. “Sara, if you want, I can drop Ella Beth off at home a little later.”
Sara gave an absentminded “okay” and hurried off to the car with Coco in tow.
Ella Beth could stay all day and all night at the restaurant. She’d sit with the Labs on the screened porch and do her homework before the crowds came at the end of the day to hear the music. She’d set out new rolls of paper towels on the tables every afternoon before the rush hit. All the regulars loved her and called her “their girl” and made her feel just as pretty as Coco. And they likely made Coco feel just as smart as Ella Beth.
“It’s been an exciting day, hasn’t it, sugar?” asked Lulu as she wiped off tables.
Ella Beth shrugged. “I guess so.”
Lulu shot her a searching look for the less-than-enthusiastic reply. “What’s wrong, sweetie? Not a fan of the TV scout?”
Ella Beth shrugged. “Coco thought she was really cool. She kept talking about Miss Adrian’s fancy clothes.”
Lulu hid a smile. “Sounds like you really weren’t taken in, though.”
“I like things the way they are, Granny Lulu. I never want Aunt Pat’s to change. Uncle Seb said stuff like we’re going to get all these tourists and start selling tee shirts, salt and pepper shakers, and those stupid bells.” Ella Beth sounded affronted.
Lulu frowned. “Well, I’d have to give the okay on that. Seeing as how it’s my restaurant. And I certainly don’t recall approving Aunt Pat kitsch. I think Aunt Pat would be rolling around in her grave if she thought her likeness was on somebody’s tee shirt.”
“And . . . well, I just didn’t like her. She reminded me of my teacher from last year. She was pretty and seemed real nice at first, but she was the meanest teacher ever. She’d bite your head off if you even asked her a question.”
“You don’t think she’s the real deal.”
“Nope. Just a phony.” An idea popped in Ella Beth’s head. Maybe she could find out more about Miss Adrian. Some detective work would be fun. And everybody expected to see her lurking around anyway, so they wouldn’t suspect a thing.
“Well,” said Lulu, considering the phony label, “she does have those colored contact lenses in. Nobody has violet eyes but Liz Taylor.”
Flo would have agreed one hundred percent with Ella Beth. Rebecca Adrian was definitely a phony. Worse than that, she was sneaky. She’d pretended to be great friends with the Graces while Tony kept a watchful eye on her and shook his head from time to time.
Cherry was a source of amusement for the ladies there—she’d clearly set her sights on Tony. She wore her special lucky lipstick that matched her hair, and her personality was especially sparkly.
“Cherry’s really set her cap for Tony,” Flo whispered to Evelyn.
“She drives me batty with all that. It’s not like she’s ever going to cheat on her Johnny,” said Evelyn. “She just enjoys the thrill of the hunt. And why she puts up with all Johnny’s nonsense is beyond me.”
Tony seemed taken with Cherry, too. But then, Cherry—in full-throttle flirting mode—was well-nigh irresistible.
The lighthearted mood changed abruptly when the devil got into Rebecca Adrian again. Flo later wondered if Rebecca just didn’t like seeing people have fun.
“So tell me,” asked Rebecca cajolingly to Cherry, who had finally removed her motorcycle helmet, since the threat of inclement weather had passed (although the threat of her falling out of her chair in front of the Peabody bar was rapidly becoming a distinct possibility), “are you ladies all for real? You give tours at Graceland? And you love each other like sisters and eat heaping piles of barbeque to maintain those skinny-minnie bodies? And you’re all sweet as pie? It seems a little corny.” Her swift smile minimized her cutting words. “Isn’t there any dirt in there at all?”
Now Flo noticed that Tony kept some distance between himself and Rebecca. He asked the bartender for another drink. “That’s it in a nutshell,” said Flo in a rush. “Can I get you another drink, Rebecca?’
But Peggy Sue snickered. “We do love us our barbeque and we’re all best friends. But sweet? I dunno about that.”
Rebecca smiled encouragingly. “It would be a little weird if you were all like some sort of Stepford women.”
