Divas Do Tell (13 page)

I wandered toward the living room where the production crew and set dresser had staged it for a scene with Kathy Adams playing Dixie Lee’s character. It was a scene where Desirée DuBois discovered the young man who abducted her had committed suicide. Rather awkward in light of the recent events, I thought. According to Sandra, Desirée realizes too late that she’s in love with Jimmy Patterson. In her grief, she promises to help Doris Dancey fight the racial prejudice that prevents Joe Don from marrying his true love, Sharona. The love-struck couple defy the town and their families to wed, then move away to start their new lives.

It was the biggest cover-up of the truth since Watergate.

“Dixie Lee has one hell of an imagination, doesn’t she,” Bitty murmured in my ear as we gazed at the staged scene where masking tape stuck to carpet and wood floors. “She managed to gloss over some really ugly events and come out looking like Mother Teresa.”

“I haven’t gotten that far in the book yet,” I said. “I’m at the beginning of the fourth chapter. Joe Don has just met Sharona, and Desirée is still going steady with Jimmy. The stage has been set, but no players have been seduced or abducted. The best is yet to come.”

“If you’re at the fourth chapter then you’ve already passed the part where the snobby, stuck-up beauty queen is dating the handsomest jock in high school.”

“Yes, I did read that—
Barbie
.”

“I mean, really. Doesn’t she have any sense of self-preservation at all? Barbie goes on to marry the college jock, divorces him when she finds out he’s been robbing banks, marries three more times, and her last husband, the two-timing lieutenant governor, is mysteriously murdered, stuffed in her closet, and she’s arrested. Her new boyfriend, a high-powered Jackson lawyer, gets her off. Can you believe that? I should shoot her just for libel if no other reason.”

“You’re not armed, are you?”

“Not at the moment. A pity. If I have to listen to her whining about all the fuss she’s caused much longer I might be tempted to use her for target practice.”

“Wait’ll I finish the book, and I might help you.”

“The fourth chapter is where all the lies about Desirée and Jimmy take place. Talk to me when you get through with chapter six.”

“Don’t ruin it for me. Let me be surprised.”

“Oh, Trinket, you already know everything that happens. The real version, anyway.”

“Not true. I had no idea Barbie spent her formative years under the influence of a mad scientist.”

“I still haven’t figured that one out. Unless she’s referring to my junior high biology teacher. I did have a crush on him all through seventh grade.”

We both turned to look at Dixie Lee where she sat on a chair in front of the parlor fire. “She may be delusional, but I don’t think she’s dangerous,” I mused aloud.

“I do,” said Bitty. “Billy Joe’s suicide isn’t the last tragedy we’ll see.”

“Forever, or just in the next twenty-four hours?”

“Not forever, Trinket. But I’m willing to bet there’s going to be a lot more trouble before this movie is finished.”

I must be rubbing off on Bitty. Sometimes she’s absolutely psychic.

SINCE BITTY HAD given up her acting career—a loss Hollywood must still be mourning—we had been invited to sit on the sidelines to watch filming if we wished. It wasn’t my wish, but Bitty loved to be mingling with the famous. I reluctantly gave in to her request that I accompany her. In other words, she bribed or blackmailed me into going along.

Two days after Billy Joe’s suicide we sat in folding chairs watching as the crew set up for the next scene being shot. This was the scene in which Sharona falls for Joe Don. Mira Waller, a young lady of twenty who looked to be about thirteen played Sharona. She was exquisite. Her features were perfect, her skin a lovely brown that glowed with youth. If Susana looked anything like Mira, it was no wonder Billy Joe had fallen in love with her. Or at the least, seduced her. Under the lights, caught up in her role, Mira was sweet, innocent, excruciatingly tempting.

Once the scene ended, her lovely face settled into a permanent pout of discontent. It was as if a curtain had been drawn. Her chin tilted arrogantly, she was rude to the crew, rude to the other actors, rude to everyone but the director. She flounced over to her trailer, a small metal turtle of an RV parked on the fringe of the set. When a fan tried to talk to her she brushed past her with a sharp word, opened the door to her trailer, and slammed it behind her.

“There goes an ego bigger than China,” said Sandra Brady with a lift of her eyebrows.

“She hides it well,” Bitty drawled, and they both laughed.

“Well, she is very pretty,” I said after a moment. “But she swears like a riverboat captain. I heard her on the phone. At first I thought she was just a kid, and I was horrified. Then I saw who she was.”

Sandra nodded. “It’s like opening a pretty package and finding it full of mud, isn’t it?”

“Or cow poop,” said Bitty. When Sandra gave her a strange look she said, “My cousins used to put cow patties in paper bags and leave them on the front porch of someone they didn’t like. Then they’d set the bags on fire so when they came out to stomp out the fire—cow poop all over their feet.”

“Don’t let her kid you,” I said as Sandra started laughing. “It wasn’t my brothers who did that—it was me and Bitty. A girl we went to school with was being mean, so we waited until she was at home by herself, filled up the sack with patties from our fields—we had lots of cows back then—and put it right outside the front door and lit it on fire. She came out, screamed bloody murder and started stomping on it. Of course, we were laughing so hard by the time she realized what had happened that she told her parents, who told our parents, and we were grounded for two weeks.”

“What happened to the girl who’d been mean to you?”

“She went on to be class valedictorian,” I answered. “But Bitty and I watched two full weeks of TV shows like
Bewitched
and
The Lucy Show
during our unfortunate incarceration.”

“That’s who you remind me of,” Sandra said with a snap of her fingers. “Lucy and Ethel.”

“Better than the Three Stooges, I guess. Although we must have seemed like them in Booker’s.”

“It was an accident,” said Bitty. “I just wanted to add a little extra to the scene.”

Sandra patted her on the arm. “That’s all right. I think Simon overreacted. No one was hurt, and you paid for the broken butter churns. It wasn’t as bad as all that.”

“Oh lord,” I said. “Did you see what happened?”

Sandra shook her head. “No, I was at Montrose. They were marking out a scene for Darcy. It was on the blooper reel, though.”

“Blooper reel?” Bitty squeaked, and Sandra nodded.

“I laughed for fifteen minutes. You two were hysterical.”

Bitty sighed. “It would have been lovely if it’d worked out. Maybe my real talent is here, though. I’m on so many committees, and then there are our Diva meetings. You will come, won’t you? It’s at my house this time. It’ll be a nice break from the movie business.”

Sandra hesitated. “Production is usually so demanding, you know. Long hours, so many takes that require a great deal of focus, but—well, yes, I’m sure I can come to a meeting if it’s when we’re taking a break from shooting.”

Once Sandra had gone to make-up for her next shot I looked at Bitty and said, “We just had a Diva meeting last week. What are you doing?”

“Oh for heaven’s sake, Trinket. This is a special meeting. All the Divas are just dying to meet her anyway, and it’ll be a good opportunity for Rose Allgood to spend time with her, too.”

“Rose spent time with her two nights ago when Dixie Lee pitched her hissy fit, remember? She brought the box of cupcakes with those horrible little candy things on top of them.”

“Oh yes, I remember those. Strange little misshaped hearts like Gummy Bears were on top. They were pretty tasty.”

For a moment I didn’t know what to say, but then I explained gently, “Bitty, honey, those weren’t misshaped hearts. Remember the stiff little knobs on top? Think about it a moment. The cupcakes were baked for Rose’s side of the shop . . . she sells certain
toys
for adults. Those were left over from a promotion . . .”

It took a moment, but I saw awareness hit, and then Bitty’s eyes got wide. “Good lord! I ate two of those obscene things.”

I patted her on the shoulder. “You’ll be okay. Now come on. It’s going to rain, and I want to be inside somewhere.”

“We’ll go to my house. I have wine that’s already chilled.”

There’s something lovely about being inside by a fire on a cold winter afternoon when rain hits the windows, and I’m all cuddled up with a glass of wine. Bitty and I sat in her parlor once again, lazily going over all the gossip we’d picked up on the movie set.

“Mira Waller has a reputation with the production crew, it seems,” said Bitty as she patted Chen Ling atop her furry little head. “Abby doesn’t like her at all. She’s quite a prima donna.”

“Ever since her last movie was such a blockbuster she’s been in a lot of demand. So much fame for someone so young has gone to her head. She probably doesn’t know how to handle it.”

“Someone needs to tell her.”

I peered at Bitty over my wine glass. “Don’t let that someone be you. Stay out of it.”

“For heaven’s sake, Trinket, I have no intention of doing anything like that. I’m content to stay on the sidelines and just watch. It’s almost like having front row seats at
Entertainment Tonight
or one of those shows.”

“Almost. I noticed that Dixie Lee hasn’t been showing up the past two days. Cady Lee said she’s just staying in her room. Billy Joe’s suicide hit her pretty hard.”

“Allison Cramer made a lot of noise over it, said Billy Joe would never kill himself and that she’s going to sue Dixie Lee for millions of dollars for driving him to it. I don’t think she even realized that she contradicted herself. Connie told me about it while I was getting my hair done this morning. I’m nearly rid of the burned frizz. She slathered on the conditioner and did a hot oil treatment.”

“Really?” I mulled that over. Allison Cramer was Billy Joe’s wife. The morning paper had quoted her as saying their marriage wasn’t perfect, but they weren’t getting divorced. He’d had no reason to kill himself, she claimed. Not until Dixie Lee’s book came out and the movie came to town.

“Yes, really,” Bitty said. “You should get Connie to condition your hair, Trinket. I don’t know what she uses, but it’s wonderful. And the hot oil treatment does wonders.”

“I was referring to Allison Cramer, not your hairdresser. And I can’t afford her anyway.” I put my hand up to my hair. “I don’t have split ends, either. It just gets flyaway in the weather sometimes.”

“You don’t need to be so defensive. As for Allison, she and Billy Joe have been back and forth at each other for years. One time she got so mad at him she took a shot at him, and he ran out of the house so quick he forgot his pants. So there’s Billy Joe, standing out on the sidewalk in boxers with red hearts on them yelling back at Allison, and along come the garbage men. Well, those dogs of his just love to chase the garbage men, so one of them got out of the fence and tore off after the poor worker as he’s trying to dump Billy Joe’s garbage. The worker started yelling and jumped up on his truck, Billy Joe tried to grab the dog, and somehow the garbage can fell off the truck and landed right on Billy Joe and the dog. By the time the police got there, three more dogs had gotten out of the fence and were rooting through all that trash like pigs looking for truffles. The whole street was a mess.”

Fascinated, I asked, “So what happened after the police got there?”

“Oh, they just told Billy Joe to clean up his yard and put up his dogs, and if they saw him outside without his drawers again they were going to arrest him.”

“Sometimes I think there’s more entertainment at home than there could ever be in Hollywood.”

Bitty nodded. “You might be right. So what should we do about Dixie Lee?”

“Do? Nothing, I imagine. What do you think we should do?”

“Well, I guess we can just wait for someone to run her over with a car or something.”

“You’re a bloodthirsty little thing lately. Why don’t we just hope for the best?”

“Oh, Trinket, we can hope for the best, but we know that there are some people who just invite bad things to happen. It’s like they send out monogrammed invitations.”

I thought about that on my way home to feed the furry flocks. Bitty was right. No matter what precautions were taken, far too often some people attracted trouble. Usually it was me and Bitty. This time I had the feeling that Dixie Lee might be the one to send out those invitations.

The interview with Dixie Lee was held at Bitty’s house, mainly because she wanted to be part of the whole thing, and Miranda Watson agreed. I helped her prepare tea and snacks. Sandra was coming from a shoot at Montrose and would be in period clothes and probably hungry since it was the lunch break—not something movie people often do, I discovered. They eat on the run.

I picked up a can. “Are these nuts for Dixie Lee? You know she has a peanut allergy, right?”