The Sassy Belles. Beth Albright

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      3

      We got in our cars and headed back across the bridge to the Tutwiler, looking for all the world like some sort of procession. Driving across the Warrior River to downtown, I looked over at Vivi. She sat motionless, white-knuckling the door handle as we rode to the old historic hotel.

      “I can’t do it.” The words shook loose from her mouth. “Blake, I just cannot tell all this to Sonny. You can’t tell me they need to know everything.”

      “What do you mean?” I asked.

      “Why in the world do they need to know that Lewis was a licker?”

      “What?” I said, in utter confusion at what I thought she said.

      “You know. A licker. He wasn’t much of a kisser but, God, he sure loved to lick. Can you tell me just why Sonny needs to know that?”

      I started feeling drops of perspiration dripping down between my breasts, and my breath had left me. But I grabbed Vivi by the arm and explained, “We are trying to clear all of this up so we can find Lewis.”

      “And by learnin’ all about Lewis lickin’ me from my knees to my neck, I’m a free woman?”

      I slammed on my brakes, realizing we had reached our destination and I was about to jump the curb getting into a parking space. Vivi and I looked at each other.

      “Maybe we can leave that little detail out.” I was already feeling nauseous. “It’ll be fine,” I said, hoping I was right. “Let’s go.” I parked and we got out.

      The Tutwiler was so elegant. It was a regal 1920s hotel with most of its original architecture still intact. Dapples of yellow and cream splashed the walls, shadows of the afternoon sun dancing and darting up and down the curving banisters and sprinkling light across the 20-foot ceilings. Sunlight peeked through the palms planted in oversize ceramic pots scattered throughout the lobby. White ceiling fans whirred slowly, just enough to stir the jasmine-scented air and cause the palms to wave in their breeze. The large French doors around the lobby opened onto the courtyard at every corner, and the three-layer fountain stood in the center offering a watery lullaby to the early evening. Every sense was stirred here. It was intoxicating.

      Harry and Sonny had arrived first, and I could see them in the shadows of the bar off the lobby. Sonny was propped up on a bar stool, his long legs stretched out in front of him, and Harry was talking to the bartender. Harry motioned to us. I wanted to linger a little longer.

      The courtyard beckoned, and I was swept back ten years earlier when Harry, fresh out of law school, stood in the spring sun in the middle of the Tutwiler courtyard. He had a martini in one hand and a peach-colored rose in the other. God, he was gorgeous. Dressed in navy dress pants and a heavily starched, crisp white shirt, silver wire frames and his wavy mass of dark hair, he looked straight out of a magazine. His cuff links glistened in the sunlight.

      I loved that Harry wore cuff links. I’d never known anyone who wore cuff links. They made him seem elegant and refined, classic. They were a symbol to me of who Harry was. Eccentric and his own man in every respect. He was unexpected. The cuff links were unexpected. They made you notice that he was confident, but not in a flashy sort of way.

      That evening in the courtyard was about a month after we’d graduated from law school and I was meeting him for drinks. Harry had had a job interview with the most prestigious firm in Tuscaloosa that day. They had offices in Atlanta and Birmingham and Harry had wanted to work for them ever since I had first met him. When he called to invite me to drinks, I thought, Oh, he got the job! He wants to celebrate! I had hurriedly dressed in my favorite suit, covered myself in my perfumed body cream from my hot-pink toenails to my tan shoulders, slid my favorite pink lipstick over my lips and flew out the door.

      When I met Harry at the Tutwiler, I expected to hear all the nitty gritty details of the interview. I spotted him in the courtyard and raced across the lobby and out through the French doors, throwing my arms around him once I’d reached him.

      “Hey, honey! How’d it go?”

      “Great! They told me they were hoping the next Heart out of law school would choose their firm. My name is my reputation,” he said proudly.

      “Oh, baby, that’s great!” I said, but I sensed something else. “Harry, what’s wrong?”

      He cocked his eyebrow up.

      “Oh, no, they’re not sending you to Atlanta, are they?”

      “Blake. Sweet, sweet, Blake,” Harry whispered as he pulled me closer. “No, darlin’, I’ll be here in Tuscaloosa, ’cause I told them I couldn’t leave at the moment. They’ll hand me my first file next Monday.”

      I continued holding him tight. “Oh, thank God. I don’t think I’m cut out for long-distance.”

      “Sweetie, they’re looking for one more fresh-faced attorney.”

      “You СКАЧАТЬ