Frankly My Dear, I'm Dead. Livia J Washburn

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СКАЧАТЬ times myself. Being from Atlanta, when I decided to start my own agency and specialize in Southern-oriented tours, Gone With the Wind was a natural. Everybody’s read the book. Everybody loves the book. And who wouldn’t want to go hang around for an evening with Scarlett and Rhett?

      “Oh, I’m not much of a dancer…” I said to the man who had come up to me—I was surprised at myself for feeling flustered all of a sudden.

      “I have a hard time believing that. Why, a person can tell just by looking at you how graceful you are.”

      He was flirting with me, I told myself in disbelief.

      And I didn’t know whether I liked it or not.

      He was a nice-enough-looking man, I suppose. About fifty, which made him approximately the same age as me. Medium-sized, with dark hair that I was pretty sure was at least partially a toupee, but a good, expensive one. The smile he gave me was a little smirky. Not too bad, though.

      But the important thing was, he was a client, and I don’t like to mix business with pleasure. An old-fashioned attitude, I know, but I’m an old-fashioned girl.

      How could I be anything else with a name like Delilah Dickinson?

      “I’m sorry, Mister…?” I’d heard his name earlier but couldn’t remember it.

      “Riley. Elliott Riley.”

      “I’m sorry, Mr. Riley, but I have a policy about not fraternizing with my clients—”

      “Fraternizing? What is this, the army? I just want to dance with you tomorrow night at the plantation.” He moved closer to me. A little too close. “I got a thing for redheads, you know.”

      “No, I didn’t know that,” I told him, and this time I didn’t bother trying to keep my voice pleasant. I let it get nice and chilly. He had paid for the tour in advance, after all. But that didn’t entitle him to any special privileges, no matter what he appeared to think. “If you’ll excuse me…”

      He took hold of my arm as I started to turn away. “What is this? What happened to that famous Southern hospitality you advertise on your Web site?”

      “I’ll give you the same sort of hospitality we gave you damn Yankees at Manassas if you don’t let go of me.”

      I know, I shouldn’t have said it. You may have guessed that I have this problem with my temper when I’m pushed far enough. Just don’t blame it on my red hair. That makes me mad, too.

      Mr. Riley’s face sort of pinched in. He didn’t let go of my arm. I was trying to figure out whether I needed to take a step closer to him before I kneed him or if I could reach the target just fine from where I was, when Luke moved up behind him and said, “Everything all right here, Miz D?”

      My fiercely protective son-in-law was three inches taller and probably thirty pounds heavier than Riley, who took one look over his shoulder and then released his grip on my arm.

      “Everything’s fine, Luke,” I said. “Just talking to one of our clients. Isn’t that right, Mr. Riley?”

      “Uh, yeah.” He looked nervous now with Luke looming behind him. He gave me a curt nod and moved on into the gallery. Luke didn’t try to stop him.

      Instead he asked me in a quiet voice, “Was that guy botherin’ you, Miz D?”

      “Oh, not too much. Just flirtin’ a little, I guess. Nothing I couldn’t handle. But I appreciate you stepping in like that, anyway.”

      He nodded, looked satisfied with himself, and said, “That’s my job. I’m a troubleshooter. I see trouble, and I shoot it.”

      “Didn’t Barney Fife originally say that?”

      “What?”

      “Never mind.”

      “I hate to say it, but you’re gonna have to get used to things like that, Miz D, now that you’re single and out on the market again.”

      “Being single is not the same thing as being on the market, Luke.”

      “Yeah,” he said, like he hadn’t heard me, “a woman like you who’s good-looking in, uh, an older sort of way, you’ve got to expect to get some attention from those older, desperate kinda guys—”

      “Luke,” I said, trying not to grit my teeth too hard. “Why don’t you go back to circulating, in case any of our clients need anything.”

      “Oh. Sure, Miz D. But I’ll be close by if you need me. Just give a holler.”

      “I’ll do that,” I promised, although I wasn’t sure I could think of a situation that would make me holler.

      Boy, was I wrong about that.

      After everyone had had a chance to go through the Visitors Center and have a look at Margaret Mitchell’s apartment, which has been restored to look as much as possible like it did during the years she was writing her novel, we all adjourned to Mary Mac’s Tea Room for lunch. I kept an eye on Elliott Riley, just to make sure he wasn’t bothering any of the other single women. He kept to himself, though, and didn’t even talk much to anyone else. Despite what had happened earlier, I felt a little sorry for him, obviously vacationing by himself like that. Had to be pretty lonely.

      After lunch, we all returned to the Gone With the Wind Movie Museum, which was part of the Mitchell house on Peachtree Street. The exhibits there told the story of how the best-selling, Pulitzer Prize–winning novel became one of the most popular motion pictures of all time, and certainly one of the most eagerly awaited when it was first released in 1939. The lengthy search for the perfect actress to play Scarlett O’Hara, the troublesome production that saw four different directors, including Victor Fleming, George Cukor, and Sam Wood, and the producer, David O. Selznick, work on the movie at one time or another (despite the fact that only Fleming received screen credit—see, I told you I read up on this stuff), and the controversy over whether or not Clark Gable would utter an uncensored version of Rhett Butler’s famous final line from the book. You know the one I’m talking about.

      A screening room in the museum showed vintage newsreels about the fabulous world premiere of the film in Atlanta, as well as a documentary about the making of the movie. Let’s be honest. As many people as have read the book, a whole lot more have seen the movie. Without Gable and Leigh, de Havilland and Leslie Howard, the story would be a lot less appealing. So most tourists are more interested in the movie museum than anything else. It has plenty to keep people entertained for quite a while.

      While the tourists were wandering around the museum and watching the newsreels in the screening room, I found a quiet spot in a corner and caught my breath. Things were going well so far. I hoped that the word would get around about what a nice tour I had put together. We just had to get through the plantation visit the next day without any catastrophes occurring.

      I had to rethink that a few minutes later when I heard an angry shout from inside the screening room. It was followed by another yell and then a growing commotion. I muttered, “Oh, Lord, what now?” and looked around for Luke and the girls. But I didn’t see them anywhere.

      Whatever was going on in there, it wasn’t good. I hurried in that direction. A couple of security guards employed by the museum beat СКАЧАТЬ