Down Home Carolina Christmas (7 page)

“Chicken bog,” Carrie corrected as she smothered a smile, since Tiffany's malapropism brought to mind one of old Mrs. Sweeney's hens typing away at a computer keyboard, enlightening the Internet with self-satisfied musings about the world in general. “And, anyway, Tiffany, I didn't really save your life,” she added.

“Oh, but you did,” Tiffany said seriously. “I'll never forget how you jumped right in. Never.”

Chicken blog, indeed. She and Dixie would laugh over that one. But somehow she knew that she wouldn't tell Dixie of Tiffany's slip of the lip. She sensed a vulnerability in Tiffany Zill, and only a lesser person would make fun of her.

Carrie wasn't that person, not by a long shot.

O
NCE
T
IFFANY
Z
ILL
was installed at their table, wouldn't you know that Bubba and Hoyt acted as if their tongues were tied in knots. This left it up to Carrie, Dixie and Joyanne to engage Tiffany in conversation so that she wouldn't be sitting there with people paying her absolutely no mind as she dug into a big plate of food.

“I guess you never had chicken bog before,” Dixie ventured, being the least shy.

“Mmm, no, but it's beyond good. Say, could you pass me another napkin, please?” Tiffany scarfed down another bite of soupy rice.

Apparently surprised at being addressed by a real live celebrity, Joyanne gawked for a second or two but regained her poise, for which she was famous, and handed over a couple of napkins. “I can't tell you how happy I am to meet you,” Joyanne said, sidling closer on the bench. “Maybe you could tell us how you started your career. How you became a Mouseketeer, I mean.”

“Oh, that. My mother dragged me to tryouts. I was chosen, and that's about all I remember about it.”

“But didn't you have dancing lessons? Singing lessons?”

“Well, yes. I started early, I guess you'd say.” Tiffany chomped down on a roll slathered with butter.

“So did I,” Joyanne confided. “I wish I'd had a chance like that.”

“Oh, sweetie, are you sure?” Tiffany replied, furrowing her brow. “I never got to do the most basic childhood things, like play a sport or—or just hang out at a lovely lake like this one. I couldn't go to Girl Scout camp or regular school.”

“I never thought about any of that as special.”

“Believe me, you should be thankful for having a real childhood.” Tiffany sounded very serious, even preachy as she said it, and Carrie focused more carefully on her. But before she could assess where Tiffany was going with the subject, Luke Mason sauntered right up to the table. Dixie seemed on the verge of swooning at the sight of him, so Carrie poked her sharply in the ribs.

“Hi, everyone. Mind if I join you?”

The silent Bubba and Hoyt exchanged a startled glance, and Dixie gasped. Carrie didn't say anything one way or the other, but Joyanne summoned the presence of mind to beam a sparkly smile at him as Tiffany slid over on the bench.

“In case you don't know, this is Luke Mason in person,” Tiffany said lightly, and then she smiled. “He's one of my best friends.”

Carrie wondered what that meant? Did this Hollywoodese indicate that Luke was Tiffany's boyfriend? For instance, when a celebrity called a woman his lady, sometimes that meant she was his mistress. Carrie had figured this out from viewing late-night programs, like Leno and Letterman.

Luke smiled at Carrie. “I've met Carrie at Smitty's. Hi, Carrie.”

This forced Carrie to say hi back, and since she was uncomfortable with the attention being solely on her, she wasted no time in going around the table and giving everyone's name.

After everyone had said hello, uneasily in the case of Hoyt and Bubba, Dixie simpered in that annoying way she had when she wished to capture someone's notice. “We may be seeing a lot of each other,” she said. “I—well, Joyanne and I—have signed on as extras in
Dangerous.
”

“Great,” Luke said. “Speaking parts, or—”

“We're beauty contestants,” Joyanne volunteered. “Though I'd love to have a speaking part. I do have some theater experience.” She paused expectantly.

“I'll mention that to the director,” Luke said smoothly.

“You will? You mean it?”

Carrie considered passing a hand over her face in embarrassment at Joyanne's brazenness but discarded the idea as soon as it entered her head. Joyanne proceeded to outline her community-theater credits as if Luke should be more interested in them than anything else in his life.

Carrie noticed that Luke had inched the plate holding the rolls and butter out of Tiffany's reach. What with Joyanne hell-bent on getting herself discovered and Dixie nudging her under the table to say something once in a while, Carrie zoned out. She needed to figure out what to do about her roof. She'd ask Norm if he offered any sort of time-payment plan. When she zoned in again, Luke Mason was looking at her as if she had a bug on her nose, but when she brushed it away, the bug turned out to be nonexistent.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” she said in a low tone while Bubba and Dixie, having recovered sufficiently, were noisily debating the merits of chicken bog with sausage or without.

“Like what?”

“Like I'm a blob on a microscope slide.”

He laughed. “I'm admiring the way your nose perks into a cute little point. And how you don't wear lipstick.”

“I forgot to put it on today,” Carrie said defensively. “I really didn't intend to come to this shindig.”

“But we convinced her,” contributed Joyanne, momentarily taking time off from self-promotion.

“And I'm so glad you were here, Carrie,” Tiffany said with utmost sincerity. “What if I'd drowned? What if I'd ended up at the bottom of that lake, my feet still tangled in the tow rope?” She shuddered.

Whip Larson arrived to hear her two questions. “We'd be searching for a new costar for Luke,” he said, and he didn't smile when he said it. “Ms. Smith, I have you to thank for saving Tiffany today. It was a heroic thing you did.”

“Oh, but I—” Carrie began, intending to mention that she'd been trained to jump in after anyone who was struggling in the water, movie star or not.

“No, I mean it. We don't want anything to happen to Tiffany here.” Whip bent to give her a spontaneous hug, into which Tiffany leaned enthusiastically. So maybe Tiffany and Luke Mason weren't a couple, Carrie reasoned. She had barely had time to consider this, when Hoyt and Bubba stood to leave.

“Got to go on a beer run,” Hoyt said. “You girls want to stop by Bubba's place later? Maybe take in a video?”

“Me, too?” Tiffany squealed, which took both Hoyt and Bubba aback, if their comical facial expressions were any indication.

“Well, uh, sure,” Bubba said, blushing.

“I'll pass,” Joyanne said regretfully. “I have a date.”

Whip spoke up. “Tiffany, I'm treating you and Luke out to dinner tonight. Have you forgotten that we have reservations at that steak place in Florence?”

“Oh, Pothier's,” Tiffany said without much enthusiasm.

“Right,” Luke said, putting an arm around Tiffany's shoulders and squeezing them companionably.

Carrie cocked her head, studying this gesture. Perhaps those two were a couple after all. Figuring out the mixed signals wasn't easy, considering the predilection these movie people had for hugging and kissing all the time.

“Would you mind if I bow out tonight?” Tiffany asked.

“I certainly would,” Whip said emphatically. “So would Luke.”

“Don't leave two bachelors alone in a strange town, Tiff,” Luke said cajolingly.

“I'll go if Carrie will,” Tiffany said suddenly.

A long silence ensued during which Joyanne and Dixie stared at Tiffany, Bubba's and Hoyt's jaws dropped yet again, and Luke grinned engagingly.

“That's a wonderful idea,” he said.

“If, uh, the rest of you would care to join us,” Whip began, though it was clear that he was only being polite.

“Nope, we've got plans,” Hoyt said for him and Bubba. “Got a new DVD player at my house.”

“And I promised my cousin Voncille I'd babysit her kids,” Dixie said as she kicked Carrie under the table. For purposes of safety, Carrie removed her feet to a position where Dixie couldn't kick them. She knew what Dixie was thinking: Carrie had better not pass up a chance to hobnob with the movie people.

Whip seemed relieved that no one was jumping on his bandwagon, and Tiffany gave an excited little bounce. “I'm so glad you can go with us, Carrie. I'm just starved for girl talk.”

“I didn't say I'd go,” Carrie said defensively. “I don't—”

“Oh, please, Carrie,” Tiffany said, reaching across the table to clasp Carrie's hand. “It would mean so much to me. After all, you saved my life. I want you to have the best steak dinner Pothier's has to offer. And after that, a big dessert. Or two or three.”

“Let's not talk about dessert,” Whip warned.

“My diet. Right,” Tiffany said, though with an obvious lack of interest in that topic at the moment.

“Our reservations are for seven-thirty,” Whip said. “That gives us plenty of time to go home, shower and dress.”

“My driver and I will pick everyone up tonight. Carrie, tell me where you live,” Tiffany said.

Dixie, butting in as usual, reeled off Carrie's address and instructions about how to get there.

Stunned by this odd turn of events, feeling that somehow she'd boarded a runaway train, Carrie didn't speak a word.

Tiffany rose to leave, and so did Luke. Tiffany fluttered her fingers in everyone's direction. “Nice meeting you. Maybe we'll be seeing each other around.”

“I hope so,” Joyanne said sweetly and with great presence of mind.

The three movie people sauntered off in the direction of the parking lot.

“Hot dang,” Hoyt said after they'd left. “I could have gone out to dinner with two real movie stars.”

“Speaking of movies, we've got a vintage video to watch,” Bubba reminded him. “
Return of the Killer Tomatoes,
remember?”

“Bubba, I could have been sitting across from Tiffany Zill, admiring
her
tomatoes.”

“Knock it off, Bubba,” Dixie said. “She's nice.”

“Come on, Hoyt,” Bubba said. “It's time for us to go.”

Hoyt went on alert, for all the world like one of his coon dogs pointing at game. “Say, do I spy a bit of pink at the edge of the lake? Caught up in those reeds down there?”

Bubba let out a rebel yell. He ran and scooped Tiffany's jettisoned bikini top out of the water, waving it jubilantly over his head.

Joyanne said, “These guys are hopeless. Let's go.”

“I'm for that,” Dixie said as Hoyt and Bubba headed for their pickups. “We'll check Carrie's wardrobe and make sure she doesn't wear that awful olive-green outfit with the barf scarf.”

“The one that looks like Killer threw up on it,” Joyanne agreed. “A definite wardrobe no-no.”

Carrie, unresisting, allowed herself to be hustled toward the parking lot. “What is it with Tiffany, anyway? Don't movie stars have lackeys who follow them around and pretend to be their best friends? I don't get it. Why does Tiffany Zill want to talk to me?”

“Because you're a kind, sweet person and clearly someone who cares about other people,” Dixie said generously.

Joyanne had moved ahead of them on the path. “Hurry up, you two,” she said impatiently. “I want to tweeze my eyebrows tonight. I'm deeply embarrassed that Luke Mason saw me with eyebrow hair sprouting all over the place.”

“I don't see any, Joyanne,” Carrie said.

“Maybe not, but I can feel it.”

“Come on, Carrie, I promised Voncille and Skeeter I'd be at their house by eight o'clock,” Dixie said.

Joyanne leaned closer to Carrie. “Shall I go home and get my tweezers? You might have a wayward eyebrow hair or two that I could remedy quick as a wink.”

“No, she doesn't,” Dixie said.

“Of course she does,” Joyanne countered, and they continued this argument halfway to Carrie's house. This suited her just fine, since it gave her plenty of time to consider what she might have to say to people from Hollywood, California.

Which, she reluctantly concluded, was exactly nothing.

“We'll pop over to Victoria's Secret one of these days,” Joyanne said to Carrie later, after they'd primped and prodded and poked her until she was ready to scream.

“What for?”

“You don't have any bras that aren't stretched out,” Dixie told her. “It's time for a revamp.”

“I've never been partial to red,” Carrie said as she gazed at herself in the mirror. None of her clothes had been deemed suitable, so Dixie had made a quick run to her apartment and rushed back with her new red print dress, which was made of filmy chiffon over a silk slip lining. It was cut on the bias, so it hugged Carrie's figure, and the skirt was scalloped in a way that drew attention to her trim calves.

“It'd be better with a Wonderbra,” Joyanne said.

“Hush,” Dixie said as she elbowed her in the ribs.

“I like you in dark lipstick,” said Joyanne.

“This shade would flatter you,” Carrie pointed out, for all the good it would do. “You're a brunette and can stand brighter lipstick.”

“Blondes don't have to look insipid. Dark colors can be becoming in certain circumstances.”

“My normal makeup makes me look insipid?” Carrie asked, stunned. She liked her usual foundation, which she bought on sale at the drugstore, and the pale pink lipstick that she'd worn forever.

“I didn't say you
were
insipid. I said blondes don't
have
to be. Big difference. And I love the way this blush highlights those wonderful cheekbones of yours,” Joyanne went on.

Carrie studied her reflection in the cheval mirror that had stood in the corner of the biggest bedroom of the farmhouse as long as she could remember. “You've outfitted me like a lady of the evening,” she said. “I'm sure this is the kind of thing they wear.”

“Nope, you're wrong,” Joyanne said.

“How would you know?” Dixie asked.

“I've actually met one,” Joyanne said.

“And where would that have been?” Dixie inquired with interest.

“Out at Dolly's.”

“You went to Dolly's?” Carrie and Dixie chorused in disbelief.

“Only once, with Hoyt.”

“And what exactly was
he
doing there?” Dixie asked with narrowed eyes.

“Same thing I was—eating a butter burger. You really should try one sometime,” Joyanne said lightly. “Here, Carrie, let me wipe a bit of mascara off your cheek. We might have overdone it a bit.”

“A lot,” Carrie said with feeling as Dixie darted to her bedroom window at the crunch of gravel in the driveway.

“Oh, my,” said Dixie. “That's not Tiffany in her limo. That's Luke Mason's Ferrari rolling up to the house.”

Joyanne shrieked incredulously, running to the window and pushing aside the curtain for a better view.

“I can't go someplace with Luke,” Carrie said after regaining her power of speech.

“Wrong, girlfriend,” Joyanne replied, her eyes sparkling. “Go for me if not for yourself. Tell him how I starred in the community-theater production of
Auntie Mame.
Mention that I once modeled for a boat company. I even had a speaking role in a sales film. ‘This is Model 2060, ready for your boating pleasure,' I said. I got it right on the first take, too.”

“I'm going to throw up.”

“Not on my best dress, you won't. Ruin that dress and you die,” Dixie threatened.

“Okay, I won't throw up.”

“Good. I knew you'd see it my way.”

“Why isn't Tiffany here in her limo like she promised?” Carrie wailed as Luke got out of the car.

“Who knows? Why are you complaining?”

The two of them turned to watch Luke as he approached the porch, and Carrie stared unhappily at the stranger in the mirror, wishing she hadn't let Dixie and Joyanne tart her up so unmercifully. She'd feel more comfortable wearing her coveralls from Smitty's and flat shoes, not these high-heeled monstrosities that blistered her little toes every time she wore them. Still, they made her legs appear way long. She twirled experimentally in front of the mirror just as Dixie spun around.

“At least you get to ride in a Ferrari,” Dixie said. “You never thought that would happen. Now, go out there and knock 'em all dead.”

They chivied Carrie down the stairs and hugged her for luck before she drew a deep breath and flung the door open.

Luke had shaved his beard, and he wore a natty navy blazer with an open-throated white shirt that set off his tan. He grinned at her, his eyes appreciative.

They stood blinking at each other for a long moment, encapsulated in a silence during which Carrie felt exposed and vulnerable. She almost lost her nerve, almost bolted back up the stairs, but then Luke spoke.

“You look wonderful,” he said.

Her heart was pounding so loud that surely he must hear it. “So do you,” she answered, taking in the wide shoulders, the hair falling carelessly over his forehead, and eyes that seemed to pierce right through her. When he'd hidden behind the beard, she tended to forget how gorgeous he was.

“Where's Tiffany? I was expecting her,” Carrie blurted after Dixie and Joyanne pushed her out the door and chorused enthusiastic goodbyes.

“She was running late,” Luke said smoothly. “I volunteered to pick you up, instead.”

With Dixie and Joyanne peeking out from behind the curtains at the parlor window, Carrie was not about to linger, so she started toward his car, but Luke hung back, taking in the rocking chairs on the porch, the hanging baskets of petunias spaced at even intervals, the old swing swaying gently in the breeze.

“Your house is beautiful,” he said, following her reluctantly down the porch stairs. “All that gingerbread trim, and you've made it so homey.”

“My great-grandfather built it,” Carrie said. It helped to talk of mundane things, to anchor herself in reality when she felt so completely overwhelmed with the incongruity of going somewhere with Luke Mason.

“You've done a good job keeping it up,” Luke replied, and with difficulty, Carrie realized that he was still talking about the house.

Luke moved ahead of Carrie so he could open the car door. While he went around to the driver's side, Dixie and Joyanne gave her a big thumbs-up from the window, but Carrie turned her head the other way and pointedly refused to acknowledge them.

Instead she concentrated on the car as Luke switched on the ignition and continued through the circular driveway toward the highway. The Ferrari's engine reminded her of nothing so much as a cat purring, and how an engine that produced the power of 490 horses could do it with so little noise fascinated her. The tan leather upholstery was creamy and soft, and all she had to do was sit back as Luke put the car through its paces.

The Allentown highway where she lived never had much traffic, and Luke accelerated the car up to sixty, nudged it past seventy. The farms and field sped by in a blur.

“A Ferrari will go from zero to sixty in less than four seconds,” Luke said, keeping his eyes on the road. “You probably already know that, of course.”

“Yes, and it'll top out at nearly two hundred.”

He slid her an appreciative glance. “Check this steering,” he said. He slowed, whipped the car into a driveway leading to the fertilizer plant, circled the parking lot and accelerated. Centrifugal force pushed her closer to him, and she righted herself, only to be slammed against the door. She laughed. This was fun.

The Ferrari didn't have a clutch, so it wasn't necessary for Luke to remove his foot from the accelerator when shifting to a higher gear, and Carrie observed the process with interest. He shifted gears by manipulating levers on both sides of the steering wheel.

“Here's another neat thing,” Luke said, downshifting using the left paddle, and the car responded with a satisfying backfire.

“Sounds like a Formula 1 car,” Carrie commented.

“I've had lessons with a professional driver. We took this car for laps on a racetrack in California and had it up to 130 on the longest straightaway.”

“Impressive.”

“It's a thrill for me to own such an automobile,” he said, though it was clear that he wasn't bragging.

“A Ferrari's a fine car, all right. None better. Better than an Aston Martin as far as I'm concerned, or a Lamborghini.”

“In your professional opinion,” he added, seeming to weigh her words.

“For whatever it's worth,” she said, but he shot her an appreciative grin.

Carrie surreptitiously glanced at Luke from beneath her lashes. He had a strong jaw, and it had been a mistake to cover it up with a beard. Just so she wouldn't be wasting the glance, she noted the nonchalant way he rested his hand on the steering wheel, the whiteness of the stiff shirt collar against his tan. It struck her that she was riding in a car with the World's Sexiest Man, sitting so close that she could smell the faint spicy scent of his aftershave. Swallowing hard, she forced her eyes front again, wishing he was someone ordinary. If he were not a movie star, would she still be attracted to him? Unhinged by the sound of his voice? Unsettled every time he looked at her?

Yes. Yes. Yes.

As they slowed to a stop where the highway intersected with the four-lane to Florence, they passed Mrs. McGrath getting out of her car at her sister's house. Carrie waved. The two women stared openmouthed as the car rounded the corner.

“Do you know them?” Luke asked.

Carrie strived for equilibrium, which wasn't easy considering the giddy state of her brain right now. “Dottie McGrath is one of my grandmother's best friends.”

“And that's a problem?”

“Those two will be on the phone tonight calling all their friends so they can tell them about me riding around with you.”

“Is there something wrong with that?” Luke asked, raising one eyebrow in the way that had made him famous.

“Not because you're a movie star but because you're an outsider,” she told him truthfully.

He laughed at that. “You're joking, right?”

“People around here tend to be suspicious of those who didn't grow up in the area,” she said, though she recalled the ease with which Luke had mingled with the adoring fans at the lake today. “On the other hand, everyone knows Luke Mason from movies, TV and the tabloids. You might not seem so much of a stranger because of that.”

Luke became more serious. “People only
think
they know me,” he corrected. “Did you ever consider that maybe I'm not the person I'm made out to be?”

“Like you're the creation of your press agent?” she asked, feeling her way along in unfamiliar territory.

“Partly. Some people start to believe the hype about them, but not me. I've tried to ground myself in reality so that I'm the same Luke Mason I always was, not whoever I played in my last movie or what I read about myself in the fan magazines.”

Carrie was accustomed to a world where not only did you know who you were, but everyone knew everyone else. Around Yewville, you knew a person's name, who his grandparents were and the places he'd been last night. You knew where this person went to church, if he voted Democrat or Republican and what he liked to watch on television. You remembered what he looked like in third grade. You'd probably been his babysitter or mowed his grass. With all this information, it was not difficult to sum up a person's character. For the first time she considered that in Hollywood, you wouldn't know all those things about anyone. You'd have to start from scratch with each person you met, figuring out what made him or her tick.

She felt a rush of compassion for Luke Mason along with an unexpected understanding of what it must be to live the way he did. To be who he was.

“Tell me more about yourself, Luke,” she said softly. “About your family. Where you grew up.”

“Well,” he said. “It's just Mom and Dad and me, and I grew up in Garrett Falls, New Hampshire. I had a sister, but she died young. A drunk ran a stop sign and hit her when she was riding her bike.”

This, then, was the hidden tragedy in Luke's life, no doubt responsible for the sadness she'd sensed buried beneath the surface.

“I am so sorry, Luke,” she said.

Luke kept his eyes on the road. “I was right behind Sherry on my own bike and saw the whole thing. She was only ten.” His expression remained grim for a moment, but he recovered. “I think of my sister every day. It could have been me, not her, and we were racing home for lunch on a warm, bright sunshiny fall day. I always won, but this time I gave her a head start because she was four years younger and had never beat me. And then she had an accident. I believed it was my fault for a long time.”

Considering that Luke's past had been the subject of a great deal of publicity and attention, Carrie was surprised that she'd never heard about this pivotal incident before, and she said so.