Dixie Diva Blues by Virginia Brown Page A

times,” Gaynelle said as she wadded up a paper towel and stuffed it into the trash can disguised as a potato bin. “A fascinating tale, however.”
    Bitty smiled. “Carolann, I know you haven’t heard this. Well, it was in my sixth grade class, and I was the star reporter on our school paper. All that Civil Rights stuff was going on, and there was a big hoorah about whether or not we should elect a Homecoming King and Queen since we had just been recently integrated. Now, I always thought it shouldn’t matter worth a hill of beans about color, that whoever got the most votes should get to ride in the convertible and wave at everybody, and since I’d already served as Queen two years in a row, I certainly didn’t have a dog in that fight. Well, anyway, it ended up that I had to interview every single student in our school, just so we could get a percentage of how many Yeas and how many Nays—”
    “I’m going to step outside for a breath of fresh air,” I interrupted Bitty’s tale, “so whoever wants first in the bathroom go now or forever hold your peace.”
    Bitty jumped up. “Oooh, me! I call it first!” She scrambled toward the bedroom for her overnight bag.
    Carolann gave me a grateful smile and I nodded. It had been an act of mercy on my part.
    With four women and one bathroom, I learned the true meaning of crowded . Bitty took so long that Gaynelle finally threatened to take a buzz saw to the oak door if she didn’t get out and let someone else have a turn.
    An indignant Bitty emerged five minutes later with cream smeared on her face, a towel wrapped around her head, a silk dressing gown covering silk pajamas, and pink feathers on her feet. She stalked across the room to the vintage refrigerator. “Really, you’d think a person would be allowed more than ten minutes in there.”
    “You’ve been in there over an hour, Princess Glitter,” I said. “Why on earth are you wearing feathers and heels to bed?”
    “These aren’t heels , Trinket, as you’d know if you could ever find anything big enough to fit those snowshoes you call feet. These are slippers with kitten heels. They’re called that because of the tiny heel. Very sophisticated, I’ll have you know.”
    “And practical, too, I’m sure. You look like one of those teenage girls in the movies who always gets chased by a zombie or the guy with the chainsaw. They all wear heels and they all fall down at least once so they can get eaten or dismembered.”
    Bitty stared at me. “You’re such a ghoul tonight. Here. I think you need this.”
    She reached into the refrigerator and pulled out a small bottle and tossed it to me. I managed to catch it before it hit the floor and shattered into a million pieces. I turned it over and saw from the label that it was an excellent champagne.
    “They’re selling this in six-packs now?” I was incredulous. “I mean, just how convenient can they make it? Winos all over the state are probably clapping their hands in glee.”
    Bitty lifted a brow as far as possible. “I hope you don’t mean that personally.”
    “Heavens no. You’re much classier than the average wino.”
    “I know you’re an expert on winos, so I’ll take your word for it.”
    I smiled. “See how hanging around with you improves my education?”
    “Do they do this all the time?” Carolann asked Gaynelle, who had called dibs on the bathroom next and was gathering up her PJ’s and toiletries.
    Gaynelle nodded. “You get used to it. Just think of them as Heckle and Jekyll.”
    “Doctor Jekyll?”
    “No, the cartoon talking crows. Or magpies. I forget. It’s possible to tune them out if you turn up the radio very, very loud. Good luck.” Gaynelle stepped into the bathroom and shut the door behind her.
    Bitty and I looked at each other, shrugged, and popped the tops of our portable champagne bottles. Very convenient.
    Since I was the last one who had called dibs on the bathroom, I figured I’d get no hot water, but to my