Chapter 3 - time zones

Boom Boom Boom.

WTF. I buried my head back into the pillows.

"Ms. Thompson." Knock. "Ms. Thompson please!"

"Whaaat?" I called out.

"Mr. Devereaux is here, m'am."

"It's the middle of the night!"

"It's actually...10 in the morning m'am..."

I opened my eyes slowly. The sun was shining. My cell phone on the end table confirmed the time.

I hadn't slept most of the night. And the empty bourbon glass by my bedside had been refilled several times last night.

"Tell him to come back later!" I shouted.

"He's already been waitin' more than hour, m'am...I..."

"Okay, fine. And don't call me m'am", I shouted back through the door. "I'm up, I'm up." Dammit, didn't the man understand time zones?

I got into the shower, put on some fast makeup, jeans, and a tshirt.

Poor David was still standing in the hallway. "So sorry to stress you out. I'm just not used to getting up this time. Who are you again?" I asked.

"Butler's son", the young man said, looking incredibly nervous.

"Ah. You can call me Savannah."

"I don't think I could rightly do that, m'am."

I sighed. "Okay." I patted his back. "Relax. Where is Mr. Devereaux?"

"On the veranda waiting for you, m'am."


James was waiting at a small table on a beautiful covered back porch. A silver coffee service sat in front of him.

"Hey, I'm sorry you've been waiting", I called out.

"It's a lady's privilege", he answered.

I rolled my eyes. "Time zones. You know it's 7 am in L.A.? And I never got up before 11 anyway."

"You know, you're only confirming every stereotype your neighbors think is true", he said.

"As if I care. Is there coffee in there?"

"There is", he said, pouring me a cup.

"Who made it?" I asked.

"I did."

"Oh. Sorry. You must know your way around the kitchen here."

"I was Miss Emmaline's lawyer the past decade, so yes , I definitely know my way around. It's no trouble. I brought you a few things. They're in the fridge."

"What kind of things?" I asked, perplexed.

"Casserole, etc."

"Wow, you really didn't have to do that. That's nice of you", I said.

"Well, Ms. Thompson, despite your insistence on judging us, southerners are known for our hospitality." He was chuckling at me again.

"Listen, it's bad enough with that kid calling me m'am, call me Savannah, please." I said.

He nodded. "Okay, Savannah."

"And second, I'm not judging you, all of you...pardon me..."ya'll"...judged me all my life. The girls who used to hang around here when I was young were vapid, shallow, and completely fake."

"And do you honestly think, Savannah, that there weren't at least a few guys around here who knew that?"

I stopped cold. "I did manage to graduate Cum Laude from Tulane", he said. "I'm not a complete idiot."

"So you weren't interested in the Britneys and the Jessicas?" I asked.

"Not really. No that it mattered. I was the object of their ridicule throughout high school. You were gone by then", he said.

"Did you marry one of them?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

He sighed, then grinned lopsidedly. "I did."

"Well congrats."

"It didn't last long. A few of them started paying attention after I was offered a job by the best firm in Charleston. I never had the looks, but suddenly I had the money. It was nice for a while to finally get a little attention..."

I was going to argue with his comment about his looks, but let him continue.

"She wanted me to make senior partner and lose weight, and I wanted her not to sleep with my best friend. We were both disappointed." He said.

"Ouch." I crinkled up my face. "That's cold. I'm sorry."

"Yeah, so was I. I knew her momma practically forced her into marrying me. It wasn't a good start or finish." He sighed.

"Did you love her?" I asked.

"I thought I did", he answered. "What about you? Married?"

"No, not me."

"Why not?"

"Well....I could say I never met a man I respected or fully trusted, which is true, I could say Mr. Right never showed up. I guess the truth is no one ever asked."

I brushed away tear.

"Sorry, wow, what was that?" I asked, with a loud chuckle to clear the air.

"I'm sorry, I've upset you", he said, alarmed.

"No, no, you didn't, you didn't. On to the house...."

He gave me the grand tour, most of which I remembered. There were 5 bedrooms, 3 bathrooms upstairs, plus her study. Downstairs there was the drawing room, a dining room, a bathroom, a small room with a TV where she had spent most of her last years, and an enormous ballroom, still completely intact. Both an indoor kitchen added in the early 1900's, and the old outdoor kitchen which was as old as the foundation, the mid 1700's.

The house was also filled with beautiful antiques. "Your Aunt Yvette already made off with a few pieces", he said, "Although unfortunately your great aunt forgot to address the furniture directly, I think the will that covers the house, grounds, and holdings, also covers the furniture. It's yours. I'm happy to help you get the things back if you want..."

"Nah, let her have them", I said, "I feel pretty guilty honestly. I wasn't a good niece. Some of my aunts and cousins were here regularly. I really don't know why she left it to me."

"Your aunt's favorite saying was "I consider myself an excellent judge of people, which is why I don't like any of them."

"Sounds like me", I laughed.

"Exactly. She knew what most of her relations really wanted. She not only loved you, she liked you, and felt you were the proper mistress for Belle Rive. You loved the land as much as she did, not how much money it represents."

"James, I really hate to part with it. But I'm barely making ends meet in L.A. And I may be getting my first deal. I have a life there and..."

"I know", he said, clearing his throat, "This place is too small for you. Always was."

"Have you ever thought about living somewhere else?" I asked him. "You're a smart guy."

"Well thank you, Savannah, but no, this place is in my blood. Cities bring out the worst in people."

"True", I said.

"I like peace and quiet. Plus...a well fed southern boy can be not only tolerated here, but maybe loved, I couldn't even be tolerated in California."

A throbbing tickle moved from my stomach straight between my legs.

"Oh please, you're adorable and you know it." I said. Oops.

He cleared his throat. "Well, thank you. If I didn't know better, I'd swear you meant that."

"I do mean it."

His stomach growled. He flushed bright red.

I looked at the clock. "It's 1 o'clock, wow. I'm starving too. You want to get something to eat before we tour the grounds?" I asked.

"Sounds good to me."

We enjoyed the cream of chicken casserole his cook had sent along with him. It wasn't something I could eat regularly if I didn't want to gain myself. But it was sure delicious and he put it away.

Minutes went by. "Are you...watching me eat?" he asked.

Oh hell.

"No, no....it's just...people don't eat in Hollywood, it's nice to see someone enjoy himself."

"Yeah I'm sure that's why you were staring." He sounded only mildly bitter. There was an acceptance behind it that was almost sadder.

"It's true", I said, "I was enjoying watching you enjoy yourself."

"Ready for that walk?" he asked.

"Yep." I popped up, nervous and embarrassed. He'd caught me staring and hadn't bought my story for a minute.

Belle Rive had once been 500 acres, but had been sold off slowly piece by piece to pay the bills since Reconstruction. It was down to 25, and hadn't been a working rice plantation since the Great Depression.

"So what are you thinking at this point?"he asked. "I presume you do want to sell it? You have a life across the country."

"True."

&qu ot;You won't wait long, it'll be scooped up in a hot minute. Plenty of townsfolk want to buy it. In fact, the town of Harvester itself may buy it. The mayor has been after your great aunt for years to sell it to the town as a museum. He'll try to hit you up to donate it first of course, but he won't actually expect that. You know this is one of less than 10 intact plantation homes in South Carolina with acreage that's still a single family home? Most were burned a course, and those that weren't are museums and municipal buildings...." He sensed I was fading.

I scooped up a handful of dirt and smelled it.

"Last night you confused me a bit", he started, "I know you were tired, but what did you mean when you said you couldn't keep it even if you wanted to?"

"She left all the money to my aunts and cousins. I couldn't even keep the lights on."

"You don't have any savings at all?" he asked, making me feel terrible.

"Not really", I said, dropping the dirt and standing up.

"Whether it's a castle in Ireland or a plantation home here, there are ways people keep these great houses going if they really want to", he said, "it's not as insurmountable as it seems. You could open it to visitors part of the year, for the spring and summer. Bring in the town, split the proceeds. Rent it out for weddings, filming, and war reenactments."

"Oh Christ, are they still doing that?"

"As long as there are southerners, they'll still be doin that", he laughed.

"Pathetic."

" ;While I'm not disagreein, I wouldn't repeat that to your neighbors", he advised. "Didn't you say something about seein Miss Gabby today?"

"Yes!" Yay.

"Then let's go."