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Ivy suppressed a chuckle beneath her hand. Miss Francine was right—the Chamberlains were the town celebrities who could do no wrong. Every one of them was attractive, successful, and oozed charm. They were like sweet-smelling fly traps, and Ivy had been a willing victim.
At fifteen, she’d had no defense against Blake’s bright smile and baby-blue eyes. The junior football star had approached her after their chemistry class one day and asked if she’d like to go to a movie on Saturday. She couldn’t believe he even knew her name. Her heart started racing, her palms were sweating, and her knees softened beneath her. She’d said yes as calmly as she could, and once he was gone, she’d nearly collapsed into a puddle on the floor.
Blake had that power over women of all ages. A part of her wondered if she’d have the same response when she saw him again . . .
“You’re looking good, Ivy,” Pepper interjected, saving Ivy from the painful downward spiral the conversation was taking. She followed the statement with a knowing wink. “I like the bangs on you. They’re youthful and hip.”
“Thank you,” Ivy said, although more for the saving than the compliment. Pepper was the same age as Ivy, but they’d never been really close in school. Even then, they’d shared a bond forged by being from the unpopular crowd. But Pepper hadn’t had the benefit of dating a Chamberlain to up her social standing. “My stylist gave me a different look for the trip so I could get out of New York without the press or fans following me. It’s been a lot worse than usual lately.”
Ivy turned to look into one of the salon mirrors to check her disguise for the day. Her long dark-brown waves were pulled up into a tight bun. Her stylist had added some temporary extensions to create bangs and done her makeup differently. That, together with big sunglasses and a scarf wrapped around her head, was enough to cause doubt in the average teenager’s mind so they didn’t scream her name and chase her through the concourse.
At the moment she looked like someone who might be confused for Ivy Hudson on the street. That was good enough.
“She’s as beautiful as ever,” Sarah declared, reaching out to put her palm to Ivy’s cheek. “Just as gorgeous in person as she was on the cover of Cosmopolitan.”
“She’s looking a little thin,” Miss Dotty pointed out. “Those Hollywood girls are always too thin.”
“It’s all the sushi and kale chips, Dotty,” Miss Vera chimed in. “What you need is some fried catfish and macaroni and cheese!”
Ivy knew Miss Vera’s macaroni and cheese was the best in the universe. She tried to mentally calculate how many flights of stairs her personal trainer would make her climb to work off a gut-busting feast like that—enough to make her legs quiver like gelatin for an hour afterward, at least. No way. She was already on the larger end of the weight scale for Hollywood, a healthy size six, which of course was about twenty pounds underweight for the rest of the world.
One more reason she had to get out of Rosewood as soon as she could. Folks might be annoyed with her, but that wouldn’t trump their sense of hospitality. The women in town would make a beeline to her cabin with casseroles and cakes, feeding her until she picked up an endorsement for a weight-loss product or had to moonlight on Dancing with the Stars to shed the pounds.
“She’s not too skinny!” her mother protested. “She’s beautiful and perfect as always.” Sarah leaned in to hug her and plant a kiss on her cheek. “I’m so glad you’re home, even if it’s just for a few weeks.”
“It’s good to see you, Mama.” Ivy hadn’t seen her parents since the holidays. Life had been so crazy. Her spring and summer had been spent touring. She’d had a break over Christmas, so she’d flown her parents to Manhattan to spend it with her. They’d enjoyed the lights and excitement of the city decorated for the holidays. It was nice. But as always, it was short. They went home and she went back into the studio.
Sarah smiled, her eyes a little moist, and then she turned away to walk over to her station and get her purse. “Now, I know you’re going to be busy with all the town events, but maybe you can come over this afternoon to watch the Alabama game or tomorrow after church for Sunday dinner.”
“Roll Tide!” Pepper yelled with a smile as she swept up around her chair.
“Roll Tide!” Sarah responded, and then continued on as though her sentence hadn’t been interrupted. “Your daddy got a new grill and he’s keen to fire it up.”
“Sunday dinner sounds good. Maybe I’ll be able to make the game next weekend.” Ivy didn’t know how much free time she would have while she was here. She wasn’t given many details about what she was doing to help raise money for the high school, but the organizers would be fools to schedule anything on a Saturday afternoon in the fall. Everyone would be parked in front of their televisions, cheering for their college team of choice. Her father had been a Crimson Tide fan her whole life. There was even a baby photo of her in a University of Alabama onesie. It was a good thing they had a good music composition program there. It might’ve broken her daddy’s heart to send his money somewhere else.
“I went to the market and stocked the fridge with the things I know you like. They didn’t have any of that fancy carbonated water at the Piggly Wiggly, but I found most everything else.” Sarah handed over the key to the cabin.
“You didn’t have to do that, Mama. I can buy my own groceries.” As Ivy spoke, she could hear the familiar lilt of her suppressed southern accent creeping back in. In California, it was easy to drop the melodic speech. But the minute she got around someone from the South, she had to fight not to start y’alling.
“We can’t have a Grammy Award–winning star roaming around the Pig looking for Greek yogurt.” Sarah smiled. “Anyway, it was nice to be able to do something for you for a change.” Her mother’s dark eyes met hers when she spoke. There was a lot of meaning behind her words.
They hadn’t ever had much money when Ivy was a child. Her father was the band teacher at the high school and her mother ran this shop. Every penny they had went into getting by, so there wasn’t much for extras. Even then, when Christmas or her birthday came around, they always managed to surprise her with something wonderful and expensive, like a new acoustic guitar.
Money was not much of a concern for Ivy now. She had plenty, and she was happy to spend it on her parents. When her first album went platinum, she had paid off their mortgage and bought them both new cars. When she wrapped her first world tour, she’d bought them a cabin by the lake so her daddy could fish and her mama could sit on the screened-in porch with a tall glass of sweet tea.
What she couldn’t give them in face time she tried to make up for with vacations and much-needed cash infusions now and then. She liked that she could help them out and give them things they wouldn’t have otherwise. They had given her so much, it was the least she could do.
“Thank you. Although eventually, you know I’m going to have to buy food and go out in public. It’s not like everyon
e won’t know I’m here the minute I walk out of the salon.” Ivy eyed Vera specifically as she spoke. The woman was about to explode waiting to spread the news.
“I know. I just figured the longer you could go without running into you-know-who, the better.”
That was true, but maybe the Band-Aid approach was best—do it quickly and get it over with. She sighed. Either way, their reunion would sting.
“I saw you on SNL last week!” Miss Dotty announced, related to nothing in the current conversation.
Normally, Ivy would be thrilled to hear it. Last week’s show marked her second appearance. She even got to do a little acting this time. Given her reputation for doomed relationships, she’d marched out during the host’s monologue and slapped him for breaking her heart, threatening to write a song about him. Then she’d slapped one of the other stars. And a cameraman. And a random actor planted in the audience. Everyone got a good laugh out of her pathetic relationship track record.
