Dancing Naked in Dixie by Lauren Clark Page A

reporter in the South, worked his way up the East Coast, then went to New York and got into the magazine industry.”
    Even Mary Katherine looks impressed. “Shug’s in the family business,” I hear her say.
    “Really? The travel and tourism business?”
    “No,” Shug tries not to laugh. “She means that I’m part owner of Jordan Construction and so is my sister. My father runs the business. The Historic Chattahoochee Commission is my full-time job.”
    “For now it is,” Mary Katherine adds tersely. “It’s a great service to the community. But it’s so demanding and keeps Shug here all of the time.”
    Somehow, I don’t think I’m getting the full story. I focus on my grits and brown sugar.
    “Traveling is so glamorous.” Mary Katherine sounds wistful, almost human. “I’ll bet you’ve been to all of the most wonderful places. Paris, London, Rome.”
    “I’m just back from Italy. Belize before that,” I say, nodding.
    “Do you love it?” she asks, hopeful, leaning closer.
    “I do. I see so many different places and different people. I don’t have any commitments. I’m not stuck anywhere.”
    Then, I see Shug staring off into space. Have I upset him?
    Staying here is probably what’s expected of him. Like the mafia, but not as clandestine and illegal. He does it for family. A sacrifice.
    “But there’s nothing wrong with living in a lovely place like Eufaula.” I look at Mary Katherine with an apologetic grin. “Besides, travel isn’t all that glamorous. You lose your luggage, miss flights, the weather can be awful, and hotels can lose electricity. I never get my mail.”
    Mary Katherine looks unconvinced and takes another bite of dry toast. Doesn’t she have somewhere to go? Something to do? Exercise? Haircut? A job?
    Which reminds me about my own career.
    I put down my spoon, dab at my lips with a napkin, and prepare myself to listen, forcing my body to be still.
    “So,” I say, “Tell me all about Eufaula.”

Chapter 7
    Mary Katherine looks immediately pained and purses her lips, as if someone poured a pound of salt in her sweet tea.
    “Oh, my. Gotta run, y’all,” she twitters and pushes back her chair. Ever the gentleman, Shug jumps to his feet again.
    She pecks Shug on the cheek and turns to me with an apologetic look. “Have to get to Dothan. I’m squeezing in a mani-pedi before my meeting at the bank. Can’t be late.”
    The thing is, as I gaze in her direction, Mary Katherine’s fingernails and toes look immaculate, like tiny shells painted a pale coral color. Not one chip.
    She gathers her purse, then takes time to fuss with Shug’s collar. I’m certain the gesture is a sign, a symbol, perhaps a warning to me. Mary Katherine is marking her territory, making sure that I know what’s what. She might as well hammer a sign above Shug’s head, “Private Property. No Trespassing.”
    Don’t worry sweetheart, I want to say. It’s all business. I play with the straw in my water glass to illustrate just how detached I am from the whole scene. I wonder why someone as beautiful as she is has to put so much effort into demonstrating ownership.
    Andrew wouldn’t know what to make of it if I acted swoony. I’m the first to vouch that my boyfriend deserves more attention. He always teases that he’s going to file a missing person report when I’m off on assignment for more than a week.
    With men, staking a claim doesn’t do any good anyway. If they want to leave, they just do. Take my father, for example.
    “Julia,” Mary Katherine is trying to get my attention. She waves a finger in front of my face. “Thought we’d lost you for a minute there.”
    “Oh no,” I recover, “just running through some ideas.” I certainly can’t tell her the truth. That she’s a possessive girlfriend with security issues.
    Mary Katherine wrinkles her brow.
    “For the article,” I explain.
    “Oh, sugar,” she claps her hands. “I meant to ask you, Julia … and I’m sure you