“And Jacaranda is a Texas company that makes schlock!” said Dixie.
“It might’ve been schlock years ago,” he agreed easily, “but they’ve been steadily upgrading and now they’re poised to get huge. Once they finish tooling up the Malaysia factory, you’re going to see hand-carved mahogany case goods that’ll set the market on its ear. By this time next year—”
“Coming through, please!”
I grabbed my new tote bag from under the edge of the table and stepped back as waiters removed the nearly empty serving dishes and deposited fresh platters of ribs and chicken.
More dancers surged forward to stoke up. I still wasn’t hungry but Drew fixed a plate for Chan with a proprietary air. “Cornbread, hon?”
“Yes, ma’am! And what about a couple of those brownies?” he said hungrily.
“Two?”
“One for me, one to take to Lynnette. She loves nuts and chocolate as good as I do.”
“Chan, you idiot!” Drew scolded. “You can’t give a seven-year-old chocolate at bedtime. She’ll be bouncing off the walls. Tell him, Dixie.”
“He’s the daddy, honey. I’m just the grandma.”
Dixie’s tone was light but that lightness didn’t quite reach her eyes.
Before Chan could reply, a pudgy middle-aged man tapped him on the shoulder. “We talk to you a minute, Nolan?”
The “we” was the heavy set woman who’d earlier handed Jay Patterson her beer when he was gasping from the jalapeno cornbread.
“Look, Jackson, I told you and Kay both—”
“Just hear what we’ve got to say, okay? Is that too much to ask after twenty-seven years?”
With an exaggerated sigh, Chan told us, “Be right back,” and followed them over to the corner that was probably the quietest place in the overcrowded ballroom at the moment.
“Poor Poppy,” said Drew. “He told Dad if Chan gives Muir an exclusive, they might as well close up now.”
Dixie frowned. “He’s yanking their account?”
I had only the vaguest idea what Drew and Dixie were talking about, but from the half-angry, half-entreating gestures the older man and woman were making, it certainly seemed as if Chan was yanking their chains, if nothing else.
Dixie saw my blank look and laughed. “Are we talking Urdish again?”
“I guess every industry has its shorthand jargon,” I said. “Are they buyers?”
Drew nodded, brushing a long blonde tress from her cheek. “Retailers. Here to check out the new designs and see what’s going to be hot this fall. Poppy Jackson has a beautiful old store in Green Oaks, Virginia, and Kay Adams has a store down at the beach. They’ve been selling us since before I was born.”
I began to see why those two seemed so hostile. “But why would Fitch and Patterson give another store an exclusive? Isn’t the object to sell as much furniture as possible as widely as possible?”
“It is,” said Dixie, “but high end has the snob appeal to do that if it’s marketed slickly. A lot of the retailers in our Southern Retail Furnishings Alliance are small independents like Poppy and Kay. They run a single-store mom- and-pop operation, maybe gross a million-five a year if they’re lucky. Muir’s a chain that’s moving into the Southeast. These huge new stores are really starting to hurt my little guys.”
Drew chimed in. “Stores like Poppy and Kay’s stock too much inventory. They may carry middle to high end but they jumble our pieces in with Lane and Thomasville. A chain like Muir will hire designers like Connie Post or Lynn Hollyn, install a three thousand square foot Fitch and Patterson gallery full of exciting room vignettes, and show a whole line for a synergistic effect.”
“And gross two hundred million in the process,” said Dixie.
“But they won’t do a gallery unless you give them an exclusive for that town,” Drew finished. “They don’t want to be undercut by a store that doesn’t have the same class and image. And I’m sorry, Dixie, but in your heart, you know that most of the independents look like dowdy old maids next to these high-tech chains. Poppy and Kay and retailers like them want to keep on doing what they’ve done for the last fifty years and that simply won’t cut it in today’s market.”
“But what about loyalty?” I asked. “If these two have been with you for so long—?”
“I know, I know,” said Drew. “It just about breaks my heart, and Dad feels rotten about it, too, but Chan’s right. If Fitch and Patterson’s going to stay competitive, we have to cooperate with the chains and we couldn’t say no to Muir’s offer.”
She glanced at the tiny jeweled watch that encircled her slender wrist.
“And speaking of cooperating, I’d better get back to our own reception before Mother comes looking for me.” She handed Dixie the plate she was holding. “Give this to Chan? Nice meeting you, Deborah. You going to be around all weekend?”
“I hope so,” I answered, patting my Home-Lite badge. “As long as I don’t ran into the real Jack Sotelli.”
“Good. Maybe I’ll see you again.”
She gave Dixie a quick kiss on the cheek and then slipped away through the crowd.
Dixie sighed as she watched Drew go. “She’s such a sweetie and Chan’s treating her so badly.”
“He is? She doesn’t act like it.”
