I Still Dream About You

hated to leave not knowing if its sale was just a rumor. She should at least try to find out if it was true, shouldn’t she?

As she was putting out the ant traps under the sinks, she began to toy with an idea. Hazel had said to use every advantage you had, and in this case, she did have a slight advantage: she knew the lawyer in New York who handled all the Dalton family business. She could go ahead and just call him. Just to ask. She could then find out once and for all, and she could jump into the river in peace. Of course, it felt unethical; not to mention rude and pushy. It was something she normally would never even think of doing. But if by any chance it happened to be true, she could at least try to get the listing for Brenda. Lord knows the office needed the business, and under the circumstances, she owed them that much, didn’t she? Maggie looked at her watch. She still had time to make one more phone call.

She sat down at her desk, took a deep breath, then mustered up all the courage she had and called Information. When she dialed the number, the secretary put her through to her old friend Mitzi’s husband, David Lee.

“Hello, David? It’s Margaret Fortenberry from Birmingham. Do you remember me? I used to be a friend of your sister, Pecky.”

The man on the other end said, “Well, hello! Of course I remember you. My God, how are you, Maggie?”

“Just fine, thank you.”

“Well, my goodness. Margaret Fortenberry. The last time I saw you was at Pecky’s coming-out parties.”

“How is Pecky doing?”

“Oh, just fine; she and Buck are still in New Zealand.”

“I heard that… And how’s Mitzi?”

He laughed. “Same as ever; can’t wait for me to retire, so we can get back home. Well, my goodness, it’s so nice to hear from you. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I hate to bother you. I know you’re busy, but I just heard a rumor that Mrs. Dalton might be thinking about selling Crestview, and I was wondering if you knew whether it was true or not?”

“Well, I haven’t heard anything; another department handles that. But I can sure find out for you. Are you interested in buying the old place?”

Maggie was tempted to lie and say yes, but she didn’t. “Oh, I wish that were the case, David, but no. The truth is, I’m calling on behalf of Red Mountain Realty, and if it is for sale, I’m just curious to find out if they’ve listed it with anyone yet.”

“Oh, I see, okay. Well, can you hold on a minute? Let me see if I can reach anybody downstairs. Hold on.”

Maggie felt her face flush with embarrassment at having called someone she hadn’t seen in years and for shamelessly using him to try to get inside information. But it was her only hope. A few minutes later, he came back on the line.

“Maggie. You still there?”

“Yes.”

“Sorry it took so long. Alex says yes, that it will be going on the market in a few weeks, and it’s being listed with somebody named Babs Binging… something or another. Do you know who that is?”

Maggie’s heart sank. She was too late; “the Beast” had already struck. There was a slight pause; then Maggie said, “Oh yes… uh-huh… well, thank you anyway, David. It was just lovely to speak with you.”

“You too. It was great talking to you.”

It was all Maggie could do not to break down and cry. She might have known that she couldn’t get out of this world without having Babs Bingington kick her in the teeth one more time. And the worst part was that it was all her fault. She had let all her “over the mountain” contacts slip and had not played bridge at the club in months. If she had been on top of everything like she should have been and not so preoccupied with her own little selfish problems, she might have known about it sooner. Now it was too late. She couldn’t have felt worse if she’d tried.

AFTER DAVID HUNG up with Maggie, he had to smile. Of course he remembered Maggie Fortenberry. She probably didn’t remember, but thanks to Pecky roping him in, he had been one of the pageant escorts the night she had been crowned Miss Alabama. Who could ever forget that gorgeous thing, sitting there in the spotlight in her white gown, playing the harp with that gorgeous hair of hers falling down on one side of her face? Mercy! Every healthy red-blooded Alabama male there that night would never forget her. She wasn’t trying to be sexy. She just was. So intense, so serious, and playing the bloody hell out of that harp. Good Lord Almighty. Did he remember her? Oh, yes, he remembered her. What was her story? he wondered. Why hadn’t she ever married? He knew for a fact that his friend Charles had asked her to marry him, but for some reason, she had turned him down. The minute he and the rest of his friends found out, they all wanted to rush over and ask her out themselves, but Charles was a friend, and you just didn’t do that. He knew she had lived in New York and then Dallas, but why had she moved back to Birmingham? She was a mystery. Everybody thought for sure she was going to be famous or, at least, marry someone famous. He wondered what had happened.

He knew Charles had hauled off and married some girl he’d met in Europe and had moved to Switzerland. He had gone to Yale and had married Mitzi Caldwell, his hometown sweetheart, and they had been as happy as clams. But all the guys in his crowd had been just a little in love with Maggie that summer. They had all gone down to the train station to see her off and had been there with roses when she came home from Atlantic City. The thing about Maggie was that she was so nice, not stuck-up or vain. In fact, he’d often wondered if she even knew how really beautiful she was. Damn it. She should have been Miss America that year. The girl that won was not half as pretty as Maggie. Those judges must have been blind.

So Much Hope

THE YEAR MAGGIE WAS MISS ALABAMA, THE MISS AMERICA PAGEANT was the most-watched show on television, other than the Academy Awards. Every September, millions of people tuned in to see who would be crowned Miss America, which girl would walk down the runway, clutching her bouquet of roses and crying, while Bert Parks, the master of ceremonies, sang “There She Is, Miss America.” Certainly, everybody in Alabama would be watching, pulling for their girl to win. Just like Alabama football, it was a matter of state pride. Before Maggie had left for Atlantic City, hundreds of little girls from all over the state had written her, wishing her luck, and every mayor from every town in Alabama had sent her an official good-luck message.

That year in particular, with all the negative press Alabama had received, more than ever their state needed something they could be proud of. Maggie was very aware of how much people were depending on her to do well, and she was so scared she might let them down that she could hardly breathe. But she needn’t have been. On the first night of preliminary judging in Atlantic City, she wowed the judges with her harp and her looks. By the second day of judging, every wire service, including the AP and UPI, had her placed number one to win. Even Jimmy the Greek, who took bets on these things, had her as the odds-on favorite, and reporters had already started calling her hotel room, clamoring for an interview. Jo Ellen O’Hara, who was covering the Miss America Pageant for the Birmingham News sent off nightly press releases that became the next morning’s headlines back home.

M ISS ALABAMA WINS PRELIMINARY

EVENING GOWN COMPETITION!

Last night, Margaret Fortenberry, wearing an elegant white gown from Loveman’s department store, swept her way to victory again.