Sour Grapes

concerned.”
    They were approaching the Villa Rosa complex, a sprawling but lovely configuration of buildings that resembled an elegant Italian villa more than a highly successful commercial enterprise. Ordinarily, Savannah would be looking forward to spending the next few days in such luxurious surroundings, but...
    “You’re acting like I’m some sort of silly kid with a pipe dream,” Atlanta moaned. “This is for my career, you know.”
    The only “career” Savannah was aware of was Atlanta’s weekend job at the Dairy Queen, but she thought it best not to ask for clarification on the subject.
    “There are going to be talent scouts at this pageant,” the teenager continued. “And when they hear me sing, I’ll probably get a contract offer right on the spot.”
    “I hope you’re not expecting too much from this,” Savannah said dryly. ‘They’ll probably wait until an intermission to make that offer, rather than disrupt the pageant with a lot of contract signing there on stage.”
    “Don’t be a smart-aleck. Of course they’ll wait until later. But that’s how a lot of female country singers got discovered, you know.”
    “No... I wasn’t aware of that fact. Who exactly got her start that way?”
    Atlanta hemmed and hawed for a moment, then shrugged. “I can’t think of names right this minute, but take my word for it... a bunch of them... a big bunch.”
    “So, you don’t care if you win the pageant or not, as long as you get discovered .”
    “That’s right. Although I’ll probably win, too. And that would be pretty neat.”
    Savannah had to laugh. The Reid women possessed many virtues, but humility wasn’t among them. The Fear of Failure gene didn’t appear to be swimming around in their pool.
    As she pulled the Mustang up to the front of the Villa Rosa visitors’ center, she saw Ryan Stone standing beside the door, wearing a tuxedo that complemented his dark good looks—as if they needed enhancing.
    “Ryan is here?” Atlanta nearly bolted out of her seat Like most females between the age of eight and eighty, Atlanta was wildly smitten with the handsome hunk. On her subsequent visits to California, she had fallen madly in love with him, convinced that if only given the chance, she could permanently alter his sexual preference. “Oh, wow! You didn’t tell me that Ryan was going to be here!” “ Yes, he’s working security with me. But don’t worry... like I told you before, we’ll be sure to stay out of your way. I don’t want you to feel smothered or—”
    “Oh, hush up. You know what I meant. I don’t care if you and Ryan hang around me... some.”
    “Especially Ryan?”
    “Well, he is mighty easy on the eyes.”
    Savannah gave Ryan a wave as she headed into the parking lot. He waved back and flashed her a breathtaking smile that set her hormones aflutter.
    “Oh, yeah... Ryan’s easy to look at,” she agreed. “This is gonna be fun. A nice, easy gig... hangin’ out with the gorgeous and genteel Mr. Stone. The worst thing that’s apt to happen is a couple of girls wrestling over a can of hair spray. We’ll stay out of your way, so that you don’t feel smothered.”
    She shot a sideways look at her baby sister.
    Pouting... again.

    “What if I don’t like this girl they stuck me with... this Barbie Matthews?” Atlanta’s lip was protruding even farther than Savannah thought was physically possible.
    Hefting two suitcases under each arm, Savannah led the way from the gallery down the center hall of the adjoining guesthouse. “You don’t have to like her. You’re not marrying her; you’re rooming with her. And it’s only for a few days.”
    “But I thought we were going to get rooms of our own. That’s what it said on the web page.”
    Halfway down the long hall, they found the door with the brass “ID.” Savannah set two of the suitcases on the floor and gave it a “shave-and-a-haircut” knock.
    “Yeah, whaddaya want?”
    Savannah flinched. If the current occupant of 1D was as rude as she sounded, this pageant could be a long, dreary experience.
    One glance at her younger sister told Savannah the kid was ready to do battle. A harbinger of evil to come.
    Atlanta pushed the door open with a much harder shove than was necessary, and it flew open, slamming against the wall.
    Inside was a cozy, delightfully feminine room, a vision of hand-carved antique furniture, rose-printed damask spreads on the twin beds, and wallpaper sprinkled with tiny