Sour Grapes

high drama. Sorry if I’m not impressed.” “ This was more than a beauty pageant. It was my career. My dream!”
    Savannah sighed. “Oh, yes... I forgot. You were going to be discovered.”
    “I was. But there weren’t even any talent agents there, like they said on the website. I looked around and didn’t see a single one.”
    “Really? What exactly does a talent agent look like?” Atlanta thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Well, I don’t know, but if I’d seen one, I would have known it”
    “That’s where you’re wrong, Twerp. There was an agent, of sorts, there.”
    She perked up and blew her nose. “What do you mean?”
    “I mean, someone who knew that you’re my sister approached me and told me they were very impressed with your performance.”
    From tears to a radiant smile in less than two seconds—the transformation was astounding.
    “Really? Really, really?”
    “Really, really. In fact, he suggested a gig for you next Saturday, if you aren’t too busy.”
    She jumped up off the bed. “No way! Where? When? How? What?”
    “In Hollywood at a recording studio, singing backup for Dixie Lynn. She’s cutting a new record, or CD, or whatever they’re cutting these days, and she could use another singer.”
    “Dixie Lynn? Dixie Lynn? Are you kidding me? Are you making this up? I mean, Dixie’s won Grammys, and she sang at the Oscars last year, and she’s been on the cover of Rolling Stone and—”
    “I know. She’s very hot right now. Are you up to it?” She bounced off the bed and around the room. She couldn’t have achieved more height with a pogo stick. “Am I up to it? Am I up to it? I’ve been practicing for this my who-o-ole life. This is too cool! I can’t believe it!”
    Since the tide had turned, Savannah decided to crawl into bed and catch a few hours sleep if the human yo-yo would settle down. Morning was going to come early, and she already had a mental list a mile long of “to do’s”.
    Besides, any minute now, Atlanta might think to ask the name of this high-powered, wheeler-dealer, Hollywood agent. All too soon she would find out that her agent was none other than John Gibson, who knew absolutely everyone who was anyone in most of the continental United States, and even more in Europe. He had set the whole thing up, bless his heart, and Savannah would love him forever for doing it.
    But Atlanta didn’t need to know that just yet.
    “Good night, sweetie,” she told her sister as she climbed beneath the covers. This is our last night here, and I am going to sleep an entire night in this lovely, free bed. So lights out.”
    Moments later, she could hear Atlanta wiggling around in her bed, giggling, still ecstatic. How nice, to be so young and full of hope for the future. Marion Lippincott was right: All that energy and beauty, it was wasted on the young.

    Nearly every town had an industrial section, and San Carmelita—graceful seaside village that it was—was no exception. And while most people wouldn’t chose to live in that area of town, they were thankful for it when they needed some of the more basic things of life done, like their car lubed, their tires rotated, or a fresh coat of paint sprayed on the old jalopy.
    Savannah had brought her Mustang down here so many times that almost every shop owner knew her by name and reputation. Californians loved their restored classics, and the Ford Mustang was one of the most popular. Savannah liked to think that her baby was the prettiest “pony” in town.
    So, as she drove down one street after another, checking every detail shop she passed, she was heartily greeted and had to fend off a multitude of offers, most of which weren’t worth beans.
    When it came to buying classics, a lot of car lovers made empty promises... sort of like drunks at a bar at closing time.
    She had already tried at least six or seven places, showing a snapshot of the BMW, and a photo she had cut out of a Villa Rosa brochure she had snagged from the reception desk. It was of Anthony Villa pouring a glass of wine. But she had cut off his name and the part of the picture with the wine, just to make sure they didn’t make the connection.
    With only two more places to check, she was beginning to wonder if maybe Dirk wasn’t right when he told her she was ditzy. This morning, when she and Atlanta and the rest of the girls had cleared out of Villa Rosa, he had reiterated his opinion to her. Once again, she had told him where to file