Free Blue Like Elvis by Diane Moody Page A

where you’re going, that
sort of thing. Eventually he starts mimicking you. It’s hilarious. Of course,
at first it just sounds like babble. Then gradually it gets more distinct. He’s
quite brilliant, if I say so myself.”
    “Has he ever
embarrassed you? Said something you weren’t expecting in front of someone else?”
    She laughed again.
“Oh my goodness, yes. But the funniest is when he flirts.”
    “Gee, I wonder
where he learned that?”
    “Not from my
brother Carlos, that’s for sure. Carlos taught him all kinds of dirty stuff.
Well, not dirty like obscene, so much. More suggestive, but silly, you know
what I mean?”
    “Like what?”
    “Like, when one of
Carlos’ girlfriends visits, Pedro will ask her what color undies she’s wearing.”
    I almost fell off
my chair. “No!”
    “Or he’ll pester
them saying, ‘What yo’ number? What yo’ number?’ Then, ‘Dump the loser, call me!
Dump the loser, call me!’”
    I couldn’t stop
laughing, as much at her imitation of Pedro as his antics.
     “And if he’s really feeling bold, he’ll say, ‘One on the lips. One on the lips. Dump the loser, one
on the lips!’ Sometimes we laugh so hard we need oxygen.”
    She ordered
another Tab and told me more of Pedro’s adventures and boisterous vocabulary. I
was about ready to ask for a canister of oxygen myself. Finally we left our
fried heaven and made our way home, sufficiently covered with grease and aching
from so much laughter.
    We climbed in my
loaner and headed home.
    Sandra rubbed her
hands together. “Next time I’ll tell you about Pedro’s secret mission. You see,
he’s actually my secret weapon . . .”

Chapter 9
     
    Wednesday, as soon
as we got off work, Sandra and I drove the short distance to First Baptist. She
was planning to camp out in the library since she was on the hunt for a book
she’d been trying to find. I made my way down to the church offices where I
told the receptionist I had an appointment with Dr. Love. She introduced
herself as Dorothea Foster. I think? I’m pretty sure I counted fourteen
syllables in her first name alone. Thickest Southern drawl I’d ever heard.
    “He-uhll be raughhht
wee-uth you, Shehhhlby,” she said.
    I pressed my lips
together to hide my smile, then thanked her.
    “Juhhst hayuv uh sea-uht
ovah thayah on the sohhfah,” she said with a wink.
    I took-my-seat-on-the-sofa,
wondering how in the world different dialects came to be. I loved a good
Southern accent, but sometimes it felt like you needed waders just to tip-toe
through the pronunciation. I often thought many of them were affected and
put-on. It was a common practice for some of the girls I’d known growing up in
Birmingham. And Samford had more than its share of accents with a side of
thick. But I had no doubt that the delightful melody accompanyingDorothea’s
greeting was 100 percent the real deal.
    Less than a couple
minutes later, Dr. Love welcomed me into his office. The comforting scent of
cigar lingered in the well-appointed room. Instead of sitting behind his large desk,
he came around to sit across from me in two face-to-face leather wingback chairs.
    “Well, I must say,
it’s a delight to see you again, Miss Colter.”
    “Please, call me
Shelby.”
    “Oh, I’ll try but
my dear mother, God rest her soul, always taught me to show a lady respect. And
old habits die hard, but we’ll see. So tell me, how are you today?”
    He was so kind, so
genuine. His face, wrinkled in all the right places from a life obviously
filled with laughter and smiles. His head still graced with thick white wavy hair.
His pale blue eyes, warm and endearing. He seemed relaxed and ready to listen,
as if we had all the time in the world.
    He asked all the
right questions, putting me immediately at ease, not rushing into any sensitive
areas. And yet, once we began chatting, I seemed to have no trouble traveling
down those paths with him. I told him about Will, about our relationship, and
our plans