Dancing Naked in Dixie Read Free

Our readers don’t want that! Who did he interview in these focus groups? The Beverly Hillbillies?
    David continues, immensely pleased with the concept. “The emphasis is going to be on places that offer something special—perhaps historically or culturally. But the town or city must also be looking toward the future. Planning how to thrive, socially and economically. It’s going to be part of a new series, if it turns out well.” David puts emphasis on ‘if’ and shoots me a look. “What do you think?”
    Is he joking? He doesn’t want my opinion. Does he honestly think I like the idea?
    David pauses. Apparently, he expects a response. An intelligent, supportive one.
    “Sounds … interesting,” I manage to squeak out and shift uncomfortably. I predict that I’ll be spending a full day spinning half-truths. I’ll likely be offered a lifetime membership in Deceivers Anonymous if I don’t die first.
    David snatches up his glasses. Glasses? When did he start wearing glasses?
    “I know you’re our token globe-trotter, but I’d hoped you’d be more enthusiastic.” He taps his Mont Blanc on his desk calendar and then points to the enormous wall atlas. “I’m thinking Alabama.”
    Something massive and thick catches in my throat. My head swivels to the lower portion of the map. I begin to cough uncontrollably.
    Ever so calmly, David waits for me to quit.
    When I catch my breath, my mind races with excuses. The words stumble out of my mouth, tripping over themselves. “But, I have plans. Tickets to the Met, a fundraiser, a gallery opening, and book club on Monday.” I don’t mention the Filene’s trip I’d planned. Or the romantic date I’ve been promising Andrew, my neglected boyfriend.
    David waves a hand to dismiss it all. “Marietta can handle the magazine-related responsibilities.”
    From the top drawer of his desk, he produces an airline ticket and a folder with my name on it. He sets them on the edge of his desk. Something I can’t decipher plays on his lips.
    I keep my voice even. “What about Bali?” I had planned to leave for the South Pacific a week from Friday. “It’s on my calendar. It’s been on there…”
    David shakes his head. “Not anymore.”
    The words wound me like a thousand bee stings.
    “Alabama,” David repeats.
    I swallow, indignant. He’s plucked me off a plum assignment without a thought to my ability and my schedule. My new boss is sending me to who-knows-where, and he looks perfectly content. I narrow my eyes and fold my arms.
    “Seriously David, you’re sending me on an assignment to…Alabama? Alabama ?” I sputter, searching my brain for an appropriate retort. “I’d rather—I don’t know— dance naked for my next assignment than go to Alabama!”
    The announcement comes out much louder than I intend and reverberates through the room. Dolores probably has her ear pressed to the door, but the phrase bounces off my boss like a cotton ball.
    David smothers a chuckle. “Suit yourself.”
    “It’s a done deal, isn’t it?” I finally manage, my voice low and uneven. The answer is obvious. The airline ticket and folder are within my grasp. I don’t move a centimeter toward them. For all I know, the inside of one of them is coated with Anthrax. For a brief moment, I picture myself, drawing one last ragged breath, on the floor of David’s brand-spanking-new office carpeting.
    “It’s your choice.” David swipes at his glasses and settles them on his nose. “Deadline’s a week from today. That’s next Wednesday. Five o’clock. Take it or leave it.”
    I stifle an outward cringe at his tone, and the way he’s spelling it out for me. Syllable by syllable, like I’m a toddler caught with my hand in the cookie jar.
    Take it or leave it.
    Not the assignment. My job.
    It’s your choice.
    David’s fingers hit the keyboard. Click-clack. “Oh, and leave your notes on Italy with Dolores. I’ll write the article myself.”
    That’s it. The meeting’s