Janet was the epitome of a “Southern Woman”. We all heard about the legend or mystique of southern women. I didn’t understand it in the beginning, but I was curious. I learned “southern woman” was more aptly defined as ANY woman, who lives in ANY region of the world, from ANY walk of life/color/culture, but a woman who is confident and comfortable in her own skin, can laugh and learn from mistakes, takes pride in her home, blindly defends her children or friends, and most of all, LOVES her man. So, it could really be any woman, describing what most thought were ideal virtues of a woman, it’s just that people in the south were describing such a woman. Ahhh, I get it, now. Sooooo, my girlfriend in upstate NY, or my girlfriend in Idaho, are both…. perfect examples of “southern women”. Got it?
Being a friend to Janet was a joy. I looked up to her, she was about 10 years older than me. I wanted to be like her, and she taught me everything…. about southern womanhood…. she could tell a dirty joke better than a sailor, smoke a cigar, but laugh like a little girl with a contagious lilt in her voice.  Janet was about 5’2″, a size 6, fine looking woman, with short blond hair and and blue eyes. She wore dark blue contacts to make her eyes pop. She collected great estate quality jewelry and was a terrific cook. After going through a brutal divorce, with her kids grown and now in college, Janet became a pharmaceutical rep. She started her life over again and had nothing left to prove. This time, she meant to have fun.
Janet lived at least 100 miles south of us but her sales territory included our B&B. Janet started as a guest. She arrived for the first time, in August. With temps in the upper 90’s and humidity to match, she was desperate for air conditioning and a crowbar to peel off her pantyhose. I showed her to her room and returned to the kitchen.
Mother-in-law arrived, as usual, carrying a clear plastic insulated mug, filled with a triple gin martini with a dozen olives swirling in the ice like alien eyeballs. Cocktail hour had begun. I was making dinner, not drinking, because I still had guests to check-in. Mother-in-law prattled on but I wasn’t paying attention to her questions when Janet breezed through the kitchen door with a question about where to go for dinner. Mother-in-law rounded the corner, fresh from the bar, after making her second (triple) martini. “Would that be a fine gin you might need help carrying?”, said Janet to MIL. Sensing a drinking buddy, MIL and Janet went back to the bar. Janet emerged with a scant single martini and parked herself on the kitchen stool. She was “in”.
Like “death and taxes” there are unwritten rules at our house. Once a guest wanders into the kitchen and parks themselves on the stool…….. they never really leave. They become part of the house….., part of the family….., fall under the protection of the house…., and unconditionally loved…. despite warts or frailties. The kitchen stool was stolen from Grandma Della’s house. Della was only 4’11” and had to have a stool to reach anything. The steps were black plastic and the seat pad was covered in orange/avocado daisy-print, straight out of the early 70’s. I used the stool because our ceilings were so tall. Over the next hour, I checked other guests in, and finally, poured myself a glass of Zinfandel. Janet also switched to Zin. Mother-in-law left, but Janet remained and helped me make dinner, completely comfortable in my kitchen. With dinner in the oven and a luscious antipasto platter in hand, Janet and I retired to the side porch to wait on my husband to come home for dinner. Of course, Janet stayed for dinner.
Over the next year or so, Janet became a regular; our side porch was our perfect perch to people watch and swap stories. The side porch was unusual but represented exceptional architectural planning. The house is surrounded by large oak trees and the side porch is on the southeast corner, protected from strong sun and the heat of Mississippi summers. Husband rigged up some heavy chains from the beams and I hung enormous Boston Ferns. We outfitted the side porch with loads of interesting plants and tidbits. I bought a cheap little fountain and a side fan. The side porch was a mini-oasis and because of all the greenery, no one on the street could tell anyone was sitting there.
Janet often stopped to say hello, even when she wasn’t staying. As we became closer, we often catered lunches and presentation style dinners for her pharma. One year, MIL made 26 scratch coconut cakes for Janet to deliver to her doctor clients.
Janet stopped one day, after making rounds in town, to change clothes before going home. We were on the side porch, sharing a glass of wine, when Ron (another guest) “came home” (to the B&B) from work. Janet spotted him rounding the corner and watched him walk. She narrowed her eyes and said, “If that man was a beach towel, I would get sand all over him.” and then, “He’d have to shake me off.”
I put down my wine, and took a long look at my girlfriend. She had never spoken about a man in such a way. He definitely had her attention. Of course, I had to find a way to get the two of them together. “Who was that?”, she asked. I explained……
……. Ron and his daughter were living with us, for about three months, on and off while he closed up his other house. He was “transferring” to our town. We helped him with realtors, furniture, and his Gothic, pink-haired, 16yr old daughter. Ron fought for and won custody of his daughter. The ex-wife was a mess. I continued……..
…… Ron was the new division President of a local plant and looked like a walking advertisement for Brooks Brothers. He was shy and private. Yes, he was handsome, had a razor sharp wit, and at odd times, could be unbelievably charming. Grandma Della was here, knew Ron, and opened the door for him one day. He hugged her, and she commented about how good he smelled. Ron slid his arm around her again, grabbed her close, looked deep into her eyes, and said, “Are you kidding? If I was 75yrs old, I would be chasing you.” Grandma Della’s knees buckled a little bit. Ron made my grandmother blush. From that moment on, Ron could do no wrong according to Grandma Della. And Janet could do no wrong with Mother-In-Law.
They were a match made in heaven. It was meant to be.
Janet grinned like a Cheshire Cat. A man who was kind to Grandma Della, and needed help raising a daughter, was exactly the kind of man for her. Janet made her decision. She wanted him. We needed a plan and a little bit of help from above.
Because Ron and his daughter went back and forth and Janet was not always here, getting them together took a few weeks. One week, Ron came back by himself, I called Janet, and she was close by. The two met, briefly. Instant fireworks. The next morning, Ron asked about her. I said, “Oh, I don’t know Ron. You’re going to have to chase that one. She’s a thoroughbred.” I let my voice trail off and slinked back to the kitchen. Naturally, that just peaked his interest.
Couple weeks later, someone sent Ron a 25lb box of giant Alaskan Crab Claws. Ron had it shipped to our house, and called me to tell me it was coming. He invited husband and I to partake, if I would cook. He suggested we had “Soooo much” it might be nice to share…., and maybe I should call Janet. Oh, you betcha, I called Janet.
We ate on the side porch, on newspapers, with our hands, with fresh asparagus and scratch Hollandaise, crusty bread with a pound of melted butter. What a meal! There was obviously a LOT going on between the two of them, but Janet did not stay that night… too awkward and a good call.
Week or so later, Janet came in, super-late and had to leave super-early. I was making breakfast and she slipped down the back stairs to see me. She was having problems with a back zipper and needed “girl” help. I gave her a “hang on” sign. Same time, Ron barged into the kitchen, looking for early coffee. Ron didn’t know Janet was here and Janet didn’t know Ron was here. It wasn’t even 6:30am, yet. I winked at Janet….
…. I looked at Ron, shrugged my shoulders, and asked him to do me a favor, please. “My hands are all dirty, and she’s all clean and pretty, would you please….. ZIP HER UP.”
He froze. Three-four steps across the kitchen floor, Janet turned around and presented her back to Ron. I watched him. He held his breath. He zipped her up, then, he hooked the eye at the top. She turned, said, “Thank you very much.”, and out the back door she went. I watched him exhale. His hands were shaking a little. That poor boy hadn’t touched a woman in at least five years. He was smitten.
A few weeks later, the DA in the next county was having his annual house party. His wife was young and spectacularly beautiful, ……which meant other women in town didn’t like her……, which made me stick up for her. She was a wonderful woman. I told Ron about the party and said it might be good for him to go, get familiar with the locals. He asked me if we could invite Janet. We did and it was their first date. My husband teased Ron that he needed a chaperone. The two men got along beautifully.
In the game room at the DA’s house, Janet picked up a pool cue, “I always wanted to learn to play pool.” What????? Janet and I played pool; she was a shark. Of course, Ron offered to help her learn to hold the cue, etc. It was sweet. She sank the ball and let out a 12 syllable long, “Daaaahhhhaammmmnnnn, how did I do that?” Ron’s knees gave way and he whimpered a little. He was a strong and commanding man at the peak of his career. When it came to Janet, he was cooked. Put a fork in him.
The two spent the night but Janet left before breakfast. What I don’t know won’t hurt me. None of my business. BUT – all afternoon, Ron sat at the head of the dining room table, writing Christmas cards. He was staring out the windows. Distracted. Thinking. Finally, I walked into the other end of the dining room and asked him if he was okay. He looked at me and set his jaw, “I’m going to marry that woman. I can’t imagine my life without her.”…. and she adored him.
As a bonus, Ron asked for my help to pick out Janet’s ring, which was perfect for Janet because our tastes were so similar. I called our diamond broker and he came to the house. We picked out the perfect ring. They were married in front of our fireplace. Husband and I stood up for them and they’ve been married 20yrs.
End.
 
 
 
 
 

We’re going to have to build up to the punchline of this story. Can’t give away the goods right away. Ya’ know? So, grab a cup of covfefe and settle in for a few moments.
We opened for business in 1994 as a B&B. The same year, Tunica, MS, opened the first casino, other than Atlantic City or Vegas. The place was a dive and looked like a blown up version of a cheap mobile home but it didn’t matter. The place was a CASH COW. In fact, the Casino made so much money in the beginning days, they had to close down, to bring in more people, so they had enough time to count all the money.
The people who ran “The Splash Casino” came to see me, as there was no hotel space anywhere close by. They offered to take all my rooms for year, and pay me quite well. Yet, they wanted all the rooms. If I was a contractor and they “owned me”, we would have no independence. Husband had visions of wild gamblers, tearing apart the home we worked so hard to restore. Not what a biz owner wants. We would rather have 100 companies than solely contracted to one. “What are you going to do if they bring in a bunch of hookers?”, he said, “How are you going to tell them, NO?” The realization washed over me. “Hookers….?”, I thought. My eyebrows twitched like the tail of a squirrel. “Grandma Della would disown me……”, of course, I turned them down.
By ’95, we were open about a year and in full swing, but as most small biz owners can relate, I was worried about the NEXT month. The house was pristine, renovated from top to bottom by my new husband, the best historical renovation contractor within 100 miles – and it was his own home. Our banker REALLY wanted me to fail. His wife loved my house. At that point, there was no business I turned down. Pressure was on, I had to be successful, failure was not an option.
Outside of our little town, we had a local printing plant which printed monthly periodicals and magazines for clients all over the world. Their clients would come to visit to negotiate large contracts, or their editors would visit for press-checks. Many of them stayed with us, and the printing company was a terrific client. As we started decorating for Christmas, one local exec asked me if he could host a private luncheon, for new clients they were trying to impress. I took the job. It was lunch, I thought…… easy peasy.
With help from a few overeducated-housewife-girlfriends as my makeshift staff, and Grandma Della washing dishes, the first luncheon was a rousing success. One luncheon melded into 10, then 20. Before long, I was raking in $1500 a day, for high end luncheons, as hundreds of millions of dollars traded hands over my dining room table. Then, the company decided to do long, private dinners, with several courses. Fine entertaining, and the big southern white house. We had to “take it up a notch”. No problem. As the staff said, “Martha Stewart ain’t got shit on us.”
All the activity at our house began to attract attention. I thought, “Hey, if the townspeople were talking about me, maybe they would leave someone else alone.” I brushed it off. Everyone wanted to know what was happening, who was coming, what I was cooking. People began to stop me in the grocery store, picking through items in the basket,  and asking me about recipes. It was a little weird. Yet, I was quiet and secretive about our guests, respecting their privacy.
Pam was a 6th grade teacher at the school next door to the house. Her classroom looked out into our driveway. She was also the spinster sister of my husband’s first wife, and a horrible gossip. At one point, she was convinced she saw a naked man, through lace-covered windows, upstairs in our house (which would have been impossible to discern from her vantage point). Then, she saw the man run out of the house, quickly (executive late for work). He left, ……..then returned, ……with a black bag, “big enough for a weapon” (his briefcase – he forgot the receipt for his expense account), as she would later describe to police. Yes, she called the police, as she explained, because she was worried I had been murdered, “cuz I was alone with that foreign-looking man in a big house”. Four police cars responded, including the Chief, “cuz Miss Daughn was in trouble”.
That’s right, Pam called the police on the President of San Diego Home and Garden.
We were working so hard, we barely had time to breath. At the time, I didn’t even have a car. Everything we had went into the renovation. A buddy lent me his daughter’s car for a little while to run errands. Pam knew the car and wondered who was living at my house (a new rumor she could spread). Pam should have worked for CNN. She would have been wonderful speculating about the Russian Hoax. A few weeks later, I was sitting in the car, in the driveway, making out my bank deposit slip. From the corner of my eye, I spotted Pam, walking our wrought-iron fence line, staring at the windows of our home, straining to see any activity. As she came even with the car, I LAID on the horn and scared the heck out of her. I rolled down the window and said, “Will you PLEASE leave me alone? You’re embarrassing yourself.” As she scurried back to her classroom, the realization hit me, I needed to calm people down and be a little more public. Work within the system, the small town culture, and not cause such a ruckus. Who would have known luncheons and dinners could be so exciting?
My mother-in-law was a perfect press agent for the older ladies. I gave her copies of menus and various recipes and photos of tables. At McDonald’s afternoon covfefe, the ladies had much to discuss. Mother-in-law was happy ….. and the ladies gave me a LOT of handy tips. For the younger women, I relented and told the staff they could talk about what we served, and what we did, but NEVER who was here. For a few weeks, our new plan of information dissemination seemed to be working.
Of course, all that changed when the black limousines arrived and lined up in front of the house, four of them in a row.
It was a Thursday.
The town has cattle auctions on Thursday, and one of my best staff members handled the tickets for the auction. It put us down, one strong staff member, but our printing client really needed to schedule a big luncheon……. that Thursday. The lower-level exec customers spent the night with us. Therefore, by morning, we were all familiar with each other. One guy went for a jog before breakfast and noticed a large “wounded” German Shepard in a neighbor’s yard. I went out to check. No, it was a loose calf….. which is why it didn’t “come when he called it”. We straightened out that problem before 7:00am. The functionaries, who spent the night with me, went off to the plant after breakfast. The big bosses were flying in for lunch on the corporate jet. We would all meet back at our house at noon.
The girls arrived and we whipped into action.
About 11:40am, the sedans with execs from the plant arrived, and they tried to nose their way into the kitchen. Pretty soon, maybe ten minutes later, the limo’s arrived, four of them, one for each big boss, and lined up, the whole breadth of my wrought-iron fence. The bosses filed into the house. I was… you know…. being social and introducing everyone to each other. Hors d’oeuvres were ready, and the kitchen was humming. Everything was perfect, on schedule…… when the phone rang.
A girlfriend rushed out of the kitchen and told me the Mayor was on the phone, demanding to speak with me. I was confused, but okay, fine. I went to the phone, leaving my guests. I was annoyed, a little bit, because he was putting a kink in my schedule. He said, “You better tell me right now, is Donald Trump at your house?” I had no idea what he was talking about but very curious as to how he got the impression the billionaire from New York was at my house in Mississippi. Not willing to let on and sensing an opportunity, out loud, I said, “You know I cannot and will not tell you who is a guest of this house. It’s private.” I hung up on him.
I turned to go back to the guests, but before I left, the phone rang again. It was our good staff member at the cattle auction across town, “Is Donald Trump at your house?” 
“What was she talking about?”, I thought. Something was going on, but I still had no clue. Was Trump supposed to be here?, I wondered. Unwilling to relent, I replied, “Well……, not yet, but ya’ never know who will show up here.” Trying to close the conversation and get back to serving, I told her the big bosses were here and we had to go. She said, “I can’t BELIEVE I’m missing Donald Trump”, which I had neither confirmed nor denied.. at all.
8 minutes to serving time, two staff members filling iced tea and water glasses.
I was still on the phone with girlfriend at the cattle auction, when the Mayor burst through the back door. He had a full head of steam and he was pointing at me. He was 6’4″ and 100% alpha male, “You ARE going to tell me WHO is in that dining room, right now.” and “If Donald Trump is going to put a casino, here, in Tunica, I deserve to know, NOW!” I was blockading the dining room door. I started, “No, you cannot go in there.” We were friendly-arguing with the Mayor, in a too small kitchen, on top of other women who were trying to keep to the schedule – to serve my best client in less than 5 minutes. I noticed my girlfriends, who had all been in the kitchen prior to the big bosses arriving, were whispering to each other, suddenly curious about who was in the front of the house.
The buzzer for the bread went off, …..time, ……ticking away. 4 minutes to serving time, I really needed to be in the dining room. 3 minutes left, but before I could recover, husband burst through the back door. “SHhhhhhhhhhh!”, I insisted, silencing them all. Husband countered, “Is Donald Trump in our fu$king dining room?”
Everyone looked at me like it was 3 minutes to Christmas morning. “No, Donald Trump is not in the dining room.”, I said, disappointing them all…… Finally, “Why do you all think Donald Trump is here?”, as I had no idea how they got the impression in the first place. Lots of grumbles and shuffling of feet. “Stay here”, I said to husband and Mayor. We presented the bread and salads and went back to the kitchen for answers. I caught the Mayor peeking out of the dining room door, confirming Donald Trump was NOT in my dining room.
In the ten minutes between salad and soup, we figured out the mystery. Apparently, no limousine service in Memphis had 4 black Mercedes limousines available at the same time. Thus, they ‘borrowed’ four limousines from the current casino. The license plates all read, Trump 1, Trump 2, Trump 3, and Trump 4.
The rumor spread like a wildfire, “Donald Trump is at Daughn’s house.”
To compound the rumor, we were trying to be nice and fed the limo drivers a lovely lunch. One of the guys helping me that day was a big guy, former Navy. With all the black tuxedoed limo drivers and my big Navy guy – they turned into the “Security Detail” for Donald Trump.
No, it was really just lunch.
Gotta love a small town.