Mary Grace is furious. "There's never been a sound more nauseating than a Yankee actor trying to sound like us. Hollyweird Southernese gags me."

"Up Nawth, they think that's how we talk!" Peggy Sue's eyes are the size of sunflowers. "There's not a Southerner worth his grits and gravy who talks like the YaYa's. That gum chewing Yankee sounded like her mouth was full of marbles."

Since for a brief spell I lived in that cesspool of human flesh called Hollywood, I feel obliged to add a snippet of learned movieland wisdom. "Peggy Sue, almost all film production people are Yankees."

"Well, that explains it, then," she said.

The next whiner is Alma Jean, who considers herself a Southerner although born and raised in West Texas. I told her that Texas is Roy and Dale, LBJ, Dubya and Lolly, cactus and prairie dogs. She doesn't get it, but we love her anyway.

"So tell me, Miz Ex-Hollywood," she says. "Did Sissie Spacek die and forget to tell Entertainment Tonight? Why wasn't she in the YaYa film?"

Hoping to be heard above the chatter, I say, "Alma Jean, we all love Sissie to pieces even if she's not a real Southerner, being from Texas and all. But she would have made a great YaYa. Personally, I think Andie McDowell should have been Siddalee. Hollywood once told her to talk like a Yankee and she told 'em to kiss her Dixie derriere."

"You gotta admire a woman like that," Mary Grace breathes, pure reverence dripping from her mouth like store-bought cake frosting.

Murmurs of respect filter down the table of drama queens gathered for lunch and surround by Elvis Presley's black and white glossies.

Ladye Gail, having learned about timing when she walked in on her third philandering husband, takes a deep breath. She is a movie buff who loves slapping down ten bucks for a flick but hates turning off her cell phone.

"Another thing: why did MGM go to England for a Scarlett O'Hara," she asks. "Vivian wasn't bad, but," she lowers her voice, "One time I heard her talking when she wasn't dropping her 'R's' and fanning herself and she sounded like a Yankee."

Nancy Faye speaks up. "How about Maggie Smith as a YaYa? You could ride to Atlanta on her baggy eyes. 'Course, you'd never get there if her imitation drawl was the mode of transportation."

Kathy swoops out of the kitchen to take lunch orders. She has spent way too much time in the Big Apple, so she's a little on the uppity side, but we admire the fact that she can find her way around Bloomies blindfolded.

She blows her silver plated Doodah whistle. "Listen up! There's not a thing on the menu that any of you princesses would eat, so I suggest Eggs Benedict or McDonald's down the street."

"Eggs Benedict," I chirp, "are egg-zactly what I'm craving today, Kathy."

She raises an eyebrow. "Don't get carried away, Scarlett."

When she leaves the Elvis Room, Gloryjean pipes up. "I'm still thinking about that YaYa movie. It makes us look like we are total idiots."

Her last sentence might qualify for some serious speculation.

"They don't give a rat's patootie, Gloryjean," I say. "YaYa made BooCoo bucks."

Gloryjean is on a tear. "It's not too late to complain. If I prepare a protest, will y'all sign it? It'll say, 'We object to non-Southern actors portraying quality born, genuine Southerners. They can't even speak our language."

"Woohoo. That'll make 'em stand up and said howdy. Hey, Bette Midler produced YaYa. What if, God forbid, she had given herself the lead," I ask.

The silence is like sudden death. Bette with a drawl? The thought of her saying the line, 'Just who do you think you're talking to? I'll knock you into the middle of next week,' causes even our token Southerners to twitch.

"It could happen," I say, as though I had predicted the end of the world as we know it.

"Gloryjean." Mary Grace's voice is solemn but full of authority. "How long will it take to write that protest?"

"Not too long." Her voice is a mere whisper.

"Well, get cracking," Mary Grace orders. "You of all people know timing is everything."

With raised glasses of sweet ice tea, a bunch of drawling Southern voices begin to chant, "Doodah! Doodah! Doodah!"

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