Never Sit Down in a Hoopskirt and Other Things I Learned in Southern Belle Hell (15 page)

My radar was confirmed. Ashley's beloved Jimmy had gone for a “walk on the beach” with her darling BFF Katherine. Everyone knew what that meant.

“How long?”

“About an hour or so.”

“No, I mean how long have they been uh, seeing each other?”

“I'd say at least three weeks.”

So that's what Mallory had been talking about during our “fun with makeup” mystery conversation. It was
Ashley
who was being cheated on. “Oh no. Ashley loves that guy,” I said.

Luke nodded. “I can't believe he's such an idiot to sneak off with Katherine when she's here.”

I shot him a look.

“Or anytime. He should just break up with her if he's not happy.”

“And with one of her BFFs, too. So not right.” Granted there was no—and I mean zero—love lost between me and Bienvillite Supreme Mary Ashley LaFleur. But she didn't deserve this. I felt bad—about to throw up, food poisoning, vomit bad. What kind of friend was Katherine to do that to Ashley? I knew what it was like to lose someone you loved. To have someone hurt you. To have your worldview turned upside down and peed on. And I knew that if Ashley found Jim and Kat together, acting all lovey-dovey, it would crush her. I didn't want to see it, and frankly, no one deserved that sort of public smack-down.

Ashley simply had to get out of there.

“Thanks, Luke,” I said, and quickly headed down the stairs to get the wheels of exit in motion. I didn't have a plan, didn't even know how I could enact a plan, but I was on a mission. I headed toward the beach and found Ashley and Mallory stumbling down the boardwalk toward the bay. “Hey, y'all, what's going on? I'm thinking we need to get this party dancing! Jules is rocking it, have you heard?”

“I'm too tired,” said Ashley. “And a little sunburned.”

“And a little tipsy,” Mallory added. “We just want to find Jimmy and go home.”

“Oh, who cares about him? Let's dance. Seriously. Let's have a Magnolia Maid celebratory dance!” I managed to insert myself between Mallory and Ashley and maneuver them back in the direction of the house.

But it was too late.

Twinkling giggles and a low laugh floated up from the beach.

At the end of the boardwalk emerged the very image I had tried to prevent Ashley from seeing: Katherine, hair a mess, lipstick smeared, and James, button-down shirt distinctly mis-buttoned, their arms around each other….

“Katherine? Jimmy? What… What's…?” Ashley's voice faltered.

Katherine and Jimmy froze.

You know that look on the gazelle's face on those Discovery Channel documentaries when it's just noticed that there's a cheetah on the scene? That was the look on Katherine's face. “Oh my God, Ashley. I thought you were playing quarters. But you're… not, are you?” Her sentence turned up in a question mark of desperation.

James at least had the decency to appear ashamed. “Ashley, look.”

Oh, this was going to be painful.

Even under the influence of a six-pack, Ashley quickly put the puzzle pieces together. “Y'all are fooling around behind my back, aren't you?”

James and Katherine stepped away from each other and stuttered out some pathetic attempts at explanations. “Well…”

“You see…”

Ashley glanced at Mallory. “Did you know about this?”

“Me?” Mallory fluttered. “No! It's terrible. I'm as shocked as you are!”

Then we heard barks of laughter. From the back porch. That's right. Lancer and his drunk bastard friends had somehow gotten wind that a “situation was in progress,” and their drunken selves were lined up along the porch railing watching.

“Ooooh, Jimmy's busted!” cried Jules.

“Jimmy, you man-whore!” shouted Ashley's cousin Henry.

“It's like that song ‘Torn Between Two Lovers!'” shouted Lancer. “You should feel like a fool!”

Oh, great. These guys were spoiling for a show, dying for fuel for tomorrow's gossip mill, and Ashley was about to be it.

“Ashley,” I said. “Let's get out of here. Y'all should talk when you have more privacy. Mallory, go find the other girls and tell them we're leaving.” I grabbed Ashley's arm and led her toward the front of the house, which unfortunately required passing the peanut gallery. “Show's over, boys,” I called. “Go eat something and throw it up.”

“Aw, Jane, you're no fun,” Lancer called.

“Yep, that's me. ‘No fun Jane.'”

Meanwhile, Katherine was charging after us. “Asssshhhley, wait! I hate myself, simply hate myself!” Katherine cried. “I'll make it up to you, I will. Just tell me how!”

Ashley whirled on her. “Shut your filthy mouth! You knew I was here! You wanted me to see you with him.”

“No I didn't! You're my friend!”

“Was. Were. I was your friend. You were my friend.”

“I was going to break it off with him, I swear!”

“That explains the giggles and the hand-holding as you came up the beach.” I couldn't help myself. It just slipped out.

Ashley's head bobbed up and down with agreement. “You were wrapped around him like Spanish moss on an oak tree! Why, Katherine? What is it, that you're jealous? You know I did everything I could to get you and Courtney on the Magnolia Court! It's not my fault what happened.”

By this time, Mallory had returned with Zara, Caroline, Brandi Lyn, and JoeJoe. Clearly, she had given them the 411 because JoeJoe brought his fighting words. “Who's done you wrong, darlin'?” he said to Ashley. “You need me to beat him up?”

Speaking of the devil, Jimmy chose that moment to make an appearance.

“This the guy?” JoeJoe sized up Jimmy. “'Cause I can take him easy.”

Ashley wiped away her tears. “Well, thank you, JoeJoe. I appreciate it, but I think I'm good.”

“You just let me know. Any sister Maid of Brandi Lyn's is a sister Maid of mine.”

Brandi Lyn swooned and wrapped her arms around her boy. “Aw, baby, aren't you the sweetest?”

Meanwhile, Ashley gathered herself together, cocked her chin up in the air, and sniffed. “Katherine, you've put a real dent in my beautiful relationship, and for that I hope you rot in hell.” She turned to Jimmy. “As for you, James. I'm very mad right now, but we'll get through this. Call me tomorrow and we'll discuss. Maids, can we go?”

“Absolutely.”

“Let's get out of here.” We rallied around Ashley and headed down the driveway. We almost made it to our cars when we heard a voice behind us.

“No!” James stood behind us, holding a fresh can of beer.

Ashley furrowed her brow. “No, what?”

“No, we don't have a beautiful relationship. No, I'm not calling you tomorrow, Old Mother Ashley.”

Ashley blinked. Blinked again. “James, are you making fun of me?”

“I sure am, Old Mother Ashley. Did you know that's what the guys call you? Because you're just like my mother, calling me ‘James' when I've been a bad boy. And I have been a bad boy, haven't I, honey?”

Ashley looked so pained, it was hard to watch. “Jimmy, why are you doing this?”

“Because I'm sick. I'm sick of the way you call me up and tell me what to wear so I won't clash with your outfit. I'm sick of the way you won't drink Sunny Delight if that's all they have—that you have to have orange juice or your cosmo just doesn't taste right. Ordering me around like a slave all day to pick up your trash. You criticize my driving, make me go to Sunday dinner at your grandmother's. You gossip with my mother! It's like we're married or something!”

“Well, we will be one day. Won't we?”

A long, endless pause hung in the air, filled only by the sound of crickets chirping and drunk Old Bienvillites spilling out onto the back porch to watch the rest of the show. James took a look at Ashley. Glanced over his shoulder at his buddies. Eyed Katherine, who now was being consoled in the arms of Courtney. He had an audience. And he was milking it for all it was worth.

He chugged the rest of his beer in one giant swig. “No, Ashley, we're not going to be married. You and me, we're over. Call my mother and gossip about that.”

“Song!” we all called out.

Mallory nodded, counted on her fingers, then held up nine of them.

“Nine words!”

She drew a squiggly shape in the air.

“Question mark!”

“A question!”

“A song in the form of a question!”

Mallory clapped enthusiastically and indicated that she was going to act out the second word, which would be one syllable that sounded like… she held up two fingers.

“Two.”

“Sounds like two.”

“Boo, coo, do, e-oo, foo.”

“You.”

While Mallory jumped with joy that I had gotten the second word right, I didn't even look up from filing my fingernails. It's not that hard to figure out when it's totally obvious that e-oo and foo are in no way shape or form words.

Oh, ho-hum-hummedy-hum-hum-hum. Here it was Tuesday night in B'ville, and I could have been doing an
Ugly Betty
marathon out at Hawkleigh with Teddy Mac and Lacey Wilkes, but noooooooooo. Instead I, along with all my Magnolia sisters, was being held hostage in the home of Mizz Upton and her lovely daughter Caroline and being forced to play charades at gunpoint.

Okay, that's an exaggeration, we weren't being held at gunpoint. But have you ever seen a good Southern home? We're big believers in the old right to bear arms, just in case the Yankees ever get it in their minds to invade again. So a lot of us keep weapons around the house: ancient swords and Revolutionary War–era muskets as decoration on the walls, rifles for hunting and pistols “just in case.” That was the situation at the Upton house. So we girls could have been held at gunpoint, if Mizz Upton had gotten it into her head that she wanted to do so. Let's just say we were held in the “spirit of gunpoint.”

On Monday, after our great success with the fund-raiser, Mizz Upton admitted that we had done well but that we had a serious problem on our hands. She was horrified at all the talk running around town about how we didn't have a queen yet. It was a major issue. Big humiliation. So even though, yes, she was proud of us for raising so much money and getting on local and national news, we needed to shape up and fast. “Maids, we're having an intervention here,” she said. “In my fifteen years of being involved with the Magnolia Maid Organization, it has never been in such a disastrous state mere days in advance of the Boysenthorp debut. You must elect yourselves a queen. You must—and I mean this—learn to work as a team.”

I raised my hand. “Mizz Upton, with all due respect, we worked really well as a team on Saturday.” Little did she know that it was more than just the fund-raiser. That we had also rallied around Ashley after Jimmy humiliated her with that oh-so-public dumping, that we had gotten her the hell out of Lancer's party as fast as we could, that our designated driver, Brandi Lyn, had driven straight to Ashley's house and we had poured her into bed before she really knew what hit her.

“I couldn't agree more,” said Mallory. In fact, there were nods around the room. Ashley was catatonic, which was only to be expected, but the rest of us were in agreement at least.

“Well, that is good news, but we do still have a deadlock. Personally, I would prefer that Mr. Hill and I go ahead and take care of selecting the queen ourselves,” said Mizz Upton. “But he insists that we follow the bylaws and give you until the day of the debut. So listen to what I've got planned.”

A slumber party. She had planned a freaking slumber party. Instead of having our final dress fitting with Miss Dinah Mae at the chamber of commerce where we usually met for rehearsals, we were to report at five o'clock on Wednesday to Mizz Upton's house for a rollicking evening of dress-fitting, fun and games, and female bonding. She put Caroline in charge of coming up with games to play and bonding activities. If we didn't come out of the situation a happier, tighter group who could sort out the queen situation for ourselves, then she would break the tie for us on Saturday, which would be a dreadful first. “This is your last chance, girls, and I do mean last. Be responsible and make a choice.”

So we'd had our potluck dinner party for which Mizz Upton required each of us to contribute a homemade dish (Ashley's famous crab casserole, Caroline's cheesy chicken rice casserole, Zara's grandmother's corn and okra casserole, Brandi Lyn's ham hock and green bean casserole, Mallory's broccoli casserole, and my sausage and collard greens casserole). We'd listened to two guest speakers—former queens, a couple of enthusiastic Old Bienvillites named Mary Megan and Haleigh—tell us how magical and mind-blowing our year of Magnolia Maid-ing was going to be. How you should never eat in your dress because last year Julie Danville had to get a whole new bodice after a run-in with the prize-winning chili sauce at the Memphis Barbecue Festival. And how you should never wear your hoopskirt in the car because it might pop open and limit your vision and cause you to crash like what happened with Amber Davis about five years ago.

But nobody, I mean not one of us, was in the mood. I take that back. Mallory was chipper as ever, but the rest of us were in our own little worlds: Ashley was still reeling from the breakup with Jimmy. Zara was more reserved than ever, and she kept glancing over at me and lifting her eyebrows to the top of her head in a show of “Can you believe this crap?” Caroline, tasked with the job of leading us through our little bonding activities, mustered up as much pep as she could, but she snuck off to read
Pirate Romance of the High Seas
or some such every chance she got. Even Brandi Lyn's sparkly self seemed to have taken the night off. She kept looking off into the distance and sighing. When I asked her if she was okay, she slapped on a smile, and said, “Oh yes, of course. I've just been putting in a lot of hours at Karl's recently and am so tired, that's all.” As for me, I was mourning the death of Luke. Well, the death of any potential relationship/friendship with Luke. Which was pretty obvious after his aggressive make-out session at the party. That guy wanted nothing to do with me.

So we were stuck in Mizz Upton's basement rec room with the blues, and only thirteen hours left to go.

The third word of Mallory's question of a song rhymed with something that vaguely looked like a fish, or at least that was the expression that she put on her face.

With a bored sigh, Ashley rattled through the alphabet, combining letters with “ish.” “Bish, cish, dish, eish, fish, gish, hish…”

“Wish.”

“Yes, yes, yes!” Mallory jumped up and down.

“It's that Pussycat Dolls song, ‘Don't Cha W—'” Ashley guessed.

“That's it, that's it!” Delighted, Mallory broke into the song and a well-choreographed series of “drop it like it's hot” and gyrations. “Come on, Ash, remember?”

“That is so fourth grade, Mal. Give it a rest.”

“Well, it's still hot. I don't care what you say.” She was deflated, though, and plopped down onto her sleeping bag. “We could at least try to make this fun, y'all.”

“I'm afraid I'm never going to have fun again.” Ashley sulked over to the corner.

The doorbell rang. Miss Dinah Mae had arrived.

We trudged up to the living room a bunch of sad sacks, and to my immense surprise, it took all of thirty-seven seconds for that vibe to change. The dresses were here! The dresses! Giant pastel-colored antebellum dresses with flounces and ruffles and bodices and corsets. I was a little freaked out by the whole thing, but they were a sight to behold, so much heavy fabric in giant cloth bags the color of our dresses that it took three of Miss Dinah Mae's grandsons to lug it all in. Ashley dropped her catatonic state in a millisecond as she and Mallory grabbed their bags and started yanking out yard after yard of taffeta ruffles. “Careful, Maids!” called Mizz Upton. “Wait till I explain how to put it all on!”

“Oh, don't worry, we know!” Ashley replied, and she and Mallory commenced shimmying into everything that came out of their bags. Mizz Upton teared up with joy at the sight.

Meanwhile, I was pulling enough fabric from my pink bag to make a dozen prom dresses. “What is all this stuff?” I exclaimed.

Mizz Upton stifled a glare and launched into a lecture on the proper order of Magnolia Maid enrobing: hoopskirt, slip, full skirt, apron, cummerbund. In layman's terms:

So take a hula hoop. Attach it to a slightly smaller hula hoop with some white muslin. Attach that slightly smaller hula hoop to a slightly smaller than that hula hoop with some muslin, and so on and so on, until one thin hoop rests about six inches beyond your thighs and one spreads out about five feet in diameter around your feet. Lay this contraption on the floor, then step into the center and draw it up to your waist—“The natural waist!” Mizz Upton barked, but she was excited, very excited. “These are not hip-huggers, Maids! I insist that they sit on your natural waistline.”

While Ashley and Mallory were twirling and curtsying as if they had been doing this every day of their lives, I could barely move an inch.

I raised my hand. “Mizz Upton, I'm stuck! This thing weighs a ton!”

“No, Jane, your dress has only two ruffles, so it weighs only about thirty-five pounds.”

Mallory agreed. “Ours are closer to fifty!”

“Lucky you,” I said, and turned back to Mizz Upton. “And they're hot! If I have a heatstroke, who do I get to sue?”

Mizz Upton shook her head. “Fortunately, you've signed all sorts of waivers and so has your grandmother.”

Mallory glided by. “Don't worry, you'll get used to it. And my cousin Lucinda says the bruises go away. Eventually.”

“Bruises? What bruises?”

Zara dragged me over to a giant mirror on the wall so that we could check ourselves out. We totally looked like we had stepped out of the 1850s into Tara. It was scary. Zara whispered to me. “Am I a traitor to my race for putting this on?”

“Probably,” I answered. “But I won't tell anybody.”

Meanwhile, Brandi Lyn had pulled on the hoopskirt she made herself and was giggling up a storm. “Oh my, I feel so Scarlett!”

“Scarlett's dead, Brandi,” I called out to her.

“Not in spirit!” she chirped. “Well, hello, Rhett, you devil, you.”

“Rhett's dead, too, Brandi Lyn.” Brandi Lyn reclined into a seat, and she would have looked quite elegant, too, if the hoopskirt had not popped right out in front of her, revealing everything she had on underneath. Great. You can't even sit down in these things.

“That is NOT how you do it.” Mizz Upton loomed over Brandi Lyn, scowling down at her. “And where is the rest of your dress?”

“Oh, um, I, I'm almost done. It's looking beautiful! I mean, not as good as what Miss Dinah Mae does, but I'm proud of it!”

“Bring your dress to the next rehearsal. They have to be Magnolia-approved before the debut next week.”

“Yes, ma'am.” Brandi Lyn nodded vigorously, and Mizz Upton moved on.

Miss Dinah Mae clapped her hands. “All right, you girls hush and line up and let me check you. I'm tired and I want these dresses done so I can go home and watch
Dancing with the Stars
.”

We were all so busy with this final inspection that I don't think anyone noticed at first what happened when Mizz Upton finally walked over to Caroline. All I know is that when I looked up, Mizz Upton had pulled the hoopskirt out of the bag and thrown it on the floor and said, “See what you can do with this.” Caroline was eying the thing as if it were a viper on the verge of biting her. Now, y'all, I have to say, I am not good at spatial relationships (just ask any one of the math teachers who has tried to get me to answer a geometry question right) but even I could tell that the circumference of the natural waistline did not match the circumference of the waist it was intended to fit.