The Cotton Queen (15 page)

“Actually, they now say breast milk is best,” Joley piped in.

I waved that comment away. “That’s just silly,” I said.

“It sure is hot in here,” Janey chimed in, changing the subject.

She was right about that. The kitchen was hellish. Aunt Maxine had turned off her new central air-conditioning so that she could prop the back door open.

“I’ve been doing that for twenty years and always prided myself on the quality of my canning,” she admitted. “I’m worried that if I start doing the work in comfort, the food just won’t taste as well.”

It was a foolish superstition and we all laughed, but she still didn’t cool the place off.

That’s when I told them about Laney’s comments about the Cotton Queen. I fully expected all three of them to see the humor in the teenager’s warped view of things and agree with me that nothing, not Football Queen, Yearbook Princess or even Senior Sweetheart would do as much to insure her future happiness as being chosen Cotton Queen.

The response I got was an uneasy silence with each of them shooting glances at each other.

“Things are changing,” Joley commented eventually.

“Yes, even
Dear Abby
thinks that it’s time for women to be more involved in the world,” Janey said.

“Laney is a lovely girl,” Aunt Maxine said. “But her prettiness is not her best feature. She’s the smartest girl in her class and a top-notch worker. She’s going to be someone successful in business someday and you should be more eager to help her do that.”

“Successful in business?” I was appalled at the suggestion. “I only hope she’s clever enough to marry a very successful businessman.”

I was genuinely surprised that none of them could understand. But, then I realized the problem. Neither Aunt Maxine nor either of her girls were ever in contention for Cotton Queen. Of course, they had to believe that it wasn’t so important.

But I knew the truth. Being in the Queen’s Court had been the most important thing that I had ever done. It had more effect on my life than anything else. Both Tom and Acee had fallen in love with me that day, and I’d only been the runner-up. If I’d been chosen queen...I could not even imagine what great things I might have accomplished. I might have married someone else, stayed in McKinney my whole life. Nothing bad would have ever happened to me.

Laney was going to have that crown. I was going to insist upon it, whether she wore it voluntarily or not.

L
ANEY

I
T
WAS
AT
LEAST
a thousand degrees in downtown McKinney and I was swathed in a million yards of scratchy crinoline and sweat-soaked tulle. I looked like an idiot and I felt like a fool. I was sitting on the back of a baby-blue Plymouth convertible. My hair was piled on top of my head into something resembling an ash-blond squirrel’s nest, adorned with a sparkling rhinestone tiara. The large silver-and-blue umbrella with the Dallas Cowboys logo that I held over my head was not some kind of weird Texas affectation, but a very real concession to the summer heat. Unfortunately, I would have to give it up once the parade began. That’s what I had to look forward to, sunblisters on my bare shoulders.

“Whoa! Shade my eyes, I’m being blinded by the sight of the queen.”

I turned to see my cousin, Ned, standing beside the car. He was looking very Ned-like with his greasy hair hanging loose down his back, a Black Sabbath T-shirt atop ragged blue jeans, and his girlfriend, Judy Bykowski, hanging on him like a body part.

“No disparaging comments today, please,” I told him with a fakey smile.

He waved away my concern. “Baby, I wouldn’t think about...ah...raining on your parade, so to speak.”

Judy giggled.

“It’s not my parade,” I assured him. “It’s my mother’s. Whatever that woman wants, she gets. Even when it’s me, dressed up like a cake and driven through town in a half sexist, half surreal motorcade.”

Ned grinned. He looked a lot like my daddy. At least Granny Hoffman said he did and she obviously remembered my father better than I did.

He stepped closer to the car and held out an expertly rolled cigarette that he’d been keeping close to the palm of his left hand.

“Take a couple of tokes,” he said. “Things will start looking a lot better.”

I shook my head. “You’d have to make me comatose to get me through this happily,” I told him.

He raised his eyebrows. “That can be arranged,” he joked.

“Hey, Ned, what’s happening, man?” Brian Wellman called out to him from Nicie’s convertible, just in front of mine.

Nicie had actually wanted to be Cotton Queen. It had been one of her goals for high school. Now never to be realized. She was just basically much more traditional than me. And she was genuine beauty-queen material, natural blond, tall, leggy and with the sort of naive sweetness that could declare with complete sincerity that all she wanted was world peace.

Ned and Judy sauntered up that way. He high-fived Nicie’s boyfriend and said something to her that caused her to giggle.

Nicie was happy. She always seemed happy. Even now, when my mother had pushed me between her and her goal. She still seemed completely content to play second fiddle or, more accurately, first runner-up.

And, of course, having Brian her steady boyfriend as her driver didn’t hurt. He was tall, good-looking, athletic. He was also rich. His father owned a grocery business that seemed to be expanding all the time. Brian drove a brand-new Mustang Cobra, the flashiest car in town. With his neatly trimmed hair and button-down shirts, he appeared to be the ideal Texas teen. Of course, he was a wild hell-raiser. He drank lots of beer and bought drugs from Ned. But his parents didn’t know it yet, nor did Uncle Freddie and Aunt LaVeida who were extremely pleased by his romance with their only daughter.

My driver, Stanley Kuhl, came around the corner with a couple of soft drinks in paper cups. He was a strange choice for the parade. Quiet, bookish, the rusty-haired freckled-faced guy had a reputation for sober seriousness that was unmatched at McKinney High.

“Soda pop?” he asked.

I nodded and he handed me one.

“It looks like they’re about ready to start,” he said. “I sure hope we don’t have to wait out in this sun much longer.”

I don’t know how I got Stanley as my driver. Or actually, I knew exactly how I got Stanley. My mother had decided that I should spend more time with him. Toward the end of junior year, most of the kids in my class had started pairing up. Babs was desperate to see me do the same. Her machinations made me crazy. They were the frequent source of arguments between us.

“She just wants you to be happy,” Acee had explained more than once in an attempt to play peacemaker between us. “Her high school years were very important to her. She met your dad there and he was the love of her life. She wants you to be as happy as she was.”

I knew my stepdad meant well. And there was truth in what he said. But it was weirder than weird to have a woman’s husband tell you that some other man was the love of her life, even if that man was your real father.

So Babs continued, without my permission, to try to find my Mr. Right among the motley crew of seniors ’76. Stanley was her latest choice. And I’m sure she figured that driving my bow-bedecked vehicle would be a great opportunity for him to see me at my best. In truth, it was probably Stanley’s only opportunity to see me at all. If my mother hadn’t been paying him to ease the blue convertible along the streets he probably wouldn’t have bothered to attend the parade.

“Well, if it ain’t Mr. Kuhl,” Ned called out to him. “Those are pretty impressive wheels you’re driving today. Don’t let ’em get away from you.”

“That’s not Mr. Kuhl,” Brian piped in. “That’s Mr. Uncool. Listen, Dorkface, don’t be tailgating my baby and me. You may be driving the queen but, anytime you’re following me, you better keep a respectful distance.”

From Stanley’s behavior, I would have thought that he hadn’t heard what had been said to him. He didn’t indicate by expression or gesture any response at all. Somehow that made it worse.

“Come off it, guys,” I told them.

“Oh, it’s a request from the queen,” Ned said facetiously.

Stanley glanced back in my direction. “You don’t have to defend me,” he said. “I’ve been fending off sticks and stones from Ned Hoffman and his friends since grade school.”

“I’ve been at it longer than you,” I told him. “You forget, Ned’s my cousin. I was still a chubby-faced preschooler when he started giving me grief.”

Stanley smiled. It was a great smile, one that I didn’t remember seeing before.

“I thought all you Hoffmans stuck together like glue,” he said, still grinning.

I shook my head. “I’m from an offshoot branch of the family,” I joked. “If the rest of the family could get away with it, they’d be delighted to either send us off or shoot us.”

“We’re moving. We’re moving,” Brian called back to us as he hurried to get behind the wheel of the red Cadillac convertible that was carrying Nicie.

I could already hear the sound of the drums from the McKinney High School band leading the procession.

Ned and Judy wandered up the street to get ahead of the action.

I put down the umbrella and tossed it into the floorboard.

“See that strap,” Stanley said, indicating a strip of inch-wide material lying down the length of the upholstered seat back. “I tied it off on the spare tire and ran it up through the back of the trunk lid. It’s not exactly seat-belt safety, but if you start to slide off the back of the car, it’s at least something to grab on to.”

“Oh great, thanks.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll take it slow,” he assured me.

“Not on my account,” I told him. “I want to get this over with and behind me as quickly as I can.”

Stanley’s stoic face twisted into what might have been a grin. “All right then,” he said. “Why don’t I just pass all these slowpoke drivers ahead of us and we’ll be through town in a couple of minutes.”

“Sounds pretty tempting.”

We didn’t do it, of course. Two very dutiful teenagers, we headed down the parade route at a snail’s pace. Me, smiling and waving, as if I was enjoying myself. He, looking straight ahead, pretending he was somewhere else.

It was amazing that people turned out for such an occasion. It either said that small-town folks were very easily entertained or that nobody could resist the sight of people making complete fools of themselves.

I smiled and waved and tried to relax as I put on my best queenlike behavior, but it was a challenge. The crowds along the McKinney sidewalks were no faceless, nameless audience, awed by a fancy dress and a snazzy car. They were all people whom I knew. And people who knew me. They knew me yesterday when I was a gawky teenage girl trying to navigate everyday life during a cultural meltdown, a world oil crisis and a population bomb. And they’d know me tomorrow, when I’d be right back down there on the street, messing up and acting odd, too much of a bookworm for the town of my birth. I didn’t want them looking at me, judging me. But there was nothing I could do about it.

As we turned onto Virginia Street nearing the downtown square, I caught sight of my mother and Acee. Acee had his Instamatic covering his eyes as he snapped shot after shot. Babs was holding a huge bouquet of yellow roses. When the car paused at the corner, she stepped into the street, her back straight, her smile bright and she walked up to the convertible as if it were a planned point in the festivities. Stopping to pose for the camera, she handed me the flowers.

“Why don’t you just climb in here with me, Babs,” I suggested sarcastically.

“Oh, don’t be silly, sweetheart,” she said. “This is your big day.”

It was all I could do not to groan aloud.

As we moved on, I called out to Stanley.

“How am I supposed to wave, hang on to the safety strap and hold these dadgummed roses at the same time? I’ve only got two hands.”

The question was rhetorical, but he answered anyway.

“You have to make your own choices in life,” he told me. “But I’d give preventing a broken neck a high priority.”

We managed to make it through the parade without that happening. The end of the route was a chaos of people, floats, bicycles and horses.

“Follow us!” Nicie called as she climbed over the seat to get beside Brian. They turned right and were gone.

“You want to go where they’re going?” Stanley asked.

“I don’t know, I guess so. Sure.”

I slid my butt down onto the upholstery. The entire backseat was swallowed up by my dress.

With a screech of tires and near whiplash, Stanley headed in the direction of the other convertible. We caught up to them just as they turned onto Loop 5. Somehow, I expected Stanley to follow meekly wherever Brian led. I was completely wrong about that. As soon as we got on the highway, Stanley dangerously sped up and pulled directly alongside the car Brian was driving.

“What are you doing?” I cried out.

“This Plymouth has a lot more pickup than that staid, old Caddy,” he said. “The idiot is so used to being Mr. Fastguy in his Cobra, he doesn’t even know he’s in the lesser machine.”

Brian was beginning to get it now. His laughing grin had dissolved into fierce determination. Both cars were pedal to the metal. The broken lines on the pavement rushing past like dots. My pulse was pounding. My heart was in my throat. My heavily sprayed hair was blowing all around my head. But there was a strange sort of exhilaration, as well. I loved racing against Brian. I especially loved beating him.

I glanced over at the other car. Nicie was white as a sheet and screaming her head off.

“Let’s get out of here,” I told Stanley.

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered. Immediately the Plymouth began pulling away from the Cadillac, leaving him in the dust. We continued barreling down the road at an astonishing clip until Brian and Nicie were completely out of sight.

I was up on my knees on the backseat, my fists raised high in the air, shouting and celebrating. Stanley pulled off on an unfinished exit ramp. He slowed down significantly when he hit the gravel, but it still stirred a giant cloud of white gyp dust all around us, coating everything, including my fancy dress and the decorated car.

He turned left underneath the overpass and came to such an abrupt stop that I was practically thrown into the front seat. Lying out nearly flat on the seat back, I caught myself with both hands on the glovebox door. I was still laughing when I rolled over and realized that I was in Stanley’s arms.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he said.

And then he kissed me. It wasn’t a tentative kiss or a little peck on the lips, it was a real kiss, full of passion and tenderness and raw sensual longing. It lasted only a moment, but it was somehow caught out of time.

When we moved apart, we just stared at each other as we tried to catch our breath.

“Wow,” he whispered finally.

“Wow, yourself,” I answered.

I smoothed the hair out of my face and felt suddenly too exposed in my low-cut formal.

“I’ve never felt like that,” he said. “I mean, I’ve felt, you know, the desire part, but that...that intensity. I mean, I’ve never felt anything like that.”

“Me, either,” I admitted. “I’ve kissed a lot of guys and I never...it was never like that.”

“It’s kind of scary,” he said. “I mean, in a way, it’s kind of scary.”

“Right,” I answered. “It’s scary.”

“Do you...do you think that it’s us?” he asked. “Is it us, the two of us together that made it like that? Or was it just the car chase?”

“It had to be the cars,” I said. “I mean, us, you and I, there just isn’t any you and I. We’ve known each other since kindergarten and I don’t think we’ve ever been attracted to each other.”

He agreed. “Not more than just normal attraction of any guy to a pretty girl,” he said.

“There is, I guess, chemistry or something like that.”

Stanley nodded. “But even chemistry requires a catalyst. It had to be racing the car. That maybe reacts with our everyday hormones and makes us suddenly crave one another.”

“Yeah, that’s probably it.”

He straightened completely and put his hands on the steering wheel. Slowly he let out a deep breath.

“It was nice, huh?”

“Yeah, it was nice.”

He turned and looked at me. “Do you want to try it again?”

To be completely honest, I was tempted. But he was Stanley Kuhl, with all the high school nerdiness that his status represented. He was also my mother’s choice as my Cotton Queen companion. It would have been an answer to all her hopes and dreams if I fell in love with a local boy on the day I was crowned queen and lived happily in McKinney ever after.