Hot Southern Mess (Hide Your Crazy)

by Hardenbrook, T. A.

  “No reason to get snippy, Molly Anne. We are just trying to figure out how to make you blend in with the rest of the group.”

  Mother took the seat next to me, as a younger girl draped a cape around her pant suit and started to work her magic. I believe the world would need to get hit by a flaming asteroid in order to melt this crazy bitch’s heart. It was getting pretty pathetic that the comments and jabs she throws at me no longer register on my radar. I am Molly the mess, the screw up, the loner, loser, and overall failure for a daughter. Whatever.

  “Well at least I won’t be able to distract from my sister’s pure virginal beauty then.”

  I can’t help but let out a snort; there is no way in hell my sister was ‘virginal’. I caught her many of times sneaking back into the house, with very little clothing on while growing up. She has probably plowed through more guys than the number of Zamboni trips during NHL hockey playoffs. Not like I have ever watched hockey, but I’m guessing that it’s a lot.

  It only took them a whopping three hours to fuss over my ‘ugliness’. Now, I know I’m not ugly, but in their perfect world I am the ugly swan, and not the hot looking one; like in the movie Black Swan. Mother let out a large gasp as I walked into the waiting room.

  “It’s not like I was ugly before, fuck,” I mumble under my breath while standing there awkwardly getting silently judged.

  “Francis, you can’t even tell she had that horrible color in her hair! You, young man, are a miracle worker.”

  My hair had been pinned back and all the purple was tucked underneath the dark black color. My side swept bangs have been hair sprayed to the point that if I come into any contact with a flame, I might burst into combustion. Who would have known that with all the fussing for the last couple hours, I have turned into a real girl? Now all they need to do is tie some puppet strings on my limbs and they have their very own version of the perfect daughter. Wait, scratch that. I forgot that my sister already claimed that title, at least I could apply for the runner up label. Second place is always the first loser, right?

  Mother swarmed around me, nodding her head in approval.

  “Oh Stepmother, can I go to the ball, too? Pretty please, I promise all my chores are done.”

  Mother shot me a glare out of the corner of her evil eyes, and went back to talking with Francis. Now if I could just survive the afternoon, the open bar at the reception could save my soul. Nothing like drowning the night in a tall glass of vodka to keep yourself sane. Who knew, maybe I would find my soul mate tonight. A tall southern gentleman, that would twirl me around the dance floor and whisper sweet nothings into my ear. He can woo me with the numbers in his bank account, and flaunt his designer label tux. And, if I’m lucky, maybe he played a prominent role at the country club and could make friends with my snobby sister, and cast a spell over my wicked mother. Yes, that was exactly what I wanted, and then maybe I could stab the cake cutter into my brain. Perfect ending for the perfect wedding. Oh happy day!

  I could barely breathe with all the hairspray in the room, as one of the many clones did another round of crap to her already shellacked into place, perfect looking up do. Sitting in the corner, I watched as the madness continued to unfold in front of me. My sister was a total Bridezilla; barking orders, and screaming at anyone who came near her. It almost made me feel bad for all her little minions today. Why anyone would want to plan weddings for a living and deal with people like her is a damn mystery to me. There was still a half hour to go before pictures, and I’d already silently killed her off in my head at least twenty times now.

  “Mother, where in the world are my diamonds? I NEED my diamonds!” My sister’s face was bright red as she looked like Godzilla, stomping around the room tossing and things left and right.

  “Rebecca, you need to calm down before you ruin your makeup. Start acting like the lady you were raised to be, and I will find the diamonds.”

  I let out a snort while mother scolded my irate and irrational sister.

  “Don’t worry, sissy, I’m sure daddy will buy you new ones if you can’t find yours,” I said with an evil laugh. I knew exactly where those two carat studs were, sitting in the box that’s right under my ass.

  “Bernard gave me those when we signed the papers on our house! I HAVE to find them!”

  Those stupid earrings probably could pay my rent for the next year at my little apartment. How someone could be that careless with that much money was stupid. Money was social standing in this town, and yes, I had some, but at least I did good things with it. I lived in a normal apartment, I drove a normal car, and I actually donated money to charity, without my name attached to it. Money wasn’t everything, but most people failed to see that. My family was selfish, greedy, and mean. Sure they might donate several millions of dollars to the hospital, as long as the improvements get “dedicated” in their name. Of course they host tons of charity events, and spend probably more on the party than how much their “charity” brought in. It’s all about status and staying on top. Today wasn’t about love; it was about money and a new last name. Basically a business deal between two wealthy families; let’s combine the powers and see what can be created next. All the more reason I would never get married. True love doesn’t exist around here, not in a long shot.

  “Molly Anne, help me look for these earrings instead of just sitting there,” Mother snapped. Either I got up and handed over the “missing” earrings, or I listened to the tears and screaming for the next twenty minutes.

  “Calm down, Ursula, they are right here.” Holding the box up, I walked over and dropped them into my mother’s outstretched hand. Mother narrowed her eyes at me, and her lips formed a tight line. Quickly, she rushed over to my distraught sister’s side and tried to sooth the wailing beast. She kind of reminded me of a wildebeest when she cried, complete with snot and drool.

  All this over fucking earrings, seriously could this day get any worse? Glancing over at the hooks on the wall where the ugly as sin bridesmaid dress hung, I knew it was only the beginning in this horrible fairy tale.

  “Can you look this way girl on the end?” The camera man shouted at the group. I knew he was talking about me, and as many times as I’ve yelled my name at him, I’m still labeled as “girl on the end”. So what do I do? Well, I plaster on a fake smile and turn to the annoying man, silently punching him in the face, over and over again. We had been in these same positions for forever now; just fucking take the damn picture so we could be done with this crap.

  “Molly, if you would cooperate, it wouldn’t take so long,” my perfect sister said all while holding a smile.

  Clenching my teeth, I continued to force a grin. “Fucking pageant bitch,” I mumble through my teeth. The flash of the camera went off for another couple minutes, and then the man yelled he was done. A collective sigh came from all the clones, as they patted their hair and giggled to each other. A small cluster surrounded my sister as they all started to cackle about something, leaving me standing off to the side alone and awkward. Not that I minded, at least they were saving my brain cells from their stupid conversations about nail polish and lipstick.

  “Ladies, we need to start to line up for the recessional.” The lady with the clipboard and headset came over quickly, ushering us to the waiting golf carts. I thought my sister was crazy with this wedding bullshit, but oh heavens I was wrong. My boss apparently lived and breathed this bizarre world of tool and glitter. I never had to accompany her to her weddings, considering I didn’t ‘look’ like the type of person she employed. Normally, I was just the bitch girl; running errands and hiding in the background. Getting to see her in action today made my stomach crawl. Pageant moms frightened me, but this lady down right scared me.

  “Ladies, let’s get moving; we have exactly two minutes to get over there and keep this wedding on schedule.”

  I couldn’t help but roll my eyes, taking a seat in one of the carts. I wonder if I could just hijack this machine and hit up the bar instead. It’s n
ot like they would really miss me during the ceremony anyway. I’m sure with how much my parents are paying for that photographer, he could Photoshop me into the pictures, and taking a couple shots right now sounded like a better plan than watching this love fest go down.

  “Hurry ladies, we have a beautiful princess we need to get to her prince,” my boss shouted.

  Cue the white doves and singing frogs, this shit was getting old.

  “I think you have had enough tonight, Molly,” the bartender commented as I slid my empty glass toward him. Scrunching my eyebrows, I shoved myself off the barstool and rolled my eyes. What MR. Bartender over there didn’t know was that I handled my alcohol very well. Three vodka crans and two shots wasn’t going to put me over the edge tonight. It merely dulled the love sick environment I had been forced to deal with.

  Well, there went my plan on getting wasted tonight. I got cut off by the bartender, and I could still walk in a straight line.

  Glancing around the room at all the fuss and muss of the evening, I had to admit that it really did look amazing in here. The soft pink color that ruffled through the fabric on the walls gave off a romantic vibe, and all the crystals dripping from the tall flower arrangements at the table looked perfect against the white linens. Either I’ve been here way too long tonight to start to appreciate things like that, or I’ve drank way more than I thought I had. Someone save me from this pretty, glitzy world.

  “Molly, we are ready for you,” the wedding coordinator extraordinaire snapped at me, bringing me back from my mushy daze.

  “Huh?”

  “Are you going to play or not? I have you scheduled to perform before the bride and groom cut the cake. Are you ready?” She tapped her foot impatiently on the wood floors and glanced back down at her clipboard. I didn’t forget that I was going to play for my sister and her Ken doll tonight; I just didn’t realize that the time was now.

  “Let me go grab my case and I’ll be right up there.”

  “You have five minutes; we have a schedule to keep.” Crazy boss lady didn’t even look at me as she radioed something into her headset and ran off in the other direction. I bet I could sing a cover tonight and no one would ever know. The music selection that was playing tonight was a vast difference than what I was used to hearing. Don’t get me wrong, I loved all music, but could honestly tune things out that didn’t immediately grab my attention; case in point, whatever crap is playing right now.

  I was shocked when my sister asked me to play at the reception. Playing the guitar was not something that my parents supported, since it didn’t come with a degree from Old Miss. But for some crazy reason, it had been the only thing my sister and I had ever gotten along about. She would sit in my room for hours when she was younger, quietly listening to me play. Of course that stopped once she hit the teen years, but she never said one negative thing about my passion, when all my parents did was rip it apart.

  Pulling the case out from behind the stage, I opened the locks and picked Simon up carefully. Sliding the strap over my neck, I clipped the capo on, and wiped my sweaty hands on the back on my dress. Quietly, I strummed the strings to make sure he was still in tune and glanced around, waiting for my queue from my fire breathing boss.

  “Attention ladies and gentleman. The bride’s sister has a special treat for Mr. and Mrs. Greene, so without further ado, please help me welcome, Miss. Molly Anne McGlenister.”

  I tentatively took a step onto the stage, carefully watching out for the cords and equipment, as I made my way to the front microphone. The last thing I needed to do was fall and flash the entire reception with my girly bits. I hated to wear underwear, and just because this was a ‘classy’ event didn’t mean I had to have dental floss running up my crack.

  The applause was the polite type, not the warm welcome I usually got playing at the café. I offered a smile to the crowd and stepped up to the mic.

  “Hi everyone. Umm…………well yeah, this is for you, Rebecca.”

  Taking a small step back from the microphone, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. My hands instinctively knew where to go as the music began to pour out of me. After licking my lips, I leaned back into the microphone, silently praying I wouldn’t forget the lyrics.

  I sang the last words and let my hands fall away from Simon. I wasn’t ready to open my eyes. Keeping them closed during the performance helped transport me to that happy place when I played. Watching the crowd’s reaction to my music wasn’t something I liked to do. Actually, I would rather shove a hot poker stick in my eye.

  The applause started slowly, and then grew in leaps and bounds. The sound in the room was deafening as I pried my eyes open from their comfort zone.

  My sister was actually standing on her feet, clapping for me. A single tear rolled down my cheek when I flashed a small smile and did a little courtesy bow, awkwardly heading off the stage. Pulling Simon from his resting position, I carefully laid him back in the case and let the latches click closed. Thank god I survived that; now I needed like five more drinks, and to get the hell out of here. Too much ‘love’ was in the air, and my damaged heart had no compassion for the night, let alone the stupid groomsman that tried to get me to open my legs for him.

  Chapter 3: Destroy the dress and hide the evidence.

  “Fuck me,” I mumbled, writhing around in my bed to try and release myself from the trapped sheets around me. My limbs were struggling to free themselves from the tangles, as my head screamed profanities for the sheer amount of booze I partook in once I left the reception. My arm broke free and flew across the queen size bed, smacking into a hard object.

  “Shit, shit, shit,” I hissed. There was only one logical conclusion for what my arm collided with, a body. It’s not like it was the first time I’ve brought someone home, but hot damn. Seriously, all the men at the wedding last night were not the normal pickings for me. How I ended up bringing one back to my apartment was a riddle I couldn’t solve. Opening my eyes slowly, I glanced at the body laying in bed next me. Luckily, I was graced with his naked backside, thus giving me a better opportunity to slip out of bed and run away undetected.

  I didn’t do the ‘next morning’ kind of thing. It really was just about the sex for me; get in and out. I was okay with the ‘thanks for a good time, and see you later’ type sendoff; anymore conversation than that creeped me out. Sharing my bed and personal space wasn’t something I was fond of. Basically, I was a ‘get-the-fuck-out-of-my-bed’ kind of girl. Nope, this drunken, naked, bare skinned man was not the type of guy I wanted to wake up to.

  I stood there and contemplated my next play. Should I poke him with something until he moved? Maybe drop something loud on the floor, so he jolted awake. Or, I could just leave my own apartment, returning sometime in the afternoon with the hopes that he woke up and left on his own.

  My mother always drilled into our heads the art of southern hospitality, however this moment did not call for that. It called for this very naked man to get the fuck up and out of my apartment. I refused to feed this creature, because then he really would never leave. It’s like feeding the stray cats outside. Once you feed one, he lets his entire little kitty colony know that you have the goods and the next thing you know there are twenty of the damn things just waiting for all your tasty morsels.

  “Fucking great,” I mumbled while hovering over the bed. My brain was still hurting from the pain I inflicted on it last night; why can’t I just think clearly. Shaking my head, I gave up on trying to figure out how to tactfully remove the troll from my bed and slinked off to my bathroom. Maybe a long hot shower would help with my situation. Either that or he would magically be gone by the time I got done. I do believe both of those scenarios were a win-win situation.

  Locking the bathroom door, I flipped the shower on, cranking it over to the hottest setting, and watched the steam fill up the small space.

  “Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

  Reaching for my gauges off the counter, I quickly rinsed them off and slip
ped them into my ears. They were still tiny and I didn’t know if I would ever go past the sixteen size gauge; gigantic sized holes in my ears scared me. Slathering vitamin E oil over my lobes, I smiled at my reflection. It took me years to accept the girl that was staring back at me. Not only was I so lost in who I wanted to be, but trying to escape from the pink and glitter my mother and sister forced upon me took time and effort. I was a different person than when I first moved out; a grownup version of the inner girl I struggled with for so long. I pulled out a small pink hoop from a plastic container and pushed it through my nose. “Perfect,” I stated. Now all I had to do was wash the sex and booze smell off my body and I would be a new woman once again.

  I spent a good hour in the bathroom, carefully washing all my bits and pieces and banging around some, in hopes to wake the man in my bed. The thought of interacting with the guy out there, made me want to hurl chunks of whatever I ate at the reception last night. After drying my hair and smearing on some black eyeliner and mascara, I stuck my head out the bathroom door and silently prayed my bed was empty.

  “Bingo!” The covers were in a crumpled mess on the floor and all the articles of scattered clothing I had picked up earlier were gone; I do believe the man left. Releasing my grasp from the towel around my chest, I let it fall to the ground and wandered over to my closet. A loud crash came from behind the wall in the kitchen, which promptly sent me face first into the glass mirrored doors. My eyes grew wide with terror as I scrambled into my closet, hoping whoever made the crashing noise wouldn’t seek me out. “Seriously, fuck a duck.”

  “Um hello?” a man’s voice came from the doorway of my bedroom.