Never Sit Down in a Hoopskirt and Other Things I Learned in Southern Belle Hell

by Crickett Rumley

  It took a few minutes, but Ashley’s rich, white, upper-class, well-dressed, landed-gentry minions bucked themselves up and set across the stage to fight for their rights.

  “Ooooh, this is going to be good,” I said to Caroline. I just couldn’t resist. I tossed out my cigarette and followed.

  “Uncle Walter? I’m sorry, Mr. Hill?” Ashley called into the wings.

  Walter waved Ashley over, looking delighted by the interruption to Mizz Upton’s haranguing. He instantly swept Ashley into an affectionate hug. “Ashley, my sweet girl! Congratulations.” He glanced at Mizz Upton, who was doing her best to paste a perfect, poised expression on her face but it only made her look like an angry lemon. “Let’s get out of this darkness, okay.”

  Walter Murray Hill is the kind of Southern man who punctuates his sentences with “okay.” He’s not asking a question, or asking permission. He’s saying, “Okay, this is the way things are going to be. Whether you like it or not.” This time he meant that he was moving far, far away from the blustering Mizz Upton and the girls better follow. They did.

  “What can I do for you ladies?” Walter Murray Hill asked when they all arrived at the rear corner of the stage.

  I lingered close enough to eavesdrop, yet far enough away to appear uninvolved. Ashley beamed. Gone was her righteous indignation. In its place was eyelash-batting sweetness as she played the simpering Southern belle card. What a chameleon in pearls.

  “Yes, well, thank you, Uncle, Mr. Hill. Being a Magnolia Maid is such a tremendous honor for me, and you remember my friend Mallory?”

  “Geoff Ross’s daughter?” Walter shook her hand, squeezing her upper arm with his other hand in the process. “Oh yes. Your grandfather gave me my first job out of college. Fine man. Glad to have you on board.”

  Mallory nodded her head so hard it nearly flew off. “Yes, sir, it’s such an honor to be honored like this. With this honor, I mean.”

  “Mallory!” Ashley jabbed her in the side.

  “Oh, sorry, babbling. I’m just so excited about getting to play a part of Magnolia Maid history. Oh my gosh! I get to wear the dress!”

  Walter nodded. “You girls are going to have a big year, yes, you are, being Bienville’s ambassadresses to the world.”

  Ashley clutched at his arm. “Well, that’s just it, Mr., oh, whatever, Uncle Walter. We thought, well, it’s such a big responsibility. The entire future of Bienville rests on our shoulders, and it’s so important that we represent the city well, so that, we, you know, do a good job of recruiting new business and giving our city a beautiful face.”

  “And what a beautiful face it will be.” Walter Murray Hill, swear to God, actually pinched her cheek. “And you girls are real important to Bienville these days. You know we’re trying to rebuild the economy, what with everything that’s gone wrong with the oil spill and all. You beautiful girls are gonna help attract some more business. Get some international factories in here and such. That’s what’s gonna happen, okay.”

  “Hush, Uncle, aren’t you sweet? But, well. These are our best friends, Courtney Lennox and Katherine DeVille.” She gestured at her sniffling friends. “I’m sure you know that Courtney’s mother is head of the Junior League and her daddy owns the biggest car dealership in Alabama. And Katherine’s mother and daddy own a great deal of downtown’s commercial real estate, plus they have a long family history in Bienville, just like me and Mallory. So we think it’s only fair that they be on the Court with us, too.” Ashley nodded in earnest, as did Mallory and Courtney, plus Katherine.

  Walter Murray Hill watched the heads nod nod, nod nod, then he shook his. “I understand you’re disappointed here, Ashley. And Courtney and Katherine, you are wonderful girls, just wonderful.” He sighed. “And I sure do hate that we’ve got some hurt feelings here. But I can’t help you. The judges, we all decided that, what with our new president and needing to get some new business in here, we’ve got to keep up with America. We’re in the twenty-first century here, girls. Bienville’s a diverse city, full of promise, of progress, and our Court should be reflecting that. It’s time for a change.”

  Oh no. He did not. But yes, he did. Mr. Walter had just uttered the dirtiest six-letter word in town. Change. Southerners tend to have a real hard time with that word. Don’t get me wrong, we do appreciate certain kinds of change: bigger Walmarts with grocery stores inside for easy one-stop shopping. Fancy, new subdivisions out in the county, far from those darn city taxes. Modern new churches with rapidly expanding memberships.

  But when push comes to shove, if the change is substantial, forget it. People who don’t understand us would like to say it’s because we’re backward or stupid or lazy. But really, it’s because of the ancestors. It’s as if everybody thinks all our dead ancestors, back to the ones who showed up here from France and Spain to colonize the joint, are sitting up in the afterlife watching our every move, fixing to send hellfire and damnation down on us if we dare deviate from the way they set things up for us. We fear that more than we fear the Supreme Court, the National Guard, and that evil guy from Saw all put together. For that very reason it is not uncommon for a young lady to hear things like, “Your great-great-grandfather founded the Presbyterian Church in 1785. No, you cannot take yoga. It’s heathen.” Or “I know that Granddaddy’s old wood rolltop desk doesn’t fit in with your new Pottery Barn Caribbean Beach Bungalow bedroom suite, honey, but he built his lumber company on that desk. We can’t get rid of it and that’s the only place I have for it!” Or “Your mother did cotillion, your sisters did cotillion, your grandmother did cotillion, you will do cotillion. And you are not a lesbian and that is final!”

  Ashley sped right into resistant-to-change mode. “Well, I am sure that getting modern is a great idea and all, Uncle Walter,” Ashley huffed. “But how in the world can you say the girls that got picked represent the city?” She gestured at her minions. “We know our Bienville inside and out. We were all born and raised here. I’m just worried that some of these other girls aren’t going to be able to keep up.” She pointed at Brandi Lyn. “She goes to County High, which means she lives outside the city limits. Can she truly represent Bienville? I don’t think so!”

  Walter shook his head. “The bylaws do allow county girls on the Court.”

  Planting a hand on her hip, Ashley swiveled her head around until her laser beams landed on me. “And Jane!”

  She spat my name out as if it was dirt on grits.

  I laughed in her face. “Oh, come on, Ashley. You know I have the pedigree.”

  Mallory perked up. “That’s right! If I’m not mistaken, Divine Causeway and Irving Street are named for your people!”

  That was surprising. “Wow. You know that?” I asked.

  “I just love local history.”

  “Cool.” I turned back to Ashley and ticked names off on my fingers. “I am the granddaughter of Digger Fontaine and Jane Irving. Grandniece of Danielle Renault. Great-granddaughter of Lawrence Divine. B’ville history is in my blood, Ashley.”

  She pursed her lips. “Well, what does that matter? Where have you been lately, Miss Fontaine Ventouras?”

  “Boarding school. Well, a series of them. All of quite the highest caliber, I can assure you.”

  Ashley batted her eyelashes—again. This was surely the performance of her life. “That just proves my point, Uncle. Jane’s been away way too long to really know what it means to be from Bienville.”

  “Oh, I’m pretty sure I know what it means.”

  Wheeling away, Ashley focused her attention on Zara, who was still across the stage talking to her parents. “As for her, she’s, she’s…” Ashley trailed off, closing her mouth, opening it again, closing, opening, like a DVD player on its last legs.

  Ohhhhh nooooooo. There it was. A prime example of how Bienville is, shall we say, majorly behind the times?

  See, we all knew what Ashley was about to say—that Zara was African American. And while I wasn’t a hundred percent up on my M&M history
, at least not yet, I was pretty sure her being a Maid was a first for Bienville’s most beloved yet conservative tradition.

  The minions inhaled sharply.

  Walter Murray Hill’s right eye started twitching.

  For Ashley had just broken a cardinal rule of Southern belle-dom:

  8. DO NOT acknowledge uncomfortable subjects in public.

  And while Ashley hadn’t actually brought up a subject that was going to make some people feel awkward, she had been about to bring it up. Which was close enough.

  And now that she had put it out there, she was in Southern-girl purgatory because she couldn’t take it back.

  Ashley backpedaled so hard she nearly crashed through the wall, especially since Zara, maybe sensing she was the subject of our discussion, now headed in our direction. “Well, well, now, I… ummmm…” Ashley stammered.

  Walter cleared his throat nervously. “Now, girls, let’s not turn this into something it’s uh, not.”

  Ashley grew ten inches with blustery indignation. “Certainly not. This is far from something it’s not. And I am far from a, a, a… some of my closest friends are black!”

  Mallory frowned in confusion. “Really?”

  This whole conversation was starting to make my blood boil. Moments like this made me not even want to admit I was from a small town in the Deep, Deep South.

  Ashley glared at her. Then she fluttered a smile in Uncle Walter’s direction. “Anyway, Uncle Walter, if y’all would be so kind as to let me finish what I was saying, I was merely going to point out that Zara is not from here, either.”

  “It’s true. I’m not,” Zara admitted, joining the group.

  “See! What a terrible time you’re going to have catching up on all our decades of rich history! I just feel for you!”

  “My parents are from here, though. Jay and Felicia Alexander? So I’ve visited here every summer of my life.”

  I stopped in my tracks. “Wait, your last name is Alexander?”

  Zara nodded, and Mallory went into pre-flip-out mode. “As in Alexander Communications? As in one of the biggest satellite cable corporations in the country?” Zara nodded again, and Mallory surged fully into flip-out mode. “Oh my God, Ashley, her daddy is my daddy’s newest client! They just moved here! They are, like, the richest people ever to live in Bienville!”

  Walter nodded proudly. “And they’ve just honored Bienville by moving their national headquarters here. Opening up a lot of jobs for us, okay!”

  This was so not going Ashley’s way and, well, she finally lost it. Gone was any attempt to play the good little Southern belle. “That’s just great, Uncle Walter, but this is a travesty! This is not the Court I expected it to be, and if you do not see that Katherine and Courtney get put on immediately, I am afraid Mallory and I will have to resign.” She nudged Mallory in the ribs.

  Mallory blanched. “And give up the dress? Ashley!!!!! I’ve been waiting for this forever….” Mallory trailed off as she felt the bloody daggers Ashley was aiming at her. “Okay, I suppose it’s not what I signed up for, either, Mr. Walter.”

  Mr. Walter shook his head. “I’m sorry to hear that, girls. It’s a real disappointment, what with your families’ legacies with the Maids and all. Do me a favor and put it in writing, so we can go about selecting alternates as soon as possible.” He gave a little bow and walked off.

  Ashley nearly keeled over in shock. “But, but…”

  Mallory, however, seemed to have finally found her own tongue. “No, no, we misspoke! We didn’t mean it. We’re not quitting!” She frantically called after Mr. Walter. “Anyway, you didn’t say the name of the alternate! Maybe Courtney or Katherine made alternate!”

  “Oh, you’re right there, Mallory.” Walter fished the results out of his jacket. “In all the excitement, I neglected to announce the alternate.”

  Ashley grabbed Katherine’s and Courtney’s hands. “Good call, Mal.”

  Mallory squeezed Katherine’s and Courtney’s other hands, forming one big circle of hope and expectation. “I’m sure one of y’all got it.”

  I have to admit, even I was curious to know who would be the sixth victim. Uh, Maid.

  “And the alternate, who will fulfill all Magnolia Court duties in the event that a Maid cannot, is… Miss Caroline Jeannette Upton.”

  “Caroline Upton?”

  “Caroline Plumpton?” Ashley blurted it out before she could stop herself. Rule number 8 was officially out the window.

  Everyone turned to Caroline, so quiet in the wings that no one had paid her one bit of attention. Now she was the center of it, to her obvious horror. Hives were rapidly breaking out all over her chest and face. “No, no. Not me. I’m sure this is a mistake.”

  Walter smiled gently. “No, it says it right here, Caroline. Welcome to the Court.”

  “But I don’t want… I mean, uh, it can go to one of the other girls. I am happy for someone else to do it.”

  I mock-dropped my jaw. “Are you kidding me? We get to roll around the country all decked out in our Scarlett O’Hara dresses telling people how wonderfully modern our little old town is. This is an honor!”

  “It sooooooooo is!” Suddenly, out of nowhere, a fully recovered Brandi Lyn rocketed into our midst, enveloping Ashley and Mallory in a giant hug. “Hello, Magnolia Maid sisters! Oh my goodness, can y’all believe it? I’m going out of my mind with joy, aren’t you? I am so sorry about fainting! I usually have great stage presence, everybody says so, but I was just so excited, it undid me. I won’t let it happen again, though, don’t worry. Isn’t this exciting! We are going to have the greatest year ever, aren’t we just?!”

  Silence.

  I surveyed the scene—Mallory distressed and fearful that her long-longed-for dress was going to get taken away, Caroline insulted to her face and terrified at being seen in public, Brandi Lyn and Zara insulted behind their backs. And the grand cause of these problems, the very reason for their existence?

  A very furious, very determined-to-have-her-own-way D-Girl by the name of Mary Ashley LaFleur.

  Sweet Winds of Change! It was at that moment I understood why I had been selected to the Magnolia Court.

  I had a higher purpose. A calling, if you will.

  If I knew Ashley LaFleur, and I was pretty sure I did, she was not going to stop until she had complete control of the entire organization. And I may not have had anything in common with my new Magnolia Maid sister, but if I had to be part of this Court, then I was going to fight Ashley’s power with every ounce of mine and then some. I felt compelled to create just a little truth, justice, and beauty for the four girls standing miserably before me. It was the right thing to do.

  I beamed a smile brighter than Christmas at Brandi Lyn, threw my arms around her, and tossed my hat into the fires of Southern Belle Hell. “Why, yes, Brandi Lyn. This year’s going to be simply divine.”

  Chapter Three

  Fifteen floors above the city, in a building on the edge of the Bienville Bay, the highly exclusive Petroleum Club boasts an impressive 360-degree view all the way down to the Gulf of Mexico. Its membership consists of the executives who run the local oil industry. Grandmother was a lifelong member because of her father and her husband, my grandfather, both big oilmen back in the days before the oil spill ruined everything and people started cursing the very resource that had made them rich. The club’s wine cellar rivals the best in New York City. Their steaks sizzle as the waiters bring them to the table. On any given weekend night, a jazzy band plays music that Old Bienvillites, both young and old, can boogie down to.

  After the Magnolia Pageant, the Petroleum Club was packed and buzzing with talk about what had happened earlier that night at the Bienville Civic Center.

  “Shock of the century!”

  “Some real humdingers in the choices this year!”

  “The Lennoxes are suing!”

  “Oh yes, and so are the DeVilles!”

  Grandmother, thrilled beyond belief that I had made the Cour
t, got us a table with the best view in the house, plied me with a beautiful filet mignon, and let me have a couple of glasses of champagne as long as I didn’t get too tipsy.

  But all I could think was: this town is a ghost town.

  Because the ghosts of Cecilia, of my grandfather Digger, even of my father, were hovering over our table all night.

  With practically every bite of filet, someone stopped by to greet Grandmother and to tell me how proud Cecilia or Digger would have been of me, how sweet I was to try to help out Brandi Lyn Corey. Even some of Cosmo’s old business associates, men I barely remembered from back in the day when Cosmo and Cecilia threw barbecues down at our house every weekend, came over to say hello, to ask after him and say it was good to see me back in town. “Tell old Cosmo that Jack Banning said hello, would you?” Sure, Jack, I thought. I’ll make that priority number one during my once-a-month conversation with my dad. Priority numero uno.

  As soon as Jack Banning excused himself, I swallowed another bite of meat and turned to Grandmother. “I don’t know if I can take this.”

  “Take what?”

  “Constantly being reminded that she’s not here.”

  “Cecilia?”

  I nodded. “It’s all people can talk to me about. And every time someone brings it up, I feel like I just want to scream. I just want to forget about it. I don’t want to be reminded of it every single day.”

  Grandmother poured me another glass of champagne. “Honey, you can’t ignore it. You can’t act like it never happened.”

  “Yes I can.”

  “No. What you should do is bring her into your life more.”

  I snorted. “Grandmama, you’ve had too much champagne. Because, um, since she’s dead, I’m pretty sure I can’t bring her into my life more.”