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

by Crickett Rumley

  “Well, I’m just wondering if you’re looking at this thing with your dad and your grandmother all wrong.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

  “It sounds like your grandmother really wants you to have a relationship him. Like she’s really going out of her way to make that happen.”

  “Yeah, that’s Grandmother. Family is really important to her.” So much so that she talks to her dead husband and daughter and encourages me to do the same.

  “So when’s the last time you saw Cosmo?”

  “Right after I got kicked out of the Banning School. He flew over and read me the riot act and got me situated at Foxcroft. That was last summer.”

  “A year ago? And you were all in rebel Jane mode then?”

  “Definitely.”

  “But look at you now. You’re all cleaned up, toeing the line. You’re like a different woman.”

  Hmmm. This was true. Being back in Bienville was turning out to be the equivalent of getting a lobotomy. “So what are you thinking?”

  “I just think it’s an opportunity for you to show that you’re doing great. That you’re not this rebellious kid he’s used to. That you’re a lovely young woman of…” Zara giggled. “Magnolia caliber.”

  I snorted. “That sounds like a bullet I should be putting in my head right about now!”

  “You and me both!” We laughed. “Seriously, Jane, think about it. Letting your dad see you now could really be good for you.”

  I stuck my tongue out at her and rolled my eyes, like the mature young woman I clearly had turned into. But on the way home, Zara’s words ran rampant through my head. Maybe she was right. Maybe I could develop an adult relationship with Cosmo. Whoa! News flash in my head! I had never considered the possibility that our relationship could evolve. What was it that Jay Alexander said? That flexibility was the key to success? Hmm. If I were flexible, and didn’t fight Cosmo’s return, if instead I prepared for it… suddenly this fantasy of how cool life could be invaded my thoughts. I would be going to college next year (if anyone would have me), and college has breaks, and everyone wants to go to smokin’-hot places on breaks…. Cosmo was always gallivanting around to smokin’-hot islands, beaches, international ports on business. So maybe if I showed him I was responsible and mature, I could spend my college years gallivanting around with him. Getting to know him, dining at beautiful restaurants, sailing around Mediterranean islands on his sleek boats, gambling at fabulous casinos.

  Wait a second! This was sounding a lot like one of Brandi Lyn’s five-year plans. And, dear me, it was sweeter than a headache-inducing artificial sweetener. Not to mention awfully ambitious given the dark period of sadness and separation that we’d lived in since Cecilia’s very first fall. And in the back of my mind wiggled a nagging thought: was I setting myself up for Thanksgiving at Disney World, part deux?

  And yet…

  Grandmother was waiting for me when I got home, elegantly poised at the dining table, projecting a visage of contained anger. I plopped down and waited for the lecture, and she delivered. Oh yes, Grandmother delivered. If I was going to reside in her house I was going to treat her and her home with respect. Observe a curfew. Refrain from using profanity. Help out with chores when asked to. I was not to walk out ever again while she was in the middle of conversation with me. I was not to go anywhere with my cell phone turned off except church and Magnolia Maid events. (It’s true that she had tried to call me several times that afternoon, but I had set the phone on silent.) When she finished, I said, “Yes, ma’am, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have run out on you like that. I won’t do it again.”

  My words washed over her, and she relaxed back into the dining table wing chair. “Thank you. You know, I worry about you, Jane.”

  “I know, and I appreciate it. I know you just want me and Cosmo to get together. To be a family.” I leaned down to kiss her cheek. “It’ll be good to see him. It will. Who knows? It might even be fun.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “I can’t. I’m sorry, Jane, but I really do have to vote for Ashley,” Caroline said as she plunged a stake into the sparkling sands of Bienville State Beach. It was the first Saturday of June, the day of the big Magnolia Maid Beach Cleanup, and we were measuring sections of shorefront so that we could keep track of how much we cleaned, then collect our donations accordingly. Zara and Brandi Lyn were working at the other end of the beach.

  “Give me one good reason why,” I replied. Zara and I had decided that since there was no way in hell Mallory would ever break ranks with Ashley to tilt the queen vote over to Brandi Lyn, the only way to burst the deadlock was to get to Caroline.

  As she searched for a reason, I handed her one end of the tape measure and paced with the other end along the white gulf sand. It was so glistening and gorgeous even at seven o’clock in the morning. Hard to believe that within a few days it would probably be besmirched by oil residue. When I reached twenty feet, Caroline joined me and plunged another stake in the sand.

  “I know Ashley is a bit…”

  “Malicious? Toxic? Spiteful?”

  “Strong-willed.”

  “Nice euphemism, Caroline, for a girl who wreaks a hell of a lot of evil.”

  “She’s not evil, Jane.”

  “Let’s be real. Ashley only has the interests of Ashley in mind. She doesn’t care about any of us or what we think. No way is she about being part of a team. But Brandi Lyn, that girl is one hundred percent genuine, and you know it.”

  “But Mother would curl up and die if she made queen.”

  “I know! Wouldn’t that just rock?”

  Caroline blanched. “Jane, please. You don’t have to live with her. I’m already in so much trouble. Mother’s mad that I only made alternate and that…” She clammed up as her face turned red and tears welled up in her eyes.

  “About what?” I reached out and touched her arm. “Caroline, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” She nodded vigorously, but the raindrops pouring from her eyes said otherwise. Her chest heaved with quiet sobs until a big one escaped her lungs. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  She nodded. I coaxed her to a seat on the sand, and out poured what Mizz Upton was really furious about—she had put Caroline on Jenny Craig a few months ago and so far Caroline had failed to lose an ounce. In fact, she had managed to gain six pounds. “What is wrong with me?” bemoaned Caroline. “I eat the food they give me, and I try to exercise, I really do, but I can’t help it! It’s like there’s a monster inside of me and it takes over. If I see cookies I have to eat a dozen. If there’s Ben and Jerry’s in the house, I have to eat the whole pint. I can’t stop it. Mother is right. I’m a big, fat slob and that’s all I’m ever going to beeeeeeeeee!” Caroline sobbed.

  “Caroline, please. Don’t talk about yourself that way. You’re not a slob. You always look perfectly neat and presentable.”

  “But I am fat and you know it!”

  Sweet Bars of Hershey! Here I was, trapped in a lose-lose situation, no matter what I said. I gave it my best. “I’m sure people might say you could stand to lose a few a pounds, but so could lots of folks.”

  “No one in my family. Not my mother. And have you seen my sister? She’s a beanpole!”

  “She’s twelve!”

  “And skinny and everybody loves her for it.”

  “Well, that’s a stupid reason to love somebody.” Seriously, do a few more or less pounds make someone more or less lovable? Here in the South, it seems like almost everybody gets fat sooner or later. What’s the point in judging others for it?

  “Jane, I’m so scared. What if something happens to one of the other Maids and I have to make an appearance? I’ll look like a big peach whale. People will laugh at me!”

  “No they won’t.” Except they probably would, darn it. “Caroline, if you really feel this way, don’t you think having Ashley as queen would be the worst choice possible? There’s not a bone of sensitivity in her body.”

  “Don’t you think I
know that? Don’t you think I heard her call me Caroline Plumpton the night of the pageant?”

  “Actually, I was kind of hoping you hadn’t.”

  “Well, I did. I know that everybody calls me that. And I know that Ashley doesn’t like me and also thinks I am a fat slob, and I can’t stand her, either, but I just can’t vote against her right now. I have to walk into my mother’s house every day, and I can’t have one more reason for her to look at me like I’m shower scum. I can’t do it, Jane. I’m sorry.”

  I groaned. “Okay. I get it. We’ll figure something else out.” Like what? Hiring an assassin to off old Ashley?

  We continued our measuring, and by the time we arrived at beach cleanup headquarters—a tent Mr. Walter had set up over a handful of picnic tables—Ashley and Mallory were lollygagging around on a bench in a big display of displeasure.

  “Nice showing up on time, Ashley,” I said as I tapped the nonexistent watch on my wrist. “Punctuality is such a good trait for a Magnolia Maid to develop. I believe that’s listed in chapter five.”

  “Sorry, this isn’t exactly my neck of the woods, Jane.” Oops, there it was. Dig number one of the day. We chose this particular beach because it’s situated at the point where the bay flows into the Gulf of Mexico, so it would most likely be the first place where oil would hit our community. As luck would have it, Bienville State Beach was pretty far out in the county, meaning in a poor section. It was far from the places where Old Bienvillites maintained their summer cottages. Ashley’s little remark meant that this place was beneath her, in her esteemed opinion. And so were the people who used this beach. After all, only people who didn’t have their own beachfront property had to use state beaches.

  Ashley surveyed the shoreline. “And you really think we can clean this whole beach in six hours? It’s pretty big.”

  “I do, if every member of the organization gets off her Magnolia booty and does her fair share of the work.” I arched an eyebrow in her lollygagging direction.

  Oddly enough, it didn’t spark a snappy comeback. In fact, Ashley’s face lit up like the sky over Bienville Bay on the Fourth of July. “Our dandies are here! Our dandies are here!” she squealed. She and Mallory sped over to a Land Cruiser that was careening into the beach parking lot as if a bunch of firecrackers had just been lit under it. Out poured some of Old Bienville’s finest young scions: Ashley’s boyfriend, James Hardison III; Mallory’s pick of the week, Andrew Lancer; and this guy named Jules Dupree, who I vaguely recalled was Caroline’s cousin. Talk about blasts from the past. God, I think I danced with all three of them at cotillion back when we were all a foot shorter and a ton gawkier. If I remembered correctly, James was a quiet sort while Andrew was the alpha male. A loud, obnoxious kid always looking for some sort of trouble. Not unlike me, ha-ha-ha. Jules, I don’t know. Seemed like just another rich prepster with a lot of money and no real need to do anything to earn it.

  We were all in the middle of hellos and introductions when I heard a second vehicle pull up beside the SUV. Oh no. Suddenly, every cell in my body switched to vibrate. I recognized the sound of that diesel engine! It was a Mercedes sedan, circa 1970-something. I remembered the sound of that door slamming. I’d heard it a million times coming from 511 Magnolia Street when I first moved to Grandmother’s. He was here. I knew it. I sensed it moments before his Nike Zooms and his broad shoulders came around the back of the SUV. Before his golden locks popped into view. Before his now deepened man’s voice called out, “Hey, everybody!”

  Luke Churchville.

  All I could think was, Thank God I’m not wearing a Magnolia Maid dress.

  We used to play this game, Luke and I, when we were kids, in his attic at night where one of us would be It, and the other person would go stand and hide somewhere in the dark space. Except you wouldn’t hide, you’d just go to a part of the room and stand really, really still while It stumbled through the dark trying to locate Not-it from the sound of Not-its breath. We got the idea from watching Jodie Foster in Silence of the Lambs during that super-creepy scene where she’s trapped in the basement of the evil serial killer and he’s stalking her while wearing the night-vision goggles, reaching out to touch her hair and she doesn’t even know it. Ewwww. We did the same thing, only we didn’t have any night-vision goggles. We just had breath and sound and feel. Still. It was good and creepy.

  But now that Luke and I were actually breathing the same air—now that he wasn’t safely sheltered by the roof of his car as it drove by my house, or ensconced harmlessly three church pews away, I wondered if I remained motionless—really, really still—maybe he wouldn’t notice me and I wouldn’t have to deal. I could just sneak over to my car and hurry home to safety.

  But then Mallory bounded over and shrieked, “Jaaaaane! Oh my God! Look who’s heeeeee-re!”

  Great! Blow my cover, Mal, why don’t you?! Here I was trying to make myself invisible, and she dashes over to me, giddily playing matchmaker and RUINING MY LIFE! She dragged me the remaining six feet over to Luke. “Luke! You remember Jane! Y’all were neighbors! Luke’s going to be Zara’s dandy, isn’t that great!? Oh! Let me introduce you! Luke, Zara, Zara, Luke.”

  Luke and Zara politely shook hands.

  “Nice to meet you,” said Luke.

  “It’s nice of you to come out,” responded Zara.

  Mallory turned back to me. “Since Zara doesn’t know anyone in town, I suggested we recruit him, aren’t you thrilled?” Mallory beamed with pride at the result of her little scheme. “But Luke and Jane, y’all haven’t seen each other in ages! You’ve got catching up to do! Talk! Talk!” she ordered. Then she ran off, dragging Zara with her, leaving Luke and me completely and utterly alone.

  Now, as we all know, I usually have something to say about anything and everything, under any circumstances. But in this case, I was at a loss. A complete and total loss.

  Luke wasn’t. He twisted the cap off a bottle of water and downed a swig. “Oh yeah. Heard you were in town.”

  Hmmm. This was so not turning out to be my fantasy first encounter. “Yep! Here I am.”

  “Cool,” he said. Not cool. Ice cold. That’s how he was playing it.

  I cloaked myself in nonchalance. “I heard y’all are living out by the golf club these days.”

  “For about four years now.” Luke gulped down the rest of his water and looked beyond me. “Hey, Lancer! What are you doing with that shovel, man? This isn’t a sand castle-building contest!” And he was out of there.

  Alrighty then.

  Luckily, a sudden flurry of activity masked Luke’s tremendous diss and gave me a chance to try to regather my wits. Officers Meeks and Detroit from the Alabama Bay Watch showed up in a sleek, white truck, ready to dispense the rules of the game. Then JoeJoe’s monster truck got a lot of attention when it rolled into the lot. Brandi Lyn rushed over to him and immediately and enthusiastically introduced him to the whole crowd. They were polite, don’t get me wrong, but after a few exchanges of “Hey, so you work at EZ Lube” and “I sure do,” the conversation shriveled into a painful silence and the Old Bienvillites went back to their exclusive conversations about so-and-so’s upcoming kegger.

  Teddy Mac made his grand entrance, fashionably late in a totally beat-up old Saab and wearing a formerly bright green polo shirt and khakis that had seen better days, oh, about five years ago. What I love about the truly rich is that they don’t give a toot about showing their money. They don’t need to. Teddy worked the crowd with handshakes and hellos, then slinked up to me and glared. “When I agreed to be your dandy, Jane, this was not exactly what I signed up for. Tell me there’s some glamour in my future, please? Pretty please?”

  “Don’t worry, darling, I’m sure there’s a ball or two in your future.”

  “I’m certain there’s a ball or two in my future!” he whispered in my ear, making me laugh out loud. Thank God for Teddy Mac. He was like my own personal Advil, taking the pain out of the giant headache this day was turning out to be.


  Mr. Walter called us together, and Officer Meeks, the delegate from the Alabama Bay Watch, began his speech. “Okay, folks, let’s gather round! We’re gonna get started here! As y’all know, oil has not hit our part of the coastal region yet, but it can and probably will within the next few days. So, in anticipation of that future cleanup, we’re starting with a pre-cleanup.”

  Ashley batted her eyelashes at James. “I still think it would be a lot easier if we just hired a maid.”

  James shrugged. “I thought all y’all were the maids. The Magnolia Maids.”

  “Ah-ha-ha.”

  “It’s a lot easier to remove tar balls and tar patties later if the shore is cleared of debris first,” Officer Meeks continued.

  Andrew Lancer snickered. “He said ‘tar balls.’”

  OMG, what dandy academy did these yahoos graduate from? These guys were sooooo seventh grade. At least Teddy Mac whispered his ridiculous remarks in my ear.

  Mallory giggled and play-slapped her boy-toy on the arm. “Lancer!”

  “He said ‘patties,’ too,” Andrew replied, which made Mallory giggle even more. So it was definitely going to be that kind of day.

  Officer Meeks continued over the ruckus. “What I want y’all to do is to take these bags and collect anything that is not natural to the beach environment. Cups, plates, beer cans, bottles, toys, beach gear. You’ll be surprised what washes up onshore.”

  Ashley raised her hand. “Excuse me, this sounds a little dirty. And unsafe.”

  “Yes, it does. Thank you for making that point,” he responded. “Definitely this is dirty work, I can’t help that. But we want everyone to take safety precautions. I want gloves and sunhats on everyone.” He opened up a cardboard box full of wide-brimmed hats, the kind with the sunflap on the back—quel fashion choice!—and industrial work gloves. “Also, people. Believe it or not, one of the biggest safety risks today will be our hot Alabama sun. It will get you faster than a mosquito in August. Put on sunscreen. We’ll take breaks every thirty minutes, and I want everyone drinking a lot of water.”