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

by Crickett Rumley

  The light turned green and Zara put her foot on the gas. We resumed our drive down Country Club Road, and all was well until Zara’s skirt suddenly flew up behind her and knocked her bonnet over her eyes!

  “Oh no, I can’t see!” she yelled. The car swerved back and forth across the road as she fought off the lace and taffeta covering her face.

  We screamed in terror.

  “Ahhhhh!”

  “Oh my God! Oh my God!”

  “We’re gonna die!”

  “Oh my God, we’re gonna die!”

  “Lord, please don’t let us die, please don’t let us die, please don’t let us die!”

  “Jane, take the steering wheel!” Zara cried.

  I darted forward to grab it, but I was tipsy, remember, so we were still careening a bit out of control. And I guess my sudden move forward must have loosened my hoopskirt, because out of nowhere it flew in my face, so I couldn’t see, either! I panicked, shouting, “Help! Help!” I jerked the wheel by accident and all of a sudden the Escalade jumped the curb. “Zara, stop the car! Now!” I yelled.

  Zara slammed on the brakes, or tried to. “I can’t! My skirt’s caught under the pedal!”

  “Kick it out of the way!” I yelled.

  “I’m trying!” But that clearly wasn’t working.

  “Stand on the brake then!”

  Miraculously, Zara was able to lift herself straight and press all her weight on the brake pedal, and finally we screeched to a swerving, gut-wrenching halt.

  We froze in stunned silence. After a moment, Brandi Lyn lifted her eyes to heaven. “Oh, most benevolent God,” she said with a slur. “Thank you, thank you, thank you for letting us live.”

  “Amen,” we Maids replied in unison.

  Alas, that’s when we heard the sound of the siren.

  It began normally enough, our pull-over. We flipped out, of course, when we realized the siren and the lights were for us, because a) we were all drunk as hell (except Zara), b) the SUV had jumped a curb at Le Moyne Park and come to a stop terribly close to the duck pond, and c) there was enough liquor in the car to service a Mardi Gras float. Everyone rushed to stash the bottles under seats, in the glove compartment, in the way backseat with Brandi Lyn. As the cop approached the driver’s-side window, Mallory grabbed the cocktail shaker out of Ashley’s hands and frantically searched for the lid. “Where is it? Where is it?” With mere seconds to spare before the officer arrived, I told her to shove the cocktail shaker between her feet and keep still.

  “What about the smell?”

  “Put something over it!”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know, your skirt!”

  As the officer got closer and closer, Brandi Lyn suddenly retched. “Y’all? I’m feeling a little… queasy.”

  “Just keep it together,” I said. “We’ll be out of this in no time.”

  By the time the knock of authority sounded on the driver’s-side window, we had composed ourselves into the cheeriest group of Magnolia Maids anybody ever saw in their life. “Hello, Officer,” we chimed as he leaned down to ask Zara for her license and registration. Officer Unfriendly was clearly not playing along with our perky little game—he frowned when he saw that Zara had to ask Ashley where the registration was. He frowned again when he saw that her driver’s license was from DC. “You’re not from around here, are you, young lady?”

  “No, sir. My family moved here a few months ago.”

  “You realize that you’re supposed to update your license within ten days of change of address?”

  “Uh, no, sir. I did not.”

  “I could give you a citation right now.”

  “I apologize, sir, I’ll take care of it first thing Monday morning.”

  “You do that.” He stared at her, his eyes laser beams burning through her skin. Then he aimed his spotlight into the car, highlighting us one by one.

  “Hi, Officer,” I said when his light got to me. “We are Bienville’s new Magnolia Court. You’ve heard of us, right?” He didn’t look too excited, but at least he nodded. “Well, we’re just coming home from our very first Magnolia Court event, and well, we’ve been having some wardrobe malfunctions.” I explained what had happened with my and Zara’s skirts and how we had ended up jumping the curb into the park. “But we’re fine. Everybody’s okay.” I gave him my brightest Southern belle smile. “Except for having to wear these super-awkward outfits.”

  “Y’all, I’m gonna throw up!” Brandi Lyn clawed to get out of the back of the Escalade. “Somebody help me out of here!”

  Great. Perfect timing for ruining my cover story. I attempted to bat my eyelashes at the officer. “Poor Brandi Lyn, she hasn’t been feeling so good tonight.”

  “Y’all! Help!”

  I jumped out of the front seat and ran to the back and ripped open the door… just in time to receive the bountiful gift of Brandi Lyn’s vomit all over my bodice. “Ewww!” I screamed.

  “Oh, Jane, I’m sorry, so sorry!” And she puked again, but this time only on my skirt. Thank God.

  Officer Unfriendly beamed his light back on Zara. “Get out of the car, please.” Officer Unfriendly made Zara do the walking test, the one where you have to follow a straight line, then hold your arms out and touch your nose. She passed it with flying colors, thank goodness. Meanwhile, Caroline found a beach towel in the backseat and handed it to me so I could dab the vomit off my chest.

  “Okay, young lady,” Officer Unfriendly said to Zara as she got back in the car. “Get this vehicle cranked and turned around.”

  Mallory gasped. “Oh no! You’re taking us to jail!”

  He shook his head. “No. Suspicious and ridiculous as this situation is, I’m gonna let you girls off.” He raised a threatening eyebrow. “This time.”

  The sighs of relief in the Escalade were so enormous, our sea of dresses ebbed and flowed like a taffeta tidal wave.

  The biggest sigh of all came from Caroline. “Thank you, Officer! God bless you, Officer!”

  “But,” he continued, “I’m gonna make sure you get home without any more incidents. So get this vehicle cranked and let’s go.”

  “Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!” Zara started the engine, and our night probably would have ended there, except…

  “Wait, follow us home?” I gave the officer a super-fake smile. “Actually, Officer, that won’t be necessary.”

  He leaned down and scowled at me.

  “Jane, please.” Zara shook her head.

  “No, Zara, there’s no need for him to follow us.”

  “Jane, forget about it. Let’s just go back to Mizz Upton’s and call it a night.”

  But in my mind we’d done nothing wrong. “But we’re fine, Zara. We don’t need a police escort.”

  Zara’s eyes pleaded with me to shut up. “The nice officer is just making sure we get home safely. So let’s let him.”

  “But we have to finish our mission for the day,” Ashley called from the middle of the backseat. “Excuse me, Officer! We have something we have to do.”

  “You’ll do it tomorrow, then,” Officer Unfriendly replied. “You girls are a menace to society driving around in those dresses, and I want you home where you belong NOW. Before you jump any more curbs. Or worse.”

  But that Ashley, she wasn’t having it. She leaned across Mallory to yell out the driver’s-side window, “But Officer, we have official Magnolia Maid business! If my uncle, the sponsor of the program, the head of the chamber of commerce, hears about you stopping us, you are going to be officially in trouble!”

  Oh no. It was so obvious that the “do you know who I am routine” was pissing off the officer. But the thing that really threw him over the edge was that she leaned over to wag her finger at him, getting into Mallory’s face, so Mallory jumped back, which caused her to kick over the cocktail shaker and send its contents streaming across the Escalade’s floor. Within seconds, the air reeked of vodka and Grand Marnier, and Officer Unfriendly’s nostrils came to serious
attention.

  “No, young lady,” he said. “You are officially in trouble. Everybody out of the car. We’re going downtown.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  I think it’s pretty safe to say that the Bienville County Jail had never seen anything like the sight of six little Magnolia Maids, in varying stages of Magnolia dress, trudging in to the county jail. Swish, swish, swish. The officers at the front desk stared, the good citizens filing reports gawked, the folks bailing out their loved ones gaped. Bonnets are very useful, it turns out, for covering your face when you’re doing the most humiliating walk of shame ever.

  As we were escorted into Cell Block 3, two “ladies of the evening,” who had been picked up earlier in the red-light district, greeted us from the next cell over.

  “What the hell?” asked Lady One, eyeing our ridiculous getups. “Y’all come through some time travel machine or something? Which a’ you is Scarlett?”

  Lady Two shook her head. “Uh-uh-uh,” she uttered, looking at Zara. “Girl, what you doing wearing that plantation dress? Shoot.”

  Thank God they put us in our own cell.

  Having had a few run-ins like this before, I knew our situation wasn’t as bad as it could have been. I tried to cheer up my completely down, suddenly sober crowd. “At least they didn’t book us.”

  No one responded.

  “Seriously, y’all. They didn’t take our mug shots, didn’t fingerprint us. We should be happy.”

  “Shooooot,” drawled Lady Two from the other cell. “She right. Y’all fine, long’s they don’t fingerprint you.”

  Caroline spoke from the corner of our cell. “It doesn’t matter. My mother’s still going to kill me.”

  “She’s going to kill all of us,” added Mallory. “There’s never been a Maid arrested before! Not even during the civil rights marches of the sixties!”

  “Look on the bright side. We’ll definitely go down in history, then.” I snorted. Gallows humor.

  Mallory looked like she was going to burst into tears. “It’s not funny!” she cried.

  “Oh my God, my scholarship! Sorry, Lord.” Brandi Lyn’s hand flew to her chest and she looked heavenward in apology. “No one gives scholarships to girls who have been arrested! How am I going to pay for college?”

  I heaved a sigh. “Clearly, you girls haven’t been in trouble much. Let me break it down for you. The City of Bienville can’t afford to have the pristine Magnolia Maid name sullied. They can’t afford to let this go on our permanent record. It would be a humiliation to them. They’re gonna let us go with a hand slap, I will bet you money.”

  “I’d bet on that,” called Lady Two from the next cell. “Bunch a’ white girls ain’t gonna have no problems getting their sorry selves out a’ trouble. Hey, sugar, you wanna spare a smoke?” Of course I handed her a cigarette. We were going to need allies if we were going to be in jail long.

  Zara glared at me. “Excuse me, Miss America’s Most Wanted,” she spat. “But do you have a crystal ball hidden underneath that antebellum dress forecasting the outcome of this situation? I’m sorry, but I think the rest of us are a little worried here.”

  “Worried? Who’s worried?” I asked.

  “I am.” Mallory furrowed her brow.

  “Me!” Brandi Lyn raised her hand.

  Caroline scratched at her arm. “I have hives.”

  “Can I ask you something?” Zara asked.

  I shrugged. Might as well.

  “Did you even think about me? About how I felt? Or any of us? Because if you had, you might have thought about how terrified I was. I nearly wrecked back there! And then when I heard that siren. I was the one driving the car! I was shaking to death! All I wanted to do was get out of there and go home and then he was gonna let us and you had to go and pick a fight!”

  “What do you mean pick a fight?” I spluttered. “I was just saying we didn’t need an escort! Ashley’s the one who pissed him off!”

  “Well, I would expect that from Miss Name-Dropper-Holier-Than-Thou over there, but you? I thought you had more sense than to pick a fight with a cop! But then that’s your specialty, isn’t it? Picking fights.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Oh, please. I don’t pick fights.”

  “That’s all you do.”

  “No I don’t.”

  “Well, you kinda do.”

  I swiveled around to find Brandi Lyn actually agreeing with Zara. “What? How?”

  “Well, remember how you wouldn’t let me quit when Mizz Upton said I should? And then you declared war on her? That’s kind of picking a fight, isn’t it?”

  Caroline nodded. “And you tried to get me to change my queen vote to Brandi Lyn as part of your ongoing fight with Ashley.”

  “You get into a fight with Ashley every chance you get,” said Mallory.

  “Except tonight,” replied Zara. “When the two of you actually joined forces to insist we go find those lame boys!”

  “Zara, I…” I went silent. I was what? Sorry? Tipsy? Annoyed? Misunderstood? Some combination of all the above?

  “You done it now, girl!” cackled Lady One from the next cell. “Gone crazy after boys! You should be ashamed of yo’self.” She pointed at my silver earrings. “You wanna let me have those earrings? They sure is pretty!”

  I shook my head. “You know what, you guys? That’s not fair! How can you say I’m just all about picking fights? I have worked really hard for the Magnolia Maids! I spearheaded the fund-raiser idea. And I’ve been there for you all personally, too! Brandi Lyn, I got you that makeover, and Caroline, I tried to cheer you up about your mother, and Mallory, well, I gave you advice on how to deal with the Ashley/Jimmy/Katherine situation. I think y’all should be a little more appreciative of me!”

  Somewhere in the middle of that, Ashley’s mouth hit the floor. “What? Jane, you gave Mallory advice?” She whirled on Mallory. “You knew? And you asked Jane about it? You told me you had no idea!”

  Uh-oh.

  “Well, I… I… I…,” Mallory stammered.

  “You kept that information from me? And let me suffer the worst humiliation of my life?”

  “I wanted to tell you, I really did!”

  “How could you not?”

  “I was scared.”

  “Scared? Of what?” Ashley screamed, sounding scary.

  Mallory shrunk back against the wall. “I love you to death, Ash, but you’re always so… Everything’s such a big deal with you.”

  “What do you mean ‘everything’s such a big deal’ with me?” Ashley screeched, making a big deal of everything. Mallory zipped her lip. But it was too late. The lid to Pandora’s box was off and Ashley was not, I repeat not, backing down. Mallory soon found herself tearfully confessing that there was indeed some truth to what James had said that night on the bay. Everything always had to go Ashley’s way and the fits she threw when it didn’t were known the whole state over. Ashley denied it, of course, saying that Mallory was overreacting, which spurred Mallory on to a dissection of the history of Ashley’s demands starting with part 1: The Ken and Barbie Years, through to part 7: Birth of a Magnolia Maid.

  Mallory’s venting was like lice in kindergarten—contagious. While she built up steam with each installment of the Ashley Must Have Her Way Show, Zara laid into me even more for not backing down and letting her handle the cop situation as she saw fit.

  Brandi Lyn tried to play diplomat. “Y’all! Stop it! We’re supposed to be sisters in Magnolia Maid love!”

  Everyone groaned.

  “If we were ever sisters, it’s all over now!” Ashley retorted.

  “Y’all, hush!” Caroline begged. “We’re going to get in even more trouble!”

  “How?” Zara replied. “We’re already in prison! What else can they do to us?”

  At that moment, Mallory shouted, “AND I already had a dress picked out for tryouts when you e-mailed us saying we had to coordinate and that pink was your color! I wanted to wear pink! But nooooooo, Ashley had to get her
way and wear pink!”

  Oh, wow. Had Ashley really sent that memo straight out of my devious imagination? Of course she had.

  Then, above the chaos, a little voice wailed. “I have to quit the Magnolia Maids!”

  Girl by girl, we all turned to the source of the cry: Brandi Lyn.

  “What?”

  “Huh?”

  “Why?”

  Through tablespoons of tears, Brandi Lyn blubbered out that making the dress herself had turned into a disaster of epic proportion. “Have y’all ever tried to sew on taffeta?”

  We all shook our heads. Not a one of us knew how to sew.

  “It’s impossible! First, it was taking forever, and what with all the extra hours I’ve been putting in at the Krawfish Shack to pay for the fabric, I simply could not find the time to work on it! But then I was up late sewing the other night, and I was half asleep and I made a mistake and made a mess of the ruffles on the skirt, and, and ruined yards and yards of fabric.” She started gasping for air. “And I’ll have to start all over again and buy new material, but there’s no way I can afford it. So I’m going to have to quit!”

  “So that’s why you’ve been throwing back the cosmos all evening,” I said.

  “I’m sorry, y’all,” wept Brandi Lyn. “I’m so sorry. Caroline, you’ll have to take my place.”

  Caroline leapt off the jail bench. “No, what? No!” She swayed precariously.

  “Oh, don’t faint, Caroline. We’ve already done that once.” Brandi Lyn and I rushed to her side and helped her sit back down.

  “You can’t quit, Brandi Lyn! I can’t be a Magnolia Maid!”

  “You can! You’re beautiful! You’ll be great!” Brandi Lyn tried to keep a brave face, but her lip was trembling like a California earthquake.

  “I’ll faint. I’ll fall down!” Caroline’s arms and chest turned red and blotchy. Poor thing, now she really did have hives! “I’ll look like a whale in the dress!”

  “We all will,” I said, not very helpfully.

  “People will laugh at me. My mother will yell at me. Oh my God, my mother.” She didn’t even have to go into detail on that one. We knew what she meant. “Please. Please, y’all. You can’t let Brandi Lyn quit. I’m begging you.”