The Secret Lives of the Kudzu Debutantes

by Cathy Holton

  “Ms. Pearson,” Virginia said, smiling grimly.

  The big woman nodded her head curtly. “Madame President,” she said.

  Really, Virginia would like to smack her. She'd like to wrap her fingers in that mop of red hair, pull her face down to eye level, and slap her repeatedly. They squared off in the middle of the yard, eyeing each other warily. Eadie, watching from the sidelines, thought they were a perfectly matched set, which was odd given the disparity in their physical sizes.

  Virginia broke away first. “Excuse me. I think I see someone I know,” she said in a cold, tinny voice.

  “Always a pleasure,” Grace said, moving off.

  Virginia continued on toward Eadie, who saw her coming and ducked her head, turning one shoulder slightly. Virginia pretended she didn't see this.

  “Yoohoo! Eadie!” she called gaily. “How are you?”

  “Hello, Virginia.” Eadie looked tired. Something around the eyes, Virginia noticed with satisfaction, a puffiness that promised to get worse with age.

  “Did you not bring your gorgeous husband with you?”

  “My gorgeous husband is at home,” Eadie said flatly. “In New Orleans. He couldn't make it.”

  “You tell him we're just so proud of him, with the book and all. He's our very own celebrity author.” No one had ever been able to figure out how Eadie had managed to bag and hang on to the most eligible bachelor in Ithaca. Sure, she was beautiful, but there were lots of beautiful girls around, and every one of them had a better pedigree than Eadie Wilkens, who had grown up in a trailer on the wrong side of town. Virginia looked her over carefully, trying to figure out Eadie's secret.

  “It's just so exciting,” Virginia murmured, sipping her drink. “Just think, to have had a famous writer living in our midst all these years and not even know it.”

  “Yeah, well, you never know how things will turn out,” Eadie said. She had one arm crossed over her stomach and the elbow of the other arm, the one holding her wineglass, rested lightly on it.

  “Did you not?” Virginia said, looking at her curiously. “Did you not know how things would work out?”

  Eadie cut her eyes at the older woman, trying to decide what she meant by this. For some reason it sounded vaguely insulting, and knowing Virginia, it was probably meant to be. Eadie sipped her wine and wished she had something stronger to drink. She wished she'd thought to make up a shaker of vodka martinis to bring with her. Or hell, she thought, glancing at Virginia, maybe even two shakers.

  Virginia crossed one little foot in front of the other. “If you could have looked into a crystal ball as a child,” she said dreamily, “wouldn't you have been surprised to see the way things turned out? Just like a fairy tale.”

  Eadie always did her best not to let Virginia rattle her, but today she felt strangely vulnerable. As if to make matters worse, Lee Anne Bales strolled by and Eadie turned her head, hoping Lee Anne hadn't seen her. Eadie had hated her since high school. She and Lee Anne were in the same home ec class, and Lee Anne was the one who had started the petition to have Eadie expelled from school after she managed to sew her finger to her apron and set fire to the simulated kitchen with her version of Tuna Surprise. The fire had only destroyed half the classroom, but it had done enough damage to cause cancellation of the Home Economics Cook Off, an annual tradition where the home ec girls donned homemade aprons and cooked and served meals to members of the Ithaca High football team. Being denied this opportunity to show off their educations hit the home ec girls hard. They got up a petition, signed by everyone but Nita, and Eadie was deemed an example of womanhood gone wrong, everything the home economics curriculum was trying desperately to stamp out, and she was suspended from school for three days. After that, Eadie got her revenge by thumbing her nose at Ithaca every chance she got, not the least of which was marrying Trevor Boone.

  Virginia watched Lee Anne disappear in the crowd. “It's gotten so no one will ever recognize a real bosom,” she said archly, “with all the false ones there are in the world today.” She looked down smugly at her own petite, well-rounded figure and then glanced at Eadie's chest. “Of course, you and I don't have to worry about false bosoms. We can be happy with what the good Lord gave us.” She was trying to draw Eadie in, and Eadie wondered why.

  “Look, Virginia, I didn't marry Trevor for his money, if that's what you're implying. I didn't marry him because I thought he'd be famous some day.”

  Virginia did her best to look horrified. “Oh dear, I've said the wrong thing,” she said, putting her fingers to her mouth. “Of course, I never meant to imply you married for money.”

  Eadie lifted her drink and said, “Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.”

  Virginia decided to ignore this remark. She smoothed the front of her suit jacket and scanned the crowd. After a minute she smiled and said, “Anyone who's ever met Trevor could see why you married him.”

  Eadie wondered what the woman was getting at. It was apparent she had some kind of agenda. Eadie sipped her wine, thinking about that time in the principal's office after the home ec fiasco when Lee Anne had broken down and cried and the principal had instantly sided with her. It was the thing Southern girls did when dealing with irate male authority figures. They broke down and cried and tried to look as small and helpless as possible. If Eadie had used the same tactic, she might have received nothing more than a slap on the wrist. But she had never been able to bring herself to grovel. Her stubborn, dry-eyed, stoicism had earned her the three-day suspension.

  Virginia watched Nita and Jimmy Lee dance by, doing some kind of modified two-step. Nita had her head thrown back and was laughing loudly. Virginia said, “I do hope Nita will be happy. I do hope this marriage will work out for her.”

  Eadie glanced at the older woman but her face seemed calm. Virginia's voice seemed a little sharp but her manner was composed and sincere. Eadie figured given other circumstances, Virginia might have been one of the greatest stage actresses of the twentieth century. She might have been a cold war spy capable of withstanding torture or sophisticated lie detector tests. “Speaking of marriage,” Eadie said, “how's Redmon?”

  Virginia's face shifted slightly, a ripple occurred just beneath the veneer of calm composure. But when she looked at Eadie, Virginia's eyes were smooth and blue as colored glass. “Isn't it wonderful,” she said brightly, “to have finally found your true soul mate?”

  She was good. Eadie would give her that. A mist seemed to have formed over Virginia's eyes, a trembling veil of unshed tears. Eadie looked away. Any expression of strong sentiment made her uncomfortable. Eadie never cried. If she had given way to tears during her wretched childhood, she would have cried herself blind by now.

  Virginia sniffed and ran one well-manicured finger lightly beneath her damp eyes. She waved at someone she knew across the yard. “But of course you already know about soul mates,” she said to Eadie, “married to Trevor and all. I mean, the Boone boys just ooze charm.”

  Eadie clutched her drink and looked at Virginia curiously. “Boone boys?” she said.

  It was Virginia's turn to flush. “Trevor's father, Hampton, was a handsome man, too. But you probably don't remember him.” She turned slightly to look at the assembled wedding guests. Eadie was quiet for a moment, considering this. Her wine was almost gone and when the drink was finished, she decided, this conversation was, too. “How's Charles?” she asked, trying to change the subject.

  Virginia took her time answering. She sipped her drink. Her cheeks turned a slight shade of pink. “Why, Charles is fine,” she said finally. “He's been dating a girl from Valdosta. An accountant. She's got a small child, a boy I think, about ten years old. I don't know if anything will come of it, of course. But I hope it will. Charles was always so good with children.”

  Eadie shuddered. She thought, Poor kid. She thought, Poor lady accountant.

  “We're thinking about going skiing in March and he's talking about bringing the accountant and her son. Out west s
omewhere. Maybe Park City. Maybe Crested Butte.”

  Eadie finished her drink.

  “Of course Charles hasn't been out West since that last hunting trip. The one they all took last year. Does Trevor ever mention that trip?”

  “Never.”

  “I guess he wouldn't since he came back early.” Virginia looked down at her glass. “Since he came back before all the fun and games started. Those bad boys, those little rascals.” She smiled indulgently, like she was describing a slumber party for ten-year-olds.

  Eadie yawned and pushed herself upright. “Well, Virginia, it's been nice talking to you. I think I'll go see if Lavonne needs a hand.”

  “Of course Trevor was there for all the other trips. It was a tradition started by the Judge, you know. A trip where men get to do manly things and leave all the cares and worries of work behind them. I always encouraged the Judge to go. He was in such a good mood when he got home! Still, I have often wondered what men get up to when they're playing at being boys. I always wanted to be a fly on the wall.” She put her hand over her mouth and giggled conspiratorially, her face becoming pink and childlike. “I've often wondered what shenanigans they got up to. Haven't you always wondered, Eadie? Haven't you always wanted to go along? Haven't you always wished …”

  “Look, Virginia, if you want to know what happened, why don't you just ask your new husband. He was there.”

  Virginia stiffened. A cloud passed suddenly over the sun, darkening the yard and bringing with it a cool breeze off the water. “Yes, I know that,” she said shortly. “I know he was there.”

  Eadie noted Virginia's discomfort. She grinned suddenly. “I thought soul mates told each other everything,” she said.

  Virginia stared at her steadily for several seconds, her face becoming less soft and childlike and more like a slab of granite. She poured the rest of her drink out on the ground. “Oh, I'll find out what happened,” she said briskly, squaring her little shoulders. “You can bet on it.”

  Eadie shrugged. “Good luck with that,” she said. She turned, and moved off through the crowd.

  Virginia watched her go, a tense expression on her face. Her eyes flattened out over the crowd of revelers and then grew sharp as pitchfork prongs as they settled on the hapless Redmon, who, unaware of his wife's piercing gaze, trundled by with Loretta James wrapped in his arms.

  VIRGINIA SAW HER GRANDSON LATER, STANDING AT THE EDGE OF the crowd, watching the band play. Public school had obviously not been good for Logan. He was dressed all in black—black pants, black T-shirt, a black leather jacket, and his hair was dyed a deep purple color. He was with a lovely girl, a breathtakingly beautiful girl, who reminded Virginia of herself as a young woman. Startled, she realized it was her granddaughter, Whitney, who, over the nine months since Virginia saw her last, had metamorphosed from a chubby adolescent into a slim-waisted swan. It was too late for Logan, of course, but Whitney showed signs of promise. Virginia imagined herself taking the girl under her wing. She imagined tea parties and shopping trips to Atlanta. Virginia had always thought she would make a better mother to a daughter than she had made to a son. If only fate had worked to her advantage. She pulled herself up straight, and watched the girl, her lips pursed. With the right guidance Whitney might yet make something of herself. Her eyes narrowed. Her breathing slowed. She stared at her granddaughter, feeling a slight tremor of excitement.

  Virginia had suddenly realized what shape her revenge would take.

  THE DAY AFTER THE WEDDING EADIE WOKE UP EARLY, BORROWED Lavonne's car, and drove out to the office supply store at the mall. She bought herself a sketchbook and some charcoal pencils and then she dropped the car off at Lavonne's and walked down to the River Park and sat and sketched families throwing Frisbees, families picnicking in the sun and Rollerblading along the concrete sidewalks. She hadn't worked in nearly eighteen months but today it just poured out of her. She filled page after page of the sketchbook.

  Around twelve-thirty, Lavonne called. “Hey, where are you?” she said, still sounding sleepy.

  “I'm down at the River Park, sketching.”

  “Sketching? Really? Stay right there. I'll go by the store and pick up a couple of double lattes and some cream cheese muffins and meet you there.” Lavonne was happy to have the day off. The deli was closed on Sundays and Mondays. Usually she just sat around working on her laptop, but Eadie was flying back to New Orleans tomorrow so Lavonne was glad to spend the day with her.

  Eadie put her cell phone down and thumbed slowly through the sketch book, amazed at the work she had done. It was as if something inside her had suddenly let down like rainwater through a clogged gutter. Eadie didn't believe in therapy but she could imagine a therapist making much of her sudden flow of creativity. She could imagine a guy who looked like Freud saying, Go back to your hometown and find out why it is the source of your unhappiness. Find out why you feel disconnected and disjointed when you are away from it.

  Far out on the river a barge passed, its metal decks gleaming in the sun. Swallows darted in the deep blue sky. Eadie thumbed through the sketchbook and tried not to think about Trevor.

  Driving through the outskirts of Ithaca a few days ago, she had felt the baggage of her childhood settle through her like sediment. It had stunned her to feel that old familiar feeling of dread returning. She had made Lavonne turn right on Tuckertown Road and drive slowly through the Shangri-La Trailer Park, past the lot where the Wilkenses' trailer had stood, past the sandy creek bank where Eadie had sat as a child and dreamed of a life better than the one she had.

  Trevor was responsible for all this somehow. She wasn't quite sure how, but it was easier to blame him than it was to crash through all the barricades she had long ago erected inside herself. He was the one who'd insisted they could go away and start over again. It had been easy for him. He'd had every opportunity: money, looks, family connections, a safe and happy childhood. Talent. It was hard loving someone so damn perfect.

  Eadie saw Lavonne's car pull into the parking lot and a few minutes later, Lavonne was crossing the lawn, carrying the double lattes in a cardboard tray with one hand, and the bag of cream cheese muffins in the other.

  “Hey, look at you,” Lavonne said, sitting down on the bench. “You're working again.”

  Eadie closed her sketchbook. A slight sheen of perspiration glistened across her forehead. She looked tired but happy. “It just came over me,” she said, reaching for one of the lattes. “I got up this morning and knew I had to work.” She took the plastic lid off the coffee and sipped carefully. “I think it has something to do with this place,” she said, looking around the crowded park.

  “I know, isn't it great? They finished it right after you moved to New Orleans.”

  “No. I don't mean the park. I mean Ithaca. I mean running into Virginia and Lee Anne Bales at the wedding. It has something to do with conflict. I need conflict to work.”

  “What,” Lavonne said, opening the sack of muffins, “you don't get enough conflict married to Trevor?” She offered one to Eadie.

  Eadie shook her head sadly. “We don't fight like we used to,” she said. “He's always working. And when he's working, he's happy.”

  Lavonne chewed slowly and stared at her for several minutes. “You poor thing,” she said. “Your husband's happy and you don't fight anymore. How do you stand it?”

  Eadie made a wry face and sipped her coffee. “It's hard to explain,” she said. “It's complicated.”

  She had met him her freshman year at the University of Georgia, where he was a second-year law student. They were from the same small town but Trevor was six years older and he came from money and the land-owning aristocracy. Eadie came from people who had only recently embraced the joys of indoor plumbing, people whose idea of moving up was a double- wide trailer instead of a single-wide.

  Their attraction for each other smoldered for a few weeks and then erupted into a blazing love affair, more like a wildfire than a controlled burn. She met him in S
eptember and by Thanksgiving he had proposed. Eadie was aware that everyone in Ithaca thought she married him for his money, but the truth was, this never occurred to her. She married him because she had never met anyone like him. Until Trevor Boone, she had never met anyone she felt had the stamina, courage, and strength of character to survive loving her. Not to mention his all-American good looks and the fact that he was an absolute pervert in bed. Eadie was crazy about him and would have married him if he'd been penniless. The family name and money was just a bonus.

  His mother, horrified, put her foot down but it did no good. The wedding was held at a small Episcopal chapel near the UGA campus, and Maureen Boone attended because she could not bear for the rest of Ithaca to gossip about Boone family squabbles. She could not air the family linen in public. Still, she could, and did, sit in the front pew sobbing so loudly the priest had to raise his voice to be heard. When this didn't work, she fainted. Eadie, looking over at her prone mother-in-law, thought grimly, So that's how it's going to be. Trevor, accustomed to his mother's histrionics, smiled calmly at the rector, and in a deep voice said, “Proceed.”

  “There's a solution to your problem,” Lavonne said. “It's called therapy.”

  “Therapy's for whiners and weaklings,” Eadie said. “Therapy's for poor slobs who don't know how to make a good vodka martini.”

  A slight breeze blew across the river, bringing with it the scent of fish. Over by the picnic pavilion a young man took out a guitar and began to play. Lavonne pulled another muffin out of the bag. She chewed thoughtfully and watched the sunlight playing along the surface of the river. “I guess I'm just caught up in the irony of your situation,” she said to Eadie. “It's what you always wanted. To get away from Ithaca. To make Trevor be faithful to you and his art.” She looked at Eadie. “And he has been faithful, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “So what's the problem?”

  Eadie tapped the rim of her latte with her fingernails. “Like I said, be careful what you wish for.”