by Lisa Patton
We look at each other and laugh. Then he leans over again like he wants to continue the interview. “There’s one more thing I’d like to add.”
Holding the “mic” back toward him I say, “Yes, Mr. Haynes Woodcock. Please do continue. You are very handsome, by the way.”
“Thank you, Ms. Katie Couric, you are extremely beautiful yourself.” Looking straight ahead at the car in front, he clears his throat, then leans in closer. “Oxford may have had its trials and controversies over the years, but I can assure you it’s one of the best small towns in America.”
Ironically, at that very moment, I spy the bronze statue of William Faulkner sitting on a bench near City Hall. “Why, you must be speaking of the silly hubbub over the Faulkner statue.”
“I had forgotten about that one but, yes, you are correct: that was inane … in my opinion, anyway.” Haynes grins and I melt all over again at the sight of his luscious dimples.
About twenty years ago, a local artist was commissioned to sculpt the statue. The $50,000 project was paid for with both private and public funds, but no one could agree on a place to put it. There was a bit of an outcry when the mayor ordered that an old magnolia tree be cut down to make room for the statue in front of City Hall. Twenty-five people held a memorial service for that magnolia tree. They even laid a black wreath at the stump.
“If not the statue, to which controversy were you referring?”
“Actually, I’d rather not comment. I prefer to let negativity die. I’ll finish this interview by saying, it’s always something in Mississippi.”
I withdraw the mic and place my hand back in my lap. I know exactly what he’s talking about. “I hate to rebirth negativity, but whatever happened to those kids?”
He sucks in a breath, exhales loudly. “Last I heard only one’s going to jail. The second guy cooperated with the prosecution, pled guilty, and was given a year’s probation. The third was never charged.”
“What’s fair about that?”
He simply shakes his head without commenting.
A few years ago, three college guys put a noose around the James Meredith statue. That despicable stunt almost killed Haynes. He was on the University committee that had worked to erect it in honor of the fortieth anniversary of the admission of the first black man to Ole Miss.
It’s always something, all right. Now my thinking shifts to the money I owe Mama and the terrible predicament I’ve gotten myself into. It was the dumbest decision of my life. My desire for Ellie to have a transcendent college experience has caused me to lie to the person I love most. But I’m determined to pay it off before he finds out. “By the way, I’ve decided to get a job as soon as Rush is over,” I say. “To help pay for Heart’s sorority dues.”
“That’s great, babe. Proud of you.”
“If I take it now, I’ll have to give up the advisor position. What do you think?”
“Whatever makes you happy. Have you thought about where you want to work?”
“Well, considering I’m fifty-eight and haven’t worked a real job since the kids were born, I’m thinking about that store where Vicki works—What’s Hot. You know that pale green sweater you love on me?”
He nods.
“I got it there. She thinks she can hire me.”
“That’s great, honey. Why don’t you work part-time? Even that would be a big help.”
There’s talk Haynes’s law firm may be hired by the family of a former UPS employee who was killed on the job, but who knows when or if that will happen. And considering the new tunic I’m wearing cost another two hundred dollars, on top of the money for my new booties and the ten thousand I owe Mama, working part-time is not an option.
*
Driving onto campus always gives me a warm nostalgic feeling, no matter how many times I do it. First of all—and maybe I’m biased—I think it’s the most beautiful campus in America. The old buildings with their rich histories, the monuments, the Grove, the grand sorority and fraternity houses, even the smell of the place—it all makes me happy. Haynes and I both love it so much. We’re making Ole Miss one of the beneficiaries of our estate—if there’s one left after I’ve finished paying Mama back.
“Haynes! I see a spot.” I point frantically down a hill with a grassy area that’s been turned into a parking lot on the outskirts of campus. “Hurry before someone gets it.”
“Great eye.” He whips to the right, rolls down his window. “How much?” He asks the guy taking the money.
The fellow leans in with a wad of cash in his hand. “Twenty bucks.”
Haynes turns to me. “A casualty of growth,” he says, then hands the man our money.
After pulling down the visor, I flip open the mirror and apply lipstick. “It’s going to be a tight—” Suddenly, we bounce hard in our seats, “Fit.” He’s looking at me with a barely contained snicker. I turn from him back to the mirror and see an amber-colored line between the top of my lip and the bottom of my nose. We both explode with laughter.
Despite the pothole, Haynes expertly manages to maneuver our Expedition into the parking spot. With his hand on the gearshift he turns to me, squeezes his lips together. “Just so you know, I’ll have one beer at the Whitmore tent. That’s it.”
My shoulders slump in disappointment. I’m just sure it’s the hottest ticket in town. Why doesn’t he see that? “You told me that already,” I say. Then, gripping the door handle, I turn to him with a pleading face. “Lilith says it’ll be really nice. Trust me, the food will be incredible.”
“I have no doubts about that, but I’m not interested in spending my whole day off with the Whitmores.” He glances at his watch. “It’s eleven now. Let’s stop by Frank and Judy’s, then we’ll meet Ellie and Cali at the Whitmores’ at one. That’s the time you told her, right?”
“Yes, but I thought we could get there earlier to have lunch.”
He reaches out, clutches my wrist. “You know how I feel about them.”
I do know how he feels about them, but I like Lilith. Sure, she’s bossy and overbearing, I suppose, but she’s Ellie’s roommate’s mother. And she’s gone out of her way to be nice to all of us.
“Frank and Judy will have good food,” he says. “They always do.”
I nod in reluctant agreement, and we get out of the car.
As we’re walking up the hill, perspiration building with each step, I stop suddenly. Hot and out of breath, I say, “Do I look snappy casual?”
Haynes curls his lip, then laughs out loud. “That’s random. What the heck are you talking about?”
I stop, look down at my white jeans, new booties and new top, breathing heavily. “It’s the dress code for the Whitmore party. According to Lilith, that’s how the British say it.”
Wearing one of his signature saucy expressions, he glances down, scanning his attire—blue jeans, tennis shoes, and a red golf shirt. “By George, I jolly well suppose I’ll have to stay at Frank and Judy’s then,” he says in a British accent. “Do enjoy yourself, dahling.”
I don’t even have enough breath to comment. By the time we get to the top I’m soaked and nearly wheezing, but I push on. My hair is frizzed out to the max. Reluctantly, I tie it back with the ponytail holder I always keep wrapped around my wrist. Haynes notices, and with an amused smile says, “I love you, Wilda.”
Twenty minutes later, we finally see the edge of the Grove. Haynes stops moving when we round the corner, pausing to take it all in. “Would you look at that.”
A red, white, and blue tent city is laid out before us, ten acres of American patriotism under a canopy of live oaks, magnolias, and elms. Every inch of earth is crawling with football fans who love to party. Nothing is more fun or more Americana. You could tailgate in the Grove every fall for the rest of your life and never begin to see it all. Each tent is different, some decorated with themes, some fancy, some not, but it’s pretty much guaranteed that the food inside any and all of them will be delicious.
We spend the first h
our and a half with Frank and Judy. They’ve been hosting Grove parties for the last twenty years and always have plenty of good food and drink. But as sweet and hospitable as they are, the whole time we’re here I keep imagining Lilith’s face. And how she’ll be wondering where we are. Knowing Haynes only wants to stay for one beer is giving me pre-diarrhea.
TWENTY-FIVE
CALI
When we walk into the Whitmores’ tent, at about twelve fifteen, I can feel my eyes practically pop out of their sockets. Seriously, I’m not exaggerating. This place doesn’t look a thing like the other tents we’ve passed. It’s … well, besides Ellie and Annie Laurie’s room, it’s the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen. The space is ginormous and there’s even a crystal chandelier. And the food. Oh my gosh, the food. Just the smell of it makes me salivate. Uniformed workers are walking around passing little bites to all of the guests. All of a sudden I’m so hungry I want to run off with one of the trays and eat every single morsel myself.
Mrs. Whitmore, who is wearing an outfit straight from a fashion magazine, is talking with a group of women who are dressed up almost as lovely as she is. She sees us and hurries over.
“Annie Laurie, you look gorgeous. Turn around and let me see your hair.” Annie Laurie spins a small circle and I watch Mrs. Whitmore study her daughter’s entire body, spending most of the time on her feet. Her tone shifts. “I told you there’s a chance of rain today, Annie Laurie. I hope those pretty suede booties make it through.”
Annie Laurie simply shrugs.
“Oh well. If you ruin them don’t come crying to me.” Ellie and I stand there in awkward silence. Just when I feel like it can’t get any weirder, Mrs. Whitmore finally acknowledges us. “Hello, girls. Don’t you both look nice?” She briefly eyes us up and down.
We smile and tell her thank you.
“You look so pretty, Mrs. Whitmore,” I say. “Is that your Alpha Delt pin?”
Reaching up to finger it, she gives me a saucy smile. “Yes indeed. I don’t go anywhere on this campus without it.” She lowers her voice to a whisper. “I’m a former president.”
“My mom told me you were,” Ellie says. “That’s cool.”
“My blood runs true blue. I’m a third generation Alpha Delta Beta. And hopefully Annie Laurie will be the fourth.”
Ignoring her mother’s comment, Annie Laurie tugs on the front of my dress. “Cali’s wearing Ellie’s dress. Doesn’t it look good on her?”
Now it’s me Mrs. Whitmore is studying. Thoroughly. And it makes me feel super uneasy. “It sure does. I saw the rec Mrs. Woodcock wrote for you, Cali.” She crosses her arms and a smile builds slowly. “That was very kind of her. I’m sure you’ve written her a nice thank-you note?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m very grateful,” I say.
“Ever since I read it I’ve been curious about something. Tell me, what is your given name?”
“Ma’am?”
“Your real name. Surely it’s not Cali. It must be short for something?”
I freeze. She’s caught me so off-guard. Ellie and Annie Laurie both turn to look at me. Unable to speak, I just shake my head.
“Cali’s your real name?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Mrs. Whitmore tilts her head curiously like she knows better. “The spelling is sooo … unique. It looks like it was shortened from California.” She chuckles. “But what do I know?”
Her smug expression makes me think she does know it’s California, but how could she? Unless she knows someone from Blue Mountain who’s known my family since I was little. And what are the odds of that?
I’m relieved when she drops the subject and snuggles her daughter. “You girls get some food. I’m sure it will be a big relief after eating all that abhorrent University food.” As we’re walking off, she pulls on Annie Laurie’s arm. “We’ll be leaving here around two thirty. Your daddy does not want to miss kickoff. Okay?”
Annie Laurie yanks her arm free with a scowl. “Okay.”
Mrs. Whitmore ignores the offense and turns to Ellie. “I’ve been looking for your parents. I thought they’d be here by now.”
“Oh, they were—”
“Lilith. There you are!” A lady with the exact same hairdo as Mrs. Whitmore’s—a high ponytail—pulls her away.
“Not too much alcohol, girls,” she says while dashing off.
Ellie and I steal a stunned, sidelong glance before Annie Laurie steps between us, looping her arms through ours. “Let’s head to the bar.”
“Wha— Are you serious?” Ellie asks with shock written all over her face. “Maybe yours doesn’t care, but my dad will kill me.”
“How will he know?”
“My breath?”
“Hang on,” she says, withdrawing her arms. “There’s a fix for this.” Anne Laurie digs inside the Louis Vuitton cross-body bag she’s wearing, and hands Ellie a handful of Altoids. “Works every time.”
Ellie slips them in her own bag but adds, “You have no idea how smart my dad is. He’ll know.”
“They aren’t even here.”
“Yet.”
Thoughts of my scholarship swirl through my mind. And the warning Ellie heard about being extra careful about your behavior until Rush is over. But I keep my mouth shut.
“When my brother was in school,” Ellie says, “before he turned twenty-one, my dad caught him drinking at a Grove party and he, like, almost pulled him out of school.”
Annie Laurie’s nose wrinkles. “Why does he care? The drinking age was eighteen when he was young.”
Until now I’ve had nothing to add to this conversation. I’m not sure why I want to admit this, but I go ahead and say, “I’ve never even seen my grandparents drink.”
Both Annie Laurie and Ellie turn their heads at the exact same time and look at me like I’m from outer space. As if this is the strangest thing anyone’s ever said.
“Not once?” Annie Laurie asks.
After a shrug, I shake my head. “Nope.”
“Not even a glass of wine?” Ellie adds in a gentle tone.
I shake my head a second time.
Furrowing her brow, Ellie tilts her head to the side. “Is it a church thing?”
“Pretty much.”
“That’s okay,” Ellie says reassuringly.
“Yeah, but … it’s still weird.” Annie Laurie moves toward the bar, but glances back over her shoulder. “Even Jesus drank wine.”
Once Annie Laurie has moved away from earshot, Ellie whispers, “Yeah, and Jesus would tell her she doesn’t need any more today.”
Ellie and I trail behind as Annie Laurie walks right up to the bar. There are two men serving drinks. “Well hello, Miss Annie Laurie,” one of the bartenders says. “Don’t you look lovely today?”
“Thank you, Robert,” she says with a confident grin.
“What can I get you girls?” Robert’s happy expression and the tone of his voice make me feel welcomed.
Annie Laurie glances around at the display of liquor bottles on top of the bar. “I’ll have a … a … mimosa.” Robert pulls a large cup from the stack, pours a generous amount of champagne, then tops it with orange juice.
He hands it to her, then turns to us. “How about you two ladies? What’s your pleasure?”
“I’ll have a glass of orange juice, please,” I say.
“No champagne with it?” Robert chuckles.
“No, sir. I’m good.”
“Oh come on,” Annie Laurie says, then looks at Robert. “They’ll both have a mimosa.”
The next thing I know we all have mimosas. With little bar straws. And Colonel Reb stir-sticks. While following behind Annie Laurie to the food table, Ellie rolls her eyes and we share an irritated look. But we get over it quickly when we see the food. The smell of it makes me want to drool.
Working our way around the table the three of us fill our plates with roast beef, eggs, bacon, grits, and fruit.
Once I sit down in one of the cushioned chairs and
dig into my meal, I relax. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until I took my first bite of thick, crispy, maple-flavored bacon. When I carve into the roast beef and pop a bite in my mouth, it melts, literally melts, on my tongue. It’s juicy and pink, and although I was hesitant to try meat this undercooked, the moment I taste it I have to restrain myself from shoveling the rest in my mouth immediately.
Annie Laurie only eats a small portion of hers before putting the tray on the ground underneath her seat. Ellie and I watch as she strolls up to a towering display of oysters, which, personally, I have zero desire to try. Annie Laurie sure does, and fills an entire plate, with cocktail sauce in the middle.
“I should be a horny toad by the time I finish all these,” she says, laughing, and almost misses the edge of her chair when she sits back down.
Ellie and I steal looks at each other.
Three oyster shells fall onto her lap and slip between her legs onto the ground. Cocktail sauce has rubbed onto the hem of her romper, so she dabs at it with her napkin. Then her phone beeps. Balancing the plate on both knees, she pulls the phone from her bag, reads the text—hiccups—then types frantically with her thumbs. “Let’s go, y’all,” she says, jamming her phone back inside her bag.
Covering my mouth with one hand, I thrust my other her way. “Wait, I’m not through yet.” My words are garbled from the bite of scrambled eggs I had just taken.
“There’ll be plenty more when we get back,” she says. “My friend Carter just texted me. He’s with two of his pledge brothers. We’re supposed to meet them in five minutes.”
“Can’t they come here?” Ellie asks.
“They’ve already eaten.” Annie Laurie puts the plate of oysters on top of the other plate under her chair, wobbling a bit when she stands up.
I look at Ellie. She looks at me. We know we shouldn’t go. What is the hold Annie Laurie has on both of us that we follow our tipsy friend right out the front of the tent anyway?
