Southern Charm

by Tinsley Mortimer

“I know,” I said, feeling stupid. “Just . . . no museums? Did you see a show in the West End? You were there for two weeks!”

  “It’s one thing to go there for two weeks of vacation,” he said. “It’s another thing to go there for two weeks of work.” He let out an exasperated sigh. “Anyway, what did I miss in New York?”

  “I’ve been really busy working on my bags,” I said. I tried my best to ignore his attitude. “I’m meeting with the design team next week and going over my ideas, and then we’re narrowing it down to five different designs and Kevin said supposedly we should have samples by the end of May! The whole thing has just happened so fast and—”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Tripp said. “I thought we were going to discuss this. You’re off and designing already?”

  I stared at him.

  “Well, yes,” I said. “What do you mean we have to ‘discuss’ it? What is there to discuss?”

  “It’s just,” he began, “you have to keep in mind you can’t just go running around accepting every offer that comes your way.”

  “But I’m not,” I said. What the hell was he trying to say anyway? “Kevin Park is an amazing brand and this is an opportunity that most people would die for. It’s not like I’m selling bags on the street. Tripp, what is this about anyway? I thought you’d be happy for me.”

  He softened a bit and put his hand on my knee. “Mints,” he said. “I just thought when we talked about it before, you were going to wait until I got back. I told you that my family can be a little sensitive about this kind of thing. I’m just trying to protect you.”

  How come every time he said he was just trying to protect me, it felt like he was locking me away in a cage? My husband had just spent two weeks in another country and our communication had been limited, to say the least. If I hadn’t had my job with Kevin to keep me busy, what would I have done? There were only so many spa days with Emily and late brunches with May I could take. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!

  “Ugh,” I said. “This sucks.”

  Tripp actually cracked a smile. The nerve.

  “Mints,” he said, “baby. It’s nothing. Let’s forget about it, all right? I didn’t mean to get you upset.”

  “Well, you did,” I said. “And instead of congratulating me and making me feel good about something that is very exciting and, to be honest, a real honor, you’re thinking about how your stupid family is going to freak out or whatever.”

  There, I said it.

  “This isn’t about me not being proud of you,” he said. “This is just about me . . . well, yes, maybe I do care a little too much about what my family thinks.”

  I almost wished I had recorded that statement so I could play it back for him the next time his mother freaked out over something that was none of her business.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  Tripp leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. He had been back in New York for less than an hour and we’d already spent the majority of the time bickering. Now we had to go meet May and Harry for dinner at Cipriani. We pulled up to Tripp’s building and I waited on the curb as he and Zeke unloaded the luggage.

  “Thanks, Zeke,” I said, taking one of Tripp’s bags.

  “You take care of yourself, now, Ms. Davenport,” he replied. He held my gaze longer than usual.

  “I will,” I said.

  As I walked through the entrance of Tripp’s building, I couldn’t help but think, Why did Zeke look at me that way?

  Tripp’s apartment was more than twice the size of mine with an extra bedroom. The first time I stayed there, back in the beginning of our courtship, I’d immediately started mapping out where I would put my—our—furniture, the prints my mother had painstakingly hung and framed, the rugs she’d spent days on end searching out and sizing just so. Tripp mentioned I could start moving my belongings into one of the closets in the bedroom, although he hadn’t gotten around to cleaning it out just yet.

  I sat down on the edge of the bed as Tripp unpacked.

  “So, no stories at all?” I asked. “No late nights at Buckingham Palace?”

  Tripp made a face. “The royals were otherwise engaged.”

  “Oh well,” I said. “I was hoping for a bit of dirt. Maybe Harry will have a story or two to share.”

  Tripp froze for a moment.

  “Doubt it,” he finally said.

  I watched as Tripp changed out of his traveling clothes and put on a fresh shirt and pants. He seemed worlds away, like he was trying to avoid something.

  “What’s going on, babe?” I finally said. “You’re acting like you forgot my name or something and you’re trying to get around it. It’s Minty, by the way.”

  He made a pouty frown and dove in to kiss my neck, blowing a raspberry for comedic effect. “Minty,” he repeated in a silly, high-pitched voice, “how could I forget? You’re not getting much attention, are you? Let’s give you some.”

  He tackled me onto the bed and nuzzled my neck. It was cute at first, but it also felt like a diversion. We continued on for a minute or so. We kissed. But it . . . God, it felt weird. So after a minute I pulled away.

  “We should probably get over to Cipriani, no?” I asked.

  When we walked into the restaurant, Tripp told the hostess we were meeting Harry Van der Waahl.

  “Oh! Yes, of course,” she said, guiding us toward the back of the room.

  As we approached, I saw a group of people sitting around a long table. There were Catherine Dorson and Perry Hammerstein—the girls from Baron Guggenheim’s party. And Baron! What were they all doing there?

  Before the hostess could even take us to our seats, the entire group erupted into applause.

  “Surprise!” they all shouted.

  I gaped at them and turned to Tripp. He looked more mortified than I did.

  “I have no idea,” he said.

  Just then, May came gallivanting into the room with Harry trailing behind looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. Almost immediately, I realized that this was May’s doing. She had planned a surprise “welcome back” dinner for Tripp and Harry and conveniently failed to let me in on the surprise.

  “Sweetie!” she squealed. “How fun is this?”

  “Wow, May,” I said. “There’s like twenty people here.”

  “I know!” she said, waving to everyone as she spoke. “I hope you don’t mind. I wanted it to be a surprise. You know”—she lowered her voice—“remind them what they’ve been missing.”

  “Well,” I said, “this is definitely one way of doing it!”

  She laughed. “Have a seat! Have a drink!”

  I scooted into the banquette side of the table, toward the center. “Good to see you, Baron,” I said across the table.

  “Stunning as ever, Mrs. du Pont.”

  “To Harry and Tripp,” Baron said, standing up and holding his glass of champagne in the air. Everyone else followed suit. “For giving us a reason to celebrate for no apparent reason.”

  Everyone clinked glasses.

  After the appetizers, a few people slipped out to smoke cigarettes. Perry leaned over and asked if I was ready for the wedding.

  In the midst of explaining the color scheme and the florals, I heard something that was definitely not meant for my ears. It was Harry whispering to Tripp, clearly louder than he’d intended.

  “Dude, that girl in London was hot,” Harry said. “Hot! How much did you pay for that ass?”

  And then Tripp replied as if I were not sitting several feet away.

  “She wasn’t a hooker,” he said.

  “I figured all of those chicks at the Dorchester bar were,” Harry said, laughing.

  I could only think, He must be drunk.

  “Shhh,” Tripp finally said, barely glancing in my direction. “Jesus, man, you’re pushing it.”

  “Well, I hope you bought her a nice lobster dinner at least,” Harry replied, unfazed.

  Tripp shook his head. His end of the table erupted into laughter and
everyone glanced in their direction except me. I couldn’t look at him. I just stared at my fork and thought, This is the man I married. Then I glanced around. I was surrounded on both sides by people. I would have no way of escaping the table unless I asked several people to get up, Tripp and Harry included. And so, when no one was looking, I slid underneath the table and crawled out, past Harry’s and Catherine’s legs, squeezing through the chairs, on my hands and knees. When I emerged on the other side, no one noticed. I was on my hands and knees in a Tibi dress on the floor of Cipriani, and not a soul noticed. I quickly hoisted myself into standing position and bolted for the door.

  “Minty!”

  Someone called after me. I think it was May, but I didn’t turn back to check. Maybe they thought I was going to the ladies’ room and wouldn’t bother me. All I knew was I needed to get out of there, fast.

  It was nearly eleven P.M. when I hit Fifth Avenue. The air was a lot less crisp than a few hours before. I wanted to get on a plane and get the hell out of New York, but I knew that wasn’t the responsible thing to do. I immediately texted Tripp and told him to please meet me outside as soon as possible. It had taken me nearly half my life, a whirlwind six-month romance, and a quickie courthouse wedding to realize it, but Tripp du Pont did not deserve me.

  “What’s going on?”

  He was standing just outside the front door, no coat, no scarf. He nearly stumbled as he moved toward me, his arms outstretched, pleading. In the few minutes it took him to say those disgusting words out loud, receive my text, and make it to the door, did he ever get an inkling as to why I was upset?

  “I heard what Harry said back there.” Tripp opened his mouth in protest but I wouldn’t let him speak. I held my hand up in the air. “I don’t want to hear excuses. I don’t want to hear a convoluted story or some crazy explanation. I’m going to go home right now, book the first flight to Charleston, and take a Xanax. I’ll call you when I’m ready to discuss anything further. But I will say, here and now, this has been a mistake.”

  Tripp stared back at me dumbfounded. “Mints, it’s not what you think.”

  “That’s what you always say.”

  I held out my hand and a cab pulled up almost immediately. If I’d had to wait a second longer standing next to him in front of Cipriani, I would have lost my composure. I’d already lost my dignity.

  The cab had two, maybe three blocks to reach my apartment. I could have easily walked. But those thirty seconds of being anonymously sheltered from the rest of the world saved me. It gave me the chance to go from the crippling feeling of being punched in the gut to autopilot, and autopilot was where I wanted to be.

  “Sixty-first Street, miss,” the cabbie said.

  I jumped, nearly dropping my BlackBerry on the floor. I paid the fare and stepped onto the street.

  As I walked through the door to my building, the night doorman nodded at me but I barely noticed. It was a lot to take in for anyone, the realization that your current relationship—excuse me, your marriage—was a sham. But there was something else I was feeling. It was like I’d been waiting for this moment to come. And that’s what got to me the most. How had I let it go this far? How had I allowed Tripp to lie to me time and time again? I was so disappointed in myself I could barely breathe. I walked into my apartment, called my mother in Charleston, and told her I was coming home.

  “Good God, Minty, what are you talking about?” she asked in a groggy voice.

  “I really would rather not get into it right now, Mother,” I explained, “but some things have happened and I can’t be here right now. I’m booking the first flight out. I’ll let you know when I get in. Will you be able to pick me up?”

  There was silence on the other end.

  “Of course, darlin’,” she finally said. “You’re sure you don’t want to talk this out?”

  I sighed. “Not now. We can talk tomorrow.”

  I went through my closet and threw together what I could. I was pretty sure I wasn’t leaving for good. But I needed to leave the city for a while if I ever wanted to come back again and see it in a new light. I had to rid myself of the grime and grit if I had any chance of seeing it the way I did when I was a little girl and stepped into the lobby of the Plaza Hotel for the first time. I needed to get back to that place, and the only way I could do that was to go back to where I started.

  Never Forget Where You Came From

  Scarlett was eagerly awaiting my arrival at the baggage claim, wearing a cherry-red Ralph Lauren sundress and matching strappy heels. “Minty, sugar, what on earth is going on?”

  “In the car, Mother,” I said.

  Miraculously, we made it to her BMW convertible without one more peep. But the second we got inside the car and secured our seat belts, she started.

  “I can feel it in my gut, I know what’s wrong, but I’m going to let you tell me,” she said, pulling onto the highway and nearly sideswiping an oncoming truck. Scarlett drove both timidly and recklessly. “Did something happen in London?”

  She slammed on the brakes and nearly rear-ended the car in front of us, which was slowing down due to traffic.

  “Mother!”

  “Goddamn SUVs take up so much space. I can’t see a thing!”

  I braced myself against the armrest and exhaled.

  “Tripp is not who I thought he was,” I finally said.

  Scarlett stared straight ahead.

  “Or maybe he is who I thought he was,” I continued, “but I just wasn’t letting myself see it because I loved him. Because I believed in all of the romance and the idea of us getting married.”

  She crept past the car next to us, nearly swiping its side mirror. “Spill it, child. What happened?”

  “He picked up a girl at the Dorchester . . . in London.”

  Saying the words out loud, it felt like they were coming from someone else’s mouth.

  She was silent. I imagined she was even more furious than I was, which was saying a lot.

  “There have to be other things going on,” I said. The words were spilling out of me. I realized I hadn’t exactly had the chance to voice my feelings on Tripp’s extracurricular activities until now. “Who knows what was really going on with Tabitha? I can’t believe a word he says about anything.” I couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. “I mean, what kind of person does that when they’re in a serious, committed relationship? When they’re married!”

  My mother remained silent, her hands gripping the steering wheel. She was obviously in shock. We pulled up to the house.

  Our house sits on fifteen acres of magnolia-tree-lined land about ten minutes outside of downtown Charleston. I’m pretty sure no one in New York would consider Charleston a “real” city. There’s really only one good place to get your hair and nails done. No one honks their horn. In fact, drivers happily wait when people randomly cross the street. Everyone smiles and says hello, even to strangers. It’s not small enough that everyone knows one another but it’s definitely small enough that most people seem familiar.

  For all of these reasons, I couldn’t wait to leave Charleston. For the same reasons, it was wonderful to be home.

  It took Scarlett a few minutes to process everything I’d just told her. We’d never had such a frank conversation. Of course, we fought openly and she knew more about my life than probably most of my best friends, but blatant infidelity? We hadn’t quite crossed that bridge yet. I guess there was a first time for everything.

  “That motherfucking prick,” she finally said. She turned to me. “You’re one hundred percent certain he did this?”

  “Well, not one hundred percent,” I said. “I overheard him relaying the story to a few friends at the dinner table. He was drunk. He didn’t think I could hear. Not to mention, I only heard from him a handful of times when he was in London. I can only imagine what was going on over there. He was there with Harry and I don’t trust Harry for a second. The guy can barely look me in the eye. These boys operate in a way I can’t say I�
��ve experienced before. It’s like they almost think it’s okay to act that way. They almost think it’s . . . expected.”

  We pulled up to the gate of our driveway, which opened automatically, and pulled in. It had to be 70 degrees. I felt like I’d been living in the tundra compared to what the weather felt like in Charleston that day.

  “Just to warn you, your sister has a few days left of her spring break before she has to head back to Ole Miss. The last I heard she’s coming in tonight, something about getting a ride with her friend, but you never know with that girl.”

  “Oh, okay, great,” I said. Part of me was excited to see Darby. Another part of me was beyond overwhelmed.

  “And we’re having dinner at the club tonight with a few people,” she continued, referring to the Charleston Country Club. “It’s your grandfather’s seventy-fifth birthday on Tuesday, as you know, so we decided to celebrate tonight since your sister will be in town and all.”

  I gulped. In the midst of all of the craziness, I’d forgotten my grandfather’s birthday was coming up. I couldn’t help but groan a little. I was well aware of the fact that “a few people” meant more like half the town and the majority of my extended family.

  We walked into the kitchen and Anna Mae, our housekeeper since I was a baby, was standing there drying a stainless steel pot. She looked at me, her mouth dropped open, and she nearly dropped the pot as well.

  “Miss Minty!” she yelped. “I thought you forgot about us down here!” She gave me the biggest, warmest hug I’d had in a very long time.

  That was another thing about the South: big hugs were the norm, even when you were meeting someone for the first time. I used to get so annoyed and feel like I was being suffocated. Now it felt like the best thing in the world.

  “It was kind of last-minute, Anna Mae,” I said sheepishly.

  Anna Mae reminded me of comfort food, like grilled cheese and tomato soup, and bedtime stories. She was the first person who introduced me to Eloise. She used to read the books out loud to help me fall asleep at night when my parents were out late.

  “Well, it’s no matter what got you here. The important thing is you’re back.” She stepped away and looked at me closely. “My word, what have you been eating up there? You’re so skinny you look like you could hula-hoop with a Cheerio!”