“Just what do you think you’re doing?” Ashley hissed at me under her breath a few days later.
“Learning the flight formation,” I replied. “What are you doing?” The flight formation, for those of you who are not ducks, geese, or other migratory birds, is the official walking pattern of the Bienville Magnolia Maids. The queen plays the role of the lead bird, and she is flanked by two Maids walking exactly four feet to the side of her and four feet behind her (four feet being the minimum amount of space to accommodate the span of the hoopskirted antebellum dresses). Behind those two Maids trail two more. According to the Magnolia Court Handbook, when performed correctly, the Maids will appear as a graceful, sinuous unit, like ducks in flight, hence the term “flight formation.”
But when you’ve had a vote for queen that morning that ended in a deadlock—half the votes for Brandi Lyn and the other half for Ashley—it’s a little harder to appear as any sort of unit. Mizz Upton was at a loss as to how to effectively teach the fine art of gliding like little Maids all in a row. In fact, she barely even struggled to hide how pissed she was. Instead, she furrowed her brow and dropped little snark bombs like, “Well, I guess we’ll just have to make do.” “This won’t be perfect, but try, Maids, please.” “We have no idea where you’ll each be positioned when you do this in the real world, but use your imagination.”
So there we were, out on her gigantic back lawn, each taking turns in the “queen” position, all of us except Caroline, who, as alternate, would not be required to do the flight formation except in the case of a Magnol-emergency. She got to sit in the corner to “watch and learn,” but I saw her sneaking peaks into a paperback romance, lucky dog. The rest of us lined up on marks Mizz Upton had placed in the ground, then stood quietly by as she used a yardstick to make sure we were in the exact four-by-four position. She counted, “One-two-three,” and we took off again, right foot first….
But Mallory started a beat late and Zara ran right into her. Brandi Lyn set out on her left foot and ended up “throwing off the look.” Ashley veered instead of walking a straight line and bumped me in the butt. Most ironically, I was in the queen position at that moment, ha-ha-ha. Some variation of this mess had been happening all morning. Finally Mizz Upton called a potty break.
“I’m not talking about the flight formation and you know it!” Ashley continued. “You’re all decent today.”
“Thanks, Ash, I just love my new makeover,” I simpered.
“This isn’t a makeover! You’re being nice. You haven’t said one sarcastic thing all day. You’re wearing a, a sundress.”
“You know, it just suddenly came to me… I can wear black and still look feminine!” I fluffed out the skirt of my dress. “The daisies really pop on the black background, don’t you think?”
“No, well, yes, but…” Poor thing, she was flustered. “You’re even doing the flight formation right, for God’s sake!”
“Please don’t take the Lord’s name in vain,” Brandi Lyn singsonged from her perch on a swing hanging from the giant oak that shaded the Upton’s entire backyard. Ashley rolled her eyes in exasperation.
I took Ashley’s hands in mind. “I’ve come to see the error of my ways, Ashley. It was like a flash of lightning, I had a vision, and suddenly this deep appreciation for all things Magnolia Maid-y washed over me like the gentle waves of Bienville Bay.”
“You expect me to believe that?” Ashley gestured toward Brandi Lyn. “And what’s up with her? She looks all decent, too. Oh my God! Y’all are on probation, aren’t you?!”
Brandi Lyn sighed. “Please, Ashley, I know it’s hard, but please don’t use the Lord’s name in vain. Please. God does not want to hear that.”
Ashley ignored her, keeping her eyes focused on me. “That’s why Mizz Upton made you stay after last week! She put you two on probation and you’re trying to get off it by behaving for a change!” She looked downright gleeful, the little detective.
I held my tongue—yes, I know, not the usual thing that I do—but I couldn’t quite figure out what she was on about. If I admitted it, what would she do with the information? What could she possibly do? If I denied it, would it end up biting me in the back at some future, unforeseen point? From the gleam of certainty dancing in her beady little eyes, I just knew she was up to something. I just didn’t know what.
Which is why I dragged Brandi Lyn downtown to the chamber of commerce to meet with Walter Murray Hill the minute Mizz Upton called lunch break.
“Well, girls, what a delight!” He ushered us to sit down in two wing chairs flanking his desk. “Jane, I heard about y’all’s idea for the beach fund-raiser. Excellent idea, just excellent. Exactly the kind of thing we’re looking for!”
“Thank you, sir. It was a team effort. Well, mostly.”
“Go, team!” He took a seat in his power chair. “Tell me. It’s not very often that I get a personal visit from one of our beautiful Maids, let alone two. What can I do for you?”
“Well, Mr. Hill…,” I began.
“Please, call me Mr. Walter.”
“Mr. Walter. I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but Brandi Lyn and I have been put on probation.”
The grin slipped right off Mr. Walter’s face. He leaned back in his chair. “No, Jane, I don’t believe I was made aware of this.”
“I’m sure it must have slipped Mizz Upton’s mind.”
“I’m sure it did. And I appreciate you keeping me posted on this situation. Now what are you on probation for, exactly?”
“Sir, unfortunately, I have in the past, exhibited a bad attitude that gets my mouth in trouble every once in a while.”
“And a tattoo,” Brandi Lyn chimed in. “Mizz Upton wasn’t happy about that, either.”
“A tattoo?” Walter Murray Hill’s lips formed the word with an odd mixture of titillation and disgust.
“Yes, sir,” I confirmed. “The tattoo was probably the straw that broke the camel’s back.”
“Yes, yes, I can see that it could be.”
“But don’t worry. Miss Dinah Mae Marshall is figuring out how to cover it up. My shoulder ruffles are going to be a bit wider than average.”
“All right, all right.” Mr. Walter turned to Brandi Lyn. “What about you, young lady? What are you on probation for?”
She shrugged. “I’m not real sure, Mr. Walter, sir.”
“What do you mean you’re not real sure?”
“Seriously, Brandi Lyn didn’t do anything wrong,” I said. “Except sport quote bold fashion unquote.”
“What’s wrong with bold fashion?”
Brandi Lyn beamed. “Oh, Mr. Walter, I feel the same way! But I think Mrs. Upton is upset because I refused to quit. Well, Jane refused for me. Thank you, Jane.”
“You’re welcome, Brandi Lyn.”
Poor Mr. Walter, confusion ran rampant over his face. “You were asked to quit?”
“Yes, sir. Mizz Upton was real concerned about my being able to afford the dress and all the outfits.”
“You look perfectly fine to me.”
“Thank you! Miss Lacey Wilkes Hawkes helped me out with some clothes. Wasn’t that sweet of her?” Brandi Lyn modeled her cute little blouse for Mr. Walter as he digested the very timely dropping of the Hawkes name into conversation.
“Lacey Wilkes, huh?” He nodded, impressed. “She’s a good girl. Always been a big supporter of the Maids, okay.”
“Mr. Walter,” I said. “We just wanted to let you know that we are taking our probation very seriously and that we are doing the best job we possibly can.”
Brandi Lyn nodded. “That’s right. Jane and I have made a pact to be the best Magnolia Maids we can possibly be.”
“We just have one tiny little question. Mizz Upton told us we were on probation, but she didn’t tell us how to get off. And we can’t find that information anywhere in the handbook. Do you know the answer?”
“You mean to tell me you don’t know?” Mr. Walter’s face turned a rather unattractive shade of middle-aged-man red as his hand reached for the phone.
By the end of day, Mizz Upton sat both me and Brandi Lyn down and stated that there had been “a wee bit of an oversight.” Was it my imagination or was there a wee hint of a glare in my direction? “It has been called to my attention that it must have slipped my mind to have you sign this.” She presented us with official notices of probation. They basically said that if we obtained any more demerits we would be subject to immediate expulsion from the Magnolia Maids. Under Reason for Probation, she had handwritten in perfect cursive “argumentative,” “unladylike attitude,” and “unbecoming personal presentation” for me and “inappropriate attire” for Brandi Lyn. She informed us that the probation period was officially one month.
“From today?” I asked.
“From the day that I put you on probation, of course.”
“Great.” I scratched out the date on the document and dated it a week ago, to the very day that she had put us on probation. This time, there wasn’t a hint. Mizz Upton definitely glared at me. I shot her a sugary sweet smile right back. “We want to be accurate, don’t we?”
I have to say, in the weeks that followed, the trips to Mizz Upton’s for further Magnolia Maid instruction were actually quite entertaining. This being B’ville, of course, all the other girls found out we were on probation, so Ashley made it her daily goal to get me and Brandi Lyn to slip up in hopes that we would be booted off the Court. “Brandi Lyn,” she simpered one day. “Your hair is soooo different.”
Brandi Lyn flushed with pleasure. “I have a new stylist. Don’t you love it?”
“Weh-elllll…”
“You don’t like it, do you?”
“No, it’s not that. It’s just that I miss your big hair! It suited you so well!”
“Jane says this fits better with the Magnolia Maid philosophy.”
“Oh, honey, don’t go changing because of the Magnolia Maid philosophy! You have to be yourself. And this bob, well, it just isn’t the Brandi Lyn we’ve all come to know and love.”
“That’s not what Mizz Upton told me.”
“She’s just old-fashioned, right, Mallory?”
Mallory nodded vigorously. “And I luvvvved your short skirts! They showed off your legs so nicely!”
“You should wear them more!”
Brandi Lyn furrowed her brow. “That’s so sweet of y’all, really, but Teddy Mac Trenton and I have come up with this whole new look and I just love it! It’s classy, don’t you think?”
Curses. Foiled again.
With me, Ashley presented an array of needling remarks. “You know, Jane, I read the other day in the Bienville Gazette that girls with behavioral problems are just screaming for proper love and attention.”
“Jane, did you hear? Your chances are so high of getting Hepatitis C if you’ve had a tattoo. I read it in Vogue. I hope you didn’t get yours at some unclean place….”
“So, Jane, what are you going to do about getting into college, what with your awful school record? You must be terrified!”
When none of those got a rise out of me, Ashley turned to being faux polite/true mean to the others. She asked Zara if she could trace her family tree all the way back to Africa. She told Caroline that she couldn’t “help but notice that you’re stress eating again. As your friend, I just have to tell you, you’re fat and you really need to do something about it or you’re never going to get a boyfriend.”
This stuff really pissed me off, I mean really, but I bit my tongue as I had promised to and fought Ashley’s fire with a new brand of my own—the Magnolia Court Handbook, of all things! Who would have guessed that reading it from cover to cover three times would turn out to be the best weapon ever? It provided me with such grenades as “Oh, dear Ashley, a Maid never raises uncomfortable subjects in public, Magnolia Court Handbook, chapter six, page twelve.” “A Maid never calls attention to another’s physical condition, including pregnancy, unless it is mentioned by the other first or if assistance is necessary, chapter seven, page twenty-four.” This really made old Trashley see red. Who would have believed how much fun you could have with rules? So refreshing!
Time to interrupt our programming for some smokin’-hot news items:
LUKE CHURCHVILLE TOTALLY DRIVE-BY STALKED ME!
I am so serious. It happened a few days after the Episcopal Church incident. There I was on the roof outside my bedroom window lighting up a ciggie. (I had determined upon moving back to Grandmother’s house that this was the least likely place to be caught smoking. After all, she wasn’t going to haul her sixty-five-year-old self out there looking for me.) Anyway, it was around ten o’clock at night, when I suddenly spied a car turning onto my street a few blocks away. I didn’t give it much thought UNTIL IT SLOWED DOWN as it approached my house. I’m talking, to a crawl. What in the world? It was some kind of older diesel sedan, oddly familiar, with headlights bulging like the eyes of a frog. I could see the outline of a face turned to look at my house. Whoever it was had angled their head in such a way that he/she/it could glance upstairs in the direction of my bedroom window. Seconds later, the car moved through the beams of a streetlight and that’s when I saw—fanfare, please—the face of Luke Churchville! Turned up. Looking at me. Our eyes locked, and one Mississippi, two Mississippi, three…
His face jerked forward. The car, his dad’s old convertible Mercedes, I think, sped up, and the moment was over. But the damage was done.
A grin spread across my face. Ear to frickin’ ear. He was looking for me. Luke Churchville was drive-by-stalker looking for me. Nice.
News flash number two: MR. WALTER APPROVED THE BEACH CLEANUP FUND-RAISER! Mizz Upton was clearly not thrilled to relay that news to us, but we girls were psyched. With the exception of you know who! So now, in addition to rehearsals and dress fittings, we were out on a regular basis soliciting donations for the event, which we had decided to do the first Saturday in June.
News flash number three: MALLORY AND BRANDI LYN COMPLETELY BONDED! The other day Brandi Lyn ran late into rehearsal wearing her waitress uniform from Karl’s Kajun Krawfish Shack, apologizing up a storm. “Oh, Mizz Upton, I am so sorry! We got slammed down at the Shack! All these English guys are in town from the oil company that caused the spill.”
Mallory went berserk. “Oh my gosh, you work at the Krawfish Shack? I love the Krawfish Shack!”
“Ugh. Why?” Ashley grimaced. “It stinks in there.”
“That’s just because you don’t like fish, Ashley. But the Kajun cheese fries are the best on the gulf, I swear.”
“I know!” enthused Brandi Lyn. “Do you ever get them with bacon?”
“I love them with bacon!” That, right there, sparked the Brandi Lyn/Mallory love connection, but it was the arrival of Miss Dinah Mae with the fabric for our dresses that set it aflame. We had been asked to rank the hideous pastel colors in order of preference for our dresses. Each girl had to be in a different color and that color was finally determined by Mizz Upton and a team of experts. But we got to weigh in. As we all shared our top picks, Brandi Lyn and Mallory discovered that they had chosen the same three colors and ranked them in the same exact order, wasn’t that amazing!? When Mizz Upton announced that Brandi Lyn got lavender and Mallory got spring green—their first and second choices—they worked themselves into a frenzy of compliments about how beautiful each would look.
As for the rest of us, Caroline was left with pukey peach, poor thing, not a good color on anyone, but she was the alternate, so she had to take what she could get. Zara was happy to learn that her dress would be yellow because it looked good with her complexion. Ashley and I were the disappointed ones: Mizz Upton put me in pink and Ashley in blue. Huh? Pink was nowhere near my list, and blue was Ashley’s third choice! I offered to trade with her, but Mizz Upton wouldn’t hear of it. Apparently, she and the committee strongly felt that pink went with my Greek Southern skin and that blue would compliment Ashley’s eyes.
Sweet Thorns in a Thornbush! Me in pink? Ugh.
News flash number four: I was STILL OFFICIALLY LUKE CHURCHVILLE-OBSESSED. Great Gorgeousness on a Gin Blossom, I cannot tell a lie. He had grown himself up into a hottie pa-tottie, and sighting him at church had been enough to stir any straight girl’s senses, but the fact that he had done a drive-by look-see of my house meant he now had taken up permanent residence in my head. Everywhere I went, I pictured the two of us together. On my morning jog down Bird River Parkway, I would see us cruising in his dad’s old convertible, singing retro eighties tunes at the top of our lungs. When I passed the Picklefish Pizza and Sandwich Company, I pictured us munching muffulettas on the roof and making fun of the Friday night revelers as they stumbled out of the bars and clubs that line Le Moyne Street. Sprinting through Bienville Square, I imagined us dashing, hand in hand, through the fountain, trying to make it through before another stream of water spouted up.
Ewww. Could I get any more Harlequin romance all up inside my head?
Alas, I couldn’t help it. Everywhere was Luke Churchville; Luke Churchville was everywhere.
The thing is, we were best friends at one time. Shouldn’t we see each other again? More than once, I pulled out my phone and scrolled down to his number. Yes, I had his home number in my phone. Stalkery, I know, but hey, what if he decided to call me one day? I’d need to know it was him before I picked up the phone, just to have my game face on, right? But then I’d scold myself, “Jump into reality, Jane! You haven’t talked to him in five years! You can’t just call out of the blue.” There were just too many unknowns. I had no idea what he was like now. He could be a total jerk for all I knew.
I suspected Ashley and Mallory would know his 411.
Not that I would ever, EVER deign to ask them.
But then news flash number five: I did. Sort of. “Hey there, do you have a sec?” No, that wasn’t me on the verge of asking Ashley or Mallory about Luke Churchville. It was Mallory asking if she could talk to me. Hmmmmmm. Breaking ranks with Ashley to converse avec moi? Intriguing. That merits a news flash, so I’ll make it number six.
“Sure.” We were midway through our Magnolia training torture, a mere three weeks away from our grand debut at Boysenthorp Gardens, and we were gathered in the multipurpose room of the chamber of commerce for the first fitting of our dresses. Miss Dinah Mae had called and said she was going to be late with them, so we were just twiddling our thumbs until she arrived. I followed Mallory down to the ladies’ room. “What’s going on?” I asked.
Mallory’s shoulders heaved in a sigh. “Well, it’s just that… Jane, you know we do have our problems and all.”
“And all.”
“But you are a really honest person, always saying what you’re thinking, right?”
“Pretty much so.”
“Telling the truth all the time?”
“Enough to get me in trouble on a fairly regular basis. What is it?”
Mallory sighed again. “I can’t really say.”
“Nice chat, Mal. Let’s do it again sometime.” I moved to go, until she latched on to my arm.
“No, Jane, wait, please!” Worry seeped from her words, so I waited. “What if you knew something that would upset someone really badly, really hurt them, and other people knew it, too, but you swore to the person doing the something that you wouldn’t tell anyone, and you didn’t want to hurt that someone person by telling them but you think maybe they should know?”
Did anyone catch that? “Try again, Mallory, with a little less confusion, a little more information.”
“Oh, I can’t! I was sworn to secrecy. I can’t break that promise!”
“Okay, empty the contents of your makeup bag.” Blank look, but Mallory did it, and out came at least five hundred dollars in beauty products. “Okay, pick a product.”
She picked a Smashbox lipstick in a berry color called Sublime. I held it up. “This is you. Pick another product.” She handed me a compact of M.A.C. Studio Fix. “Okay, give this one a role in our drama.”
“The someone who would be upset really badly,” Mallory said.
“And wasn’t there a person you swore you wouldn’t tell?”
“She can be the miniature bottle of Chanel Number Five. Actually, ooh. Can I be the Chanel Number Five?”
“Whatever. Okay, so that means that the lipstick is who?”
“The person I told I wouldn’t tell.”
“Great. Now, act it out with the makeup.”
“Okay. So Smashbox lipstick, that’s the person who swore me to secrecy.”
“I get it.”
“Well, Smashbox is cheating with Studio Fix’s boyfriend.” She picked up a bottle of OPI nail polish. “This is Studio Fix’s boyfriend.”
“Oh no!”
“Yes! It’s terrible!”
I picked up the Chanel N°5. “And you, Chanel, you are the only one who knows?”
Mallory bit her lip. “No. That’s the problem, Jane. It’s getting around, and Studio Fix is going to find out, I just know it, and I am terrified—simply could not be more terrified!—as to what’s going to happen when she does.”
I paused. “What does Ashley think about all this?” Mallory was silent. “Ohhhhhh. She’s one of the parties, isn’t she?”
“I am totally and completely sworn to secrecy.”
“Okay. Here’s what I would do if I were Chanel Number Five. I would think about who was more important to me, Smashbox or Studio Fix. And then I would decide based on that whether or not to tell Studio Fix.”
“But then Smashbox will hate me!”
“It’s a tough world, Mallory. It’s either lipstick or foundation.”
Looking sad, Mallory stuffed her makeup back in her bag and moved to leave. “You’re right. Thanks, Jane.”
I thought, Well, here’s my chance. It’s now or never. “Wait, Mallory, I have a question for you. Do you know this guy, his name is ummmm, Luke Churchville?”
“Luscious Luke! He’s friends with my brother. He’s just the cutest thing since Bradley Cooper!” Her eyes widened with excitement. “Oh my God, do you have a crush on him?”
I acted as cool as I possibly could. “No, no, nothing like that. We just used to be… neighbors. And his family doesn’t seem to live on my street anymore.”
“Oh no, they moved out by the golf club. So, what? Do you want to try to see him?”
And here we were back to the same question that kept eating at me: did I or did I not want to see him? Suddenly, I felt incredibly nervous.
Mallory could tell. “Oh, you know what, I think his family’s on a trip to Hilton Head right now. I don’t think he’s even here.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“But if you want I can totally tell my brother. We could meet them over at Picklefish or something one night.”
No! I screamed in my head. No way, no how, not in this lifetime!
What I actually said was, “No, that’s okay. I’ll run into him sooner or later.” The last thing in the world I wanted was some orchestrated reunion. Where we’d be in the spotlight and everyone would be all excited and watching, all, “Look at the cuties, they haven’t seen each other in ages, do you think they’ll fall in love again?”
Last thing in the world.
And now, for news flash number seven: MY FATHER IS COMING TO TOWN!!! I came home from brunch with Teddy Mac one day to find Grandmother out on the back porch, staring into her glass of sweet tea and swirling the ice around like a teacup on that Disney World ride. Swirl, swirl, swizzle, swirl. “Jane, darling, I need to talk to you.”
“Ooh. Sounds ominous.”
“Your father called this afternoon.”
“There we go. Is ominous.” I acted all calm and cool as I sank into the seat beside her. “Does he want me to call him back?” These little phone calls from my father happened about once a month. He’d call in from London or Athens or wherever it was he happened to be, and demand to know how the hell I was. Such lovely conversations they were. In between caring, concerned questions like, “You’re not embarrassing me, are you, Jane?” “What’s this about straight Cs, Jane?” “You’re a Ventouras. Aren’t you smarter than that?” He’d bark out orders to his secretary or put me on hold to pick up another call. Eventually, he’d come back on the line and tell me to “Straighten up, make the family proud, be good.” The only nice thing about these calls was getting to hear my father’s voice. He has such a beautiful voice, as deep and sun-kissed as the Aegean Sea that surrounded his beloved Greek Isles. It was layered with the British accent he acquired from growing up in London after my grandfather moved his shipping conglomerate there, and if he weren’t always berating me for something or other, I could have listened to that voice all the livelong day.
“So what did old Cosmo have to say for himself?” I took a swig of sweet tea.
“He’s coming to the Magnolia Court Debut.”
I spit my mouthful of tea all over the verandah. Mizz Upton surely would have kicked me off the Court if she’d witnessed this violation of all things ladylike. “Here? At Boysenthorp Gardens? Are you kidding me?”
“He wants to see how you’re getting along now that you’re back at home.”
“Well, I’m fine, thank you. Didn’t you tell him that?”
“Of course I did. Truth be told, I suspect he wants to check up on me as well.”
“Well, you’re doing great!” I groaned out loud. “What’s his problem? I haven’t seen him in ages and now he decides to pop over for a visit? What for? I haven’t gotten kicked out of anything lately!”
“No. In fact, you’ve been better than I ever could have expected.”
“Please, Grandmama, call and tell him not to come. I don’t want to see him right now. Please. Please, please.”
“Well, I’m not going to do that.” She looked down into her tea glass again. “I invited him.”
My jaw hit the ground. “You invited him? Why would you do that?”
She sighed. “As you know, I do not entirely approve of the choices your father has made in raising you since your mother passed way.”
“No kidding.” Grandmother shot me an expectant look. “No kidding, ma’am.”
“It is one of the great sorrows of my life that your mother did not live long enough to raise you into a young woman.” Her voice caught in her throat at the mention of Cecilia. “I realize your father may not be the most present and accessible of parents, but he is your father, the only father you have, and you need to appreciate him more.”
All I could do was stare at her. “Unbelievable. Seriously. I see the man, maybe, I don’t know, twice a year, he has zero involvement in my life on a daily basis, and you’re telling me that I am supposed to appreciate him?”
“You live in the lap of luxury, Jane. He pays for your schooling, your clothing, your allowance,” she replied. “Your life could be so much worse. You should be thankful for what you have instead of resentful of what you don’t.”
How could she say this? There’s no way she could mean it. Not with our history. But she had that whole stern-look/furrowed-brow thing going on which meant she wasn’t just serious. She was dead serious.
“Really, Grandmama? Is that what you’re selling? That I should be happy because he throws a few bones in my direction every once in a while? Uh-uh. Sorry, I’m not buying.” I stood up from the table. “And excuse my profanity, but if he’s going to be the world’s crappiest father, then no one should expect me to be anything but the world’s crappiest daughter.” I grabbed my purse. “I’m going for a drive.”
As I stomped off, Grandmother yelled after me. “Family is family, Jane. You may not respect that right now, but you will one day!”
“Why? Why, why, why, why, why?” I punctuated each “why” with a punch of the steering wheel. The speedometer was hovering around eighty and the steel girders of the Bienville Bay Bridge were flying by. There’s something about hitting and stomping and pushing things that feels oh so satisfying when what you’d really like to do is put somebody’s eyes out.
“Get out of the way, blue hairs!” I punched the horn and slammed on the brakes to avoid a couple of sweet little old ladies out for their afternoon drive. “If you can’t keep up, get out of the way! Or I’m calling the nursing home!” Seriously, the centenarian in front of me was clutching the steering wheel like a lifeline. Not exactly the model of a responsible driver.
Neither is a pissed-off seventeen-year-old flooring it up to ninety.
I used to call the man who is my father “Daddy.” It’s a term of such affection, one that implies cozying up in front of a fireplace to read a storybook, tugging on a shirt hem to beg for a lollipop, or the keys to the minivan so you can run to the mall and spend his money, depending on your age. “Dad” has a more serious ring to it, no longer little girly, a bit more mature, very much “I’m too grown up to call my daddy ‘Daddy.’” “Papa,” well, that was tailor-made for an old man, and “Father” has a formal ring to it, like you live in a castle with servants and minions. I’ve never known what to call my father because, well, he was never around, not after my mother died. Except for fleeting visits and monthly phone calls, I never knew where he was or what he was doing.
So “Daddy,” as I called him back then, was never around, but then Grandmother strong-armed him into coming to Bienville to see me one Thanksgiving. Sound familiar? It’s just like what she was doing with this Magnolia Maid Debut. That time, she had this big plan that Daddy and I would go off to Disney World for a little family fun. How excited was my twelve-year-old heart? RIDICULOUSLY. I had been telling everyone at school about it for days and days and weeks and weeks. Made everyone pea green with envy. Made myself pea green with excitement.
Thanksgiving came and Daddy did, too, with gifts of a sari from India that no self-respecting Bienville girl would ever wear—too weird!—and an overstuffed doll from England that would have been just right for a five-year-old. So what if they weren’t a pair of Lucky jeans, who cared? Daddy was home!
But he wasn’t. Not really. He was always on a call to Greece or e-mailing Liberia or conversing with his secretary in London. Grandmother had to steal his cell phone to get him to come to the Thanksgiving feast she and Charisse had prepared. Daddy politely complied, telling jokes, solicitously paying attention to Aunt Edna’s Alzheimer’s-induced tales from the war. Which war? I’m not real sure. But as soon as the dinner was over, he got up from the table and went back to calling Liberia because, hey, they don’t celebrate Thanksgiving there. Might as well have been another workday.
Oh, well, I told myself. We’re going to Disney World tomorrow. How many cell phone calls could he make from Space Mountain?
The answer: you wouldn’t know unless you actually made it to Space Mountain.
We never did.
By supper time, not that anyone wanted to eat, considering we had crammed ourselves full of enough stuffing and cranberries and turkey to digest until Tuesday, Daddy had come up to my room and broken the news to me that, unfortunately, he wasn’t going to be able to make it to Disney World. Some disaster had occurred with the Liberians and ship-docking rights, and he was going to have to fly in with a team of executives and fix it, stat! He was leaving on the next flight out of New Orleans.
Now what does a girl do under these circumstances?
Be sweet. That’s right.
And I was. I told him that I understood, that business was very important, him being the head of an international shipping company and all, and I agreed with his placation that we would do it “some other time,” which we both knew was a figment of our imaginations, but hey, might as well play along with it.
I expressed not one whit, one cent, one ounce, one teaspoon, of the disappointment that was pulling my stomach out through my eyeballs and shoving it back up my nose. I politely excused myself, then tore down to Grandmother’s “summerhouse,” flopped on a chaise longue, and sobbed my heart out.
I have no idea how long I was there before Luke came looking for me after he got back from dinner at his grandparents’ house.
“Janie, what’s wrong?” He panicked when he saw me comatose on the chaise. “Are you sick?”
“We’re not going to Disney World.”
“What, are you grounded or something?”
“Dad has to go to Liberia.”
“Aw, that sucks. Really? I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. It sucks.” I stared off into space.
Luke tried to bring me back. “Yeah, it really sucks because you were going to go on ‘Pirates of the Caribbean’ and tell me how it’s changed since the movie. Now how are we going to find out? Am I going to have to go myself?” He was being supersweet and joking and trying to cheer me up, but I wasn’t having it.
He tried again. “Come on, Jane. Want a hug?” Now, this wasn’t that crazy of a question. We had hugged on occasion, and right at that moment, I did want a hug. Nodding, I sat up and put my arms around Luke and he enveloped me in his. We hugged. But very quickly it became apparent that this wasn’t our normal sort of hug, or merely a hug of comfort. Something was different, something was changing. Before either of us even had a chance to think about what was happening, our faces turned, our lips met, and the hug transformed into a kiss. A gentle, nudging first kiss. And it was sweet. So sweet.
Until Daddy walked in.
“Jane?” We barely heard him calling from the yard. “Where are you, honey, I have to leave in a…?” He crossed the threshold just in time to see me and Luke scrambling to opposite sides of the summerhouse.
“Hi, Mr.…”
“Daddy! We were just…”
But Cosmo held up his hand for silence. Then he hit the roof. Blasted through it. Entered the stratosphere with his rage. He blew up, called the Churchvilles, screamed at Grandmother that she was completely unfit to raise me, that she had turned me into a wild, undisciplined hussy, that I was too young to even know about boys! The Churchvilles were surprised to hear what happened, but not upset, and Luke being a boy and all, they certainly didn’t flip out. Mr. Churchville just gave him a lecture about responsibility and called it a day. Me, I was forbidden to speak to Luke ever again and banished to the first of my boarding schools.
Gosh, Daddy Papa Cosmo Father Dearest, thirteen schools and counting later, I guess I showed you just how undisciplined and wild a child can be.
I slowed down when the bridge reached landfall again and assessed the situation. Where in the world was I? I pulled out my iPhone and used the GPS feature to determine that I was in Fairhope. Did I know anybody in Fairhope? No. Maybe I should keep driving, continue east on I-10 to I-95, then drive all the way down to the tip of Florida. Set up shop in some cool art deco pad in Miami Beach and entertain Europeans with my wit and intellect.
Or I could call someone and complain. But who? Who did I know? Who exactly were my friends? Did I have any? I careened through my contact list:
Brandi Lyn—she’d be genuinely sympathetic and concerned, but then she’d get all “The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow” on me and I’d have to strangle her.
Caroline—if I could rip her nose out of whatever romance novel she had it plastered in, she would be quietly kind. But the cloud of sadness and desperation hovering over her was too much to bear on a day like this. And the thought of running into Mizz Upton made me want to puke.
Ashley—the mere fact that she was in my iPhone was a laugh! Mizz Upton had insisted that we all have each other’s contact info so that we could be in constant Magnolia communication once the season got underway. Ashley helping me out with anything was as likely as a snowstorm in July, unless of course, she could figure out some way to use it against me.
Mallory—not quite as annoying as Ashley, but close enough. Besides, I had come to understand that she was as likely to play the optimism card as Brandi Lyn. “Jane, aren’t you excited that your father wants to be a part of your life? I don’t understand why you’re so upset!”
Teddy Mac Trenton—the oh-so-fabulous Teddy Mac. He would get it. But with Teddy Mac came Lacey Wilkes, and I just couldn’t take an afternoon of the whimsical tornado.
Zara—Aha. Zara! Gracious, sweet-as-pie, perfect mixture of humor and gravitas. And as out of her element and lonely as I was here in Bienville. I hit SEND, it rang, she picked up. “Hello, Zara? What’s shakin’, Magnolia sister?”