Oh, that was so good,” Paige said, all but licking her plate for any leftover key-lime residue.
“Yes, it was.”
“I want to marry him.”
“Get a new line.”
“It’s true. I want a guy who can cook.”
“I want a guy who can figure out the minds of sociopathic killers.”
“I’m going to start making you watch comedies.”
“Speaking of sociopaths, let’s rehearse again what I’m going to say to my mother. There is the possibility I will never be seen alive again.” I really had no idea how my mother would react to my discoveries, assumptions, and speculations. This was the woman who had been caught walking around with a tiara on her head, singing show tunes in the middle of the afternoon, when a group of tourists passed by her house and spotted her through the window. This is the same woman who invites former queens over to her house every year to watch the Miss United States of America Pageant in their old pageant dresses. This is a woman slightly off balance when it comes to beauty pageants. She was liable to horsewhip me with her sash. Her next ad in the Savannah Chronicle would probably read “New daughter wanted for extremely gracious, fun-loving, pageant-watching mother-daughter experience.”
“Well, if you think I’m going to tell you how to handle your mama . . . Girl, you are the master with her. You just treat her gentle, compliment her shoes, and offer to go out to lunch with her this week. She’ll forget everything else you have to say. You know that.”
“That won’t work this time. This will cut to her core. She lives and breathes pageants. If she thinks I think her beloved pageant is rigged or remotely less than authentic,well, she might think death would be sweeter.”
“Well, at least you have a job, a place to live, a father who will provide you with Coke to cure your ills, and a best friend who can support you for a while if need be. And who will never, and I do mean never, force you to watch another pageant as long as you live.”
“Say it’s true!”
“It’s so true! Now go. You can do it. Remember, gentle. Be very gentle. And compliment, don’t forget to compliment. And call me. No matter what time. Don’t forget to call me,” she said, opening the door to let me out.
“I won’t. But be fasting and praying.”
“I’m starting now. But hurry, I’d like to get a bowl of cereal around eleven.”
“You’re sick.”
“But I love you.”
“I’ll call you later.”
“I’ll be waiting, rest assured.”
I entered through the front door. This simply needed to be faced head-on. A ball came bouncing in from the kitchen, and Duke came barreling out behind it. The ball hit the wall, bounced against the iron console, ricocheted to the other wall, hit my leg, and then landed at my feet. Duke took roughly the same path. His front paws slid across the hardwood as his back paws tried to slow his speed. Eventually his full body weight hit the foyer rug, causing his front paws to curve under his body, creating an odd somersault effect. The carpet ended up in a heap. He tried to recover himself, but his feet scrambled when he hit the hardwood, resulting in a bad Scooby-Doo impersonation. Finally, he landed at my feet, panting. I patted his head.
“No way, champ, will I touch that ball.”
Dad called him a second later, and Duke gave up on me, retrieved his ball, and took it back to his faithful companion. I turned the corner to the kitchen and saw Dad sitting on the floor for the dog and ball show.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he said, standing up to hug me.
“Do not touch me with those hands. You’ve been playing ball with a spit wad.”
“Oh, but it’s lovely spit,” he said, still reaching out to me.
I ran to the other side of the kitchen island.“Where’s Mother?”
Dad walked over to the sink to wash his hands.“You’re a brave soul. She is wondering what in the world you are up to. I’m wondering the same, but her curiosity is exceptionally piqued since she got word you went to see Emma. Are you ready to talk to her?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“There’s always a choice.”
“Yes, to deal with or to delay. I’m too busy to delay.”
“Do you want to practice on me?”
I gave him a hug. “You would not be practice for what I’m about to face. You wouldn’t even be a warmup. Just wish me luck.”
“Good luck,” he said, hugging me back and pointing upstairs.
I slowly climbed the stairs, wishing I was in one of those magical children’s novels, like The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, and that my stairs would lead me to an enchanted forest where I would be crowned the queen of something. The queen of anything. I would settle for queen of the Dukes at this point, spitball and all.
Her door was shut. I turned to glance into my room before knocking and noticed that there was stuff all over my bed. It was like a Kate Spade store. There were four Kate Spade handbags, ten pairs of shoes, even some that looked like flip-flops. There was an entire travel ensemble, with a wheeled carry-on and makeup cases. There was an executive ensemble, with what looked like a new satchel and a Day-Timer, with a coordinating wallet and key ring. I couldn’t help but smile. I also couldn’t help but wonder how long it must have been since I had told my mother I appreciated something about her. This overkill was evidence that it had been a very long time. I was glad I’d seen all this before I entered her room.
Her door opened just as I was about to knock. She looked beautiful, as always. She was wearing a pale blue silk Christian Dior robe, with a nightgown of the same color peeking out at the top. She had on her one-and-a-half-inch heeled bedroom shoes and stood exquisitely finished in full makeup and surprisingly subtle accessories.
“Hello, darling! When did you get home?” She opened the door wider.
“Just a few minutes ago,” I told her, coming into this room that held so many memories. During our at-home years,Thomas and I would always come up to Mother and Dad’s room at night, sit in their sitting room in front of the fireplace, and talk about our days. Mother would read to us while Dad read his own book. Then we would watch a television show, pray, and they would tuck us in.
“Mother, I love all the stuff in there on my bed. That was very thoughtful. I even saw a couple pairs of flip-flops,” I said, smiling at her and truly meaning it, not that I’d fight anything that worked.
She just beamed.“I’m glad you do. I thought it might help you with your new job. And if you have a lot of traveling to do, well, then you’ll have some things for that as well.”
I put my arm around her and led her to the chairs that we hadn’t sat in together for so long. “I was going to take you for a walk outside. But since you already have your gown on, why don’t we just sit here,” I said, motioning for her to sit down in her chair. I sat across from her in Dad’s well-worn chair.
She gestured to the closet.“Well, I could get dressed and we could walk down past the cemetery again.”
“No, I really think this will be more comfortable, and I’m not really in the mood for being that close to dead people. And we haven’t sat in here together for a long time. This will be a nice change of pace for us.”
“Savannah, I declare, you sound like you’ve grown into a woman,” she said as she perched her feet daintily atop her ottoman and wrapped her robe around her legs. “I remember how you and I used to cuddle in this chair every night.You would tell me the greatest made-up stories. One of my favorites was how you had written the president of McDonald’s asking him to boycott the entire city of Savannah until he put a McDonald’s downtown next to your father’s store,” she said, laughing.
“Mother, that wasn’t a story. I did write him.”
“Savannah, you did not!” she said, laughing even louder. “How many times have you written them?”
“Well, in total, about twenty-five. Some were to report poorly maintained Coke machines, others were to report poor carbonation, and my last was a letter of special thanks,” I told her, not revealing it was for the machine they let my dad put in his store.
“What did you write to thank them for?”
“Just to tell them I appreciated their willingness to meet the needs of young children.” She would think I was talking about the Ronald McDonald house.
“Savannah, you are like no child I’ve ever met. You’re beautiful, yet not snooty.A trait you got from me, I might add,” she said in absolute seriousness.
“Mother, I really need to talk to you about something important.”
“Yes, I know you do. You have for a while. I figure it has something to do with beauty pageants. At first I thought you might be telling the stories of past queens. However, I figured out that wasn’t it or you would have wanted to interview me and not Emma. Then, I figured you must have found something intriguing, or someone intriguing, who spiked your interest.”
“Yes, I have.”
“And since I thought I had revealed about everything possible to be known regarding the world of pageants, I knew I would just have to wait for you to tell me yourself. So, Savannah, what has prompted your sudden interest in pageants?” At that moment she looked so vulnerable, so delicate, so . . .my mother, so the last person in the world that I would ever want to hurt. And she was Jake’s wife, and Jake’s rare wrath caused me far greater concern than this woman facing me. So I proceeded gently.
“Mother, the last thing I would ever want to do is hurt you. And please know that I don’t even know all the facts yet. There might not be a story here at all,” I said.
“Well, tell me, and we’ll see.”
“Well, you need to know first that the story came to me. I didn’t seek it out. And for that reason alone, it seemed necessary to pursue it. I hope you’ll understand when I tell you what I know. But I hope you’ll understand even more what I think.”
“I trust you, Savannah.”
I began with the day I had first walked into Katherine’s store and finished with the events of the weekend, leaving out a few of my questionable activities. For almost two hours,Vicky did nothing but listen intently and nod her head when it was appropriate. She never asked a question, and for the majority of the time her head just rested on her hands as she watched every word come out of my mouth. When I was finished, she leaned back in her chair, rested her head, and closed her eyes.
“Are you going to say anything?”
“Well, first I’m going to say that that was a very long story, and you need to learn to go easy on the details.”
“I’ll work on that.”
“Second, I’m going to tell you that truth is more important than anything. Your father and I have taught you that from the beginning. If there is truth here and you find it, then you should rightly reveal it. My only request is that you make sure you know the truth, that you don’t reveal speculations. People have been ruined by speculation.”
“I wouldn’t want to ruin anyone.”
“Savannah, if all the speculation that was said about me was believed, I would probably be locked up in a cell with former beauty pageant queens forced to watch reruns of Miss Congeniality all day. But I know what is true about me, and so do the people I love. So, make sure you never contribute to faleshoods about others. Those are the values we raised you by, Savannah. I don’t expect you to act any other way.”
“Nor would I want to.”
She leaned in to make her point clear. “I know on Wednesday, whatever is in the paper will be the truth that you found. And I know that if it leads to speculation about me and how I won, or if I should have won, I will still know what is true and so will my family. All I ask for is excellence, and that’s all you’ve ever given. I trust you, young woman. I trust you because I know you.”
“Thank you, Mother.”
“You’re welcome. And I know that inside of you is a continual struggle to do what is right, especially if there is the possibility you might hurt someone. What is right is always right. The cost doesn’t change that. And I will be just as proud of you no matter what you decide, because I know you’ll do the right thing. You always have. Now, it’s late, my mind’s taxed, and I need some rest. If you need any help, let me know.”With that she got up,walked over to me and kissed me on my head, and made her way to the bathroom to remove her face.
I rose in a stupor. I had expected flash and fireworks. I had expected screaming fits and tears. I had expected drama. But I got a lady. A gentle, understanding lady. A woman who at that moment cared more about my doing what was right than the conflict, speculation, or questions about her that it would cause. That was the depth of this woman’s love for me.
Since tomorrow was my first day working a “real job,” as they call it, I needed to make sure I had myself fully prepared to enter the world of the employed. I’d held down plenty of jobs before, but this was different. This wasn’t one of those college standbys where I could call in at the last minute if I had a stomachache, boyfriend matter, or just felt more like taking in a movie. This one had designated sick time, vacation leave, working hours, and an actual desk I would have to sit behind. The thought of all of it began to make me extremely nervous.
I had really thought that I would spend my years strolling through parks, sitting in diners, carrying my laptop around with me, and documenting the life that passed by. My life would be devoted to developing characters and enlightening imaginations, with little structure and unlimited lunches with friends, being my own boss and creating my own schedule. In short, my life would be like Paige’s.
Until now, these newly defined rules for living had been lost on me. Everything had been such a whirlwind since I had pulled the car up in front of my “Welcome Home” banner, that I hadn’t thoroughly explored the concept of having a real job. Had I, I might not have shown up at all. Needing to redirect my energies, I focused on what I was going to wear. Vicky had provided me with substantial options.
I located a light-gray pair of silk pants with a nice line. I decided to pair them with a pale-pink cotton sweater and gray open-toed shoes.
The outfit wasn’t truly me, but I wasn’t going to be truly me until I could relocate my office to a front table in Jake’s Coffeehouse. Looking out over Bay Street would be nice, but I would much prefer the view at the shop. As good as I was at the art of persuasion, I imagined I could negotiate that by the end of the first month. The possibility gave me added energy.
There I stood, staring at all those shoes and handbags, when this overwhelming feeling urged me to try it all on. For me this was strangely odd. I’m not the kind of person who cares about fashion. As long as an item remotely fits, remotely matches, remotely works, I’m remotely happy. I’m not obsessive about outerwear. I like to look nice, neat, clean, all of those things. But let’s just say I’ve never left a store wearing my new shoes. I’m the kind of person that could bring home a pair of new shoes, throw them in the back of the closet, and forget they were there until I stumbled upon them searching for an old pair of flip-flops. So, this feeling, this need, this momentary weirdness, almost frightened me.
Still, I reached into the first box and pulled out a pair of shoes that certainly were from another time. They were espadrilles. There were a couple pairs of different-colored tennis shoes, and two beautiful pair of slip-on open-toed sandals with a slight heel. One was in camel and the other in black. These would go with anything. Though I wasn’t a big heel wearer, these were so attractive I decided to slip my foot in one, then the other. Staring at my feet in the mirror, they looked slimmer, older, more refined. They didn’t look like mine.
At that moment I was posing. I, Savannah Phillips, was striking a pose. My right foot went in front of my left, in kind of perpendicular form. It was a beauty pageant stance. I was metamorphosing! Then, I grabbed a handbag and slung it over my shoulder. Before I knew it, I was prancing toward the mirror, striking a pose and turning back, flinging myself around so my hair would whip around my face. It was the whipping action that did it. I whipped a tad too fast and about broke my neck.The fall was slow and methodical, but the results extremely fascinating.
Then I caught a really good look at myself in the mirror. There I was—rear in the air, one shoe off, the strap of a purse hanging around my neck, and my hair so whipped my face was invisible. The sight of myself and pathetic genes caused me to laugh so hard I fell over in the floor. “So much for my attempts at striking a pose,” I said out loud.
Collecting myself, I turned my attention to Vicky’s executive ensemble purchases, I picked up the Day-Timer. It was a little black number, fastened with a silver clasp. I transferred all my numbers into it and decided to record my upcoming activities. Monday, May 5, 2002, first day of work 8:00 a.m., lunch with Paige at Clary’s 12:00 p.m.,Tuesday, May 6, first article due! Now, I was ready: an outfit, matching shoes, a Day-Timer . . . absolutely no story.
I laid my outfit across the chair by the window to iron in the morning, picked up a gray purse and matching wallet and laid it by my outfit, then placed my newly organized organizer inside my purse. Then I crawled into bed; but feeling the need to say my prayers kneeling tonight, crawled back out. “Lord, I’m not sure what I’m about to embark on tomorrow. I’m not even sure if I’ve been chasing the right story, but help me know. Somehow, please help me know.” I thanked Him for the day and even the new shoes with the heels. I got back into bed, and somewhere between thoughts of Amber’s cockamamie stories, Emma’s nappy hair, and Vicky’s continual surprises, I fell asleep.