Girl Meets Class Page 2

  “I could give you my new Prada clutch.” I smiled weakly. There were more clutches where that one came from. If I wanted, I could buy a new clutch each month.

  “You’re blatantly exploiting my pathological weakness for pricey pocketbooks.”

  “Guilty.”

  She plucked at the strap of her own bag, a small and battered Coach from an outlet mall near Commerce, Georgia.

  “Much as I love Prada, I’d rather you keep your promises instead of trying to buy me off.”

  “I’ll work on it.”

  I was glad she seemed to be in a forgiving mood. To placate her further I suggested lunch at the Rose Hill Country Club. My treat, of course, since Joelle wasn’t a member.

  We arrived at the country club ladies’ grill, a viciously sunny room with picture windows overlooking the deep greens of the golf course. The grill was nearly deserted except for a table of elderly women, and a young couple with a toddler in a sailor suit.

  Joelle wagged her fingers at the child and said, “Ahoy matey.” She came from a big family—six brothers—and had the motherly instincts of a grizzly bear.

  My instincts, on the other hand, were more like a cuckoo bird’s. The females trick other species of birds into raising their babies by laying eggs in their nests. Then they fly off, single and unencumbered.

  Once seated, the waitress arrived at our table, and I ordered a patty melt and a bloody Mary.

  Joelle raised a fiery eyebrow. “Tossing gasoline on the bonfire, are we?”

  I smiled, even though facial movement was painful. “I’m in training for spring break.”

  “That’s a long time from now.”

  “No harm in getting started early.”

  Joelle’s eyes widened, distracted by something behind me.

  “What is it?”

  “Oh Jesus. You won’t believe who just came in.”

  “Who?”

  “Baby Bowen.”

  I sunk down low in my seat. I hadn’t run into Baby since the infamous incident at Lois Atkins’ funeral.

  “Is she armed?”

  “Doesn’t need to be. She could take you down with one hand tied behind her back.”

  True enough. Despite her nickname, Baby was over six feet tall and likely wore an F-cup bra. She was huge but had no extraneous adipose tissue. The girl was pure muscle.

  “She’s headed over here,” Joelle said.

  “Has she spotted me?” I was tempted to duck under the white linen tablecloth and hide myself.

  “I think so. Her face is turning red and there’s a violent gleam in her eye.”

  The air molecules seemed to quiver as Baby headed in our direction. I hoped she was going to stalk past us without speaking, but no such luck. She reached our table and trained a pair of bulging blue eyes on me.

  “You.”

  “Listen, Baby, I’m really sorry. I—”

  She pointed a cigar-sized finger at me. “You!” she said again.

  “Did you get my note of apology? And of course, I’ll be happy to pay—”

  Baby loomed over me, her face wide as a planet. I shrank away, fearing she’d grab me by the roots of my hair and toss me across the room. Certainly she was entitled. “Everyone’s sorry about what happened to you, but maybe it’s time you got yourself some professional help.” She straightened her spine, pivoted on her schooner-sized shoes and left the grill.

  “That was a close one,” I said.

  I expected Joelle to be quivering with laughter. Instead she was solemnly shaking her head.

  “What?”

  “If you don’t know, I feel sorry for you.”

  “You don’t even like Baby.”

  Joelle and Baby had been in the same class at Rose Hill Prep, three grades above me. Joelle was a scholarship student, and Baby never let her forget it.

  The sun had lit the strands of Joelle’s red hair; it looked as if sparks might fly from her scalp at any moment. “One day you’ll go too far. One day something really bad is going to happen to you.”

  I met her gaze and, in a very soft voice, I said, “Hate to tell you, but the worst has already happened. From here on out everything else is anti-climactic.”

  An uncomfortable moment of silence followed, and I was grateful when Henrietta—Henry for short—appeared at our table. She was the club’s dining room manager. “Ms. Wells, could I have a moment of your time?”

  “Sure thing. What can I do you for?”

  Henry glanced at Joelle. “Maybe it would be best if we went into the hallway and had a private talk.”

  “You can talk in front of Joelle. She’s like family.”

  It took Henry a moment to speak. She kept glancing down at her white work clogs and touching a bun pulled so tight I imagined it smarted. She said, “I’m sorry. You no longer have club privileges here.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s your father,” Henry said in a low voice.

  “Is he behind on dues?”

  Daddy spent wads of money on gambling and sometimes came up short at the end of the month. Usually all he had to do was call my aunt and she’d cover any outstanding debts.

  “It’s not the dues.” Henry blinked rapidly, clearly uneasy with her task. “Earlier this morning your father called to cut off your membership.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “I don’t get it. Why would he…?”

  I thought about last night and how uptight Daddy had been, but to cancel my club membership…That wasn’t like him. He’d never been a strict parent and had always acted more like a buddy than a dad. Then again, until several months ago, I’d been the ideal child.

  Was he trying to get my attention? Fine. So long as he didn’t involve Aunt Cornelia. That’d be a mistake of mythical proportions.

  Henry fidgeted with the collar of her starched white uniform, waiting. I’d always liked her and regretted she had to get mixed up in my family’s dramas.

  “I’m sorry, Henry. I have no idea why my father would do such a thing but I’ll leave right now.”

  She nodded and returned to the kitchen.

  “What was that all about?” Joelle said.

  I rifled through my bag for some more Goody’s Powder. In the last few seconds my headache had gone from irritating to kill-me-now.

  “It’s just a misunderstanding. After I drop you at your car, I’ll go over to Tranquility Hall and find out what’s going on.”

  Two

  My tires squealed as I negotiated the turns of the winding driveway that led to my father’s house. Tranquility Hall was an ivory-shrouded Tudor that hulked in the shadows of several oversized magnolia trees and meandered on for an entire block. When people first saw the house they always commented on its size. At eighteen thousand square feet it was the biggest home in Rose Hill. Back in the 1800s, it was a school for wayward young ladies. One of the bedroom walls still bore marks where some young charge had scratched off the passing days.

  I parked the car and grabbed a bottle of forty-year-old, single-malt scotch I’d purchased as a peace offering. The saying “you can catch more flies with honey” was so common in Georgia the legislature should write it into the state law books. I was determined to sweeten Daddy up before he did something more drastic than cutting off my club membership.

  I let myself into the house and traveled down a long, hushed hall to my father’s study. On the way, I passed an oversized gold-framed portrait of my mother. We favored each other: same fair complexion, same sprawling limbs, and same confusion of burnished blond curls tumbling down our shoulders. The sight of the painting always gave me a chill at the back of my neck. She’d died of a brain aneurysm when I was four.

  I almo
st reached the study when I smelled the familiar reek of Elizabeth Arden’s Red Door.

  “Daddy,” I whispered. “Tell me you didn’t.”

  But he had. No mistaking the cloying stench of Aunt Cornelia’s perfume. If I was smart, I’d sneak out the door and get back to my car before I was spotted.

  “Do I hear the pitter-patter of little feet?”

  Too late. I had no choice but to go inside. I rounded the corner and almost collided with Aunt Cornelia. She wore a pastel pink St. John’s suit, matching Ferragamo pumps and a ruffled blouse. Her ensemble and diminutive stature made her seem initially harmless, but closer examination revealed a narrow, humorless mouth and platinum blonde hair cut into a pageboy so sharp-edged it could draw blood.

  As usual two assistants accompanied her. A harried young man and woman sat in twin leather club chairs, furiously tapping on laptops, as if racing each other. I recognized neither. My aunt’s assistants lasted as long as fruit flies.

  “What a nice surprise,” I fibbed. Ever since I was a little girl I’d been leery of Cornelia. Used to hide in the closet during her infrequent visits.

  My aunt’s arms were open wide, waiting for me to fall into them. I trudged to her embrace as if walking to the gallows. The smell of her Red Door wasn’t doing anything to help my pounding temples.

  “It’s been far too long.” She released me after nearly cracking my ribs with her signature power hug.

  Cornelia was CEO of Cornelia’s Southern Foods. Fifty years ago her late mother and father began the company in their kitchen in Pinch Gut, a rundown area of Rose Hill and so-called because the earliest residents were so poor, their guts looked pinched. When my grandparents died in a car accident, my aunt—who’d only been twenty-one at the time—took over the business. Now it was a Forbes 2000 company headquartered in Atlanta, and it produced a variety of Southern-style canned goods that were distributed all over the world.

  “What brings you to Rose Hill?” I said. Maybe I’d jumped to conclusions, and she wasn’t here because of me. Maybe there was some other reason.

  “Do I need an excuse to see my darling niece?”

  “Of course not.”

  That’s when I knew I might as well snap on a collar and join Beau in his doghouse. She’d never make a special trip just for an ordinary visit. Cornelia was a workaholic, and I usually only saw her twice a year, if that.

  “Bringing your father a little bribe, are you?” She pointed at the bottle in my hands.

  I bristled with indignation. “This isn’t a bribe. It’s a very late Fathers’ Day present.”

  “Your father’s not here. But he wanted me to tell you goodbye. Says he loves you, and he’ll see you as soon as he gets back.”

  “Where did he go?

  “Abroad. For a month. Maybe longer. I needed him to check on our international divisions.”

  “A month? I just saw him yesterday and he didn’t say a word about leaving.”

  “It was a quickie decision.”

  She nuzzled my cheek. Cornelia was sneaking up on sixty but had the alabaster skin and defined jawline of a woman at least fifteen years younger. Whenever she traveled, she brought a separate Louis Vuitton suitcase that contained a collection of skin creams with exotic ingredients like ovine placenta and seaweed extract.

  “In the meantime, I’ve come here to deal with you and your recent adventures in lawlessness.”

  My palms dampened with sweat. Why had my father told her about my arrest? He must have been really miffed to do that. When it came to my high-strung aunt, my father and I always operated on the mushroom principle: Keep her in the dark and feed her…well, everyone knows what mushrooms grow in.

  “Why don’t you have a seat?” Aunt Cornelia said. “Kelly, Jason, vamoose please. My niece and I need to have a little tête-à-tête.”

  The two assistants skittered out of the study like bugs being shooed with a broom. Cornelia smoothed her skirt and took a seat in a burgundy wing chair that clashed with her all-pink outfit.

  I meekly sat across from her.

  “A little bird told me you’ve been a busy girl lately,” she said. “Two arrests over the course of six months. Not very ladylike. And what about your last credit card bill? When my accountant showed it to me, it was so thick I mistook it for a telephone book.”

  I squirmed in my chair. I had been spending more recently but it wasn’t as if my aunt couldn’t afford it. Besides, she’d never said anything about my spending habits before.

  “I hate to say this, my dear niece, but you’ve become an embarrassment to this family.”

  Cornelia hadn’t lived in Rose Hill for years and even had a certain amount of disdain for the place and its inhabitants, but she was fiercely protective of our family’s standing in the town. It was only because of her success with Cornelia’s Southern Foods that we had gone from being Pinch Gut nobodies to one of the richest families in town, a fact she loved to flaunt.

  “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

  “No, it most certainly won’t.”

  I didn’t care for her ominous tone. No telling what she had in mind. I knew she was hard on employees who disappointed her. Up until recently I’d always been a source of pride to her and had never experienced her wrath.

  “Your father and I have been looking the other way too long. It’s been almost eight months since your unfortunate incident and—”

  “Six months.”

  “This aimlessness of yours has gone on too long. Time to do something purposeful.”

  I had an inkling of what was coming next. Twice in the last few months Cornelia had sent me some graduate school brochures with a Post-it saying, “Look into this.”

  “Sorry but there’s no way I’m going to get accepted in grad school. My grades in undergrad were nothing to write home about.”

  “I do have a school in mind for you. But it’s not graduate school.”

  “What then?”

  “The school of hard knocks,” she said with a queer little smile.

  “Excuse me?”

  “It’s my fault. After your mother died, I promised myself you’d want for nothing. That policy seemed to work just fine…until recently.”

  “What are you getting at?” The sweat on my palms was now spreading to my entire body.

  “It’s been eight months since your life took that nasty turn and—”

  “Six!”

  “And your pity party shows no signs of ending. Your father and I talked it over, and we decided you’ll no longer receive your monthly allowance. And if you want to continue to live in that fancy condo of yours, you’ll have to pay the going rental rate of three thousand dollars a month. Also all your credit cards have been canceled.”

  It took me a few seconds to process what she was saying. When it hit me, I grabbed the arms of my wing chair for support.

  “You’re…you’re cutting me off?”

  It was the last thing I’d expected. Cornelia could be a sourpuss but she’d always been generous with her pocketbook. In addition to free rent and payment of all my credit cards, she gave me a monthly check for five thousand dollars.

  “What will I do for money? How will I live?”

  She waved a hand bejeweled with ruby rings, her birthstone. “You’ll get a job, of course. Like ordinary people. You do know what a job is, don’t you?”

  I winced. Her plan, I’m sure, was for me to begin a long term of indentured servitude at her company. I’d have to immerse myself in the world of beans and other fat-back laden foods. I imagined myself wearing a hairnet, stirring a huge vat of beans while my aunt barked into a megaphone: “Faster, faster.”

  “It’s a mistake to make me work at the plant. I’d never be able to perform to your exacting standards.”

  “You’r
e right about that. I choose the best people in the business. And that definitely does not include you.”

  “Where will I work then?”

  “How should I know? I want you to find a job on your own. Develop some independence. You’d be surprised how much satisfaction you’ll feel.”

  “But I have no skills.”

  Unless being good at the drinking game Flip, Sip, or Strip counted. And to be frank, I usually lost at that as well.

  “Don’t be a ninny. You have a college degree. Thank God I insisted you get that.”

  “In general studies.”

  “That’s a perfectly respectable degree.”

  “No. It isn’t.” I shot up from my chair and paced the length of the study. “Do you know what the job market’s like? I’ve heard of people with accounting and engineering degrees who can’t get jobs. I’ll starve.”

  “Quit being so dramatic. True, you’ll have to downsize your lifestyle some but—”

  “Downsize? Much worse than that. I’ll be standing in line at soup kitchens or eating cat food. And not the Fancy Feast stuff either.”

  She wiped away imaginary tears. “Oh my. Where’s a traveling violin player when you need him?”

  “Please don’t do this to me. I’ll do better, I swear. No more goof-ups or trips to jail.”

  Cornelia shook her head. “Too late for that. Your father says he’s tried to talk to you but you’ve shut him out. Time for harsh measures.”

  The walls of her study seemed to be closing in on me. “I need air,” I said. Not to mention a drink.

  My aunt stood. “Hold on. I’m not finished with you yet.”

  I ignored her and headed for the exit.

  “Toni Lee. Stop this very instant.”

  I flung myself down the hall and out the heavy front door, slamming it behind me. The sky was choked with whorls of gray clouds; a hot wind roused the leathery leaves of an enormous black-barked magnolia tree.

  Once inside my car, I slammed my foot on the accelerator and roared down the oak-lined road, watching Tranquility Hall disappear in my rearview mirror. Part of me wanted to keep on driving until I was a hundred miles away from Rose Hill. Unfortunately I’d only traveled a few more yards when my motor coughed several times and died. I tried to restart the car. It let out a petulant whine and refused to turn over. I glanced warily at the gas gauge.