Alicia Pace - Simple Gone South

“Oh, they’re fine.” He could see her waving her hand like she did when she didn’t want to talk about something. Not that she didn’t love her husband and children. At this moment, they just were not her mission. “Listen! I need you to come home next weekend.” From where Missy sat, “home” was still Merritt because that’s where she was. It mattered not to her where he paid taxes, had set up his architectural restoration business, and got dumped. “I’m in the Junior League Follies and I need you to come.”

Oh, damn.

He and Missy had been to the Follies a few times when they were kids because their mothers were in it. It involved grown women dressing up like famous people and lip-syncing and dancing, all in the name of charity.

“Don’t tell me they are still doing that.”

“Not for a while, but it’s been resurrected. And not they , Brantley. We —meaning me and you —because you’re coming.”

He could tell her yes now or he could tell her yes later, but in the end, people always told Missy yes. Besides, he hadn’t seen his dad and grandmother since before he left for San Francisco. If he didn’t visit soon, they’d land on his doorstep.

“All right,” he said. “What else?” Because it just wasn’t going to be that easy. Of course, going to Merritt was never easy. How could it be? Too many graves.

“I need you to come to the after party too.”

“How much is this going to set me back?” It wasn’t going to be cheap. Junior Leaguers were never cheap.

“Twenty-five for the show and a hundred for the party.”

“Must be some party. Generally people like me enough that they let me come to their parties for free.”

“Charity, Brantley. I know what you made on that San Francisco job, so don’t argue with me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“And, Brantley?” she said sweetly. “Please tell Rita May she is welcome to join us.” She said it like she was a queen granting a boon to a lowly peasant—which about summed up Missy’s opinion of Rita May.

“That will not be happening,” he said. “She has decided she does not approve of the way I do business. She will be passing her time elsewhere from here on out.”

“Praise Jesus,” Missy said.

“Now, Melissa, I am sure what you mean is, ‘Brantley, I am so sorry your relationship did not work out.’”

“Yeah, that,” she said. “There’s something else.” Wasn’t there just always? “Lucy and I need some serious hair products. I need you to go to Sephora at Green Hills Mall to get them.”

NO, NO, NO! He hated the mall—not just that mall, but every mall. But again, there was no refusing Missy. He reached for his pen and DayRunner.

“Go ahead. Tell me.”

She paused. “You’re getting your DayRunner, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

“There’s an app for that, you know.”

“I don’t want an app. I want paper. I want to write with a fountain pen—the very same Mont Blanc pen you gave me upon our graduation from that fine institution, Merritt High School. Now, what is it you need from the hell mall?”

“All you have to do is pick it up,” she said, like it was a gift. “I’ve already talked to them and they’ve got it gathered up. I’ve given them my credit card number and everything. All you have to do is give them my name.”

That was something anyway. He decided to steer the conversation away from the Green Hills Mall before she thought of any more errands. “Is this shindig on Saturday?”

“Of course. You can’t do anything on Friday nights during football season.” Right. High school game. He’d played on that team with none other than Nathan Scott, former college star and present Merritt High Head Coach.

“I might not come until Saturday morning.”

“That’ll be fine. We need our hair stuff by early afternoon.”

“I’ll find you when I get there.”

“Call my cell. I don’t know where I’ll be.”

“I’ll do it.” With his clean hair and ducks, he went to bed.

Lucy Mead slid into a back booth at Lou Anne’s diner. She was elated. She’d had a great morning—it wasn’t every day you got handed a job that was beyond your dreams.

But she was hungry. And tired. Thank goodness her new project wouldn’t start until after the Junior League Follies were over. Why she had let her best friend, Missy, talk her into performing in the Follies, she would never know. Their other two book club friends weren’t performing. Lanie was working on the after party and Lucy could have done that too. Or she could have helped Tolly with publicity. But no. Missy wanted to lip-sync and dance and she wanted Lucy to do it with her. So that’s what they were doing.

What they weren’t doing was eating much. Damn those costumes. Not that it would hurt her to miss a meal. She might not be the fat teenager she had been, but her hips and thighs could use a break from the carbs.

“Hey!” Missy sang out as she slipped into the booth across from Lucy. Missy was walking perfection, even after two children. She always had been. Lucy would never forget her first summer in Merritt. She still marveled that eighteen-year-old Missy, the beautiful blond cheerleader, had befriended the awkward, overweight, younger girl Lucy had been.

She’d been fifteen and had begged her anthropologist parents to let her stay with her great aunt Annelle while they went to some village in Brazil. Or was that the Denmark summer? She couldn’t keep up. Back then, they’d moved to new faculty positions every few years; Clemson, University of Georgia, Florida State. And every summer there had been some dig or study in some remote place. Lucy had hated it. Working at Annelle Mead Interiors that summer had been heaven. Not only had she found her best friend, she’d found her professional calling. Of course, she’d gotten her heart broken too, but wasn’t that what the fifteenth summer was for?

Maybe it was the nostalgia or the lack of food that made her say to Missy, “I love you.”

“Of course you do!” Missy said. “I’m loveable.”

“Some would say.” Lou Anne approached the table with menus, water, and a smile.

“We don’t need those menus, Lou Anne,” Missy said. “We are going to split the grilled chicken salad. No dressing. Just some balsamic vinegar. Water to drink.”

Lou Anne sighed. “These Junior League Follies are going to be the death of my business. There’s not a woman in this town between the ages of twenty-four and forty who’s eating.”

“It’s going to be the death of me too,” said Lucy.

“Poor babies. I’ve got a chocolate cake, still warm. Why don’t you let me bring you some? Just a little? I’ll give it to you for free, if you’ll just eat.”

Lucy’s mouth watered. “Better not. You see, we have these costumes . . .”

She imagined herself on the stage of the Merritt Community Playhouse looking like the Goodyear Blimp. That probably couldn’t happen in four days, but fat was always right around the corner.

“Okay, but you girls come to see me Monday. I’m going to give you a proper meal.”

“Good news,” Missy said after Lou Anne had gone. “I have solved our hair product dilemma.”

“I told you I would go to Birmingham to get what we need,” Lucy said. Their regular stylist wouldn’t even attempt what they needed done. The girl at the mall was willing to try but only if they obtained the correct products, which could not be had in Merritt.

“You don’t have time for that. We have practice every night. Besides, never do something that you can get someone else to do. That’s my motto.” She smiled her million watt cheerleader smile. “I called Brantley last night. He’s bringing them.”