CHAPTER FOUR
Deanna stared at her fellow committee members, shuffling through the papers. She pulled out the top nine. One was to be queen, and eight would be selected for her court. It shouldn’t be this difficult. It wasn’t like these girls were selected based on status, money, grades, or beauty. It was about a number of things, most of which couldn’t be seen. They were felt in your soul when you were speaking to them.
They wanted local girls, born and raised. Girls who understood Mardi Gras and the traditions behind the parades. Any self-respecting Louisiana girl knew that it had nothing to do with drinking and acting like a fool. It was much, much more.
“What about this one?” asked Oscar.
“Oscar, she’s lovely, and her essay was well-written, but that girl interviewed terribly. She’s the most self-serving young woman I’ve ever met. She does no volunteer work at all. She’s only involved in extra-curricular activities at school if she can be the captain or president of whatever sport or club, and if you looked at her sitting out there, you noticed the only person even close to her was her mother,” said Deanna.
“What does that matter?”
“Oscar, it matters because it tells us those other girls want nothing to do with her. It wasn’t mean on the parts of the other girls. It was something that said I don’t want to be around her. She’s a mean girl,” said Angelle. Angelle was the owner of the trucking company that provided the vehicles for the parade. Every single trailer, but for a few, and truck was owned by Angelle’s Rides.
“Well, I suppose,” frowned Oscar.
“I know this will be difficult,” said Deanna. “All of these girls want to be the queen, but we can only select one, and she needs to be the most well-rounded young woman we have. This young woman will be on television morning shows and needs to represent our city and our parades appropriately. I think it’s obvious that this could lead some of them to other pageants, or it might end up on their resumes for college.”
“Which is the other problem with that girl,” said Angelle. “She outright said it would look good on her resume when she rushes sorority at LSU in the fall. That’s a focused, calculated young lady.”
“She was rude to Miss Irene,” said Luanne Morales. They all looked at the woman wide-eyed, and Deanna nodded.
“She was. I couldn’t believe it. Most people have a little common sense and know when to be kind to someone, especially someone as old as Miss Irene,” said Deanna.
“Which reminds,” smirked Luanne, “I need to ask that woman what night cream she’s using.”
“Now, Luanne, we all know it’s voodoo,” laughed Angelle.
“Angelle, you best be quiet before a beam falls on your head,” laughed Oscar.
Deanna just shook her head. She adored Irene and Matthew Robicheaux. They’d checked in on her almost every day for a month after her parents were killed. After that, she would receive food, cakes, pies, and casseroles at least once a week from Irene. It had been nearly five months since her parents were murdered. Five months and there were no leads and she had no memory of that night.
Initially, she thought she would continue in her father’s CPA firm, but the memories were too much. Every person who walked in asked about the incident or had that ‘poor darling’ look on their face. She just couldn’t do it any longer. She didn’t want the pressure or the responsibility. She wanted to do her work and go home at night. That’s all.
All of the kids from Belle Fleur that she’d gone to school with were great young men and women, and they’d always treated her like she was part of their family. That’s not something anyone forgets.
“Well, I think we’re all in agreement,” said Deanna. Everyone nodded, even Oscar. “I’ll make the calls to the girls and let them know. I’m sure they’ll all be pleased.”
As much as she wanted to believe that was true, there was just something in her gut that said there would be trouble.
“Well? What did they say?” asked Lottie. Her mother set the cell phone down on the table and looked up at her daughter.
“You didn’t win,” she whispered. “I don’t understand how this could happen, Lottie. You didn’t win. Your performance was perfect. Your dress and makeup were perfection. I even flirted with that old goat Oscar Bonaventure.”
“Then why didn’t I win, Mama?” she asked, stomping her foot.
“They wouldn’t tell me. All they would say is that you would be on the float with the queen and her court.”
“Who won? Who could have possibly beat me out for this?” she asked, seething.
“Louisa Pollock,” whispered her mother.
“Louisa! Louisa Pollock! Is this a joke? She’s still fighting acne, for God’s sake, Mama. How on earth could she possibly beat me out? Her dress wasn’t even custom-made. Her mother purchased it in Baton Rouge at the Dillard’s.”
“I know, Lottie. I know. I’m trying to think about how this could have happened. It’s alright. You’ll win next time.”
“Mother! It had to be this year. I’m going to be rushing at LSU this fall, and I needed this crown on my head. Do you understand how this changes everything for me? Do you?”
“Stop yelling at me, Lottie! I’m trying to help you here. Let me think. I know we can do something that will get you on that lead float. Just give me a few minutes to think about it.”
Lottie shook her head at her mother, grabbing her Chanel clutch and car keys, she stormed toward the front door of the Garden District mansion.
“Lottie, where are you going?” called her mother.
“To handle things for myself.”