Chapter 2 #2
I thought of the stories of how my great-grandfather had worked in the Virginia coal mines, trying to earn enough to make a decent life in this home for his wife and children.
He died well before I was born, but in the few photos I’d seen of him, black streaks always coated his hands.
The Greens had never lived in high cotton, but we’d always been proud of what we had.
Except… now, I might lose the home he’d built, the backdrop of my first-day-of-school pictures and the place where Momma had taken her last breath.
Granted, I stood by my decision to max out several credit cards and take out two mortgages to pay for Momma’s experimental treatment, but I hadn’t considered how I’d live after treatment failed and she was gone.
That alternative had never been an option.
“Your momma knew this was the best bet to get your hands on money so you won’t lose the house.
If you haven’t noticed, there’s not much in the way of business opportunities around these parts.
So, doll baby, this is your chance.” Aunt DeeDee attempted an encouraging grin.
“But don’t you worry: I’ll get you fixed right up. ”
Fixed right up… as if I was broken.
I watched her while she pulled plates out of the cupboard as if the issue was settled.
Feeling a pout inch its way into my bottom lip, I stepped onto the back porch lined with bird’s foot violets and Virginia bluebells.
In the corner was where I’d constructed a fairy garden when I was eight, and there was the pecan tree that I would climb every day after school with Black Beauty.
I’d dog-eared the corners of my copy, reading it in the rain and sunshine so that almost every page was somehow stained.
Well loved, Momma had called it when I’d refused Aunt DeeDee’s offer to buy me a new one.
“It’s not even safe,” I said, grasping for another excuse as I walked back inside.
Aunt DeeDee held a spatula in mid-air and scrunched her nose. “Safe? What in tarnation are you talking about?”
“The missing pageant queen?” I reminded her.
“Hogwash.” She waved the spatula. “That’s all stuff and nonsense.”
I took a few heavy steps into the center of the kitchen, painted in soft yellows and greens, and I distracted myself by pouring food into Bucket’s bowl before slouching into a chair.
“It’s not nonsense for that Miss 2001,” I muttered.
“She’s fine.” Aunt DeeDee tasted the tiniest piece of chicken and added salt to the entire dish. “Just couldn’t take the spotlight.”
“And you know that because…?”
“Because I was at that very pageant, and no one ever found any evidence to the contrary,” Aunt DeeDee said. “Let’s not talk about the missing queen at the actual pageant, okay?”
I didn’t make any promises, but she didn’t really seem to be asking a question.
Aunt DeeDee sighed when she noticed my crossed arms. “Trust me, Dakota. I would never send you into something dangerous. You know that, don’t you?”
I knew that Aunt DeeDee loved me like her daughter, would protect me with the same fierceness that Momma had possessed—and perhaps a little sparkle—but I didn’t feel like admitting it.
“All righty then, let’s turn you into royalty.
” Aunt DeeDee clasped her hands and practically bounced with excitement.
“Getting pageant-ready is a bit like ripping off a Band-Aid…” She paused and closed one eye.
“Or perhaps getting a Pap smear. Grit your teeth through the discomfort, and soon you’ll be all done, pulling up your panties, and getting on with your life. ”
I was horrified by the imagery, but when I caught the reflection of my gaunt grimace in the oven door, I realized that she had a massive job to do.
“Listen, sugar, beauty is pain. But don’t worry: it won’t kill you.”
Unless it did.
Aunt DeeDee turned to the big bag she’d brought inside and pulled some kind of wand-shaped torture-device from it.
“What is that?” I asked, eyeing the metal and plastic contraption.
“It’s a microdermabrasion kit.”
“You just happened to bring that with you?”
“Let’s just say that I knew how this conversation would go.” She took out bottles of goop and placed them in a Tetris-like row across the kitchen counter. “How long since you had a facial?”
I shook my head at her.
“Since you did a face mask?”
More shaking of the head.
“Oh dear.” She sighed. “I guess tonight’s the night.”
Over the next twenty minutes I watched her set up several stations. There was a rainbow of nail polish, a steaming bowl of wax, an orange container of highlights, and more creams and metal wands than I’d ever imagined.
Aunt DeeDee ushered me toward the couch and continued her commands, dropping glops of hot wax on my calves as soon as I was lying before her.
As I watched her move around the living room, I had no trouble believing my aunt had been Miss 1990 back in the day.
Her erect posture, her long legs, and her perfectly symmetrical face practically guaranteed it.
She attached strips of paper to my legs. “Now, take a deep breath.”
I did as commanded, but I couldn’t help howling as she ripped the hair out at the roots.
“Oh, sweetheart, this is nothing. Wait till I get to your nether regions.”
Tears sprang to my eyes, and I brushed them away.
After a few more minutes of waxing and yelping, Aunt DeeDee rubbed oil into my red legs before splattering on talcum powder for good measure.
Then, she took off a plastic glove and rubbed the frown out of my brow.
“Listen, hon, your fees are paid, and I’ve ordered all of your gowns and costumes in colors that will bring out the green in your eyes and help restore that peaches-and-cream complexion.
All you need to do is show up, smile pretty, and follow the schedule.
I helped your mother arrange everything.
” Aunt DeeDee cleared her throat. She tapped her pointer finger on her chin and studied me.
“Now, dear, what do you know about the pageant?”
My eyebrows stayed knitted this time. “I know that the entire show is a tool of the patriarchy and dependent entirely upon the toxic male gaze.”
“With an answer like that, you’re a shoo-in for the grand prize,” Aunt DeeDee tisked. “Please don’t forget that your feminist aunt, namely me, helps run that ‘tool of the patriarchy,’ and you know I carried signs alongside you at the Women’s March a few years ago.”
I eyed her, reluctant to concede the point. She’d passed out cookies and worn a sign that said, Treat Us the Same as the Menfolk. Not exactly activism at its finest. Still, she’d shown up for me.
“Sometimes it’s easier to infiltrate something that’s outdated in order to change things.
” Aunt DeeDee ran a hand down the front of her perfectly ironed skirt.
“Listen, I was almost your age when I won first place. I’d been through an awful breakup, and my own mother thought it might be a good experience for me.
And it was. The winnings gave me enough money to buy my own little apartment in town and to start my clothing line.
The prestige gave me recognition and a way to network.
This show can give you the push—and the resources—you need to keep our family home, to go back to school, to start your own practice, to do”—she waved a hand in the air as if dreaming big—“whatever you want to do. That’s about the most feminist thing you can do. ”
I turned on my side, resting my head in my hand. “You don’t even know if I can win.”
“With a little help from me, you’re golden.
” Aunt DeeDee straightened her shoulders.
“Good. Now then, there are three things you absolutely need to know: First, the judges watch you all four days, not just on the night of the grand finale. They’re assessing the Four Cs: confidence, comportment, conversation, and costumes. ”
“Costumes?”
“Attire and talent, but that doesn’t start with a C.”
“If I think all of this is Crap, may I be excused?”
“Funny, as always,” Aunt DeeDee said without laughing.
“Secondly, since this year is the centennial, there are more prizes”—she gave me a pointed look—“which means more money than any other year. First place is three hundred thousand dollars. Second place is two hundred thousand dollars. Third place is a hundred thousand dollars and a tractor, which is a bit odd, I realize, but a donation’s a donation.
And then there’s the Miss Rosie prize, which is based on likability and popularity and comes with—” Aunt DeeDee noticed my expression, which Lacy called my Resting Horse Face because it was long and blank.
“Maybe…” Aunt DeeDee wrinkled her nose. “Maybe we should skip Miss Rosie and aim to place, yeah?”
“Okay.” I sighed. “What’s the third thing?”
“I told you I’ll protect you, but in order to do that…” Aunt DeeDee took a long inhale. “I need you to stay away from Dr. Bellingham.”
“Who’s Dr. Bellingham?”
“The only male judge—and plastic surgeon to half of the ladies there.”
“I’m not sure how to avoid him if I’m competing.”
“You don’t have to ignore him, just don’t be alone with him.
He’s a longtime friend of the pageant, but he’s…
unsettling. He’ll tell you how much he admires you.
Then, he’ll tell you everything that’s wrong with the way you look before he makes a pass at you.
” Aunt DeeDee must’ve seen the ickiness on my face.
“I’ve learned how to manage him after all these years, but you, you steer clear.
” Something specific must’ve come to mind because she shuddered as she added, almost as an afterthought, “That man should’ve been castrated decades ago. ”
“This is sounding better and better.”
Aunt DeeDee plastered on her smile again. “You’ll be fine. Just stick with the other contestants. Make friends. Safety in numbers.”
“Okay, but I’m not wearing the hats. That’s where I draw the line.”
Aunt DeeDee pursed her lips as if to communicate that we would see about that.
“I’m not,” I repeated. “Unless my old Stetson’s allowed?”
“No!” Aunt DeeDee practically yelled. “That thing is disgusting.”
Perhaps we’d reached an impasse, which was fine by me.
A nearby meow startled me, and I looked around for my sweet, ancient kitty, who was walking slowly toward me, stretching as she went.
I sat up and ran my hand along Bucket’s fur before spotting the mail that had been dropped through the slot at the front door.
One was a hot-pink envelope and, even without opening it, I knew the contents: Notice of Foreclosure. Shoot.
Every takeout meal, every full-bellied laugh, every game of Phase 10 flashed in my mind. This house was the only piece of my life with Momma I had left, and if that letter was like the last one, it meant I had less than a month to get my hands on a lot of money.
“Listen, dear.” Aunt DeeDee licked her lips and looked down at her hands as if she needed to confess something. “The money could really help… both of us. Your mother’s treatment… she wasn’t always able to… cover everything.”
“That’s why I took out the credit cards,” I said, thinking of the numerous voicemails from debt collectors that I’d received today.
Aunt DeeDee continued, averting her gaze. “But the travel, dear, and that specialist she saw in Houston. All of that cost even more.”
My mouth went dry. “Momma said she’d found the money.”
“Yes, well.” Aunt DeeDee looked me in the eye. “I told her that I’d found the money, but in actuality I took out a line of credit on the business.”
A lie inside a lie. This family had once been transparent, open, honest, but now it seemed we were so busy trying to take care of each other that we’d neglected one thing: the truth.
“How much do you owe?”
“Forty grand, give or take, and I could really use it by the end of summer,” Aunt DeeDee answered. “So, you can see how important it is that you compete, and not only compete. Compete to win.”