Chapter 30 Fifty Shades of Grey
Since Lindsay Underwood’s name had appeared at the top of the sheriff’s office list of arrests, the people of Troy had been eagerly speculating about what might happen the following Sunday. Would Beverly and Lula both attend services at First Baptist Church? If so, would their showdown take place before the sermon, after the sermon, or (as some clearly hoped) during the sermon? If it came to blows (an unlikely outcome but one that could not be dismissed entirely), who would prevail, Lula or Beverly? And—most important—whose side would Jesus take?
When the day finally arrived, the church pews were packed. Beverly Underwood and her family sat in the third row on the right, as always. Some folks started to wonder if Beverly had even been privy to any of the talk around town. Not only was her gorgeous dress not suited for brawling, she didn’t appear nervous at all, despite the fact that Lula had two inches and at least thirty pounds on her.
“Bet she’s got rocks in her pocketbook,” fifteen-year-old Billy Larkin said, pantomiming Lula receiving a wallop upside the head.
“Beverly’s tougher than she looks,” his mother responded. “If her high kick is half as good as it was back in high school, she won’t need to cheat.”
Most folks agreed that Lindsay did not seem like the kind of girl who’d steal books for no reason. “I heard she’s covering for Ronnie Childers,” said Alvin Jones. “By the way—we know for sure she’s a lesbian?”
“You’re gross,” said his sister, who did, indeed, know for certain.
Then Lula arrived, silencing the whispers. All but three sets of eyes followed her from the doors to a spot on the left side of row six, just off the aisle. She wore her orange hair twisted into a tight chignon. Her dress was a flowy layer of peach chiffon over coral silk. Her open-toe shoes were a tasteful nude with kitten heels.
“Smart to wear a tear-away layer,” noted ten-year-old Wayne Hodgins, who’d been watching the WWE all morning. “But she better kick off those shoes or she’s gonna get whupped.”
The preacher stepped up to the pulpit and surveyed his flock. He may have been a man of God, but he wasn’t hard of hearing. He’d heard the talk in town, and as always, he’d prepared a sermon custom-tailored to his parishioners’ spiritual needs. The morning’s theme was “Love Thy Neighbor.” It was one of the finest sermons he’d ever delivered, but the preacher wasn’t sure anyone heard a word. He felt like a commercial break in the middle of the most riveting drama ever aired on television. Everyone seemed to be counting the minutes until it was over.
When the worship service concluded, Lula filed out with the rest of the congregation. Beverly exited the church a minute later to find Lula Dean waiting for her on the stairs—along with everyone else. Beverly paid them no mind as she headed down to the street. Waiting below on the sidewalk were two impeccably dressed figures, one short, blond, and rosy-cheeked, the other much taller and veiled. The smaller of the two held a stack of books.
“Must be nice not to care what folks think.”
Beverly stopped and turned to face Lula. “I’m sorry. Do you have something you’d like to say to me?”
“Why, yes, I do.” Lula not only held her ground, she took a step forward. “Your daughter is a common criminal, and she has no business showing her face in church.”
Lindsay started to say something, but her mother held up a finger. Trip Underwood took his daughter by the arm and pulled her back. After two decades of marriage, he knew better than to step into the line of fire.
“I’m surprised a member of the Concerned Parents Committee has a problem with me bringing my daughter to church,” Beverly replied. “Isn’t that where you’d want her to be?”
Lula ignored the question and turned to face her audience. “It’s just like Beverly to go and ruin Sunday worship, isn’t it?” she asked the crowd. “First she lets her child destroy my sweet little library. Then she fights to keep filth in our schools. And now she’s working with those people to destroy our monuments and insult our heroes. I’m asking y’all—is there anything too low for Beverly Underwood?”
“Well, I wouldn’t have a young woman thrown in jail for taking seven dollars’ worth of Goodwill books that I passed off as my personal collection,” Beverly said.
Beverly’s sangfroid seemed to make Lula Dean’s blood boil. “So you’re okay with her filling my little library with pornography and propaganda? Why are you even running for mayor, Beverly?” she demanded. “It’s clear that you hate this town.”
“This is ridiculous,” Beverly said. “None of the books you banned contain propaganda or pornography. You took them out of the libraries because they told truths people like you and Nathan Dugan don’t want told. But I have faith in the people of Troy. I think we are good enough to see where our ancestors went wrong. And we’re strong enough to take responsibility for our forefathers’ mistakes and make damn sure we never repeat them.”
Lula turned to the crowd once again. “What is this woman on about?” she asked. “She’s not talking about slavery, is she? How many times do we need to have our noses rubbed in that? You think any of us are going to forget slavery was bad? You worried we’re gonna slip up someday and start slapping shackles on people?”
“This town’s troubles didn’t end with slavery. We have to be honest about that.”
Lula sighed theatrically. “Dear Lord, I think the woke virus has eaten poor Beverly’s brain.”
Beverly responded with a knowing smile. “There’s still enough of my brain left to remember that your daddy owned a mill that employed half the Black people in Troy. He made his employees work in unsafe conditions and paid them a fraction of what they were owed. The irony is, if he’d treated people fairly, your family might still own the mill. You act like it was stolen out from under you. But the government took it away because your father was a crook.”
Lula reared back like she’d been smacked in the face. “How dare you!” she seethed. “My father was just following the accepted practices of his day. He did those people a favor by hiring them. Without him, they would have starved.”
“That’s true,” Beverly conceded. “Those folks wouldn’t have been exploited at the Lambert mill if they could have gotten jobs anywhere else in town. Your family isn’t the only one that bears responsibility for the way Black citizens were treated.”
“Well, look at them now. We’ve got Black business owners and Black valedictorians. You can’t even get a government job in this town if you’re white.”
“We also have a Confederate general, slaver, and rapist standing in front of our county courthouse—and a group of ‘concerned parents’ taking books about Black history and slavery out of our schools. What’s all that about, anyway?” Beverly asked.
Lula pointed down at two kids, who instantly turned tail and disappeared into the crowd. “The children of Troy do not need to grow up feeling bad about things in the past they had nothing to do with.”
“Nobody’s saying they’re personally responsible. But what’s wrong with feeling bad? Isn’t that what makes us all try to do better? You worried the next generation might want to improve things around here? Who knows—maybe they’ll make sure all people are treated equally and allowed to pursue happiness with those they love. Lord have mercy, wouldn’t that be awful? Heaven forbid!”
The crowd knew the gloves were coming off the second they saw Lula’s sneer. “You see where she’s going with this, don’t you?” she asked them. “She starts off talking about slavery and ends up pushing the gay agenda. That’s what Beverly Underwood’s really after. She wants to shove her daughter’s perverted lifestyle down our families’ throats.”
It felt like the whole town went silent while they all waited for Beverly’s response. But Beverly’s attention had turned to the dainty blond in an elegant baby-blue dress who’d just climbed the steps to join them.
“Mrs. Underwood.” The blond shook Beverly’s hand, then waved at someone in the crowd. “Hey, Ronnie!” Then her smile fell as she turned to Lula with a frown. “Oh my, Mama. Perverted lifestyle? That was a low blow.”
“Talia?” Lula’s expression shifted from joy to terror. “What are you doing here, sweetheart?”
Talia leaned forward and gave her mother a peck on the cheek. “I’m real sorry but we’re here to stop you before you can cause any more trouble.”
“Talia, why don’t we—”
Talia had already faced the crowd. “Hey, everyone! My name is Talia Dean. Lula Dean is my mother, and I love her. But you should know she’s a world-class hypocrite.”
“Talia, please—” Lula was begging.
“I read about Lula’s little library and her book banning club. I thought y’all might be interested in seeing what kind of books she had around when her own children were growing up. So I stopped by her house on the way here and gathered a few. I read this one when I was ten.” Talia held up a worn copy of Fifty Shades of Grey. “Didn’t understand a word, but Mama sure spent a lot of time reading it in the bathtub.”
There were titters from the crowd.
“I brought a few of her other favorites, too. Deep Desires. Beyond Shame. Pleasure Unbound. Taken by the T-Rex. Satisfying Sasquatch. All the stuff Lula thinks you shouldn’t be reading she keeps right on her nightstand. You wouldn’t believe what she stores inside the nightstand. And she never bothered to keep any of it out of reach of her children. But you know what? Didn’t harm us in the slightest. It was the other stuff she did—”
Talia was interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat. Everyone turned to see the tall, thin figure in a black fifties-style dress and veil coming up the steps.
“Oops. Looks like Taylor wants to tell this part of the story. Y’all remember my sibling, don’t you?”
“Wasn’t Taylor a dude?” someone in the crowd whispered a little too loudly.
“A dude? Like a cowboy?” Taylor asked. “Oh please. Could a dude do this?” Taylor spun around Linda Carter–style. The black dress flared out and then flew away. When she came to a stop, Moxie was wearing a blue spandex uniform with a giant white M in the center and thigh-high red boots. She pulled off the hat and veil, revealing a stunning face, gleaming diadem, and lustrous shoulder-length dark curls. The crowd gasped in unison. Kari Kelly clapped with sheer glee and a few others followed suit.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Moxie Laguerre!” Talia cried. “Georgia’s favorite drag queen!”
A man nearby couldn’t seem to close his mouth, so Moxie placed an elegant finger under his chin and shut it for him. “Buckle up, buttercup, I’ve got more tricks than that tucked away,” Moxie said with a saucy wink. “Sorry it took us so long to get here. We had a governor to deal with down in Florida. Now, gather round, children of all ages! Today’s your lucky day! It’s drag queen story time!”
A woman pulled her child closer.
“Don’t worry,” Talia assured her. “This will be family friendly. As y’all will see shortly, we’re not the ones who hurt children.”
“Oh no!” Moxie agreed wholeheartedly. “As a matter of fact, my story today is about two plucky children who triumph against the forces of evil.”
“Forces of evil?” Talia repeated. “Come on. Mama’s not that bad.”
“What do you say we leave that up to our audience?” Moxie proposed. Then she clapped her hands together. “Y’all ready?”
They were so ready. You could see it. Never before had there been an audience so eager.
“Okay, once upon a time, there was a pair of twins, Taylor and Talia. They lived in a little town with their mother and father, whom they loved very much. Then one day, their daddy died of natural causes. Their mother needed a distraction from her grief and from all the mean things folks in this town were saying about her husband’s untimely demise. So she turned to her children. She decided her little girl would be a beauty queen and her little boy would be a famous actor. She signed them up for every kiddie pageant and play in Georgia. And she absolutely loved it! The end.” Moxie clapped her hands and smiled broadly.
Talia tapped her shoulder. “Wait, Moxie. How did her children feel about it all?”
Moxie waved off the question. “Oh, them? They hated it.”
“Why?” Talia pressed.
“Because,” Moxie said with a huff, “you did not enjoy being onstage. You did not like fancy dresses and you felt like you were smothering with all that makeup on your face. But no matter how desperately you pleaded, the show always had to go on.”
“It was torture,” Talia said. “What about you, Taylor?”
“Well, see now, I was the one who wanted to wear the dresses. And when I was twelve, I told my mother.”
“And what did Mama say about that?” Talia asked.
“She called me a pervert. Said people in town already treated her like a leper, and she didn’t need me giving them something else to gossip about.”
Talia winced. “That must have hurt pretty bad,” she said.
For a second Moxie broke character. “It did. You know how many twelve-year-old perverts there are in the world, Talia?”
“How many?”
“Exactly none,” Moxie said, staring straight at Lula. “There are no twelve-year-old perverts. Not a single one. But it took me a few years to figure that out. Then when I was in high school, I met a wonderful teacher who helped me see that there was nothing dirty or depraved about wearing makeup and dresses. It was just fun. So I decided I wasn’t going to give up my passion so my mom could have the kind of son that she wanted.”
“Meanwhile,” Talia added, “I got tired of pretending to be a beauty queen. So I decided to stop.”
Moxie rubbed her hands together eagerly. “I’m sensing an act of rebellion is coming up, Talia.”
“That’s right, Moxie. And it was spectacular. Would you like to tell them?”
“Yes, thank you! Well, one day when we were in our teens, my sister and I decided to switch places. I entered a beauty pageant in Florida under her name. I sang ‘The Greatest Love of All’ for my talent. And I won. First place. At the end of the show, right after the tiara had been placed on my head, I ripped off my wig and revealed my true identity. It brought down the house, and the entire family was banned from the Florida pageant circuit for life.”
“Oh my!” Talia exclaimed. “What did Mama do?”
“She marched up to the high school and accused Mr. Minter, the musical director, of being behind it all. She told him if he didn’t stop what he was doing, she’d tell everyone about his proclivities.”
“That’s blackmail!” Talia cried. “Did it work?”
“Not on Mr. Minter. He didn’t have anything to do with the beauty pageant. We got the idea from Victor/Victoria. But Mama’s threat worked on us. We did what she wanted until we turned eighteen and graduated from high school. Then we hit the road.”
“I’ve seen people say on Facebook that we ran away.”
Moxie’s diadem gleamed as she shook her head from side to side. “Nope,” she said. “Despite everything, we still loved our mother. We always planned to come back to see her. But then she went and lost her damn mind.”
Talia took a deep breath. “Oh dear. What did she do?”
“She came to one of my first performances in Atlanta, but she was too chicken to go into the club. She must have been sitting outside in the parking lot when she saw Mr. Minter coming out. He was only there to support me, but Lula was so envious that she decided to destroy him.”
Talia’s eyes went wide. “Ooh, you were right, Moxie. That is pretty evil.”
“Told you so. Lula started a whisper campaign against the man who’d once saved her son. Made Mr. Minter’s life a living hell, from what I’ve heard. All because she was jealous.” Moxie looked around at the crowd. “I sure hope none of y’all got hoodwinked by Mama’s lies. I’d hate to think any of you good people played a role in running an innocent man out of town.”
Half the crowd looked down at their shoes.
“I didn’t think I could ever forgive her after that,” Talia admitted.
“Me, either,” said Moxie. Then she paused as though confused. “So why did we?”
“Because Mr. Minter called and asked us to.”
Several gasps could be heard in the audience.
“You’re saying the gay man Lula Dean set out to destroy wants her children to forgive her?” Moxie asked.
“Yep, he told us that people can learn from their mistakes, and we should give Lula a chance to redeem herself.”
“What do y’all think?” Moxie asked the crowd. “Should we forgive her?”
“Yes, yes!” cried Kari Kelly. The response from the rest of the crowd was half-hearted at best.
“I was just trying to be a good mother.” Lula finally spoke up in her own defense.
“Y’all want to know how to tell if you’ve been a good parent?” Moxie asked the crowd. “It’s real easy. If you have a family that loves each other and children who want to spend time with you, then you’ve been a good parent.”
Talia shook her head at Lula. “Sorry, Mama. Guess that means you failed,” she said. “But thanks to Mr. Minter, Taylor and I are willing to give you one more chance.”
“But first all this nonsense needs to come to an end,” Moxie insisted. “Disband the book committee, bow out of the mayor’s race, drop all the charges against Lindsay Underwood, recognize my fabulousness, and never ever utter another homophobic or racist word again.”
“Those are our conditions,” Talia said. “Either you accept them or we leave right now and you never see either of us again.”
“What do you say, Mama?” Moxie asked.
There was a long pause while everyone waited for Lula’s answer. For years to come, folks in Troy would wonder if it was Lula’s love for her children or the dogeared copy of Taken by a T-Rex, which was making its way through the crowd, that finally inspired her to admit defeat.
“Fine,” she agreed. “Let’s head on home. Y’all want some pie?”
“Lord, no,” Talia said. “We’ve been punished enough.”