“Looks like you might be the one needing Dan this afternoon,”
Harry said with his eyebrows up.
“No,” Dan said with a smile. “She just handled the entire
sports and investigative media from all over the country, I think she can handle
a local reporter. She’s just fine.” Dan gave me his vote of confidence. I turned
and saw that even though Sonny had ended the press conference, the journalists
continued to shout questions and shove their mics at all of us wherever we
walked. The unpleasant accusations seemed to hurtle through the air at us like
softballs at a carnival dunking booth. Eventually, one would hit and throw us
all, with Lewis’s clothes, into the muddy Warrior River.
Campus security inched back the reporters, who eventually began
putting away their equipment and trotting through the wet grass back to their
station cars. Everyone except Dallas. She just kept right on slinging her long
golden locks as she spun around to first one then another of the male reporters.
I don’t think they were exactly listening to her as much as they were just
watching her move that
Penthouse
centerfold body of
hers. She hung around just beyond the security line, buzzing around like a wasp
that had spotted her prey, biding her time for just the right moment to sting.
She saw me coming toward her, as I made a beeline toward my wasp.
She acted like she didn’t see me, hovering around the last
security guard, batting her fake eyelashes and talking over her shoulder. My
pumps were spiking into the wet ground as I walked, but I was full of
determination to get this awkwardness behind me. I had nearly lost my focus
once, and if I didn’t go speak to Dallas now, I’d be stuck in this mud-wrestling
match with her, and there was no time for that.
“Well, well…if it isn’t Miss Law School Queen, in the flesh.
Hey, honey.” Dallas leaned over and gave me a meaningful air kiss. “My, my,
sugar, you sure do look like life is treating you nice.”
I swallowed a catty response. Dallas was always so genuine.
“How are you, honey?” I said, returning all of her sincerity.
“You look great yourself. I like the blonder hair. I’m sure it really works for
you.”
Or helps you work,
I thought to myself.
“So,” Dallas said, “aren’t you in quite the little
situation?”
“Whatever do you mean?” I asked.
“Well, sweetie, everyone knows Vivi has always been, shall we
say, a convenience for Lewis? And vice versa? I mean, Blake, for God’s sake, her
life has always been an open book.”
“Your point?” I gritted out between clenched teeth.
“Blake, honey, I know I don’t have to draw you a picture. I
mean if it walks like a duck…”
“What are you saying, Dallas?” I cut in. “That Vivi is somehow
at fault for Lewis’s disappearance because she had sex with him? Well, sweetie,
I guess that makes you guilty, too, now doesn’t it?”
Mission accomplished: I had stung her first. I knew Dallas had
been a “convenience” for Lewis, too, years ago.
Silence followed. The wasp had retreated. I’d put her in her
place.
“Anything else I can help you with, Dallas?” I said with a
smirk.
“Yes, honey. I had just one more question. How can you defend
Vivi when Lewis is your brother-in-law? Just because he and Harry have been on
the outs doesn’t mean he’s not still family. I mean, you must be colder than I
even thought. I used to tell your boyfriends to watch out, if they kissed you
real quick, they’d get an ice cream headache.” She bent over sexily to pick up a
microphone, laughing at her own joke.
“Dallas, we both know Vivi. She’s no threat to anyone. I can
defend her even though Lewis is my brother-in-law because I know she’s
completely innocent. And besides, she’s always been like the sister I never
had.” Ooh. Sting number two.
“Yes, well, we never really were very good sisters, were we?
But, Blake, honey, you never needed anything but achievement to keep you happy.
As long as you had all your trophies in bed with you at night, there was never
any room for anyone else. I hope you at least pulled a couple to the side to
make room for Harry—or do y’all sleep in separate rooms?”
“Dallas, you are still so transparent,” I said, “looking to be
famous just like always. Wow, some people never change.” Dallas had entered
every single beauty pageant from here to North Carolina and never got that
coveted crown. Eventually she decided to become a TV reporter and then at least
she could sign autographs every now and then. While Vivi and I grew up and went
on with our lives, somehow Dallas got stuck in her own little selfish desires.
Her drive every day came from one question deep in her soul:
What can I do to be famous?
She was the very
definition of narcissist. That’s why I knew this little Find Lewis campaign
would be huge. And believe me, it wouldn’t be all about finding Lewis, it would
be all about promoting Dallas.
“Oh, Blake,” Dallas said, “you know this will help the police.
If I get involved and my fans help out, we may just dig him right up before
kickoff. Sure can’t hurt, since no one
you
know
seems to have a clue where he might be. If I get a good lead, I’ll be just as
happy as can be to call Sonny. And you know, I’ll make sure we get lots of
publicity about our search. I have already called the news director and he loves
the idea. Says he’s gonna make it a whole new special report segment on the news
every single night till we find Lewis. Now what could be better than that?”
I could think of a multitude of things, even cleaning toilets
after burrito night, but I tried to be polite. She wished she’d had just one
trophy. She didn’t even have a crown. Dallas was still looking for recognition.
That was confirmed when she looked up at me after grabbing her (fake) Prada bag
and said, “I don’t know, Blake. I think I smell Emmy Award all over this
one.”
“Oh, Dallas,” I said, shaking my head. “I want you to know
there is no story here. Nothing has been identified. Vivi believes she was the
last one to see him, but we don’t know for sure. This is still all very new. So
you have no story—and you certainly don’t have one that could hurt Vivi. And
this little news segment of yours will just fall flat when people see you are
just being as shallow as usual.”
“Blake, you always think you have the upper hand don’t you?
Well, maybe not this time.” She smiled.
“Are you saying you have some kind of information?” I
pressed.
“What if I do?” she responded smugly.
“Well, honey, I can subpoena you, for a start.”
“I received a phone call this morning,” she began, clearly
trying to tease me and get me interested.
“And?” I said.
“I am a reporter, Blake. It’s confidential.” She had her
eyebrows up and was smirking.
“Dallas, do you know something?”
“I may have received an interesting tip already,” she finally
gave in, “and I cannot tell you anything more.”
“Well, like I said, I can subpoena you.”
“You can’t.”
“What? Of course I can. You know
that
much, I’m sure.”
“I received a phone call this morning,” she repeated. And I
knew it would be about all I would get. But I kept pushing.”
“And?” I said.
“Don’t you always win the argument, Blake?” She was clearly
enjoying this banter.
“Dallas,” I pushed, “what do you know?”
“I have a source,” she finally admitted. “I don’t know who it
is. I can’t even make out what sex the person is. But this person called me and
said they thought they spotted Lewis near a bank in Birmingham, after he had
already been reported missing. That’s where I came up with the brilliant idea of
hosting a search. Maybe lots of people have spotted him.” Dallas pulled her suit
jacket back on and straightened her skirt.
“What else?” I asked. I had to admit she had me interested.
“I couldn’t get that out of them. This person said that they
thought this might make a good story with spring training going on and Lewis may
be about to do something big. Then next thing you know he disappears. And I know
he has owed Harry money before. Sounds like he’s in another mess to me.”
“Look, Dallas, we have this under control,” I told her, “but it
sounds like you’re determined to be involved come hell or high water. Just make
sure you get Sonny every single detail that comes in. He’s in charge, along with
the rest of the police department. Not you and certainly not the rest of the TV
stations.” I smirked and turned toward Vivi and Sonny back at the chimes. They
were still talking with Harry and Dan. I knew that from this moment forward we’d
be seeing a lot of Dallas Dubois. Like it or not.
9
L
ate that night I stood in front
of the bathroom mirror, thinking about Dallas. She had the opportunity of a
lifetime in her hand
—s
he could drag Alabama’s star
announcer’s name through the mud, and gain prestige and power while she did it.
It didn’t matter to her who she’d leave in her self-absorbed wake. Vivi, Lewis,
me, Harry
—w
e’d all be awash on the wrecked shoreline of
Hurricane Dallas. All of us collateral damage. This is why we’d been enemies for
as long as I could remember. She was the same way in high school, doing whatever
she had to do to win. Especially when she was competing with me.
I remember when Mother announced to me when I was sixteen that
she was marrying businessman Sweeney Sugarman and my first thought was,
Oh, dear God, why?
I’d known that family my
whole life. LuAnne, Dallas’s mother, was a joke till she left and was still one
when she got back after Hollywood had eaten her up and spit her back out. After
she returned she had nothing to do with Dallas anymore. She soon left Tuscaloosa
and wound up in Birmingham and sang in a bar for a while.
After our parents’ wedding, Dallas and I were friends for a
very brief time. We were around the same age and seemed interested in similar
things, so Vivi and I decided we should try to welcome her into the fold. But it
wasn’t long before Dallas blew into my house and began stealing my clothes,
along with my boyfriends. When she got caught doing something stupid by our
parents, she’d try to pin the blame on me. And even at school she wouldn’t let
things be—starting ugly rumors about Vivi and me to anyone who would listen to
her.
I continued to watch my clothes drape Dallas’s ass and listen
to her talk about me to her trashy girlfriends at school, until eventually I
just couldn’t stand another minute. I said to Vivi, “I think we need to make her
understand her place in my house and in my life.” Now, remember, we were all of
seventeen, but right then and there we concocted a plan. Of course.
Vivi and I were family. We had pledged a sisterhood years
before, in junior high. Vivi and I and our friend Rhonda Cartwright established
an exclusive club. We called ourselves the Sassy Belles and created a
constitution of sorts, stating now and forever we would have each other’s backs.
“No matter what, even in cases of jail or worse,” we vowed. We were Southern
Belles with attitude and a splash of fun. Nobody could break the circle. Though
Rhonda moved away in tenth grade, Vivi and I have always remained the Sassy
Belles. We take care of each other, we stand our ground and we do it with high
heels, big hair and lots of lipstick.
Now, Dallas was certainly not a member of this exclusive club,
despite our initial efforts to include her. She was the type of female who would
never be a girlfriend. She preferred the company of men and would never be able
to put her female friends first. Dallas was competitive with women and a flirt
with men. She could never be a Sassy Belle. Regardless, we were forced to
inhabit the same space day after day. Eventually, it was bound to come to
blows.
Vivi and I set to work on our plan like it was a new religion.
The Miss Warrior River beauty pageant was one for the record books, though
looking back on it now, it was not one of my finer moments. The day of the
pageant, our lake house was a swirl of activity. It was a sunny, fragrant
Saturday in May, and hot rollers and taffeta, crinoline and mascara were
everywhere. It was a day of spa pedicures and crystal beaded gowns. It was my
favorite kind of day—primping all day long—but if everything went according to
plan, Dallas would remember this day in quite a different light.
Vivi arrived in an old model Saab convertible, her red frizz
set in hot rollers. I ran out to the circle drive to greet her.
She hugged me and asked in a conspiratorial whisper, “Got the
goods?”
“You better believe it,” I said. We sounded more like mobsters
in New Jersey than pageant girls in the South—although some would say they are
interchangeable.
We walked inside feeling smug, until I saw Dallas had my
rollers in her hair.
“Why in hell didn’t you use your own rollers?” I asked her.
“’Cause mine weren’t hot yet and yours were ready.”
“Yeah, they were ready! For me!”
Any second thoughts I’d been having about our plan evaporated.
She was gonna get it. Vivi winked at me as she left the room and went down the
hall to Dallas’s room. Her white organza and silver-sequined dress was spread
out across the bed. Vivi took out the big guns—the itching powder, scissors,
needle and thread that were all hidden in her pocket. The powder wouldn’t be
noticed until the dress was worn, so long as Vivi put the powder inside the
dress where it would be right against Dallas’s skin.
Vivi spread the powder all under the straps and at the base of
the breast cups. Then she cut the straps and sewed them back with only one tiny
thread holding them. With a figure as voluptuous as Dallas’s, there was only one
way this event could possibly play out. Oh, dear, there might be itching and
scratching. And all that movement when the straps were hanging by only a
thread—who knows what might pop out? Whatever would we do?
Vivi came back to the bathroom and smiled as Dallas was taking
up all the space and all the energy. I finally got her out of my rollers and out
of my bathroom. She went downstairs to find the double-sided tape to keep her
ginormous boobs from falling out of the sides of her dress and to tape her
jiggly butt into her swimsuit. I smiled at that one—little did she know she’d
never even get to the swimsuit competition.
“You ready for the big show?” Vivi said to Dallas, her voice
just dripping with sugar as we were about to leave the house.
“Yes, Vivi, I do believe I am,” Dallas answered with a heapin’
helpin’ of confidence. Vivi winked at me. Hell, Dallas
was
the show. She just didn’t know it. We all zipped our gowns into
our dress bags and loaded the car with the makeup kits and the shoe bags for our
sparkly, strappy heels and left for the Bama Theatre, where the area-wide
pageant was being held.
The Bama Theatre is part of the fabric of downtown. It was
built in the 1930s through FDR’s New Deal and was one of the most stunning
buildings I had ever been in. I always stood mesmerized in the actual theatre,
under the indigo-blue ceiling dotted with twinkling stars. It was one of the
last of the grand movie palaces built in the South, with sweeping staircases up
to the balcony and tapestry carpets running throughout. The entire auditorium is
actually a copy of the courtyard of Davanzati Place in Florence, Italy, complete
with the twinkling stars and the clouds of a night sky. Flower-filled iron
balconies hang halfway up the walls and face toward the grand stage.
My mother, Kitty, had actually worked there selling popcorn
when she was in high school. She met my daddy there. He never came there to see
the movie. He was always there to watch his own movie of Kitty selling popcorn.
They got married right out of high school. To this day it is a special place to
me.
When we arrived at the parking lot out back, Dallas got out
first and pulled her things out, rearranging the back of the car and throwing
mine and Vivi’s things to the side. My dress bag hit the gravel.
“Well, excuse me for also being in this pageant, but you just
threw my dress on the ground,” I said, yanking it up as quick as I could.
“Oh, honey,” she oozed, “I am so sorry, I had no idea that was
your dress bag. It looked like where they keep the spare tire.” Typical Dallas.
She prissed off, swinging her hips from side to side.
“Ugh!” I looked at Vivi in total exasperation, but she just
smiled back, reminding me that Dallas would pay.
We went into the back doors of the theatre and found ourselves
a spot to spread out. We hung up our dresses on hooks in the dressing rooms and
the theatre began to fill with anxious families and, of course, a few stage
mothers putting lipstick on their precious daughters and going over the dos and
don’ts of the proper pageant poses.
The nervous girls spread Vaseline on their teeth to help with
the constant smiling and to make your teeth look pretty. The rips of
double-sided tape sounded like a bunch of angry dogs as the flurry of activity
heated the room. The humid air caused Vivi’s hair to frizz up even though she
had rolled it on hot rollers twice already. I dug through my caboodles and gave
her two crystal hair clips to hold some of it down.
Vivi had a gorgeous emerald-green dress that made her eyes
sparkle. She looked beautiful. My dress was pale, icy blue and it made my eyes
just pop. I loved it. It was antebellum styled with a huge skirt. I wore a large
crinoline hoop skirt underneath to make it even bigger, and it rustled when I
walked. It was strapless and had a scalloped bust and lace draped in scallops
around the bottom swept up with tiny satin blue-and-white bows.
I loved looking like a Southern Belle. I
was
a Southern Belle. For sure. My strand of pearls was right in
place. And ready to choke someone, if need be.
Dallas looked like a lounge singer in her dress. I knew she
wouldn’t be in it for long, though, seeing as how it was full of itching powder
and was redesigned to fall off with the first scratch. Vivi and I were thrilled
when they gave the numbers out for us to pin on our gowns and Dallas got the
number one. Perfect! All of us waited until the last minute to put our dresses
on so we wouldn’t get any makeup on them.
“Ladies, please get dressed. We will begin in twenty
minutes.”
We dressed and got in line. Vivi and I were number three and
four. We lined up at the wings of the stage, waiting to begin. The nerves and
anxiety had us all in their grip, but Vivi and I were more focused on holding in
our hysterics. Just about then, the lights were lowered, the spotlight came on
and the music began. Then Dallas started to itch—right on cue. She pulled at her
breasts, complaining, “Oh, my God, my boobs are so itchy.” She kept pulling till
the double-sided tape was rubbed completely off, and her boobs began to
drip out of the sides of her gown.
“What the heck is happening?” Vivi acted concerned.
“Oh, my goodness, honey, what’s wrong?” I said.
The curtain raised and the announcer said, “Number one, Dallas
Sugarman.” As Dallas walked out, everyone began to mumble in appreciation. But
as Dallas kept itching and fidgeting, her walk made her look like a chicken in a
barnyard. She moved and danced and tugged at her breasts and her straps till her
right strap broke and her breast almost did its own dance for the audience, but
she caught it just in time. Nothing could stop her now, though—she was itching,
picking and poking at herself as she moved. Vivi and I were dying with laughter
backstage. I could hear the audience laughing and talking. Dallas deserved this,
I kept telling myself. I laughed till my own mascara was running and Vivi had
nearly lost her own strap as she doubled over.
After another minute, Dallas gave up and ran backstage and
ripped her dress off. Screaming and unzipping her gown, she hopped around,
shouting, “I’m having an attack of something!” Her breasts were red and her
thighs were itching and then she caught her reflection in one of the lighted
makeup mirrors. She looked straight at me and Vivi as my name was being called.
Vivi winked at her.
I went down the runway, never missing a step, smiling my
Vaseline smile and returning to the wings to watch and cheer for Vivi. She
walked like she would rather be at a disco. But her red hair and bright green
eyes looked stunning. I could see her soul. And she was especially beautiful
that night, her face flushed with laughter. We were sisters. Sisters of the
Sassy Belle Order. Dallas would never be my sister. And she’d most certainly
never
be a Sassy Belle.
The top ten were called and Vivi and I went out to walk the
stage again. Then the top five, and only I went back out to answer the social
“We love the whole world and world peace” questions, then the winner was
announced—Blake O’Hara.
All the while, Dallas sat backstage, a cool towel draped across
on her breasts. She had washed all the makeup off her face, and she was sitting
in an overstuffed chair in her white swimsuit. She didn’t get to model it for
the swimsuit competition, because her midsection was too itchy.
I went out to accept my crown and trophy. It was my year to
reign as Miss Warrior River. I could see Kitty standing in the front row, her
bangle bracelets clanking as she clapped like a super fan and blew me
kisses.
I came backstage to see Dallas in this awful state with the
towels across her itchy body, and that’s when it all suddenly hit me. I
instantly felt terrible. I looked at Vivi and she looked at me and I could tell
she felt bad, too. What had we done? We were angry, hormonal teenagers who’d
been repeatedly taunted and abused by this girl, but looking at her then, it
didn’t feel like a good enough excuse for stooping so low. The very worst part
was seeing how alone she was. At that moment, I realized something that hadn’t
sunk in till that very second. Dallas had no mother. She’d had no one to teach
her any better growing up. No one to shower her with the affection Kitty
lavished on me all the time. No one was there to tend to her. I suddenly didn’t
feel like wearing my tiara anymore.
I’ve always regretted that prank—though Vivi tried to remind me
of the list of hideous things Dallas had done to deserve it. Still, I tried to
apologize. I shared my clothes without complaint, even though she took without
asking. I covered for her to our parents when she messed up, and I did my best
to reach out and include her in things I did with Vivi. But Dallas remained her
mean, backstabbing, shallow self, despite my efforts. And today at the press
conference, she’d just proven herself once again. She was using Lewis’s
disappearance to her own advantage rather than genuinely trying to help. At some
point, I knew, she’d have to be held responsible for her own actions. And I’d
have to forgive myself for the little incident with the itching powder.