Southern Belles, a Novel About Love, Purpose & Second Chances (9781310340970) (4 page)

“Mom, stop pulling my dress down. It was
made this way.” CeCe snapped at her mom while Bev tried her best to
make CeCe fit into her image of a perfect family and not embarrass
her in front of all the associates and clients they’d invited.

“CeCe, why don’t you go put on the dress I
bought you? I laid it on your bed. Wear it tonight please. And then
hurry back downstairs; you need to stand here with me, greeting all
the guests as they arrive.”

CeCe was happy to get away from her mother’s
poking and prodding at her, even though eventually she knew that
her mother would come find her if she didn’t hurry back quickly. I
followed CeCe up the white, winding marbled stairway. A large
crystal chandelier hung from the 20-foot ceiling right above the
entryway. I never tired of seeing the aged elegance sprawling
throughout the Crawford’s grand estate. To CeCe though, I think
it’s always been a reminder of her parent’s imposed expectation for
her future. I believe that’s partly why CeCe has preferred being at
my home to hers. Our families and homes are vastly different. While
my mother did a wonderful job at decorating and keeping our house
cozy, it was definitely not as impressive as CeCe’s. Our farmhouse
was a two-story 3,000 square foot home where several generations of
Buchanan’s lived and raised their family. It echoed character all
throughout and donned a wrap-around porch with plenty of seating
and comfort for our entire family after a long, summer’s day of
work in the orchard. My mother too made it her job to ensure that
everyone who visited felt welcomed and special. Aside from all the
splendor of her home, CeCe would often come over and melt into one
of the well-worn sofas in the living room or the porch swing and
blend right into our family’s philosophic conversations about God,
love, and politics.

Laid out on her bed was a long navy blue
dress with quarter-size white polka dots and a scalloped neckline,
accompanied by a three-inch belt covered in the same fabric.

“CeCe, that’s a beautiful dress. It looks
like the one in Pretty Woman,” I said awing it.

“I know she drives you nuts but it’s a
pretty dress and it’ll be gorgeous on you!”

Shaking her head, CeCe picked it up and
unzipped the back of the dress. Quickly shedding her clothes, CeCe
stepped into the dress.

“Can you zip me up Char, please?”

“Sure.”

CeCe fastened the belt so that it perfectly
hugged her waistline, giving her a flawless hourglass shape.
Turning side-to-side to see herself in the standing mirror, she
broke into a reserved smile.

“You look stunning Cecelia Kathryn
Crawford!” I said happily reaffirming her with words she needed but
rarely heard.

Still quiet and taking herself in, I added,
“you must admit she has really good taste.”

“No, I just make this dress look good.” She
laughed as she whirled around beaming.

“Okay, let’s go make mommie dearest
happy.”

In addition to calling the maid ‘mom’ CeCe
also enjoyed calling her mother ‘mommie dearest’ to quickly grab
her attention. When CeCe was young and left alone with the maid,
nanny, or butler, she watched all kinds of movies, documentaries,
and biographies including the one that portrayed the famous Joan
Crawford as a mentally unstable and wicked mother in her personal
life. CeCe was amused that not only were both women highly
egotistical but also shared their last name, Crawford. One of
Joan’s adopted children, Christina, wrote a biography about her
mother deeming her film career as the most important thing in life.
She alleged that ‘the children’ were just a publicity stunt to gain
more popularity amongst the public eye and boost box-office ticket
sales. Christina claimed that her mother was less than nurturing
and that she never felt wanted by her mother—but was more of a prop
to appeal to the nuclear family.

I knew CeCe’s mom loved her and that she
wasn’t mentally unstable or wicked despite her less than adequate
affirmations of love towards her daughter. Beverly Crawford, put
frankly, was a workaholic and a perfectionist who got so wrapped up
in her work that she lost sight of the important things in life
other than fancy handbags. She too was driven by the need to
conquer and succeed all obstacles in her path. Everything she did
fed a need that protected her from an extra helping of self-doubt
and the fear of being vulnerable to scrutiny of any kind.
Projecting the image of flawlessness was something she and CeCe had
in common. CeCe, though, kept the idea of being a prop shoved
neatly in a small file at the back of her head, right where she
could easily access it, with little reminders from her mom like the
one time her mother forgot her eleventh Birthday. It was a good
thing that CeCe’s dad paid attention to the important details. When
her mother finally got home that night, both CeCe and her father
were already asleep, leaving three-quarters of a cake reading ‘appy
rthday CeCe’ on the kitchen island. She had left early for work
that morning before CeCe woke and didn’t get home until ten o’clock
after everyone was asleep. She had been so immersed in a settlement
she’d been working on for weeks and was nearing an agreement for a
very important client. She had forgotten but not CeCe. She filed
that one right along with the others. The next morning when she
awoke she found a beautifully wrapped rectangular box with a bright
pink bow. Inside it CeCe found her first American Girl doll. About
a foot and half tall with curly, long blonde hair, blue eyes, and
wearing a pretty sundress the doll was something CeCe had wanted
for quite some time. Next to the box was a pink envelope. Opening
the card carefully to not rip it, it read only six words, ‘Happy
11
^th
Birthday Cecilia, Love Mom’. No I love you or I’m
sorry, just Happy Birthday. CeCe was deeply hurt for her lack of an
apology or at least an acknowledgement that she had missed her
daughter’s Birthday. CeCe felt abandoned by her mother’s work
often. That night when her mother got home she did her usual
routine and treated this day like any other. When she went to
CeCe’s room to check in on her, she asked her if she liked her new
doll. CeCe was writing in her journal and without looking up she
replied, “You can’t buy my forgiveness.” Not sure what to say, Bev
walked out and neither said a word to each other for the next few
days. Secretly, CeCe had hoped that her mother would have stuck
around that night to attempt an apology or at least ask her about
her day so she could have felt like it was only by mistake that she
missed her Birthday. Later that year when CeCe started her period,
she came to our house and confided in my mother to find out what to
do. My mother hugged her, smiled, and told her that she had
officially become a young lady before taking her to the store to
buy some pads. And so it went like this during all of CeCe’s teen
years that she preferred our simple but cozy farmhouse than her
marbled mansion.

As we glided down the grand staircase, I saw
Jersey standing beside Bev, waiting for our company. Smugly talking
to Mrs. Crawford, he smiled and winked at me as I came closer. Most
adults, unless they knew Jersey, were impressed with him because of
his ability to schmooze, in addition to his talents on the football
field that won many a trophies and banners for our school. At the
moment, I was very unimpressed and annoyed by his consistency in
being an inconsiderate prick of a boyfriend.

“Girls, what took you so long? CeCe, I told
you that dress would look good on you.” Bev said straightening out
an invisible wrinkle in CeCe’s dress.

“You didn’t say anything about it looking
good. Besides, you barked at me to go put it on mother
dearest.”

“Cecilia Kathryn, do not call me that,” Bev
said, sipping her champagne. “And I don’t bark. Now, go stand by
the doorway so you can greet your arriving guests.” She snipped
back.

Pleading with her eyes not to leave her too
long with her mother, I promised CeCe that I would come back in a
little while after I gave Jersey a talking to. CeCe walked off with
her mother towards the front porch. Still turned towards CeCe with
my back facing Jersey, I felt a sudden pinch on my butt, springing
me quickly back around. Appalled, I slapped Jersey in the chest. He
laughed and pulled me close to him.

“Baby, you can’t be mad at me,” he said in a
soft playful tone. “I invited you to come with me.”

“No, you didn’t. You pawned me off on CeCe
because I was an inconvenience to your plans to get wasted before
graduation.” I said firmly as I pulled out from his embrace.

“Baby, I wanted to get wasted with you but
since you’re a bit of a prude, I hung with the guys.” He said
placing his hands on my upper arms.

“You’re still drunk Jersey. I can smell it
on your breath.”

“I haven’t drank since before graduation
started and I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I wanted to be there
for you but the guys wouldn’t let me drive back because they
worried I’d get pulled over. They were trying to be helpful.” He
said, trying to win back my affections.

“Hmm.”

“Baby, I’m a jerk. Will you just let me show
you how sorry I am?” He said leaning down to kiss my cheek and pull
me in towards him.

“Jersey, there are a ton of people around
here.”

He took my hand and led me outside to the
back veranda. Underneath an old weeping cypress tree, he guided me
to a garden bench for two.

“What do I need to do to tell you I screwed
up?” He said as leaned in to kiss me.

As his lips touched mine, I’d almost
forgotten that I’d been mad at him just minutes before. Jersey made
me so mad sometimes. He’d do stupid things, apologize in a very
convincingly sincere way and I’d forgive him every time. I was such
a sucker. Sometimes, he made me so mad at myself for believing his
antics. This time though he seemed more sorry than usual. As we
continued to kiss, his hand slipped down my back and slowly up my
right side. I quickly caught his hand and kept it still on my ribs
before it moved any higher up.

“Jersey,” I said, pulling back from his
kiss, “I need something to drink.”

“Right now? You need something to drink
right now?”

“Yes, and you are still showing me how sorry
you are for being a terrible boyfriend.”

I didn’t want him thinking he could just
waltz right back in and take over my senses. Besides that, Jersey
didn’t deserve any of my fruits.

“Okay, I’ll be back.”

“Lemonade,” I said loudly.

I sat quietly tucked behind the umbrella
like branches of the weeping cypress tree. It was too nice of a
night to stay mad for too long. I listened to the music of the
orchestra on the veranda while I waited for Jersey to come back. I
thought about poor CeCe standing like a pretty mannequin next to
Bev greeting all the well-wishers as they strolled in. Grinning to
myself, maybe it was good bonding time for those two while they
waited for all their guests to arrive. Nearby were two girls
giggling. As they came closer, I could hear bits and pieces of what
they were saying. Something they must have not wanted others to
hear as they shushed each other and walked away from the crowds of
others on the great estate.

“Was he a good kisser?” I heard one say.

“Oh my goodness, he’s so romantic. He called
me baby and then asked if he could kiss me. I was like, yeah, I
guess.”

Trying my best to be quiet, I stood up and
slowly backed up to the tree, trying not to make a noise. The girls
must have been just on the other side of the tree as I could hear
them more clearly now.

“I never would have thought you and Jersey
together.” The one girl said to the one talking.

Now I was really listening. What did she
mean ‘you and Jersey together’? Did she know I was on the other
side of the tree? Was she talking to me?

“Yeah, I know, I always thought he was in
love with Charlotte Buchanan. When I asked him about her, at the
football field, he said she was a prude that broke his heart. He
told me that they were done.”

I could not believe what I was hearing. My
face was starting to get hot and my temples ached. Prude? Me? The
guy who was just kissing me and trying to get a feel?
Unbelievable!

“He told me that he wanted to see me later
tonight.” She said to her friend.

“Are you going to meet him?

“Yeah. He said he’d sneak over and pick me
up around one AM, when everyone is sleeping, so we could spend the
night together at the beach.”

Seconds later Jersey snuck up behind me,
with lemonade in his hands.

Whispering into my ear, he said, “What are
you doing?”

“What am I doing?” I said yelling as I
pulled us out from behind the tree.

Now visible to both of the girls standing
there, gushing over him moments earlier, I could see the shock on
their faces. Jersey stood there surprised and eye brows raised.
Speechless he was.

“I’m a prude? Is that because I wouldn’t get
drunk on the football field and give you any? Yep, I’m a prude—if
that means not wasting my time on a weasel, not worth wasting time
on.”

I snatched my drink from Jersey and threw it
in his face as I turned to storm off.

“Oh, and to you,” I said, stopping at the
girl who was love struck just minutes ago, “he has taken me to the
beach at one AM in the morning—you’re not the first and you won’t
be the last!”

“We’re finished Jersey!” I said, yelling
“Harley” repeatedly; as I started off in the direction I last saw
CeCe.

Finding CeCe in the foyer, I interrupted her
conversation. “CeCe, I’m leaving now. Jersey was drunk at the
football field, playing tonsil hockey with some little sophomore.
If I see him again, I will personally sick Harley on him.”

“Char I’m going with you. I’ll drive.”

“CeCe, you need to be here for your party.”
Bev instilled.