present, or maybe even her Sweet Seventeen. The only serious problem with Hayes, as far as Sybil is concerned, is her gratuitous boyfriend, whom Sybil refers to only as “That One.”
“Bless her heart, she is chubby.”
“That can be fixed. Is she on the up-and-up?”
“She smokes hashish.”
“It’s marijuana, honey.”
“That’s how they do in California.”
“Well, it’s not how we do down hee-ah.”
“Not unless you’re one of those scags on River Street, anyway.”
Just then there is the sound of expensive heels pattering the hard oak floor. The ladies immediately hush as Miss Lee sweeps into the room. She regards them briefly, pours herself a large glass of sweet tea, and sits at the head of the table.
“Hello, Miss Lee,” the ladies say in a chorus.
“Good afternoon, girls.” Miss Lee regards them for a moment and smiles. She removes her purple silk jacket, stretches her thin, pale arm forward, and takes a tiny key off her charm bracelet. As the other Magnolia League members watch carefully, she uses it to open the ornate box in front of her, and then lifts from it a gold necklace with a dangling ivory pendant that is intricately carved in the shape of a magnolia. A sigh of envy fills the room as Dorothy grandly places it around her slender neck.
“Meeting to order.”
“Order!” the ladies chorus enthusiastically.
“Now, what were y’all talking about in here?”
“Your granddaughter,” Sybil says flatly.
Miss Lee raises her eyebrows. “Well, don’t let me stop you.”
“Dorothy, she is such a healthy, healthy girl, bless her heart, but do you really think we can get her ready in time for the Christmas Ball?” Mary Oglethorpe asks.
“Whatever do you mean, Mary?”
“We don’t want to offend you, Dorothy,” Sybil chimes in. “But the girl is a wild child, and we can’t have her tarnishing the image that our young people, and my Hayes in particular, have worked so hard to maintain.”
Miss Lee’s eyes wrinkle at the corners as if she is about to laugh.
“Sybil, honey. Don’t be daft, now. She’s a little rough around the edges, but that’s what sisterhood is all about. I’m sure Madison and Hayes will have her polished up in no time.”
“This isn’t a game, Dorothy. If she doesn’t take, there are consequences.”
“I’m well aware of the consequences,” Miss Lee snaps. “I don’t need you reminding me. My daughter was a victim of those consequences, and if you think I’ve forgotten what happened to her, then you’re a damn fool.”
Silence falls over the room.
“Does she even want to be a Magnolia?” Mary asks.
“Good Lord almighty, Mary, she is sixteen years old. She doesn’t know what she wants,” Miss Lee says. “But it’s not a matter of want. She is a Magnolia, and she will sit next to me at this table come hell or high water.”
As a practiced politician herself, Sybil is able to keep her expression as pleasant and serene as a day on the lake. But underneath the table, she clenches her fists so hard that her knuckles turn white and her nails dig into her palms.
“Believe you me,” Miss Lee continues, “as her grandmother, I’d like nothing more than to let Alexandria go right on back to California. The girl rides a bicycle all over town, her hair is ugly enough to haunt a nine-room house, and she’d argue with a wall. But you know as well as I do, ladies, that Alexandria Lee doesn’t have a choice. We all made our bed decades ago. And now, just like the rest of us, she’s got to lie in it.”
3
So, the obvious: I did not grow up in a mansion on Forsyth Park in Savannah, Georgia. My childhood was more of an Allman Brothers song than a Southern princess storybook. I was born in Mendocino, California, in the back of a VW bus, and my mom was a pretty Deadhead named Louisa Lee. She looked a lot like my grandmother, actually. Same high cheekbones, green eyes, shiny brown hair, and tawny skin. But she was healthier-looking than Miss Lee is. More exotic. The kind of beautiful woman you see on a trail with a backpack on, hiking with her dog.
Me, I’m shorter and rounder than both of them. I have the same eyes, but my hair, when it’s not dreaded, is a complete frizz fest, and my skin is nowhere near the creamy alabaster color of theirs. Plus, I put on ten pounds if I even look at a grilled cheese sandwich. My mom used to say that I’m “voluptuous.” I’m just hoping