Magnolia Wednesdays Part 28

The tears came then and Vivien held her niece close while she cried. When the flow subsided, she wiped her niece's cheeks with the pad of her thumb and stared down at her tear-streaked face. "I hope you learned a lesson here, Shelby. It's your body and no one has the right to make you feel like you owe them any part of it."

Shelby nodded and took a swipe at what was left of the tears. Downstairs the garage door swung up, signaling Melanie's return.

"One last thing," Vivien said as the girl shot a frantic look at the door. "I'd start paying a little more attention in health cla.s.s if I were you. You've just freaked us both out completely over something that's pretty much anatomically impossible."

Shelby blushed and looked away.

"It's time to get it together, girl," she said as kindly as she could. "And believe me I'm going to be watching."

34.

RUTH HAD BEEN very careful not to get too excited about Ira's efforts to appease her. But as the Sunday-afternoon movie and dinner turned into a regular thing and the weekend in Mexico proved so much more fun than either of them had expected, she'd begun to let down her guard and to actually believe that her dog might, in fact, be learning some new tricks.

He'd definitely managed to learn some new dance steps and hadn't missed a single one of their private lessons so far. She smiled as she parked in her usual spot in front of the Magnolia Ballroom and hurried into the building. Her hair was newly washed and styled and she'd taken to dressing with extra care. When she caught a glimpse of herself in the reflective gla.s.s of the front door, she realized that she was smiling.

"Ruth!" Melanie came out of the office when she spotted her and walked over to give her a hug. "Your hair looks great." She took in Ruth's new outfit, a black gabardine pantsuit that she'd paired with a lime green silk blouse. "And I love that color on you." She stepped back to study Ruth more closely. "Did you have something done? I can't quite put my finger on it, but you look different."

Ruth shook her head but could feel that the smile was still stretched across her face. She suspected the change was simple happiness. Or should she shock Melanie by telling her she thought it was a result of the s.e.x that she and Ira were once again having as often as possible. She felt the smile stretch wider. Who would have ever thought it?

"Nope." She was beaming now, and it felt good. "It's just me."

They walked into the office, and Ruth sat across Melanie's desk from her. Fliers promoting the new spring cla.s.ses were stacked in one box, and the envelopes, which one of the a.s.sistants had labeled earlier in the week, were in another. They started the folding, stuffing, and stamping process as they caught up with each other.

"How're Shelby and Trip?" Ruth asked. "Will they be at Angela and James's wedding?"

"Well, Shelby seems to be coming so that she can say she was there and is insisting on pictures to prove it. And, of course, Trip pretty much wors.h.i.+ps the ground James and his father walk on, although both James and Vivi have refused to get in a car with him again."

"I guess your sister isn't so bad," Ruth observed, feeling generous even toward Vivien. "She must be pretty close to D-day."

"She's actually due on the twelfth, so she may or may not make it to the wedding. But she finally seems to have accepted the fact that she's going to be a mother; she's been running around like a maniac getting ready. Her overnight bag is sitting right next to the garage door now, and she made me promise if she was too out of it to speak that I'd demand her epidural the minute we arrive at the hospital."

Ruth laughed. "That was a h.e.l.luva snake arms she did Wednesday night."

"Hey, all I know is she still shows up for cla.s.s even though she can barely walk. And she really seems to be connecting with the kids. She's been way more involved in our lives than I ever expected." Melanie straightened the growing stack of stuffed envelopes. "Speaking of better than expected, what's going on with Ira?"

Ruth tried to keep her smile in check, but it just kept taking over her face. "It's been great. I just can't believe that on top of everything else, it turns out he likes to dance! He even said something about maybe competing as a team." Even as she said these things, Ruth could hardly believe them. She felt as if she'd asked for a small loan of some kind and been handed a million dollars.

"Wow." Melanie's astonishment equaled Ruth's own. "It's funny how people can surprise you, isn't it?"

"I'll say," Ruth agreed. "Only most surprises aren't such good ones."

They worked in silence for a few minutes before the phone rang. Ruth picked up and thanked the caller for calling the Magnolia Ballroom.

"Yes," the unfamiliar male voice said. "Is Melanie Jackson there? This is Bruce Summers, um, Dr. Bruce Summers."

Ruth covered the mouthpiece and handed the phone to Melanie. "It's Dr. Summers," she said. "Is everything okay?"

Melanie nodded. "I'm fine. It's, um, not a professional call." Her cheeks turned red.

"Oh," Ruth said. "Oh!" The smile was back. "In that case, I'll go check on the, um . . . janitorial supplies." She stood. "To see if we need any."

Melanie raised the receiver to her ear, but she didn't speak until Ruth was out of the office. As she walked by the plate-gla.s.s window, Ruth stole a look into the office and saw a smile curving on Melanie's lips and another blush suffusing her cheeks.

It was the same sort of smile that Ruth felt on her own face; it was a bit strange and alien, but it was one she wouldn't mind getting used to.

VIVIEN WOKE BEFORE dawn on the day she was due. In the early morning quiet, she lay without moving beneath the covers and silently took stock. Large protruding stomach. Check. Ma.s.sive, overly sensitive b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Check. Swollen ankles and hands. Check. Aching back. Check. Urgent need to pee. Double check.

But contractions? Not a single one.

All day Vivi stayed close to home eyeing the packed bag she'd placed next to the garage door. Trying not to imagine the actual delivery, and hoping that her rejection of Lamaze cla.s.s was not going to prove a problem, she focused instead on no longer being pregnant. Over and over she picked up the phone and pulled up Stone's number, but each time she hung up before punching anything in.

She didn't even have a column to write. She'd filed several in advance, including today's, which painted today's lavish weddings as nothing more than a ticket to suburbia, which she'd railed against as little more than an updated version of the white picket fence. To this she added a terse rant about the ways in which women continued to try to live the fairy tale, afraid to present themselves as they really were. The only thing that had enabled her to write such a piece in view of the upcoming Wesley wedding was her anonymity and her refusal to visualize Angela's face as she wrote it. It was the most hypocritical thing she'd ever written.

The one column she hadn't written was the one she'd planned on the suburbanites who'd flocked to ballroom dance studios after watching Dancing with the Stars. Even she, who felt as if she'd dissected and used almost every particle of her sister's life, wasn't ready to sink quite that low.

The house phone rang on and off all day, but the only numbers Vivi recognized on the caller ID were Catherine Dennison's and her parents', so she let everything go to voice mail. After a light lunch that she hoped wouldn't interfere with the availability of anesthesia in case she went into labor soon after, she went back over J.J.'s case file one last time, but found nothing new or worth sinking her teeth into. In his old office, she conducted what she acknowledged as a final search, but she found no PDA, and his credit card and cell phone bills provided no new insights. The person J.J. called most after Melanie was Clay Alexander; given the length of their friends.h.i.+p and their business relations.h.i.+p, this was hardly news-worthy. Vivi had never been one to give up on her gut, but it seemed that her pregnancy had caused it to send out faulty signals. The time had come to let go.

The day stretched into eternity as Vivien waited for something to happen. A contraction. The discharge of the mucous plug. A leaking of fluid that would signal that her water had broken. Anything that signaled the onset of labor would have been welcome. But none of these things happened. She was finally forced to accept that she might not give birth today, just as Dr. Gilbert had warned.

When she finally heard the garage door go up late that afternoon, Vivien practically ran downstairs to greet Melanie, so badly did she need someone to talk her down off her emotional ledge. But one look at Melanie's face told her that whatever Melanie was about to say was not going to make her feel better. Something was terribly wrong.

When Melanie rounded on her and slapped a section of the Atlanta Journal-Const.i.tution in her hand, Vivien found out what it was.

Matt Glazer's lead read, How the mighty have fallen, and continued, First she lost her network gig, then she got pregnant. Now Vivien Gray is public enemy number one in our northern suburbs where she's been living undercover and writing as the notoriously nasty Scarlett Leigh.

Ah, you ask, how can that be when Ms. Gray is so very smug about her role as a serious journalist? Well, in addition to the catty articles she's been ashamed or afraid to admit to, Just Peachy has learned that the very pregnant Miss Gray has been busy investigating the presumably accidental death of her former brother-in-law, Republican legislator J.J. Jackson!

Just Peachy hears that no stone has been left unturned. Except for hunky international correspondent Stone Seymour that is, who may or may not be the father of Ms. Gray's child.

Vivien stopped reading and looked up into her sister's face.

"Is this true, Vivi?" Melanie asked. "Is it?"

"Which part?" Vivien asked when she regained her speech.

"You have written all of those vicious articles?"

Vivi nodded again. And winced.

"All those people I introduced you to, the things I shared about my life, you took those things and mocked them in front of a national audience?"

Another nod. Vivi couldn't think of a thing to say, not that Melanie gave her a chance to.

"And you are investigating my husband's death?"

A nod. "Well, it wasn't really a-"

"Not what?" Melanie cut her off. "Not a real investigation? How dare you go around asking questions about J.J? How dare you pry into our life and the way that he died? Why would you do that? What were you thinking? What gave you the right?"

Vivien didn't know how to answer. All of Stone's warnings came cras.h.i.+ng down around her as she faced her sister's hurt and wrath. "I didn't trust Clay. He seemed to be too attached to you and the kids." Her voice trailed off. "I felt he had an ulterior motive and so I decided to look into it."

"You felt he had an ulterior motive?" Melanie asked. "Because he was kind to us? Because he was there for us when you and the rest of my family weren't?"

Melanie's accusations landed like blows; they were weighted with truth and they were perfectly placed.

"Whatever possessed you to do this?"

"I suspected he was in love with you," Vivi said in a rush. "And there's no question that he's hiding something. I think he knows a lot more about J.J.'s death than he's saying. I-"

"J.J.'s death was an accident, and you're trying to turn it into the crime of the century," Melanie cut her off, her hurt and anger as cutting as any blade. "Is this how you investigated things in New York? Did you just come up with ideas w.i.l.l.y-nilly and then look for ways to prove them?"

"It wasn't w.i.l.l.y-nilly," Vivi said. "I just went over the case file. And interviewed one of J.J. and Clay's former professors and, um, the president of Sigma Sigma when they were at UGA."

Melanie looked at her as if she were completely mad. At the moment Vivi thought she might be.

"And although I didn't come up with hard evidence of a crime, there are lots of things that just feel . . . suspicious."

Melanie stared at her as if she'd grown two heads and sprouted a tail.

"Mel," Vivi said, feeling the need to at least prove she'd had reason to investigate. "It's all so weird. I mean Clay was the only one there when J.J. died and now he's practically head of J.J.'s household and getting ready to run for J.J.'s seat?"

Melanie looked at her, shook her head. "Vivien, this is ridiculous. You know when you went after Harley Jenkins and Mom and Dad got so upset, I defended you. He'd done something wrong, illegal. He'd abused his office and you were right to go after him. But you're investigating Clay because he was there when J.J. died and has remained our friend?" She laughed and there was not an ounce of humor in it. "You are certifiable!"

"I was just looking for the truth. I figured if there was no proof of any wrongdoing on Clay's part, no harm, no foul. But if he was hiding something, you'd want to know."

"And then you could take what you found to the networks, I'll bet. You always like to say it's about the truth, but what it's really about is you. Finding a story that will take you where you want to go."

"No, that's not it. I . . ." Vivien began.

"I don't really care what your reasons were, Vivi. I thought we had learned something about each other. That we would really be there for each other. But I don't know you at all. And you sure as h.e.l.l don't know me." Melanie's voice was quiet now, resigned.

"Melanie, please. I did this out of love. I didn't . . ."

"You don't know what love is," Melanie said. "Maybe having this baby will teach you something about putting others first. I hope so. But I'll never trust you again. It's always about the story for you, Viv. Using somebody else's pain or problems, what you like to call the truth, to get ahead."

"Come on, Melanie, that's not it. You know that's not right."

"No? Well, you wanna know the truth?" Melanie asked. "I was happier before I let myself care so much about you. It was better when we lived completely different lives and just waved h.e.l.lo at the holidays." She started to leave the room but turned back.

"You're welcome to stay here until the baby is born and for as long as you need to get on your feet after that. Because you're my sister. And your baby will be my flesh and blood. But after that, you're on your own. I'm ashamed of you and your behavior. And the only other person I've ever felt that way about is our mother. You're a lot more like her than you think, Vivi. And as you know, that is not a compliment."

Melanie went up to her room and closed the door firmly behind her. Vivien just stood there for a few long, painful moments trying to process what had just taken place. There was a sharp twinge in her stomach and for a brief moment she thought maybe her time had come, sincerely hoped that it had so that she'd have something to distract her from this nightmare.

But once again, nothing happened. And so Vivien took a bottled water out of the refrigerator, climbed the stairs up to her bedroom, and closed the door behind her. She stayed there the rest of the evening and all of the night and only came out in the morning when she could tell that everyone had left.

For the next week, Vivien waited to give birth. It was by far the worst and longest week of her life and not just because she was so tired of being pregnant she thought she might have to rip the baby out herself. But because Melanie and the kids simply stopped speaking to her. There were no more recriminations, no ugly scenes, there was always extra food in the fridge for her, but she didn't join them at meals or join in on any of their conversations because they'd made it quite clear that although she was present, she was no longer welcome in their lives.

Equally bad was that all of them were taking flack for her columns as Scarlett Leigh. Trip got detention for fighting with another student who'd made fun of him for being related to "that pregnant b.i.t.c.h Scarlett Leigh." Catherine had called to say she had not turned in any of their neighbors or watered inappropriately and hung up rather loudly. And one morning they woke up to the smell of what turned out to be burning p.o.o.py diapers, which had been spread out in a giant SL on the front lawn and then set ablaze.

The stack of hate mail left in the mailbox and on the front step continued to grow, and someone, she a.s.sumed Melanie, had taken to leaving it in teetering heaps in front of her bedroom door. After reading the first few scathing messages, Vivi had begun stas.h.i.+ng them in the bedroom closet, where they would be out of sight but unfortunately not out of mind.

On the bright side, which Vivien tried desperately every morning to dredge up, Shelby seemed to have settled down after her brush with motherhood and was studying both for her SATs and her regular cla.s.ses, and the too-wild Ty Womack had not been replaced. Trip seemed a bit more talkative, though not to her, and it seemed that the relations.h.i.+p with the Wesleys had begun to bring him out of his sh.e.l.l. Both of the kids and Melanie were looking forward to Angela and James's wedding, which was now only a few days away. She knew this from the conversations she was now blatantly eavesdropping on, but none of them asked if she planned to attend. Nor did Melanie offer her a ride to the last Magnolia Wednesday.

The night before the wedding to which she suspected she was no longer welcome, Vivien wrote what she intended to be Scarlett Leigh's last column. In it she said all of the things Melanie and the kids refused to hear and bid her readers a final farewell. After she'd sent it off to John Harcourt along with her resignation, Vivien washed her face, brushed her teeth, sent an artificially upbeat email to Stone, and climbed heavily into bed.

35.

ANGELA RICHMAN'S WEDDING day dawned bright and sunny, the most perfect of spring days. Angela sleep-walked through most of the morning; when she was forced to confront her image in the mirror, she saw the uncertainty and conflicted emotions tucked away inside just as she had always seen Fangie.

In the bridal dressing room at the Alpharetta Country Club, strategically located between the small ballroom where the wedding would take place and the large ballroom where the elaborate luncheon and dancing would follow, Angela's attendants sipped complimentary champagne and helped each other dress.

Angela did her best to join in. She smiled and nodded and even raised her champagne gla.s.s in acknowledgment whenever someone proposed a toast, but she was careful not to drink. She had the strangest feeling that she needed to keep her wits about her. And, of course, she didn't want to forget to breathe.

When the time came to put on her gown, she allowed the others to dress her and through it all she remembered to smile and look happy. But the entire time she felt as if she might be dragged under by the great waves of panic that threatened to swamp her; she concentrated on drawing plenty of air into her lungs just in case.

Her mother, Emily, zipped the back of the gown with shaking fingers, and Angela knew the trembling was the result of her mother's excitement and happiness. James's mother, Ca.s.sie, affixed her veil and smoothed the netting behind her head. Her smile was heartfelt and unclouded by reservation of any kind. Angela fervently wished she could feel the same. Both mothers told her how beautiful she looked and how lucky she and James were to have found each other. They pressed gentle kisses to her cheeks, careful not to disturb her makeup. She felt like a liar and a cheat. Their certainty made her want to cry.

Brian arrived for a long round of picture taking during which Angela moved and smiled and tilted her head, her chin, and her body as directed. She stood between Emily and Ca.s.sie and then with her matron of honor, Susan, and each of her four other bridesmaids. She did her best to look reflective and happy and whatever else Brian suggested, but her mind was off in a place of its own, feinting and dodging. Unable to work up the nerve to do what she should have already done.

"So then I'll go make sure the groom's not off looking to make a run for it, luv," Brian teased before he left, trying to get another smile out of her. But Angela knew James was not planning an escape. Nor was he in his dressing room second-guessing his decision. James Wesley was not a flight risk; she wasn't so sure the same could be said for her.

"Here," Susan said, placing a freshly poured flute of champagne in her hand. "You look like you need this." Angela tried to hand it back, but Susan refused to take it. The alcohol slid down her throat, unlike the air that seemed to have such difficulty getting where it needed to go. Halfway through the gla.s.s her insides began to warm and her pulse began to slow.

There was a knock on the door, and one of her bridesmaids ushered Ruth and Melanie inside. "You look so beautiful," Melanie said. "That dress is fabulous on you!"

Melanie and the mothers hugged, and Ruth was introduced. "You two look pretty snazzy yourselves," Angela said, eager to talk about something besides herself and her failure to tell James the truth. "And you look . . . incredibly happy," she said to Ruth, hoping no one heard the envy in her voice.

"I am," the older woman said, her smile lighting up her face. "Ira's agreed to sell the business. Or at least to entertain a serious offer. And he's promised that we'll cruise the Greek Islands this summer." She looked more closely at Angela. "Are you all right?"

Emily brought them both flutes of champagne and replaced Angela's now-empty gla.s.s with a full one so that they could toast Ruth's news. Angela thought that maybe if she drank enough she'd be able to convince herself that the numb, removed feeling was the result of the alcohol. Fangie had been oddly silent today. For a moment Angela pictured her on her fictional cruise and imagined her ticket had been one-way. She drained her gla.s.s and asked for another, ignoring Ruth and Melanie's looks of concern.

As they talked and drank, Angela's breathing became a little easier-not quite automatic and unnoticeable, but not so ragged, either. Making conversation became less of an effort. She even managed to stop imagining what would happen if she told her mother that she wasn't sure she could go through with the wedding. Confessed that although she loved James, she couldn't marry him until she showed him who she used to be.

She looked up to see Melanie and Ruth staring at her, clearly waiting for a response. "I'm sorry," Angela said. "What did you say?"

"We were just saying how excited the cla.s.s is to be here. We can't wait to see you and James have your first dance as husband and wife," Ruth said.