Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood

Well, our Teensy smiled at her aunt and said, “Please, ma’am, do not call me Aimee. My name is Teensy.”

  That Teensy is so sly.

  Aunt Louise ignored Teensy, and sat down at the kitchen table, and told us that Miss Mitchell, according to her, had just slapped the Junior League right in the face by not showing up last night for the costume ball, which was sponsored by them. After all they had done for her and her book. And it was all because back in the early twenties when Miss Mitchell was a debutante, she went to a charity ball and just went wild and performed this wild and risqué Apache dance, and shocked all the Atlanta Junior League ladies so horribly that there was nothing they could do but punish her by never inviting her to be a member of the Junior League. So Miss Mitchell was trying to get back at them by not showing up at the ball, even though she was a guest of honor.

  “What is an Apache dance?” I asked. I just had to know. I am a reporter here, Necie. I need details.

  “I see no reason to expose you girls to the lurid details,” she said, which made me want to know all the more.

  “Was she naked like a savage?” Teensy asked.

  “Well, no, Margaret was not exactly unclothed,” Aunt Louise said, putting her hand to her head.

  “Well, then,” Caro said, “what was all the big fuss about?”

  “I can only tell you that Miss Margaret Mitchell performed what she later described as an ‘Indian mating dance.’ The whole thing was utterly unacceptable for any lady to do. No matter how firmly ensconced her family was in this town, they could not protect her from the consequences of such an act. The Junior League has its standards, something I hope you girls will never forget.”

  “Oh, no, ma’am, we won’t forget,” Caro said, then turned her back to Aunt Louise and made like she was going to throw up.

  Then we all got the giggles and Aunt Louise told us to run on upstairs and amuse ourselves.

  Well, Necie, I think it is marvelous that Miss Mitchell tweaked their noses, don’t you? Still, I am sick that I did not get to meet her last night, and I am going to do everything I can to meet her tonight at the premiere.

  I have got to close now because the three of us are going for a walk to look at the Christmas decorations in the neighborhood before we come back and get ready for the premiere.

  XXXX

  V.A.

  Later

  10:45 P.M.

  Dear Countess Singing Cloud,

  I don’t know how to put it all into words, but I will try. We have just come from the premiere of the greatest movie ever made. I take back every single thing I ever said against Vivien Leigh. I love her. I adore her. Vivien Leigh is Scarlett. I went in thinking I would not ever let myself like her, that I would never forgive them for not casting our Tallulah Dahlin in the best role ever written. But all of that is gone. The minute I saw Miss Leigh there on the steps of the porch at Tara with the Tarleton twins at her side and she said, “Melanie Wilkes, that goody-goody,” well, I was a goner. Oh, gee, honey, I don’t know how to tell you about the movie. You are just going to have to see it for yourself. I didn’t know that it could ever ever be so romantic. Oh, when they kiss! Oh, when she pretends she doesn’t know which way the hat goes! Oh, when he picks her up and carries her up the stairs (he was so much nicer than in the book when he does that). Oh, when she gets the idea to take down the curtains and make that dress! Vivien Leigh’s right eyebrow shoots up and you can just see the thoughts shooting through her head. And all the times the Ya-Yas have said “fiddle-dee-dee” and how we said it made us sick to think that an English person was going to be the one to say those words. We were wrong, Necie. We were wrong wrong wrong and I don’t mind admitting it.

  I want to live in this movie, Necie! This is the kind of drama I was born for.

  Let me tell you as much as I can get down. I am still so excited and so tired from crying and clapping. But don’t worry. It is worth it to get everything down.

  I forgot to tell you about the theater! The Hollywood people made it so the front of the Loew’s Grand looks exactly like the front of Tara. And there somehow was a whole lawn they grew across Peachtree Street for all the stars to walk on. They walked on this new grass the whole way. Mr. Gable was so chivalrous, Necie. He said exactly what I would have wanted him to say. He said that the night wasn’t his night but that the night belonged to Miss Mitchell. Oh, that really showed me what Mr. Gable is made of. That made me fall in love with him to the point that I will just never get over it.

  He was so handsome, oh, girl, he had on this black overcoat and a white scarf wrapped around his neck and Miss Lombard was wearing this gold lamé gown that just about blinded your eyes out.

  Then—the moment I have been waiting for all my life. A limousine long as a city block pulled up, and Miss Mitchell got out. Oh, Necie, she is so tee-ninecy. She makes our Teensy look like a giant. And she gave a short little speech, mainly thanking everybody, and then she walked into the theater. To tell you the truth, I think she was nervous. I wanted to run up to her and get her to sign her name for me, but it was not the thing to do, even if I could have gotten through the crowd. Just seeing her was a thrill.

  So we went into the theater, which was packed to the gills. You could smell the men’s hair tonics and the ladies’ perfumes, and hear the shiny dresses rustling. Caro and Teensy and I all held hands. I guess I was holding my breath too because when the curtains opened I felt like I was going to pop.

  Oh! These huge titles crossed the screen like the wind was blowing them, and there was this music that had me crying even before the credits stopped rolling. And after that I don’t think I breathed for hours until Scarlett was out in the field with that turnip swearing she would never go hungry again as God was her witness! And the music got louder, and pretty soon the intermission lights came up and everybody was clapping like crazy and the movie was only half over! At intermission, the three of us just held hands in the lobby and could hardly talk. We had trouble getting down the refreshments that Uncle James handed us because we were still back at Tara. How could we drink punch when Scarlett was starving?

  And then all the sadness. Oh, Necie, it just broke my heart into a million pieces all over the floor of the Loew’s Theater. I cried and cried, and so did Teensy and Caro. We used up all our hankies, and all I could think of was how much I am like Scarlett, never having a handkerchief when I need one. Honey, why did she treat him so bad? Why? Rhett loved her. Couldn’t she see that? Why couldn’t she see that? I am never, never going to let something like that happen to me. When I meet my own Rhett I am going to love him back if it just kills me.

  Oh, Necie, I just can’t write any more. I’m so tired and I start crying all over again when I start thinking about it all. I am going to sleep now after the most exciting day in my life. (I was wrong: I had thought yesterday was the most exciting day in my life, but today is. I can’t ever imagine having a more exciting day as long as I live.)

  Fiddle-dee-dee and a kiss,

  Vivian

  (I have decided I will drop the “e” in my name so it will be more like hers.)

  3 o’clock in the morning in the Coca-Cola Palace

  December 16, 1939

  Necie—

  This house is too big, and it has scary sounds too. I had a bad dream, I think it was about Scarlett. I was running through the fog with her. I woke in a sweat and at first I didn’t know where I was. The others were all asleep, so I got out of bed and went looking for Ginger. To see if maybe I could wake her up and make her play some cards with me like we always do at Delia’s.

  It took me forever to find her room. Well, it’s not really her own room, but a maid’s room that she is sharing. I knocked and when nobody answered, I pushed the door open and saw Ginger lying on a little cot.

  And, Necie, she was crying. Ginger was crying.

  Necie, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a colored person cry before.

  She startled when she saw me, and she said, “Miz Vivi what you want coming in he
re?”

  “I can’t sleep, Ginger,” I told her. And I sat down on the floor by the cot.

  Ginger looked so different than in the daytime. She had on an old flannel gown of Delia’s, like the ones Mama uses for dishrags.

  “Why are you crying, Ginger?” I asked her.

  “I be cryin cause I misses my family.”

  “You miss Delia?” I asked her.

  And she looked at me like I had hit her or something.

  “Your grandmother ain’t my family,” Ginger said. “I got me my husband, and two daughters. They a lot you don’t know.”

  And then she started crying again.

  “Stop crying, Ginger,” I said. It made me too afraid to see her cry, Necie. She is supposed to be our chaperone. She’s not supposed to be crying. She cried like she was choking, like somebody was choking her. I hated seeing her cry.

  “Ginger,” I said, “we’re leaving tomorrow. We’ll be back in Thornton before you know it.”

  She didn’t say anything, just kept on crying there all wadded up in the covers.

  “Get up, Ginger,” I told her. “Let’s play cards, like at home. Come on, I want to play cards.”

  Then she stopped crying and just laid there.

  “I want some hot chocolate, Ginger. Will you get up and make me some? You can have some too. I want some hot chocolate like you always make me at home.”

  And Necie, she looked at me like no colored has ever looked at me in my life, and she said, “Go fix it yourself.”

  And she went back to crying, and wiping her eyes with the bed sheet.

  So I got up and came back here to our room. But everyone’s sound asleep. I am so scared, Necie, and I don’t know why.

  Your Vivi

  December 16

  8 o’clock at night

  On the train, we’re coming home.

  Dear Necie,

  We are back on the train, and I am worn out. This trip has changed. I hate to tell you how it ended, but I vowed I would tell you everything and so I will.

  This morning we woke up and packed all our things and went down to breakfast. The back of my eyes hurt, the way they do when we stay up all night talking when I spend the night at your house. Breakfast was in the dining room, and there was Aunt Louise reading The Atlanta Constitution oohing and aahing over all the pictures, and there was James Junior, the snooty stupe-nagel.

  Teensy said, “We really do thank you for letting us stay here and go to all the events, Aunt Louise. Everybody will be so jealous at home!”

  And I chimed in and said, “We just can’t wait to get back and tell our good friend, Necie.”

  And Caro thanked her too.

  And I started to say something else, and then that little worm James Junior started repeating every word that came out of my mouth!

  I said, “Pardon me, Blaine, but what are you doing?”

  “I’m trying to learn to talk like a hick before yall leave,” he said.

  I looked over at Aunt Louise to see how she’d correct him, and she did not say a word. She just took a bite of her biscuit.

  I tried to keep talking, but James Junior wouldn’t stop. He kept on and on.

  And then Ginger came in out of the kitchen. Which surprised me because we had not seen her in the dining room during the entire visit. Necie, she had a cup of hot chocolate on a tray. She had made it just for me. She was walking over to where I was sitting, and I was just about to thank her.

  And that is when James Junior opened his trap.

  “Nigger,” he said, “who told you you could walk your black Louisiana ass into our dining room? Get on out of here!”

  Ginger froze in her tracks, right there on the Persian rug. She didn’t move, she just looked straight ahead like she was alone in the room, like none of us were even there. I looked at Aunt Louise to see if she was going to knock that James Junior upside the head, but that woman did nothing but stir her coffee.

  I could hear the hot chocolate cup rattle against its saucer while Ginger stood there. All of this happened in an instant. And before I knew it, I picked up my plate and threw it at James Junior. That Limoges china plate with my eggs and grits and bacon and biscuits and fig preserves flew across the table and splattered all over that little two-legged rodent.

  “Shut your ugly little snobby mouth, you long-nosed weenie-faced mama’s boy!” I screamed. “Didn’t your mother teach you good manners?!”

  And for a split second before Ginger got out of the room, I thought I saw her look at me and wink, but I’m not sure if it really happened or if I imagined it.

  Nobody could believe it. Aunt Louise was screaming, and the other maid came in and James Junior started crying. He actually started crying, Necie. It’s not like the plate cut him or anything. I mean he wasn’t bleeding or anything.

  Then Aunt Louise snatched me up from my seat and shook me so hard I thought my teeth were going to fall out of my mouth and shoot across the floor like someone just threw a hand of jacks. And Necie, the way she shook me, I could tell that she had always wanted to shake me like that, that she had just been waiting to do it ever since she laid eyes on me. She had only been holding back because she was in the Junior League.

  Then she caught herself and let me go. “You are never welcome in this house again, Viviane Abbott! Nor in any of the homes of my friends here in Atlanta!! After all that I have done for the three of you! I have done my best to expose you all to the way civilized people live. All because my brother asked me to. All because Teensy is being culturally crippled by that tasteless Genevieve! I have bent over backwards trying to work with you little bumpkins so you would not be the laughingstock of Atlanta. Well, I wash my hands! Go back to your tacky little hick town and grow up without a shred of gentility or breeding. The four of you are a quartet of embarrassments! Aimee, I’m wiring your father that I am done with you! You and your little heathen pack of hussies.”

  “We are not hussies, Aunt Lou,” Teensy said. “We’re Ya-Yas.” Teensy said it with such piss and vinegar that Caro started applauding.

  Aunt Louise acted like she hadn’t even heard Teensy, and said, “I told you: my name is Louise.”

  Your name is asshole, is what I thought. But I didn’t say it because I was her guest.

  Aunt Louise had William take us to the station early, just to get us out of her house. Well, Necie, I cried and cried. I felt so bad. Caro and Teensy just held me and held me. As we pulled out of the depot, we were so upset, and when we looked out at Atlanta, all we kept seeing was the way it looked with those dying Confederate soldiers stretched out for miles, and I kept thinking how tired and hungry Scarlett was and how she just wanted her mother. I cried and cried until something came into my mind: Necie, I am like Miss Mitchell who they kicked off the Junior League roster because of her Indian love dance. And I started thinking, Well, maybe Miss Mitchell knew exactly what she was doing when she danced that dance. Maybe she wanted to be X-ed out of the club so she could be free to go and write the greatest book of all time.

  Yes, I have decided that I am like Scarlett and I am like Miss Mitchell. None of us like pale-faced, mealy-mouthed ninnies, and if that bothers the Junior League, well, that is just too bad.

  Love,

  Vivian (remember: Drop the “e”!)

  Later

  12:07 in the morning

  Necie-oh,

  We are rolling through the state of Alabama. I went back to the colored car to see what Ginger was doing, and bring her a Coca-Cola. And do you know she was having the time of her life. She was back there smoking cigarettes and chewing gum and nipping on a bottle that was being passed around four or five other coloreds while they played cards. She was laughing and laughing, and when she saw me, she smiled and said, “We goin home, baby chile! Ain’t that good news?”

  “It’s real good news,” I said, and handed her the Coca-Cola.

  “Thank you, baby,” she said, and took a sip of the Coke and then a swig off the bottle.

  “Gin
ger,” I said, “you know a lady doesn’t smoke and drink and chew gum with strangers.”

  And Ginger looked at the others, and they all started to laugh like they were old friends.

  “Miz Vivi,” she told me, “Old Ginger ain’t got to worry about being no lady. That yo’ problem, baby. That yo’ problem.”

  Necie, I have had enough traveling. I can’t wait to get home. I love you. We all love you. We are lonesome for you. Tonight Caro said you were a little like Melanie. Well, I don’t think that’s true, but all I have to say is that I love you, like Scarlett realized she loved Melanie right as Melanie lay in the bed there dying. You are our blood sister, remember, and blood sisters can never really go away from each other, no matter how lonesome train whistles sound in the night air.

  Love forever and ever,

  Vivi

  11

  Sidda carefully folded the letters and slipped them back into their Ziploc bag. As she stood up from the easy chair, she felt disoriented, the way one feels upon emerging from a movie theater in the middle of a sunny day. As she looked around the cabin, with its comfortable furniture, Northwest touches, and photographs on the walls, everything seemed suddenly alien. A wave of homesickness swept over her like she hadn’t experienced in years. She bent down to Hueylene, who was lying on the sofa, and rubbed the dog’s belly. Hueylene moaned and rolled over, wanting more. Sidda moaned in response to Hueylene’s sounds, then rubbed the dog on the ears. How was it that this cocker remained so perpetually cheerful? So willing to love and be loved?

  “Come on, Buddy,” Sidda said. “Let’s go for a walk.”

  They walked into the forest, thick and old. It was only four in the afternoon, but the day was so overcast it felt like twilight. Sidda marveled that some of the logs she passed by had actually toppled to the forest floor several centuries ago.

  She paused at one of the National Park Service signs. It read:

  Very little light reaches the forest floor in the deep temperate rain forest. The only way young seedlings can survive until they reach the light of the upper canopy is to grow on the nutrient-rich decaying logs. These logs are called nurse logs.