The Southern Side of Paradise

by Kristy Woodson Harvey

  But Hippie Hal was already shooing her off the stage. It was his moment in the spotlight. I had butterflies at the thought of what he was going to present. But this was even better than my wildest dreams.

  “As most of you know,” Hal began, “I recently returned from a three-week stay in India. While my eyes were opened to many things there, I had a wonderful idea that I think could be of benefit to the town.”

  “And what is that?” Mayor Bob asked.

  “Goats,” Hal replied simply.

  Caroline and Emerson grinned at me so widely I thought their faces were going to fall off. And they had complained the whole way here.

  “Please explain,” Mayor Bob said.

  “We all have our lawns cut each week, creating a noise problem and polluting our environment. Of course, I’m not suggesting that every person put a goat in his or her yard. That would put my friend Billy Washington out of a job. But I think some of us could replace our traditional mowing with goats, and then that could become another tourist attraction in town.”

  There was a wave of muffled laughter through the audience.

  I couldn’t believe it when Caroline very solemnly rose and said, “As owner of one of the largest lots in downtown Peachtree Bluff, I think this is a wonderful idea. I would love to have a goat in my yard.”

  Jack burst out laughing, and I couldn’t help but chuckle. The mere idea of Caroline with a goat was too much to take.

  Emerson said, “If this gets passed, you are so screwed. You’re going to have to get a goat.”

  Caroline scoffed. “Please. There is no way this is going to get passed.”

  A few more people stood up and voiced their concerns for the goat movement. Mayor Bob said, “We have time for one more comment.”

  That was when Mrs. McClasky, Hippie Hal’s nemesis, made her move. She and her hot-pink crop pants and white Keds climbed up onto that stage, and she wagged her finger.

  “There is a reason we have a no-livestock ordinance in Peachtree Bluff. Not only does livestock spread disease, but it also creates a noise problem.” She paused to put her hands over her ears. “All that infernal bleating—and the feces smell? Why spend all this time, energy, and money preserving our town’s homes and keeping our downtown beautiful only to have it smell like goat waste as you drive in?”

  “Why is she so unpleasant?” Jack whispered to me.

  “I don’t know. Maybe she has had a hard life.”

  I handed my phone to Jack. He put his hand over his heart. “Oh, Ansley, I want to see you walking down the aisle in this.”

  I smiled ironically. “No such luck. This is my mother-of-the-bride dress.”

  “You’re joking.”

  Mrs. McClasky sighed and looked over at Hal. “Why can’t you just let yards be yards? With grass and flowers. No bikes. No goats. Just grass like God intended.”

  And this is where I felt it all go south for her. She had made great points. She was right. But Hal was popular, and she had made it personal.

  Mayor Bob asked, “All in favor of having goats downtown?”

  I raised my hand as a pity gesture. Almost all the hands in the room went up.

  “All opposed?”

  Only nine hands.

  “Oh, my God.” Emerson was hysterical. “Caroline!” She was laughing so hard she could hardly breathe. “Now you have to get a . . . a . . .”

  Now Jack and I were laughing, too, as Emerson finished, “Goat.”

  I thought she was going to fall off her chair.

  Caroline looked at me in shock. “What is wrong with these people? Who would agree to goats in people’s yards in downtown Peachtree?”

  Hal came over, a surprised look on his face. “Caroline, I’ll let you know when your goat comes in.”

  “Oh, well—actually—” Caroline stammered, but Hal was already gone. That set us all off again.

  “James is going to be furious,” Emerson said, still laughing.

  Now Caroline smiled. “He is, isn’t he?” She nodded. “Well, silver lining.”

  Twenty minutes later, after talking to everyone who wanted to congratulate Caroline on a successful goat campaign, we were leaving the pub. We usually walked down Main Street to get home, but tonight Jack said, “Let’s take the alley.” He raised his eyebrows. “I hear it’s haunted at night.”

  I smiled. Caroline and Emerson were a few steps in front of us, and when I heard their piercing screams, I thought maybe they had seen a ghost.

  I looked ahead of them to see Hippie Hal’s back . . . and Mrs. McClasky leaned against the brick wall, her hair disheveled. They pulled away quickly, but it was too late.

  “Hippie Hal, you dirty dog,” Jack said.

  “Oh, my God,” Caroline wailed.

  “I can never ever unsee that,” Emerson chimed in.

  I stood, gaping in amazement, until Jack pulled my hand. I knew it was terribly rude, but come on. Hippie Hal and Mrs. McClasky. Mortal enemies and . . . lovers?

  It just goes to show that even in a small Southern town you know is full of secrets, there’s still one that can shock you every now and then.

  TEN

  emerson: the dark side

  The first two years I was in LA flew by. It was all a blur, really. Between auditioning and filming the small roles I was getting here and there during the day and waitressing at night, intermixed with the professional partying we were all doing, let’s just say there wasn’t much sleep. It was a good thing my twenty-year-old skin could take it like a champ and never show my exhaustion.

  Two weeks after my twentieth birthday, I got a call that I knew had the potential to change everything. A new network was looking for an actress to star in four of its movies. It wasn’t big-budget, and it wouldn’t make me rich or famous. But a well-known director was backing it, and it would give me the thing I needed the very most: real, true experience.

  When I answered the phone that morning, Morris Stevenson, the director, was on the other line. “Emerson, I need you to meet me for dinner tonight. I think you have great potential, and I’d like to talk about the possibility of you starring in these films for me. I think we could work really well together.”

  I almost dropped the phone. “Wow,” I said, so flattered. “Tell me when and where, and I’ll be there.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Just give me your address.”

  When Morris picked me up in his Bentley the next night, I have to admit I was impressed.

  “Pretty nice building you have here,” he said, winking at me.

  I felt so proud in that moment. I was happy that I had agreed to let Caroline help pay for my apartment, because maybe it would give Morris the impression that I was successful, that I was, indeed, the girl he should take a chance on.

  Over caviar and champagne, we talked for hours about my career. I wanted to remember everything about this night, freeze it for the future. He was so polished and handsome. A real director who really knew what he was doing, who could give me feedback and help me grow. And he wanted me. Me! It was a dream come true.

  When dinner was over, he asked, “Do you want to come back to my house and check out the new scripts I’m considering?”

  I wasn’t stupid, and every girl I knew had a story with a question just like this, so it put me the tiniest bit on edge. But I didn’t want this night to end. So I said, “Sure. And I’d love to meet your wife.”

  He looked a little surprised, but come on. Of course, I had googled him. I knew he was married.

  I was pleased when we got to his palatial home and, instead of offering me another drink, Morris handed me a Perrier. That he wasn’t trying to get me drunk made me feel a little more comfortable.

  Morris showed me his awards and his office. We were sitting side by side on his white banquette, which I was sure his wife had had custom-made for him, admiring the view of the Hollywood hills, when he leaned over and kissed my neck.

  Honestly, it wasn’t a bad feeling. He was handsome a
nd attentive, and he smelled nice. But he was married. So I pulled my neck away and reminded him of that. I’ll never forget what he said next.

  “Honey, you’re beautiful, but you’re not that talented. You have one thing to offer directors like me, and if you can’t figure out what that one thing is, you’re never going to make it in this town.”

  His words cut deep, because he had verbalized my biggest fear at that time: maybe I wasn’t good enough. I’m embarrassed to say that his proposition gave me pause. I had been working myself to the bone for the past two years, and I hadn’t really gotten anywhere. He held the keys to a door that I really, really wanted opened for me. For a moment, I pictured myself doing what he wanted me to. I would be his mistress. I would be his star. And, really, hadn’t this been happening since the beginning of acting itself?

  But then I looked down at his left hand, which was conspicuously devoid of a ring. And I remembered that Morris had a wife. A real woman with real feelings who didn’t deserve any of this. And, God, it pained me to realize what doing the right thing was going to cost me. At the time, it felt like it was potentially costing me the one thing I wanted most, that another opportunity might never come along. I loved those days when I got to become someone else, but I knew I couldn’t slip into character here. I had to stay true to myself.

  So I got up off the beautiful couch that I was certain had cost more than my last six months of rent and said, “Morris, I want this role more than I have ever wanted anything. But I’m not willing to disregard your wife, a woman who is worthy of my respect and yours, in order to get that.”

  I wish I could use this as some anecdote of how doing the right thing gets you what you want. I wish it had been some triumphant story where Morris shook my hand and said, “Emerson, you’re right. A young lady with your morals deserves this opportunity. See you on set on Monday.”

  But that didn’t happen. Morris just snickered at me and said, “You might as well pack your bags now. You’ll never make it in this town.”

  I wish I could say that I walked out of Morris’s beautiful home feeling determined to prove him wrong, that I walked out with my head held high, confident in my decision, and knowing for sure that I had done the right thing. But that wasn’t what happened. I walked out of his house feeling defeated. I knew that some other girl would accept his proposition and that she would make those movies, have that experience, get bigger roles, and be on the way to the career that I wanted, that a million girls wanted.

  That was the first night since I’d arrived in LA that I had called Mark. I had given him his space, had let him have his freedom. I didn’t want to lead him on, because I knew that, just like Morris, I wouldn’t ultimately give him what he wanted. I expected Mark to tell me to come home, and, as ripped open as I felt that night, I might have said OK. But he didn’t.

  Instead, he said, “Emerson, there is always going to be some asshole out there who will tell you that you aren’t good enough, who is going to make you believe that you aren’t worth it. But he will be wrong. Because you deserve everything you want. I believe in you. I believe that you’ll make it. That’s why it was so hard for me to let you go, because I knew that you would be the biggest star out there and that I’d never get you back.”

  Maybe I knew then that one day, I’d end up with Mark.

  And now, all these years later, it was crazy to think that it was finally happening.

  After our makeup session, Mark and I were sailing as smoothly toward the Labor Day wedding as the slick, waveless sea beyond Mom’s porch. On the bright side, Mark and I couldn’t get enough of each other, and I was more convinced than ever that this was the right decision. On the dark side—the very, very dark side—Mark’s mother would be arriving soon. And she would be living with Mark until she found a new place. Poor Mark. He was a saint. I wouldn’t have lasted an hour and a half.

  On the other dark side, the extreme fatigue, dizziness, loss of energy, and bruising that I was hoping would go away if I ignored it hard enough were still constant companions. But I kept rationalizing that with all I had going on, I didn’t have time to deal with that, too.

  Vivi, Preston, and James had already arrived, and Caroline’s entire family was piled into Mom’s guesthouse. Sloane had suggested that her family take Mom’s guesthouse and let Caroline and James back in their house, but Caroline had insisted—very unselfishly, if you ask me—that Sloane stay. Adam was recovering quickly and had graduated from a walker to a cane, but it had become clear that he would never be back in the field again. I was sure that inside he was devastated, but outwardly he was taking it very well. He said that this was a new chapter for him, that he had made a deal with God that if he could survive his capture, if he ever got back home with his family, he would never ask for another thing. I’m sure nearly dying put it all into perspective for him. Despite his progress, it was still very challenging for him to climb stairs, and you couldn’t get to the guesthouse without climbing a flight.

  With all that settled, we had something even more potentially thrilling than my wedding to look forward to. Today, I was pretty sure, was going to be the best day of my life. We were all sitting on Caroline’s front steps: Mom, Jack, Mark, Sloane, Adam, Taylor, AJ, James, Caroline, Preston, Vivi, and me.

  “Hey,” Mom said casually, “I was thinking . . . could we have a sister-and-mom dinner tonight? Just Caroline, Sloane, Emerson, and me at my house?”

  “Nope,” Mark said. “She’s all mine.”

  “She’s not all yours until Labor Day weekend,” Caroline said. “You have to share between now and then.”

  “Speaking of . . .” I said. I had purposely been waiting to drop this bomb on Mark until we were in public and he couldn’t get too mad at me. I smiled at him enthusiastically. “Us Weekly wants to do an exclusive on the wedding!”

  Mom cut her eyes at me, and Mark sighed. But it was Caroline who spoke first. “That’s really tacky, Emerson. You do not want your private wedding splashed all over the press.”

  I looked pleadingly at Mark. “This is a big deal for me. It could be a big opportunity.”

  He took my hand, and I could tell he was trying to be sweet. “Honey, I want our day to be about us. That seems so intrusive.”

  Great. I could only imagine how many hours I had paid my publicist to orchestrate that kind of incredible press. These people didn’t understand. Weddings were the perfect time to get your name out there. I rolled my eyes.

  “So, dinner?” Mom asked, as if we had put the Us Weekly issue to rest.

  “I don’t know, Mom,” Sloane said. “I feel like I need to be here. Adam had a particularly rough day at PT.”

  “You know I can hear you, right?” he said, laughing. Adam was sitting on the step above Sloane, and she was leaning back onto him. He leaned down and kissed the top of her head. “I’m fine, babe.” He paused. “Men,” he said to AJ and Taylor, “with Mommy out of the house tonight, I say we order pizza and have . . .”

  They all flexed their muscles and said simultaneously, “Dudes’ night!”

  They were cute. I knew that Mark would be a really good dad one day, too. I couldn’t wait to see him with our own kids. The thought made my stomach sink for the second time in as many hours. I had to get those test results. I leaned in closer to him and kissed him to distract myself from the bad feelings.

  “I’m cooking tonight,” Vivi said.

  “You are?” James asked, surprised.

  She nodded enthusiastically. “Yup. I’m cooking like Mommy. I’ll make reservations at Full Moon.”

  We all laughed as Kimmy’s truck pulled up with a small trailer. Kimmy jumped out of the driver’s side, Hal jumped out of the passenger’s seat, and we got up and scattered around the yard. We had been plotting all morning about how we were going to grill Hal about the torrid McClasky affair. But Mom had said we needed to give Hal his privacy and had sworn us to secrecy. All that meant was that she knew what was really going on and didn’t want to share the
juicy gossip with us.

  “She’s here, she’s here!” Vivi yelled.

  AJ and Taylor ran ahead. They were the first ones to the trailer, and Kimmy handed AJ a leash.

  Caroline and I stood in the yard while everyone else made a fuss. “How did I let them talk me into this?”

  “To piss James off, remember?”

  She crossed her arms as we heard the first ear-shattering “Bleeeeeaaaatttt.” Caroline groaned. “It was so not worth it.”

  “You don’t have to get anyone to cut the yard now,” I said optimistically.

  “What do I care about having someone cut the lawn? James deals with all that and pays for it. It affects me in no way.”

  “Oh, Mom, she is so, so cute,” Vivi said to Caroline, hugging the little white goat with brown spots. She nuzzled into Vivi with a brown ear. “Let’s call her Ellie Mae.”

  “Ellie Mae?” I asked. “Wow. A few months in the South, and you are really owning it.”

  Vivi was leading her new pet/lawn mower into the yard, pausing to pat her head. Ellie Mae jumped in the air like she was just so excited. She really was adorable. But as soon as she entered the gate, the goat simultaneously ate one of Caroline’s prized roses and pooped.

  “Swell,” Caroline said. “The house is yours now, Sloane, as long as you keep the goat.”

  We all laughed. Five hours later, we were all laughing again, this time around Mom’s dining-room table. She had made Grammy’s favorite dinner: tea service. We had cucumber, egg salad, and tomato sandwiches, brownies, lemon squares, and, of course, tea. Mom said it was all gluten-free for Caroline, but quite frankly, I had my doubts. Still, it was a perfect summer supper, light and easy and reminiscent of a simpler time.

  We talked—deliciously, gloriously—about absolutely nothing of importance. None of the major issues we were tackling in our lives was at this dinner with us. I knew in the back of my mind that it would be a good time to share with my mom what was going on with my health while my sisters were there to soften the blow. But I didn’t want to ruin our drama-free event.