The Secret Lives of the Kudzu Debutantes

by Cathy Holton

  “I have to go now,” Virginia said. “I'll call you later.” She hung up. Out in the water, Whitney stood up and began to walk slowly toward shore, dragging her float behind her like a limp blanket. Virginia wiped beneath her eyes with the Kleenex. She readjusted her sunglasses and snapped her fingers.

  “Reynaldo!” she said, waving her glass. “Another mai tai.”

  Whitney walked slowly up the beach. When she got a few feet from her grandmother, she stopped and dropped the float at her feet. She stood squinting at Virginia, her hand raised above her eyes to shield them from the sun. “I need to call my mother,” she said. “Can I have my cell phone now?”

  Virginia smiled amicably. She finished her mai tai and then set the empty glass in the sand. “Of course you can, dear,” she said. She leaned over and took Whitney's cell phone out of her beach bag. She watched as the girl walked a few paces down the beach, and then frowning, turned around and shouted, “It won't turn on. It's not working!”

  Of course it wasn't. Virginia had removed the battery that morning.

  “Oh no,” Virginia said. “Bring it over here and let me see it.” Whitney gave her the phone and Virginia pretended to fiddle with it for a while. “It may just need to be recharged. Did you bring your charger? No? Well, that's okay. You can use the phone back at the condo, if you like.” Virginia smiled brightly.

  Whitney frowned and kicked her foot in the sand. She put her hand over her eyes and squinted at her grandmother suspiciously. “This isn't about the fight you had with Mommy, is it?” Virginia had told her briefly about the custody battle this morning, while Carlisle slept. Virginia had done her best to make it sound like it was nothing more than a simple argument over how many nights Whitney got to sleep at her grandmother's house and how many at home. More like a friendly disagreement than an argument. That's how Virginia had explained it. A silly argument that would be decided by a nice, kindly old judge. But Whitney wasn't stupid. She'd watched enough Lifetime for Women movies to know what a custody battle was. Her grandmother had made her promise not to tell Carlisle any of their “family business,” so the first thing Whitney did once they got down to the beach was tell her. “Oh my God,” Carlisle squealed, “custody battles are the best! That means they both want you, which means you get to have anything you want, and do anything you want to do because no one wants to tell you no.” Carlisle went to the Barron Hall School. She'd been one of Whitney's friends back before Nita left Charles and ripped Whitney out of Barron Hall to enroll her in public school. “No one wants to piss you off because they want you to like them best. Kara Stockett's parents got into a custody battle over her and she got a Kate Spade purse for Christmas and a trip to Paris. Oh my God, Whitney, that's awesome!”

  Yes, it was indeed, awesome. Whitney had watched enough reality TV about rich California kids living in Orange County not to appreciate the potential drama of the situation. Only instead of parents or boyfriends fighting over her, it was her mother and her grandmother.

  “You said I could call Mommy whenever I want,” Whitney said sullenly. “You said I could go home whenever I want.”

  “Well, of course you can, darling.” Virginia clapped her tiny hands and then opened her arms wide to Whitney, making room for her at the foot of the lounger. Whitney sat down and let her grandmother hug her. “You can go home just as soon as the judge makes his decision about where you're going to stay. But for the time being, we'd like you to stay with me and Papa Redmon because we can take care of you best. We can buy you dresses and take you shopping and pay for you to go back to the Barron Hall School, if you like. And just as soon as your mother gets back some of the money that Mr. Motes took from her, then you can go back to live with her. Of course, you can visit her whenever you want. And if you'd rather stay with her, even though she can't give you new dresses or take you shopping or send you to the Barron Hall School, that's all right, too.” Virginia watched her closely to see if her gamble had worked.

  Whitney said, “Jimmy Lee stole Mommy's money?”

  “Well, he didn't steal it. He just invested it unwisely.” Virginia took off her hat and fluffed her hair, watching two seagulls fight over a dead crab on the beach. “Of course,” she said archly, “money isn't everything. You know that. And I'm sure your mother will be able to find a nice place for you all to live, maybe an apartment over close to the public high school. Then you won't need a car. You can just walk to school.”

  Whitney squinted and looked out at the water. Being poor wasn't something she'd planned on. None of the kids out in Orange County were poor. As if reading her thoughts, Carlisle sat up on her float and waved. “Can we have some money to go shopping?” Whitney said dejectedly. “Me and Carlisle?”

  “Of course, darling,” Virginia said gaily, rummaging in her beach bag to retrieve her wallet. “How much do you need?”

  JIMMY LEE HAD TRIED TO CALL HER SEVERAL TIMES. HE had left messages on her cell phone, which Nita ignored, and later he began to call without leaving messages. He never called the house, only her cell. Nita never called him back. Since that rainy day when she discovered her daughter had been kidnapped, a chilling sense of déjà vu had settled over Nita and she had been unable to think of anything except getting Whitney back. She had spent her whole life running from the specter of loneliness and now that it had caught up with her, Nita discovered she could stand it after all. She understood that loving someone and living without him, although painful, was possible.

  Still, she was glad for Logan's company. Like any sixteen-year-old boy, he had his own life, but he seemed determined to help Nita deal with hers. He began coming home early from his rock-and-roll band practice to help with the laundry and the housework. He mowed the grass and made dinner while Nita occupied her time getting ready for the custody hearing. Despite her assurances to the contrary, she dreaded the hearing and felt nervous about the outcome. Virginia wouldn't have started something she couldn't finish and she must have known, before she filed the custody petition, that she had the upper hand. It wasn't like her to miscalculate anything.

  Whitney was still in Florida but Nita had spoken to her twice by telephone. Both times she had sounded distant and restrained, and Nita guessed Virginia was probably in the room. During the second call, Nita heard a slight tremor of homesickness in Whitney's voice and Nita's throat tightened and she said brightly, “Don't worry, honey, you'll be home soon. I promise.”

  In between the drudgery of her daily life, Nita spent time with Rosebud Smoot, planning their strategy for regaining custody of Whitney. The case had, unfortunately but no doubt with manipulation by Virginia, been assigned to Judge Lamar Drucker, an old fishing buddy of Judge Broadwell's. He was the last of the old-school judges who believed the practice of law to be as clear and precise as the practice of aeronautical engineering; things were either black or they were white. There was no room in Judge Drucker's courtroom for subtle shadings of gray. He also believed that women, due to their inability to think in a logical, precise, and orderly manner, had no business practicing law. When Rosebud Smoot graduated number one in her class at Georgia in 1958 and returned to Ithaca to practice, she had been offered a position as a legal secretary in Judge Drucker's law firm. When she turned him down, he had seen to it that no one else offered her a job. Years later, she reciprocated by feeding information secretly to a young reporter by the name of Grace Pearson, who had written a series of scandalous newspaper articles on Judge Drucker and his crony, Judge Broadwell, who Grace sardonically dubbed The Hanging Judge. Whether or not Judge Drucker or Judge Broadwell ever figured out it was Rosebud who fed the crusading young reporter her information was unclear. Rosebud had actually won several jury trials in Judge Drucker's court, although rarely did she prevail in nonjury cases. She comforted herself with the knowledge that as the older judges died off, the younger ones seemed more willing to accept female attorneys in their courtrooms. There was even a chance that at some distant point in Ithaca's future, female attorneys might be tre
ated as equals of their male colleagues. Rosebud hoped she would live long enough to see this.

  Still, she was a realist, and despite their barely concealed dislike of each other, Rosebud thought it best not to oppose Judge Drucker hearing Nita's custody case. She had practiced law in a small town enough years to know that to ask a judge to recuse himself was like declaring war on the entire Kingdom of Judgedom itself. This was not a step to be taken lightly. Rosebud decided to play the conflict of interest card only as a last resort.

  Besides, Judge Drucker had already announced his retirement next year, and with any luck, he'd drop dead of a heart attack or a stroke before then.

  The day of the custody hearing, though, the old judge appeared in fine form. He walked into his courtroom like an actor walking onto the stage. His long white hair was swept back from his face, and he wore a stern forbidding expression that made him look like Jehovah perched on his throne on the Day of Judgment. He liked to begin questions to counsel or witnesses with “Well, I'm just an old country boy, of course, so maybe you can explain it to me,” a ruse that fooled no one but always brought a few titters from the gallery. Most judges liked to sit quietly, weighing the arguments of counsel, but Judge Drucker liked to talk as much as possible, using the captive audience in his courtroom to showcase his wit and mental acuity.

  The day of the hearing, there were only a few people in the courtroom. Besides a few bored spectators, the court reporter, the judge, and his staff, there was Rosebud and Nita, Virginia and her attorney, Whitney, Logan, Lavonne, Eadie, Loretta, and a spidery little man Nita didn't recognize. He sat over by Virginia's table and was obviously here to testify on her behalf. Charles was noticeably absent.

  Judge Drucker wasted little time. He read over the Petition and Answer, allowed the parties' counsels a few brief words, and then, raising his hand irritably to silence Rosebud, began to drill Nita.

  “Are you currently separated, Miz Motes?”

  Rosebud immediately responded with, “That's irrelevant, Your Honor.”

  The judge's fierce eyes rested on her for a brief moment, and then slid back to Nita. “Just answer the question,” he said.

  Nita glanced at Rosebud and then spoke hesitantly. “Not legally, no.”

  The judge grimaced and looked at the ceiling. He sighed and looked at his hands. “All right, Miz Motes,” he said with exaggerated courtesy, “let me put it another way. Is your husband currently residing at 308 River Road?”

  “No.”

  “That wasn't so hard, now was it?” He looked around the room to see if they appreciated his sarcasm, but no one smiled except for Virginia. The judge rounded his shoulders and thrust his head forward. “Let's try another one,” he growled. “Okay, Miz Motes, how much money is in your bank account right now?”

  Rosebud jumped to her feet. “I object, Your Honor. This is ridiculous and has absolutely no bearing on the case.”

  “You wait your turn, Miz Smoot,” he warned, wagging a thick hairy finger. “I'm trying to determine whether Miz Motes has the financial wherewithal to support her two minor children.”

  “Your Honor, my client has supported her minor children for the past year and a half. She receives child support from her ex-husband in sufficient amounts to support her children.”

  “Child support that Miz Motes will not receive if she loses custody.” He waved his hand as if this was relevant and Rosebud stared at him a moment and then slid down into her chair.

  “And where is the minor child's father?” Rosebud said loudly, looking around the courtroom. “He should be here to testify.”

  The judge ignored her. He leaned back in his seat and set his elbows down, tenting his hands in front of him. “Do you work, Miz Motes?”

  “No, Your Honor.”

  “And I understand you have had a recent financial reversal due to a bad business investment?”

  Rosebud didn't even bother to stand. She slung one arm around the back of Nita's chair and eyed the judge contemptuously. “As you are well aware, Your Honor, if parental custody was limited to those who had not made bad business decisions, then no one in this room would qualify. I daresay even the petitioner”—she looked pointedly at Virginia—“has had her share of financial reversals, although I don't hear Your Honor asking her to account for them.”

  “Another outburst like that, Miz Smoot, and I'll hold you in contempt of court!” He picked up his gavel and looked as if he might fling it at Rosebud, and she stared at him as if daring him to do so.

  Virginia's attorney stood then, and politely asked if he might address the court. He was a tall, elegant gentleman from a very old and prominent family. His name was Dawson Henry and he spoke in a refined, Plantation South drawl that flowed through the courtroom like soothing music. Even the judge, entranced by the timbre and cadence of his melodious voice, fell silent. Dawson assured the judge that his client was only concerned with her grandchildren's welfare, that she only filed her custody suit because of her ex-daughter-in-law's current financial situation and marital instability. He explained that his client had her granddaughter's best interests at heart, that she was paying for Whitney's expenses, including tuition for her return to private school, out of her own pocket. She was willing to have her grandson returned to her custody also, but he had made it clear that he wished to remain with his mother. Dawson assured the judge that it was his client's hope that the custody would only be temporary, he asserted that his client loved Nita like a daughter and hoped that their relationship would return to normal once the issues in Nita's life had been resolved.

  At this point, Loretta had had all she could take. She stood up and said loudly, “If you believe that crock of cow confetti, Your Honor, I've got some swampland in Florida I'd like to sell you.” The judge did his best to reestablish order but by now Loretta, inflamed by a slight smile from Virginia, had attempted to climb over three rows of seats to get to her, and after being restrained by one of the deputies, had to be forcibly removed from the courtroom. “I'm gonna snatch you baldheaded!” Loretta was shouting as they carried her out. “You better give your soul to Jesus, Virginia, 'cause your ass belongs to me!”

  Virginia sat through the entire ordeal looking small and terrified, with her little hand fluttering at her breast, and afterward her attorney requested that “due to the potential violence of the Respondent's family members, his client be given a police escort from the building after the hearing.” This brought a loud and sustained outburst from Eadie who, after being threatened with removal by the judge, eventually managed to calm down.

  Nita sat through the whole exchange with her head buried in her hands.

  The judge gave Rosebud a few brief moments of rebuttal, which she handled with the calm resigned demeanor of one who realizes that this skirmish is lost but who stubbornly refuses to give up the fight. After that, the judge asked Whitney a series of questions, and the girl admitted that she loved her mother and wanted to visit her frequently, but she felt comfortable at her grandmother's house and was excited about the prospect of returning to the Barron Hall School in two weeks.

  Judge Drucker had heard enough. He raised his hand and glowered at the small audience. “I hereby grant the Petitioner temporary custody, with the Respondent to receive weekly unsupervised parenting time to be worked out between the parties. We will schedule another hearing in ninety days, at which time we will revisit the issues and decide permanent custody, with the understanding, however, that Respondent will get a job during said ninety- day period.” He nodded briefly at the bailiff and adjourned the hearing.

  Loretta waited outside, stalking stiff-legged up and down the hallway. “Well?” she said, when she saw Nita's sullen face. “What happened?”

  “Virginia got temporary custody,” Eadie said, when Nita didn't respond. “But only for ninety days. Nita has to get a job and she gets weekly visits with Whitney, and then in ninety days the judge will award permanent custody.”

  Loretta's jaw dropped. “You have go
t to be kidding me,” she said.

  Lavonne shook her head slowly.

  “So much for justice,” Loretta said. She stood up on her tiptoes and tried to see over Eadie's shoulder into the room, and when this didn't work, she tried to push her way through the thin flow of people who were exiting the courtroom.

  “Hold up, Loretta,” Eadie said, grabbing her arm.

  “Where is that crooked, conniving egg-sucker?” Loretta said, struggling to free herself.

  Lavonne, not sure which egg-sucker she meant, said, “Virginia went out the back way and the judge is in his chambers.”

  Loretta stopped struggling. She swung around suddenly and would have scurried out the front door had Nita not stepped in front of her and grabbed her by both elbows.

  “Mama, stop,” Nita said, giving her a little shake. “You're only making things worse for me.”

  Rosebud came out of the courtroom carrying a big black briefcase. She was a tall, heavyset woman who walked with a pronounced limp. She stopped beside Nita and said, “Well, that didn't go as well as I planned, but we'll be ready for them next time. At least the psychiatrist didn't get a chance to speak.”

  Nita faced her but kept a tight hold on her mother. “Was that the little skinny guy?”

  “Yes.” Rosebud nodded grimly. “Virginia's got her seeing a child psychiatrist, but we'll get our own expert witness before the next hearing. Don't worry,” she said to Nita. “We'll prevail in the end. Until then, just hang in there.” She clapped her once on the shoulder, nodded at the rest of the group, and then limped off. They watched her as she went out through the double glass doors, and past Logan, who stood on the courthouse steps smoking a cigarette.

  “The only one who needs a psychiatrist is Virginia,” Eadie said.

  “She'll need more than a psychiatrist when I'm through with her,” Loretta said.

  Nita nodded at Eadie and Lavonne. “Y'all go on,” she said. “I need to talk to my mother.”