The Red Hat Society's Queens of Woodlawn Avenue

by Regina Hale Sutherland

  “Ellie? Is everything okay?”

  “Fine. Everything’s fine. I just thought you might want to know…” Now that I had him on the line, I was beset by nerves. Ridiculous. What was wrong with me?

  Jim waited for me to finish my sentence, and when I didn’t, he said, “So, what do I need to know? The secret password for the Cannon Ball? Maybe a secret handshake?”

  I smiled and then swallowed the unexpected anxiety. After all, didn’t I have the upper hand with him? There was no reason to feel like an awkward adolescent.

  “My dress. For the ball. Just thought you might want to know the color.”

  “Sure.”

  Then more silence. Why was I having such a hard time communicating such a simple piece of information?

  “Do you want me to guess?” He was clearly amused, but not in a mean way.

  “No, no. It’s pink and black. Vintage Chanel.”

  Jim let out a low whistle. “Nice.”

  The warmth, the interest in his tone poured over my heart like a thick balm. How ironic that the man who’d broken my heart was the one man whose interest and affection could begin to heal it.

  “Me, too. I mean, I’m looking forward to Saturday night, too.”

  “Not as much as I am.”

  Jim might not be French, but what he lacked in the suave department he more than made up for in earnestness.

  “Ellie?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you for asking me to take you to the ball.”

  In his voice were all the qualities that had drained away over time. Attraction. Desire. Love.

  “You’re welcome,” I said, still on shaky enough ground that my conversation was less than brilliant.

  “Vintage Chanel, huh?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m looking forward to it. See you on Saturday.”

  We said our good-byes, and while I knew it wasn’t possible for my body to ever feel twenty years old again, I now knew that it was entirely possible for my heart to feel the way it had then.

  By the Saturday morning of the ball, I was still wrestling with my conscience, at least as much as the demands of the last few days would allow. I’d met with all the frat boys and made sure they had the appropriate uniform— white polo shirts and khaki pants. I’d also checked to make sure they all had a legal driver’s license and were properly bonded. In addition, I’d made several trips out to Greta’s stables to go over how many people she could transport in the given period of time before and after the ball. Finally, I’d had to break down and call Will McFar-land to do a final check of the schedule and postings for the security guards. I’d managed to escape that conversation without agreeing to another dinner date or implicating Grace in Marvin Etherington’s murder. All in all, not a bad week’s work.

  Jane, Grace, and Linda turned up at the Gatewood Botanical Garden and Museum that morning to serve as my committee for the day. We checked and double-checked schedules, counted out pillows and blankets for the wagons and carriages, and even managed to squeeze in a quick lunch at the restaurant next to the gift shop.

  “I couldn’t have done it without you ladies,” I said, lifting my glass in a toast as the waiter slid salads under our noses. It was my first official outing with the Queens of Woodlawn Avenue.

  “That’s what we’re here for,” Jane said with a smile, sipping the champagne I’d ordered to celebrate.

  “Roz will be pea green.” Linda tipped her glass toward me in a salute. “Nicely done.”

  “Thanks.” Although after my confrontation with Roz in the frozen food aisle, I was feeling a lot less triumphant.

  “I hope you enjoy the ball, Cinderella,” Grace said.

  “Well, I’ll certainly have the loveliest dress.” We exchanged smiles, although they held a hint of sadness. By unspoken mutual agreement, we hadn’t discussed Marvin Etherington any further. I was still debating what to do about the information Grace had revealed.

  “What time is Henri picking you up?” Jane asked.

  “Actually, I’m not going with Henri.”

  Jane’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? Then who’s the lucky man.”

  “Urn, Jim, actually.”

  Down her eyebrows went beneath her blonde bouffant hairdo until they were almost knitted together. “Jim? Your ex-husband?”

  “He wants to reconcile.”

  All three had identical looks of horror on their faces. “You’re not thinking of taking him back, are you?” Linda demanded, green eyes blazing. “After what he’s done?”

  ’The only thing I’m doing is allowing him to escort me to the ball.”

  “Be careful,” Jane warned. “Especially of ex-husbands bearing gifts.”

  “I’ll be careful,” I reassured them, but I knew that keeping my guard up would take some effort on my part. I hadn’t loved the man for more than a quarter of a century for nothing.

  Jim arrived at the house promptly at five as I’d requested, a good sign for a man who had, in my experience, been regularly detained by patients in need of attention. Many an evening I’d scraped a burned dinner into the trash and turned on the television to watch our favorite shows alone.

  “You look stunning.” He leaned forward to kiss my cheek, and I let him. A frisson of something akin to the champagne I’d drunk at lunch washed down my spine.

  “Thanks. You look pretty good yourself.” And he did, in his black tuxedo, pink-and-black paisley bow tie, and cummerbund.

  “I brought you this.” From behind his back, he pulled out a large, square, black velvet box.

  “What’s this?” I’d been expecting flowers at most. A corsage, or maybe a bouquet of roses.

  “I decided that if I didn’t need the Harley or the boat, I probably didn’t need the new golf clubs, either.”

  My fingers trembled as I opened the box. “Oh, Jim.”

  There, against the white satin, lay the most exquisite strand of black pearls I’d ever seen. The diamond clasp twinkled in the sunlight streaming through my living room curtains.

  “You shouldn’t have.” My heart fluttered in my throat.

  “I think they’re more than deserved.”

  I looked up from the pearls and met his gaze, searching for any double meanings or hidden agendas in his eyes. All that I saw, though, was a mixture of sorrow, regret, and painful hope.

  “Thank you.” I could accept the pearls, but I wasn’t sure I was ready to risk what went with them. Tonight, though, I wasn’t going to tackle any of the life issues facing me. Tonight, I was simply going to enjoy the ball.

  Jim helped me fasten the necklace. “Shall we?” He offered me his arm, and I took it. I felt like a girl going to her first prom as he led me down the sidewalk to the little roadster.

  We were the first to arrive, of course, because I wanted to make sure the parking ran smoothly and that Greta had everything she needed.

  “We’re just fine,” Greta assured me as she led a horse from a trailer and walked it toward one of the carriages. “Should go off without a hitch.” She chuckled. “Or with a number of hitches. Just no problems.”

  I fervently hoped so. Roz and her husband arrived hot on my heels. She looked around, incredulous, when the handsome young valet attendant opened the passenger door of their Mercedes to help her out of the car. She looked him up and down, searching for any signs of disrepute, and frowned when she couldn’t find fault with his snowy polo and crisply pleated khakis. She frowned even more deeply when she saw Jim standing by my side. At this rate, her Botox would need refreshing by ten o’clock.

  “What’s all this? Where are the shuttle buses?”

  “No buses tonight. We’re all going to play Cinderella.”

  At that exact moment, Greta pulled up in front of us with the first carriage. She was wearing a top hot with a flower pinned to the brim. “Your carriage, madam?” Greta winked at me.

  “But—You couldn’t have—The shuttle service—”

  “It’s all under control, Roz
.”

  “Without a committee? How did you do this?” Clearly she’d come ready to crow over my defeat, so my triumph left her completely baffled.

  “With a little help from my friends.” I opened the carriage door and motioned Roz inside. “Please, I think you should be the first couple to arrive in grand style.”

  If Roz had actually had any nails in her mouth, she definitely would have been spitting them. “If you went over budget…”

  I thought of the big, fat check from Henri I’d sacrificed so I could have this moment. “It’s all taken care of. Came in under budget, as a matter of fact.”

  She looked like she wanted to say more, but her portly husband climbed in the carriage beside her and said something to Greta. She flicked the reins, and the carriage started the long drive toward the museum.

  I couldn’t help beaming from ear to ear. “You look like the cat that ate the canary,” Jim said with a smile.

  I beamed back. “And it was mighty tasty, too.”

  That evening was a night meant for walking on air, and so I did. Once I was sure that the parking attendants and Greta’s fleet were flowing smoothly, I availed myself of a carriage and headed for the ball itself. I wanted to check in with Will and the security guards. So far, what little paparazzi Nashville possessed had been content to snap photos of the guests being driven off to the ball in open carriages. The only person with a camera permitted inside the ball, other than the official one, was the society photographer from the Tennessean.

  Jim gallantly handed me into the next empty carriage and then hoisted himself in beside me. The decorations committee had strung lights in the trees that lined the driveway, and though it wasn’t yet dark, the effect was still magical. The lights would have been wasted on guests traveling via shuttle buses.

  “Roz looked fit to be tied,” Jim said with a smile.

  “The carriages are a great touch.” He reached over and slid his hand around mine, giving my fingers a squeeze. “Nice job.”

  Despite my attempts to keep things with Jim on a friendly basis, his praise warmed me. “Thanks.”

  We rode in silence after that. I was glad for a chance to take a few breaths and regroup. So far so good, but the night was young, and we still had to get everyone back from the ball to the parking lot at the end of the evening. I took a few moments, though, to enjoy the early summer breeze on my face and my ex-husband’s occasional appreciative glances at my cleavage in the strapless Chanel gown.

  The carriage let us off at the museum. As I tried to step gracefully down, my heel caught in my skirt and I pitched forward with a small squeal.

  “I’ve got you.” Jim caught me and swung me into his arms. It had been a number of years, and a number of pounds, since he’d done that.

  “I’m too heavy. Put me down.” Secretly, though, I was thrilled that he could still bear my weight.

  “Light as a feather,” he said with gentlemanly savoir faire, but I had to grin at the slight signs of strain that etched his mouth.

  “You’re sweet to say so.” He lowered my feet to the ground, and before I stepped away, I gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you.”

  As we stepped through the museum entrance, we were greeted by banks and banks of flowers lining the entrance hall. The theme for the ball, “A Midsummer’s Garden,” must have been thrown together at the last minute, since the original one had called for “An Autumnal Affair.” I assumed that Roz’s change of date for the ball had caused the decorations committee the same nightmare it had caused me.

  “This is an allergy sufferer’s nightmare,” Jim whispered under his breath, and I had to cover my mouth with my hand to smother a giggle.

  “Behave,” I swiped at his shoulder, “or I’ll never make any rank beyond transportation chair.”

  “You shouldn’t have done such a good job with it,” he shot back. “They’ll make you do it again next year.”

  I frowned. I hadn’t thought of that.

  At the end of the hall, we found ourselves in the receiving line where Roz and her husband were greeting the guests. It was her role as the chair to play the lady of the manor. I looked around for a way to slip by her unnoticed, but no such luck. The line carried us up to her and the silver-haired Ben Crowley before I could manage my escape.

  “Ellie!” she called, and everyone in the vicinity cocked an ear toward what was being said. “What a nice job with the transportation, although I do think you may be here late into the night cleaning up the horse poop.” She tittered and then looked around, expecting others to join her in her amusement. The other guests, though, looked away, uncomfortable.

  Hah! Score one for me.

  “And I do smell a bit like a horse,” she went on, trying to needle me into a response. “Hardly what I planned on doing while wearing Halston.” She smoothed one hand down the skirt of her gown.

  I pasted on my sweetest smile. “Well, the carriage was no problem for my Chanel.”

  Roz scowled and then quickly wiped the expression off her face before anyone else could see. “Well, do enjoy yourself. I’m sure you deserve it.”

  The look on her face said that she was sure I deserved a slow, painful death, but I doubted anyone else saw it. As always, Roz and I fought our own private war. Except that after her confession at Harris-Teeter, I wasn’t in the mood for conflict any more. Her dislike of me was based on a delusion, and I no longer had any reason to feel guilty about Jim.

  “Deserve it? She certainly does,” Jim replied. “C’mon, Ellie. I want the first dance.”

  We left Roz seething in the entrance hall and made our way past all the beautifully decorated dining tables toward the dance floor. The items for the silent auction were in a tent off to the side, and beyond the dance floor a number of people had flowed onto the loggia that overlooked the reflecting pool. Linda, looking stunning in vintage Valentino, gave me the thumbs-up when we passed her.

  Jim led me out onto the floor just as the band struck up, “Isn’t It Romantic?” He pulled me close and off we went.

  I’d forgotten how much I loved to dance with Jim. A lot of men hated to set foot on the dance floor, but not my husband. He’d bought ballroom dance lessons for my twentieth anniversary present.

  I knew I should be off checking on the security guards, but it felt too nice and far too comfortable to be floating around the floor in his arms. He pulled me close each time he spun us around, and when he did he would nuzzle my ear. He’d always done that, but tonight the intimate gesture brought sharp tears to my eyes. How many wedding receptions, bar mitzvahs, and silver anniversary parties had we danced this way?

  “Thank you for letting me come,” Jim murmured in my ear.

  I didn’t know what to say. “You’re welcome,” didn’t sound right, because I wouldn’t have brought him if I’d had another option. I finally settled on, “It was nice of you to escort me.” Noncommittal. Ambivalent. What I might say to an acquaintance rather than my former life partner.

  The evening continued on in just that vein, with Jim moving closer (both literally and figuratively) and me trying to strike just the right balance between the yearnings building up in my midsection and the clamorings of common sense swamping my brain. Whenever I felt too close to panic, I would grab Linda and retreat to the ladies’ room.

  Dinner was a delicious trout almondine. During the salad course I finally managed to slip away to check with Will McFarland, whom I had seen circling the dance floor moments before, watching me. When I caught up to him, he was behind a screen of shrubbery, barking into a walkie-talkie.

  “Everything okay?”

  He jumped about a mile.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  He took a deep breath and blew it out. “No problem.” He paused, and his gaze slid from my face down to my feet, lingering longer than necessary in a couple of areas. “Wow. You look amazing.”

  It never hurts for a fifty-year-old woman to be paid a sincere compliment by a man half her age. �
�Thank you. How is everything going, really?”

  “Fine. A couple of people trying to crash the gate, but we got rid of them pretty quickly.”

  “Crashers? Really?” I was surprised. Surely anyone with an ounce of common sense would realize that there were no anonymous faces at an event like this. Everyone in this social circle knew who belonged and who didn’t.

  “You’d be surprised.” He stood up a little taller. “Of course, we’re trained to handle that sort of thing.”

  “I know. Thanks.” Suddenly, Will looked every bit as young as he was. “You’ve been a true friend.”

  A shadow passed over his face. “A friend?”

  I recognized the look of longing in his face. I had seen it every time I’d looked in the mirror in the months after Jim walked out. “Yes. A friend. A very good one.”

  “You know I want more.” He looked straight into my eyes. I wanted to drop my gaze, but I owed him more than that.

  “I know, Will. But I’m too old for you.”

  “I think that’s for me to decide.”

  I wished I could still claim that righteous certainty that came with being young. “No. It isn’t. But I want you to know that I’m flattered. Really, really flattered.”

  “But not flattered enough.” There it was, the bald truth, dropped right there on the perfectly manicured lawn between us.

  “Will, a relationship is about more than just attraction.

  It’s about goals, experiences, timing. It’s especially about the timing.”

  “And if the timing was right?” he asked, pushing.

  “But it’s not, is it? And wishing that it would be won’t make it so.” I’d learned that much, at least, over the last few months.

  “So there’s no hope for me?”

  Well, you had to give him credit for persistence. “No, I don’t think so.”

  He looked away, and I realized that he was trying to hide the play of emotion on his face. After a long moment, his head swung back toward me. “Okay, but will you at least do me one favor?”

  “Sure,” I agreed, although with some reluctance.

  “Will you dance with me?”

  I looked around. We were alone behind the shrubbery, but we could clearly hear the strains of the dance orchestra.