“Yes, sir, it won’t take a second.”
He motioned for me to go in front of him. I offered one last smile to the warden, hoping it might soften her. It didn’t.
“Savannah, have a seat.” He shut the door behind us.“Jessica is a little rigid about how she wants things to run around here. I imagine she’ll lighten up in time.” I sat down in one of the two worn blue leather chairs in front of his desk.“Did you need to talk about your next story?” he asked with a delighted smile on his face. I wasn’t sure why he was so anxious to hear about my next story. He acted more anxious than me, if that was possible.
“No, sir. I’m here to make sure today’s article was OK.”
“Actually, I thought it was an improvement,” he said, leaning his larger frame down into his own blue leather desk chair, as every spring let out a sound of extreme tension.“You still have a lot to learn, but at least you won’t bring on needless litigation.”
“Well, I’m learning.”
“Well, we’ll learn together,” he said with a smile I’m sure he had given to a multitude of young dreamers who had stood in this same office many times before.“Time will teach you the difference one person can make.”
“One person can’t make that big a difference.”
“Oh yes, they can. Look what Gloria did for years. One person can light a fire under a multitude of people. You need to remember that every time you write an article.”
Well, that was just a glorious ounce of pressure added to an already draining morning.“Thank you for that pep talk. Well, I’ve got to head to lunch. I’ll see you later.”
“Have a good one. By the way, I noticed the book on your desk when I walked by the other day. You’ll enjoy it.”
He was referring to the new book I picked up after Wednesday’s debacle, Peggy Noonan’s When Character Was King:A Story of Ronald Reagan. “Didn’t think it could hurt, with my track record and all.”
“Never hurts any of us . Have a good lunch. Oh, when you pick up your next Coke, tell Duke I said hello,” he said with a sly grin.
“Point taken, sir.”
Jessica was standing by her desk sifting through some papers as I walked by. And suddenly I was overcome by exactly what I needed to do. So I walked right over to her, grabbed her by her shoulders, planted a big ol’ kiss on her cheek, looked her straight in her eye, and said, “I’m going to make you like me.” And I walked back to the stairwell and down the stairs, laughing all the way.
Victoria eats at The Lady & Sons about once a week, just to trade recipes with the owner, her good friend Paula Deen. She says Lady & Sons knows how food should be cooked; no boxed stuff found here. When I pulled in, she pulled in beside me.
I got out of my car first and walked over to open her door.
“Hello, darling,” she said, removing her blue floral Kate Spade mules from the car first, then lifting the matching bag from the other side, and finally bringing her blue-suited self out of the car.
I closed her door and wrapped my arm around her to walk into the restaurant. “This suit looks almost identical to the white one you had on yesterday.”
“That’s because it is. I loved the style so much, I bought three; a white one, a blue one, and a pink one. So how was your morning?”
“It was more interesting than you can imagine.” I opened the door so we could go inside.
“Well, what in the world happened?” she asked. She was quickly sidetracked, however, when Miss Paula greeted her at the door. They caught up for a few moments, talking about Paula’s boys, Miss Paula’s new television show, and Thomas and me as if I wasn’t there. When they were through catching up, I asked if we could have a table in the back. When we sat down, and I positioned myself where I could see the front door. Mother ordered a sweet tea and I ordered a Coke.“Now tell me, young lady, what in the world happened today?”
Her ringing cell phone spared me from answering. The only thing that was mentioned was TV crews and that she would be there when she was finished.
Katherine walked to our table as my mother ended the call, looking as good as I hoped to in another twenty-five years. She was wearing pressed khakis with a black sleeveless sweater, a black belt with a simple silver buckle, and another sweater draped over her shoulders. Her silver hair fell fresh and naturally around her face, framing her beautiful smile. I wrapped my arms around her and gave her a warm hug, which she returned as warmly, and then I was able to introduce two of the finest women I knew to each other. “Katherine Owens, this is my mother,Victoria Phillips.”
“What an absolute pleasure to meet you,” Katherine said as she took my mother’s extended hand and placed it inside both of hers. “Can I give you a hug? I feel like I know you.”
Victoria smiled as the two women shared a greeting.“Absolutely. I feel like I know you as well.”
“I thought you two needed to meet,” I explained. “After all, I wouldn’t be here without either one of you.”The emotion of the moment as I looked into the faces of these women I had grown to love and admire was almost overwhelming.
“Now, that’s not true,”Katherine said.“You know, Savannah, your determination to make your own way is what brought you here.”
“Isn’t that the truth?” Mother replied.
“But that’s not why I’ve stayed,” I assured them. “I stayed because somewhere between proving points and losing dreams— not to mention torturous pageant stories—I realized this is where I was really meant to be.”
We all got a chuckle at our pageant horrors.
“Amazing, isn’t it?” Mother added.“Look at us. Three very different women, all having lost something. And yet we’ve each discovered, because of our willingness to believe in an eternal purpose, that every loss eventually reveals something better that we’ve gained.”
This table and my life revealed plenty.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
The blaring date on my cell phone seemed to be important, but I couldn’t quite remember why. Then the memory lured me back to a party in New York I would have attended this evening. Today, however, I was confident I had made no mistake. I was home.
To many,my home exists in a time gone by. But Savannah has its own rhythm. Life still happens here. People still die. Babies are still born. Dreams are still shattered. Successes achieved. You can find it all here. And I’m not sure that changing the world was ever really my goal anyway. I just wanted to touch a soul, so that he or she could touch another, and the ongoing cycle—the cycle of life, the reason for living—would produce change. And I was glad at this moment, with the almost-summer sun beating through my window, that Savannah had welcomed me home.
At the office, I saw the pantyhose-covered legs and cranberry sling-back pumps before I turned the corner of my tiny cubicle. When the full body came into view, I found myself face-to-face with Amber, decked out in a cranberry suit with tiny fabric-covered buttons running up the front of her jacket. Her hair had not moved since I saw her the other day at lunch, and her jewelry reflected her, shall we say, illuminating personality. As soon as she saw me, she stood to her feet. “I’m sorry to bother you, Savannah. I know I shouldn’t just stop here without even calling first. I just wanted to see you for one minute since we haven’t talked since lunch the other day.”
“It’s OK,” I said, setting my satchel on the far side of my desk. I motioned for her to sit back down and pulled my chair up to sit across from her.“What’s up? You look beautiful.”
She looked down at herself with a surprisingly shy smile.“Oh, this is an old suit. I’ve had it since I competed in Miss Georgia United States of America the third time,” she said, lowering her head.“Pretty sad, isn’t it? That’s how I remember the time frame of major events in my life, what pageant I was in.”
“We all need points of references. Mine are ads in the paper. So how have you been?”
“I’ve been good. Really good,” she said and I believed her. “I’ve done a lot of thinking since we talked. You
said some hurtful things, Savannah,” she said with a pouty look.“But they were true. Every one of them. I’ve spent my entire life allowing other people’s opinions to define me. And I made a decision that I’m not going to do that anymore. I mean, the last time I lost Miss Georgia United States of America, I went home and sat in front of the TV eating an entire chocolate cake and replaying the pageant video in my VCR over and over. In the middle of the forty-ninth viewing, I called my mother and said, ‘I’ve watched this thing forty-nine times and I still haven’t won.’” She broke into a light laugh.“It was really pitiful. I realize now that only one thing will give me that kind of self-worth. You called it an ‘eternal perspective,’ I think. And thanks to you, I believe I’ve been able to find that.”
“So are you hanging up your pageant dresses?”
“Well, no. I’m just getting a new perspective. I’m going to do pageants for the enjoyment alone. Because I do enjoy them. Just like you enjoy writing. But I’m just not going to do it for approval. I’m going to tell myself, ‘Self, you are beautiful. You don’t need these people’s approval. You don’t even need to win. Now, it’s OK if you do, but you don’t have to win. So, self, you just go out there and sing your little heart out, answer your questions, and let the whole world see those great legs. And if you win, you need to tell those other girls how wonderful they were and not to let the judges’ decision make them feel worthless.’ What do you think about that?”
I just smiled at her sincerity, patted her skinny knee, and said, “That’s a wonderful place to begin.”
“I thought you would agree,” she said.“So I’ve got to get back to work. And I’ve got a busy weekend because I think I might get asked out soon, and I also need to practice changing from my swimsuit to my talent competition outfit. I’ve got my time down to a minute and thirty seconds, but I really think I can cut ten seconds off of that. If it wasn’t so hard getting my swimsuit unstuck, I could probably do it in a minute flat. ‘Always be prepared.’ I learned that motto in Girl Scouts. And I hear the Mrs. United States of America Pageant has a lot less time to get ready than you do in the Miss Pageants. Who knows, I could be there by this time next year.”
I knew the next thing we might need to work on was her motivation for marriage. I also wasn’t about to be the one to inform her of Joshua’s feelings for her. So I simply raised an eyebrow and stood up. She continued to talk incessantly until I had to use more abrupt measures by saying,“Amber, it was great to see you, but I’ve got to get back to work.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, standing up with a slight, very slight, hint of embarrassment. She straightened her cranberry attire and headed around to the other side of the cubicle. As she turned the corner, Joshua’s nameplate that hung on the side of his cubicle caught her eye. “Savannah! that’s him. That’s the man I think I’m going to marry. Oh, my side. If I knew that was his cubicle right next to yours, I’d have gone weak in the knees. And if he would’ve heard us! Oh, heaven help me, I would’ve had to have a face trans- plant and move to Katmandu.” Her face morphed into that of a lovesick pup. “He’s the most beautiful thing my eyes have ever beheld. The way his hair kind of flops on his head. And those curls. Oh, they are just like a bowl of noodles. And his hands, have you ever looked at his hands, Savannah? They are the strongest, most breathtaking hands I’ve ever seen. I bet they could hold your hand in theirs, and you wouldn’t even be able to see your fingers. I need to go. I’m getting annihilated.”
“I’ll see you later,” I said, laughing, knowing even I had never seen “exhilarated” in quite that way. I watched as she half swayed, half strutted back up the aisle. I hoped she wouldn’t introduce herself to Marla, because she’d probably never make it through the door again. Well, Rome wasn’t built in a day, I thought as she disappeared into a sea of gray.
I peered around the corner of Joshua’s cubicle. It was totally sparse except for a University of Florida banner hanging on one of the Styrofoam beams and a picture of him and a group of guys about his age. There was little to reveal the full character of the man that rested in this chair. I figured what I didn’t know, Miss Amber Topaz would reveal. The ringing of my phone called me back to my desk.
“Hello, Savannah Phillips.”
“Vanni, you were worried about your next story?” came a unique tone of excitement, so rare, in fact, the last twenty-one years had never revealed such enthusiasm.“Well, I’ve found it. Get up here to the courthouse as soon as you can.”
“What is it,Thomas?”
“Just get up here, now.”
“OK, I’ll be right there,” I said, reaching for my satchel.
“And Vanni.”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t be shocked when you get here, but Mom has chained herself to it.”
“I’ll be there in three minutes,” I assured Thomas and hung up. I grabbed all coordinating paraphernalia and my cell phone. “I’ve got to get my attorney on speed dial,” I muttered. I left, not sure if this was the story I would want or not. But a reporter must go. A reporter must go.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Most of you can skip these pages. After all, the only people who will read it are those who are dying to see if I mention their names. So, for those who read it and you weren’t mentioned, I can only blame such reprehensible actions on my weary being. For the rest of you that I did mention,my words are sincere and words that I hope I have said to you personally at one time or another and not just on the written page. If I haven’t, I’m glad the opportunity arose that I could.
Many authors would tell you that they had some profound idea when they began writing a book. I did once. However, that book received a substantial amount of rejection letters, thirteen to be exact. (But who keeps a count of such things?) So, I simply wrote this one instead. It didn’t start with a prolific idea. I simply knew beauty pageants and thought a story of one being rigged would be an enjoyable adventure. Since I began this idea almost three years ago,many other books with tiaras gracing the cover have been published. But like any good writer will assure you, I had mine first!
This book was written because of a dream I thought I had lost. My multiple rejected manuscript was how I wanted to be introduced to the publishing world. It seemed that it would offer true hope on this chaotic adventure. But no one wanted to publish it. A wiser person might have given up on writing books altogether after the thirteenth rejection letter declaring her book “Not what we are looking for.”A statement which cuts as deeply as “She’s got a great personality.” But call me crazy, or stubborn, neither would be foreign to me, but I believe it was those closed doors that allowed me to get quiet enough to hear the direction the Lord had for this time in my life. That direction is Savannah.
I can honestly say I’ve fallen in love with these characters. Partly because they were created and developed in one of the darkest times in my life. They gave me laughter and an outlet to be creative and produce a work that I can honestly say I am proud of. I feel like I know them. Even gotten sick of them a time or two. But I must clarify here and now that they are not me, nor my mother, or any beauty queen I have even known, and any resemblance thereof is totally due to way too much Coke consumed during the writing of these pages.
Speaking of my mother, few things of life are possible without one. Life itself being the main thing. But for me she has been a wonderful example of grace and beauty in a world where those words are used to describe very few things. And my father, whose love made it easy to believe Jesus loves me too. For the cars you bought me, for the college you sent me to, for the trust you had in me (because if you had known better, you would have locked me in my room until I was forty, as you threatened), and for letting me climb in an old dilapidated Saab of my own and spread my wings to the hills of Tennessee. I love you and I thank you. But for allowing me a safe place in a dark time and being true believers in miracles, and for giving me a heritage in Jesus, I love you and thank you even more.
To the two grown me
n who are my brothers, one of which I will forever boss around and the other who, even though he is almost a foot taller than me, will forever be know as “the baby,” know this book is not about you and you, and no, you cannot receive any royalties. But you can forever know that it is a privilege to call you on the phone, laugh at your stupid jokes, and pray with you for our needs and dreams.
To my priceless friend Deneen—I know you hate to read, but at this point, until there is a book on tape, you have no choice. You helped finishing this become possible. Through your prayers, through your love, and through your belief that God could somehow use the likes of me. Few people will live this side of heaven and know such a treasure as our friendship has given me. I’m glad I didn’t have to wait until there to find it.
To the two women who have been friends and sisters—Beth and Joan. Distance has prevented our getting together as often as we would like. But it will never prevent us from our wonderful memories and invaluable friendships. You two are a part of my best moments.
To Esther Fedorkevich—this would still be lying on a shelf in my office if it hadn’t been for your belief, dedication, and hard work. And often persistent attitude. (Aren’t we a pair!) This was part of God’s plan for both of us. I will always believe that. And I will be forever thankful that He let us have this new path in our lives together.
To Ami McConnell,my editor—I knew you were my kind of girl when you asked if it was “McDonald’s calibration system.” That was just plain freaky. You have made me mad. You have made me laugh. You have made me better. And you have believed in Savannah like I did. I didn’t think people did that unless they were married to you, gave birth to you, or owed you money. But you just got it. From the first day you got it. Here’s to believing you’ll get the next one as well. Shoot! Here’s to believing I’ll get the next one as well.
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