Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil

by John Berendt

  They would be expected to perform ten hours of community service or write a three-page paper on an approved topic. They would be required to appear at four minuet classes. And they would be obliged to host a coming-out party with several other debutantes to which all the debutantes, parents, escorts, and members of the Alpha Debutante Committee and their wives would be invited. Charm Week was the centerpiece of the debutantes’ indoctrination. The Alphas’ wives, the Alphabettes, taught classes in beauty and the social graces—how to plan a party, send out invitations, set a table, introduce people properly, and write thank-you notes. There was a session on table manners (“Butter only the piece of bread you are about to put in your mouth …. If food drops to the floor, let it stay there; call for the waiter …. If you happen to put a piece of gristle in your mouth, take it out with whatever put it in—a fork, a spoon, not your fingers”). The debutantes were taught ways to improve their speech (“Never say ‘aks,’ say ‘ask.’ Aks should be axed from your vocabulary … and get rid of words like ‘um’ and ‘well’”). They were taught how to curtsy (“Don’t pop up—come up slowly”), how to sit gracefully (“Keep your legs straight together or crossed at the ankles, never crossed at the knees”), and how to walk like a lady (“Back straight, shoulders up, arms to your sides, and no bopping!”).

  There was a set of criteria for the debutantes’ escorts too. It boiled down to two requirements: They had to be high school graduates currently in college or the military, and they could not have been convicted of a felony. Lining up escorts was not an easy matter. Boys tended to regard being an escort as more a chore than an honor. They balked at attending the dance classes, renting a tailcoat, and going to so many parties where the chaperons tended to outnumber the young people. It was not unusual, therefore, for a debutante’s boyfriend to beg off and for the debutante to be escorted by someone who had been pressed into service—an older brother, the son of a graduate Alpha, or one of the current undergraduate Alphas.

  At noon on the day of the ball, the twenty-five debutantes arrived at the Hyatt Regency for a dress rehearsal, carrying their gowns in garment bags. They went upstairs to a suite of rooms reserved as dressing rooms, and after changing, they came down to the ballroom, where their fathers and their escorts were waiting to rehearse the waltz and the minuet.

  The Alpha ball was to be a more modest affair than the Cotillion ball the next night: There would be two cash bars instead of five open bars; there would be a breakfast served at 1:00 A.M. instead of both a dinner and a breakfast, and there would be minimal decorations. Nonetheless, the impending affair was not going unnoticed in the hotel. During the dress rehearsal, a cluster of curious onlookers peered through the door, captivated by the sight of so many young black girls in flowing white ballgowns. One of the observers, a man in a gray suit and tan shoes, called attention to the cases of wine and liquor being unpacked at the far end of the ballroom. “Don’t kid yourself,” he said with a knowing air. “Blacks drink better whiskey than whites do. Dewar’s, Johnnie Walker, Seagram’s, Hennessy. All the high-priced brands. I have a theory about why that is.” The man cupped the elbow of his pipe-holding arm and rocked back on his heels, glancing to his right and left to satisfy himself that the people standing in his immediate vicinity were paying sufficient attention. He then delivered himself of a peculiarly home spun theory: “Remember when the black athletes at the Mexico City Olympics won a lot of medals and raised their fists in the black-power salute? Well, that’s when blacks in Savannah started drinking Dewar’s scotch, Seagram’s gin, and Smirnoff vodka. If you look at those bottles, you’ll notice that all the labels have medals on them. Blacks had suddenly begun to identify with medals because of the Olympics, and that’s why they bought those brands. At about the same time, they also started drinking Hennessy cognac. The Hennessy label has a picture of a hand holding a mace—something like the black-power salute. Johnnie Walker scotch has a man with riding breeches and a top hat, which represents the ‘good life.’ It all has to do with the symbol on the label. The best example of that was when school integration was taking place. That’s when blacks started drinking Teacher’s scotch, which has a label showing a professor wearing a mortarboard. They go for the symbol, y’see. At least that’s the way I figure it.”

  Toward nine o’clock, the Hyatt’s vast atrium lobby began to fill with guests arriving for the ball. A long, steep escalator carried a stately stream of formally dressed black couples high above the potted plants and trees to the ballroom on the second floor. Inside the ballroom, a string quartet played chamber music as four hundred guests mingled briefly before quietly taking their places at tables around the dance floor. One table of guests, knowing that no dinner would be served, brought a carton of take-out snacks, which they started eating as soon as the lights dimmed.

  The president of the graduate chapter of Alpha Phi Alpha stepped to the podium dressed in the fraternity’s colors—a black-and-gold tuxedo, a gold dress shirt, and a gold bow tie. He welcomed the gathering and bade the ceremonies begin. With the string quartet playing background music, an Alphabette took the microphone and read the name of the first debutante. The debutante, escorted by her father, walked to a small platform, mounted the steps, turned toward the audience, and curtsied. The announcer called out the names of her parents, her high school, her college, and the subject in which she was majoring. Then her escort approached from the other side, took her hand, and led her down from the platform as the announcer read his name and those of his parents, his school, and his major. One by one, the debutantes and their escorts were introduced in this manner. The girls each held a bouquet of yellow flowers dotted with twinkling pin lights powered by batteries in the handle of the bouquet. The escorts were dressed in black tie, wing collar, tailcoats, and white gloves. They held their left hands behind them at the small of their backs, palm outward.

  At the end of the presentations, the debs and escorts stood facing each other in two long rows that filled most of the dance floor. The hall was silent for a moment; then the string quartet struck up again. The escorts bowed in unison, and the debutantes curtsied, their gowns sweeping the floor in a foamy surf of white ruffles and lace. The couples then joined hands and moved forward in a graceful promenade, dancing a lilting minuet to the strains of Don Giovanni. The room seemed to rise and fall with each gliding step; it was almost as if they were skating. A current of exhilaration coursed throughout the room. Women held their breath, men stared in wonder. At the table of honor, Dr. Collier smiled from ear to ear, his joy shared by all.

  When the minuet was done, the debutantes danced two waltzes, first with their fathers, then with their escorts. After that, the string quartet packed up and left, and the Bobby Lewis band began setting up for ballroom dancing.

  Dr. Collier had put me at a table with several Alphas and Alphabettes. In the afterglow of the minuet, the Alphas were beaming with pride. One of the women mentioned that the local chapter of the Links, the most prestigious black women’s civic and social organization in the United States, had expressed a desire to preside over the Savannah debutante proceedings, as they did in Atlanta and other cities. But the Alphas would not give it up.

  “The AKAs want to sponsor it, too,” another woman said, referring to the Alpha Kappa Alpha sorority. Although the woman was an Alphabette, she was also an AKA, and it was clear she had mixed feelings on the issue. “This has been a long-running battle,” she said. “We women feel the matter of debutantes should be our prerogative. It should not be left to a male fraternity.”

  The three Alphas at the table laughed contentedly. “If we gave it up,” one of them said, “we’d lose our status. We can’t do that.”

  The women exchanged silent looks. One of them pointedly changed the subject. “My, isn’t that a lovely gown,” she said, gazing across the room.

  I turned and looked in the direction she was facing. An elegant black woman was standing at the entrance to the hall, peering uncertainly into the room as if looking
for someone. She wore a slim-fitting dark blue evening gown with a solid mass of rhinestones glittering across the top. I turned back to my table, but something about the figure in the doorway—something about the rhinestones and the way the woman held her head haughtily in the air—made me take a second look. Sure enough, it was Chablis.

  At the moment I saw her, she saw me. She took a deep breath, raised her chin a little higher, and started walking toward me at an exaggeratedly regal pace. Her eyes were locked on to mine, and her lips were pursed in a fashion-model-style pout. She was playing The Lady Chablis, The Grand Empress of Savannah. The crowd parted for her as she approached, all eyes on her. I felt a sudden throbbing in my head and a ringing in my ears. She was not more than five steps away from me when she reached out a slender gloved arm. I saw it as the Grim Reaper’s scythe, swinging toward me. At the last moment, she turned to the right and clasped the forearm of a muscular teenager standing next to my chair.

  “Young man,” she said, “can you help me?” She looked plaintively into his eyes. “I am a damsel in distress. I surely am.”

  The young man broke into a handsome smile. “I can try, ma’am,” he said. “What’s the problem?”

  Chablis turned her shoulders slightly so she could see me as she spoke. “I am here alone,” she said. “I do not have the slightest idea who invited me. I am serious. My social secretary took down the information and wrote it on a piece of paper, but I left the paper in the limousine and sent my driver away. He won’t be back till midnight.”

  Chablis entwined both of her hands around the young man’s biceps. “And you know how it is with us ladies,” she purred. “We must never be alone. That is not acceptable in polite society. We must always have a mayyin by our side.”

  “I know what you mean, ma am,” he said.

  “So I was hopin’ you would stay by me till I can find my host,” she said. “And you can quit callin’ me ‘ma’am.’ My name is Chablis. What’s yours?”

  “Philip. I’m an escort.”

  “Ooooo, child! An escort! You mean you work for one of those dating services?”

  “No, no,” he said. “See, all the debutantes here have escorts. I’m here with a debutante.”

  “Oh, I see. Which one is yours?”

  “She’s standing in that group over there. It’s my sister.”

  Chablis drew back in surprise. “Child, you have got to be kiddin’! You mean to tell me you’re doin’ it with your sister?”

  “No, no, no,” Philip said. “You got it all wrong. See, Gregory—that’s my sister’s boyfriend—he flat refused to come to this thing. He said, ‘No way. I’m not going.’ So I got roped into coming instead. That’s how it works sometimes.”

  “Oh, now I understand,” said Chablis, “you’re just fillin’ in, huh? You ain’t got a real date tonight, do you?” She leaned closer to him, her hands gently stroking his arm.

  “Well, that’s sorta true,” he said.

  “Tell me something, child. Are you carryin’ a gun?”

  “A gun? Naw, I don’t mess with that stuff.”

  “That’s good. I didn’t think you did, honey. But you see, one time I was out with a very high-class gentleman, and he put a gun to my head. So I always like to ask.”

  “I don’t think you’ll run up against any guns in this ballroom,” said Philip. “Everybody here is pretty law-abiding.”

  “You’ve never even been arrested? Not even once?”

  “Well …” Philip smiled shyly. “One time, sorta.”

  “Ooooo! Tell me, tell me, tell me! What was it for? Drugs? Reefer? ’Cause I am simply dyin’ for a drag on a—”

  “Naw, it wasn’t much. Me and a couple of guys had a few too many drinks one night and we kinda, you know, disturbed the peace a little.”

  “Ooooo, I bet you did! I bet you could disturb that peace real bayyid if you wanted to. I can see it now. Yayyiss.” Chablis shuddered with pleasure. She was now massaging Philip’s arm. “Oh, look,” she said, “here comes Mother Superior headed this way!”

  “That’s my sister,” said Philip.

  Chablis loosened her grip on the young man’s arm as a tall debutante in a lace gown approached. “Chablis, this is my sister LaVella,” he said. “LaVella, this is Chablis.” LaVella wore her hair in bangs and a pageboy cut.

  Chablis offered her hand. “We was just talkin’ about you,” she said. “I understand y’all goin to college.”

  “Yes, I’m a freshman at Savannah State,” LaVella said with a perky smile. “I’m majoring in electrical engineering.”

  “Really, child! Electrical engineering! See now, that’s something I wish I knew how to do. Last week my TV broke down right in the middle of The Young and the Restless, and all I could think to do was kick it. That didn’t help none at all. ’Course I never got to go to college. I had private tutors from kindergarten right on up. It doesn’t matter now, though. I’m in show business, and I go on tour most of the time.”

  “Oh!” said LaVella. “That sounds so glamorous! You get to travel to so many places.”

  “Travel does have its points,” said Chablis. “See this little handbag?” Chablis held up a beaded clutch purse that twinkled in the light. “I got it in London.”

  “Oh! It’s so beautiful!” said LaVella.

  “And my shoes are from Rome. And, let’s see … the gloves are from Paris, and the gown is from New York.”

  “Gosh!” said LaVella. “We’ve all been admiring your gown. It’s exquisite.”

  “Well, honey, you, too, can have clothes like this if you play your cards right.”

  “I guess I better start saving up right now!” said LaVella.

  “Oh, no! Uh-uh!” Chablis waved a finger. “That is not the way to do it. Never spend any of your own hard-earned money on clothes and accessories. You need to get yourself a mayyin to buy all of that for you.” Chablis put her hands on Philip’s arm again. “You need to have a talk with that boyfriend of yours—what’s his name, Gregory, the one that refused to come with you tonight. And you need to tell Gregory to get ready to shake loose some of his coins and buy you gowns and finery.”

  “I can try,” LaVella said with a rueful smile, “but I don’t think it will work.”

  “Then, I guess you’ll just have to get all this shit the way I did,” said Chablis. “Shoplifting.”

  Before LaVella could respond, Chablis took Philip by the arm and led him toward the dance floor. “‘Scuse us, Miss Thing,” she said, “me and Philip is about to disturb the peace a little.”

  My first thought was to flee immediately before Chablis had a chance to make it known that I was more-or-less responsible for her presence. She had a devilish smirk on her face. She was in her glory. She pressed against Philip’s body as they spun around the floor. They moved as one, not so much dancing as writhing to the beat. The rhinestones on Chablis’s dress sparkled in the light and set her face aglow. I recognized it as the dress I had zipped her into backstage at the Pickup, the one with the slit up the back. Every so often the slit parted, revealing a whole haunch of calf, thigh, and buttock.

  So far, Chablis’s antics had gone unnoticed, but I doubted they would remain unnoticed for long, considering the deep backward dips she was now executing, not to mention the full-throttle bumps and grinds. I got up from my chair and headed for the door, but my path was obstructed by an exuberant Dr. Collier.

  “There you are!” he said. “I’ve been looking for you! What did you think of the minuet?”

  “It was stunning,” I said, “and I want to thank you so much for inviting me. It was very kind of you. I’ve had a lovely time …”

  Dr. Collier had me firmly by the arm. He was looking around the room. “I want to introduce you to the man that taught ’em how to do it. He’s the athletic director at Savannah State. John Myles. He taught ’em the waltz too. I don’t see him just now, but that’s okay … we’ll catch him a little later.”

  I now had a choice of slipping away
and insulting my host or staying and becoming entangled in Chablis’s inevitable denouement. I withdrew to the bar nearest the door to figure out what to do next. From that vantage point I had a view of the dance floor and a clear shot at the exit. I ordered a double scotch.

  “And I’ll have an apple schnapps!” said Chablis, suddenly materializing beside me. She was breathing heavily and dabbing her face with a napkin.

  “What happened to your friend Philip?” I asked.

  “His sister cut in on us,” she said with a look of extreme distaste. “But that’s all right, honey. I’ll get even with her. And anyway, I don’t mind. The Doll has her eye on a couple of the other escorts now. Soon as she gets a little liquid fire in her belly, she’ll be getting’ into the cuttin’ -in business herself. Big time.” The bartender set a shot glass of apple schnapps in front of Chablis. She drank it in a single gulp and coughed. Her eyes blazed. She looked out over the dance floor, and her mouth twisted in a leer. “Eeenie, meenie, mynie, mo … catch an escort by the toe. Isn’t that how the little ditty goes, honey? Did I get it right? Did I? Hey, Mr. Chauffeur, are you listenin’ to me?”

  “Forgive me, Chablis,” I said, “but I think you have a hell of a nerve busting in here like this.”

  “Ooooo, I have made you angry, baby. You are some kinda cute when you get mayyid, child. But you see, baby, The Doll felt like bein’ a little uppity tonight. And this ballroom happens to be the uppitiest place in Savannah at the moment. That is why she is here.”

  “Well, let’s not argue,” I said. “I have no intention of insulting these people, and if you’re planning to pull any more pranks, I’d appreciate it if you’d stay well away from me. Better yet, why don’t you just leave now? Before things get out of hand. You’ve had your fun. Why ruin it?”