Read Online Revenge of the Kudzu Debutantes by Cathy Holton - Free Book Online

of the oldest debutante balls in south Georgia. People from all over rural Georgia sent their daughters to be presented here, people from towns like Moundsville and Sandy Hook and Shubuta. In Eadie and Nita’s day, the only way you could be presented was if your grandmother had been presented or you were nominated by some rogue chairwoman who was herself a member of the committee but who didn’t follow the traditional rules of decency and good breeding by allowing new girls in. Mothers worked furiously for years to assure their daughters a berth on the coveted list of twenty-five debs. But over the years the prestige of the ball had begun to diminish. Some of the girls whose grandmothers had been debutantes didn’t care about such things now. They refused to participate, leaving room for daughters of doctors and lawyers and corporate executives who were swarming into Ithaca like a horde of nouveau riche barbarians. Getting an invitation to attend the ball was almost as hard as getting an invitation to be a debutante. Lavonne had lived in Ithaca eighteen years and had never been invited. Nita and Eadie had only been twice. Lavonne guessed, unless her daughters somehow managed to be asked as debs, she might spend her entire life without ever attending a debutante ball.
    “I don’t even think we have debutantes in Cleveland,” Lavonne said suddenly.
    “Probably not,” Virginia murmured.
    “Or if we do I don’t know about it.” Even after eighteen years of living in the South, Lavonne was still trying to work out the complexities of the social scene. Southern society could be broken down into two broad groups: those who were debs, and those who weren’t; those who went to private school, and those who didn’t. When someone down here asked “What school did you go to?” they weren’t asking about college.
    “The South is a place of tradition and culture,” Virginia reminded them, lifting her sharp little chin.
    “Tradition and culture,” Lavonne said, raising her glass in a toast. Eadie grinned and lifted her glass. Nita put her face in her hands. “I’m reminded of it every time I’m asked to
mash
an elevator button or
carry
someone to the store,” Lavonne said. “Every time I’m asked to
chunk
somebody the remote control.”
    “Or
tote
a watermelon to a picnic,” Eadie said. “Or
whomp
somebody up side of the head to get their attention.”
    Lavonne grinned and tapped her glass against Eadie’s. “I’m reminded of the tradition and culture that is the South every time I drive to the Git n’ Gallop or the Honk ’n Holler to pick up a quart of milk.”
    Virginia had had enough of this conversation. Lavonne was obviously intoxicated. Virginia could tell from looking at the woman that she’d been sampling the frozen margaritas a little too freely. Virginia had been raised to avoid open conflict, she had been taught that no matter how deep an antagonism may run, surface civility must be maintained at all costs. Virginia could hug an enemy to her bosom with one hand, and disembowel her with the other. This was obviously not a skill taught up North.
    Virginia lifted her chin slightly and turned to her daughter-in-law. “Nita, did your yard man finish the pool house?” She took her napkin out of her lap and placed it on the table. “You know Charles won’t like it if there are scraps of lumber everywhere. You know he likes the yard to look nice the week of the party.”
    “Jimmy Lee finishes up today,” Nita said, remembering. He was finishing up even as she sat here. She’d probably never see him again after today. She picked up her spoon and gazed down into her tomato basil soup. She felt light-headed. Her stomach bounced around her rib cage like a hyperactive gymnast. She wondered if her dream of little blue fishes had something to do with the condoms she’d found in her husband’s hunting jacket. She wondered if she was coming down with the flu.
    “Jimmy Lee?” Virginia said,