Read Online The Red Hat Society's Queens of Woodlawn Avenue by Regina Hale Sutherland - Free Book Online

social arena.
    “You can’t let her push you out,” Linda had advised me in the car on the way over. “She knows you have as much claim as anyone
     to be the new chair-elect. Keep a foot in the door, no matter what.”
    I wondered if she meant that figuratively or literally. While I didn’t think Roz would actually deny me admittance to her
     home, I knew she wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to deal me my social comeuppance. No way was she going to name me her heir
     apparent for the Cannon Ball.
    “Linda! There you are.” Roz came swanning into the living room reeking of Opium. Her sharp, dark eyes darted to me and then
     away again. “We need your advice on the theme. Angela says it’s too over the top, but I don’t think it’s so
outré.
” She snagged Linda’s elbow and proceeded to tow her across the room with all the determination of a tugboat pushing a barge.
     Her intention, to leave me standing alone in the middle of the room, could not have been more clear. Or more perfectly executed.
    “Ma’am?” The young photographer materialized at my elbow. “Can we get you in this picture?”
    I looked over to see three women I’d known for years congregated by the fireplace, ready to have their photo taken. I hadn’t
     moved in my normal social circles for the past nine months, and other than smiling and nodding in the grocery store, it was
     the first time I’d seen most of them since Jim walked out. Pasting a smile on my face, I nodded. “Certainly,” I said and moved
     toward the group. Only the strangest thing happened. Actually, the most humiliating thing happened. Before I could reach them,
     the trio dissolved. By the time the photographer and I reached the fireplace, the antique rug in front of it was empty.
    The photographer shot me a quizzical glance. “That was weird,” he said.
    What could I say? A divorcee in their midst might be contagious. In my present state, I was the embodiment of all their worst
     fears—no husband, no money, no Belle Meade address. The only person they’d be less likely to accept in their midst than me
     was Jim’s Tiffany. I looked around for someone, anyone, to rope into having their photograph taken with me, but the rest of
     the women in the living room were either turning to make their way through the archway to the dining room or studiously avoiding
     my pleading look. Linda’s advice from yesterday morning—never let them see you sweat—rang in my ears. I refused to crumble
     at the first instance of adversity.
    “You’ll want to get a shot of that group there,” I said to the photographer, motioning toward some women who were huddled
     together, talking animatedly, on Roz’s sofa.
    “Sure. Thanks.” The photographer cast me one last pitying glance before he, too, fled from my presence.
    Roz appeared in the archway between the vast living room and the cavernous dining room, ringing a little silver bell.
    “Luncheon is served,” she called, and the women all picked up their cocktails and followed her like obedient sheep. Well,
     okay, most of them weren’t sheep. They were just hungry. And, in fact, not more than a handful probably realized the bad feelings
     between Roz and me. But those few who did were enough to make me stiffen my spine, and my resolve along with it. Thankfully,
     Linda reappeared in the archway beside Roz and motioned for me to join her.
    We moved
en masse
through the dining room to Roz’s enormous solarium, which I knew she’d built for occasions such as this. Of course she’d
     been named chair of the ball. After all, how many women in Nashville could host a seated luncheon for forty? It was a far
     cry from any of the dining rooms of my new Red Hat friends.
    “Here we are,” Linda said, motioning to the table where Roz was taking her seat.
    I must have balked like a mule, because Linda put a hand on my shoulder and practically pushed me into the chair. The table
     seated six, and Linda had shoved me into the seat