“Katie has been a specialty boutique owner for the past ten years in our very own Aubergine, and she says that the purpose of her business is to make women feel good about their bodies with the bespoke clothing and accessories she carries in her stores. She’s happy to be serving as judge for her ninth year.”
Most of the women at this pageant—contestants and staff alike—were thin, some almost waif-like, but Katie Gilman had a full figure, a buxom chest, and heavy hips. Although she hadn’t been born in Aubergine, she’d invested enough time and energy into the pageant, the town, and the Finches that she was more than welcome as a judge.
Katie, wearing a tailored, peach-colored maxi dress with a three-quarter-length white shrug, curtsied.
“And finally,” Lacy said, motioning to the elderly woman onstage, “we have the winner of the 1962 Rose Palace Pageant, Doris Davis. She’s been working with the show in some capacity since she won decades ago, but we’re so happy to have her with us this year as a judge, because the centennial is all about remembering the past as we look to the future.”
Miss 1962, wrinkled and stooped, was the woman who’d been watching me. She wore an expression that said she could take any of us any day, her thin lips only faintly smiling.
As I watched the three judges watch us, I was reminded of the incestuous nature of this pageant. The Finches kept their judges close to home: an old friend, a previous employee, and a former queen. I just had to convince them that I belonged there.
EIGHT
As the judges went back to their spot in the corner and the staff began preparing for Savilla’s bonding brainchild, Lacy told us to get into groups of three and four.
A frantic sort of energy hummed. It was obvious that many of these contestants had already been assessing alliances. I assumed everyone would want to be with Savilla, but before anyone else had the chance, she pulled me into a tight cohort with her, Jemma, and Summer. Relief at being included in their little circle of frivolity washed over me—not that I would choose to be there, but when at The Rose…
I kept my face in what I hoped was an open and welcoming expression.
“Along the walls are stations stocked with flowers and feathers and ribbons,” Lacy informed us. “You’ll have everything you need to make a floral headpiece that you and your team will model for the judges in a half-hour.”
A headpiece?The first thing that came to mind was Halloween at seven years old when Aunt DeeDee had dressed me as a daisy, my face in the center surrounded by huge white petals bursting out of my head and my body covered in green spandex. Momma had got home from work at the lastsecond, shocked. Still, she hadn’t contradicted Aunt DeeDee’s declaration that I wasthe cutest thing since spring chicks. After the fifth house at which I refused to lift my head and let anyone see my face, they finally took pity and let me run home and change into the cowgirl hat, chaps, and red boots I adored.
Surelythatwas not the kind of headpiece they had in mind.
“This may seem easy for those who are crafty and love to dress for all kinds of occasions, but here’s the twist…” Lacy paused for dramatic effect. “Let’s see what you can do while blindfolded.”
Giggles issued from the women even as a competitive edge, almost as tangible as a knife’s blade, inserted itself into the room. These women reminded me of mute swans: gorgeous creatures that will peck you bloody if you step foot in their territory.
“The staff will come around with bandanas, and all but one person in each group should blindfold themselves. No peeking.” Lacy playfully waved a finger in the air. Some kind of pageant professional had temporarily taken residence in my friend’s body. “Whoever isn’t wearing the bandana will be the instruction-giver, and the other team members can’t make a move without your say-so.”
“You’ll be our eyes,” Savilla told me as she took the cloth and tied it around her own head.
“No, really.” I tried a smile even as panic bubbled to the surface and the bandana lady moved on to the next group. “I have no idea what a headdress should look like.”
“It’s a headpiece,” Summer gently corrected.
“Exactly. I don’t even know what it’s called.” I glanced at the rows of ribbons and fluff that a staff member was setting on a table near us.
“You’ll be great,” Jemma huffed, her words sarcastic.
Summer kept grinning, and I wondered if her cheeks ever ached.
It was too late to protest. Within a minute, we were standing in front of our craft station.
“On your marks. Get set. Go!” Lacy shouted from the front as she clicked an oversized timer on the podium.
Suddenly, I was blurting out instructions to Savilla, Jemma, and Summer.
Grab the flower. No, the other one. Pick up the glue. That’s the glitter bottle!
I had no idea what I was doing as I tried to guide these three women to construct something that resembled a floral arrangement for someone to wear atop their head. It was giving Queen Charlotte inBridgerton, and I wondered over and over why this was still a thing.
I stumbled over my words and wiped sweaty palms against my jeans. As my team felt around the table, Summer laughed as if this were great fun while Jemma and Savilla worked so well together that I wondered if they could actually see what they were doing. Meanwhile, I practically shouted at them to add more…Feathers! Glitter! Gauzy stuff!
Minutes crawled past until Lacy called time and everyone removed their blindfolds.
Behold what I hath wrought, I wanted to proclaim. It was a haphazard mess of blue silk roses covered in bright green glitter and neon pink sequins, black and pink feathers jutting out at all angles.
