“Of the Mississippi Bedfords?” Judy Swanson asks as a server (finally) refills our cups.
“Why, yes, ma’am. Theodore Reynolds Bedford III, at your service.”
“Well, how do you do, young man?” Judy shakes Tripp’s hand, her cheeks gleaming. Something tells me that she, too, has been enchanted by our creation. Beside me, Holly exhales in visible relief.
“He just moved to Atlanta,” Aunt Edna offers. “I may have to take him under my wing for a bit.” She winks at Tripp, and he responds with that irresistible smile.
I shift in my seat, uncomfortable. The last thing I want is to unwittingly bring a gullible old lady into our scheme.
“And I see you’ve met our Virginia,” Judy says, gesturing for them to join us. They sit side by side on the sofa, way too close for comfort in this muggy heat. I set my feminist values aside for a moment, just long enough to imagine myself tearing that stupid magnolia hat right off her head.
“We’re already old friends!” Virginia smiles, resting one hand on his bicep. Tripp plays along, laughing at her inanity. “Even our derby looks are color-coordinated.”
They look made for each other—white, Southern, genteel. I can easily see them gracing the cover of aSouthern Livingmagazine. Despite knowing better, I can’t help but feel like a smudge in an otherwise perfect photograph.
“I saw him in those fabulous shorts standing by the bar,” she recounts. “I said, ‘I must know where you got those!’?”
Tripp gestures dismissively. “These old things? Well, theyarefestive.” He glances over at me from under his Ray-Bans. I offer him a tight, closed-lip smile.
“Carnivalesque,” I exclaim abruptly, narrowing my gaze at him. “They remind me of that old Turkish proverb,” I add, pointedly. “When a clown moves into a palace, he doesn’t become a king. The palace becomes a circus.”
Tripp smiles, quirking an eyebrow, seeming to grasp my full meaning. Holly elbows me in the side.
“Never heard the saying,” Virginia says, drawing out the vocals so that “never” sounds like “nevahh.” “But I like it.” I guess she missed the backhanded insult I was throwing her way. “Anyway—” she says, turning to address Judy and Aunt Edna. “Tripp’s a Rebel, just like my cousin Shuggs.”
“Hotty Toddy, Gosh almighty,” Tripp chants, much to Virginia’s delight.
I glance anxiously at Holly, worried that Virginia is about to blow our cover. In a school with twenty thousand students, what are the odds that we’ve run into someone who knows the real Tripp?
“I can’t wait for y’all to meet sometime,” she gushes, squeezing Tripp’s arm. “He’s a senior, so smart. Can’t believe my little Shuggy will be going off to med school in the fall.”
Holly sighs, pressing into my forearm with her hand. The look in her eyes seems to say,Little Shuggy is too young to know the real Tripp. I shoot her back a mental response that clearly telegraphs,You better make fucking sure Little Shuggy is not gonna turn up at the club.
Holly nods in understanding before exclaiming in her best fake, cheerful voice, “Oh, that’s so exciting! What are his plans for the big summer of freedom before the med-school grind?”
“Oh, you know,” Virginia says dismissively. “Big Eurail tour with his Sigma Nu brothers, right up to the day he starts.”
Thank goodness for European frat bro adventures.I should let out the breath I’m holding, but I’m too worked up to relax. One single person, in the wrong place at the wrong time, could undo all our hard work and derail our plans.
Blessedly, Virginia moves on. “Tripp joins us all the way from theotherMadison, in Mississippi.” She laughs at her own insipid joke. “Family’s all from Greenwood, in the Delta.”
“Greenwood?” Judy asks wistfully. “Oh, how I enjoy the Grand Boulevard. It’s one of the crowning conservation efforts in the South, if you ask me.” She stares at Tripp expectantly. For the briefest of moments, his smile falters, his eyebrow twitches. We covered the Grand Boulevard in a prep session, and the hundreds of oaks that form a cathedral over it.
“Those oaks are spectacular,” I proffer, trying to jog his memory. But there’s no need. Tripp skillfully spins away from Greenwood and the oaks.
“Unfortunately, I didn’t get to enjoy it as much as I would’ve liked.” His tone goes solemn, and the gathered women tiltforward, curious. “Our family suffered a tragic small plane crash back in oh-seven. My momma—God rest her soul—died in the accident.”
Virginia may just cry. “You poor thing,” she coos, moving her hand to cover the top of his bare thigh. Tripp’s muscles tense under the touch, but he doesn’t pull away. I’m so torn inside, I can barely sit still. Tripp’s feigned vulnerability is so seductive that I honestly can’t blame Virginia or anyone else for being charmed by it—part of me can’t help but be proud of him. This is all confusing as hell.
“Daddy remarried and we moved to Madison. Those were lonely years, but what can you do? Eventually, trouble finds you.” Virginia shakes her head in understanding. Holly silently nods, doing a much better job than me at keeping a straight face. “After Momma’s death, I went a little off the rails, to be honest. But I’m back on the straight and narrow now.” He offers his most beguiling grin, an expression assiduously crafted for maximum intrigue and allure. With one calculated smile, he’s able to arouse equal parts hope and desire. It’s a little too tempting, that grin of his.
“Oh, Trippy,” Virginia cries out.Trippy?“You poor, poor thing.” She presses herself to his side in a shameless side-boob rub. And that’s when I remove my fascinator. Between the heat and the bourbon in the mint juleps, my head is pounding.
“But here I am, among new friends.” He smiles again. “On this beautiful day for a horse race,” Tripp says, then pauses to sip on his mint julep.
“We may have sun and fun today, but it rained all day yesterday,” Aunt Edna observes, one hand wrapped around the top of her bejeweled cane. “That track will be one and a quarter miles of pure slop. Our champion must rise from the mud.”
“Aunt Edna’s father was a horse trainer,” Holly explains. “She’s something of a derby expert.” I, too, have become “something of a derby expert” during the past week, combing the Kentucky Derby and Churchill Downs websites, watching documentaries and YouTube videos. My chest swelled with pride when I learned the world’s best jockey school is in Puerto Rico.
