March of the Southern Belles

by Heidi-Jo McGillicuddy

Chapter Four

  

Marching over twenty blocks in full Southern Belle regalia was a dream come true--and I would gladly have marched another forty blocks, if necessary. Still, it did feel good to get off my feet after my stint in the Heritage Day Parade, even if that meant squeezing my hoopskirts onto a bus bound (I thought) for the community center where I had left all my male belongings behind that morning. It wasn't that I was all that eager to get out of my bulky gown and petticoats; in fact, I was having the time of my life. But, as I whispered to my girlfriend Lisa, who was sitting next to me as the bus pulled away from the park, I was eager to get back to the dressing room, if only for the opportunity to be alone with her at last.

Her response was not what I expected. Instead of smiling, or even blushing, her expression had been that of surprise. "We're not going back to the community center," she had told me.

"We're not?" I asked.

She shook her head. "Not yet," she said. "Right now they're taking us over to the Ladies Auxiliary for the annual 'Brunch with the Belles'. Remember?"

Suddenly, I did. If I had written it off before, it was because the brunch was an event to which I had not been invited. Apparently my participation in the parade had changed all of that…

I looked down at my lap and began to nervously touch the buttons on my long satin gloves with a lavender-tipped finger. "What happens at Brunch with the Belles?" I asked.

"Well," Lisa said, "they present each of the Belles to the Ladies Auxiliary and they serve brunch!" She giggled. "Other than that, I'm really not sure."

"Well, I've never attended a Ladies Auxiliary function," I said.

"So here's your big chance!" Lisa said. "You'll be fine," she assured me. I'm sure they'll herd us around wherever we need to go. Just smile and be ladylike--and enjoy being catered to!"

"O.K.," I said, but I was nervous. This promised to be the sort of close-up scrutiny that I was able to avoid when I anonymously stashed in the middle of a parade formation, one face among three dozen.

The Brunch with the Belles was being held at the historic Carriage House, a beautiful old lakeside mansion that had been restored by the local Historical Society. It, and the lovely grounds surrounding it, were often used for weddings. Upon our arrival at the Carriage House, several of Gretchen's assistants were waiting for us as we each squeezed our hoopskirts out through the (relatively) narrow bus door. I was pulled aside by a no-nonsense woman who was all business as she refluffed the skirts of my gown back out over my petticoat and brushed at the ruffles on the brim of my hat. I looked over at Lisa, who was pulling her long yellow gloves back onto her arms and getting a similar once-over. Then the rest of the belles and I were herded over to a nearby garden.

When I the man on the ladder apparently holding a camera, I started to feel somewhat nervous, but when it became evident that we were all gathering for a group portrait, I relaxed. The camera needed to be a long way away to fit all of us and our gowns into a single frame. In fact, some portable bleachers had been set up for us, and a young man took my hand and pulled me up to my assigned perch in the back row, where I stood with all of the taller girls, giggling as we tried to not get poked with each other's parasols.

We posed for several photos, and then we were led, not to the Carriage House, but over to a lovely little white gazebo on the edge of the lake behind the house, where we all found ourselves waiting in line. Lisa was at the front of the line, and when she was led to a spot in front of the gazebo, I could only marvel at the effervescent way in which she tossed her hair, twirled her parasol, and smiled gloriously for the camera. I immediately wondered where and how I could get a copy when it struck me that I was going to have my picture taken alone like that as well.

I almost broke out in a sweat. These were professional portraits being taken, I realized, the sort of high-quality photo that can be blown up to the size of a poster or even a billboard, if necessary--and not exactly something I would want the world to be able to see for posterity.

As each girl was led up to the gazebo, one by one, I looked around to see if there was any way I might be able to duck out of the line, but it was hard to feel inconspicuous in head-to-toe ruffles and lavender, and besides, Gretchen's assistants were lurking.

Suddenly, I felt a hand gently nudge one of my puffy little sleeves, and I turned around.

It was Lisa. God bless her, the girl knew how to read my mind and ease all my doubts and insecurities.

"What?" I asked her.

She motioned me closer with a satin-gloved finger. I leaned over and she whispered in my ear:

"You are so beautiful today," she said. "I want to have this photo of you today, so I can always remember how beautiful you are today."

Standing so close to her, I inhaled her beautiful, natural aroma and closed my eyes. Once again, I wanted to kiss her, on her lips, and very hard, but I was wearing lipstick, and such an action on my part might lead me to the sort of stirrings below my hoops that, well, needed to wait until later.

"O.K.," I said.

"NEXT!" I heard Gretchen shout. I turned around, my mass of petticoats twirling with me. I realized that it was my turn. Taking a deep breath to compose myself, I tightened my grip on my parasol, and began to walk over to the spot in front of the gazebo.

And yet…suddenly there was no need to steady my hoops by clutching them as I walked; I was suddenly gliding in an effortless, ladylike manner, like the Southern Belle I was privileged to be this morning.

I found my mark in front of the gazebo. Looking down, it was impossible to see my feet, but I knew that I was standing on it. After a couple of hours, wearing a hoopskirt had become completely natural for me.

"On the count of three," the photographer called. "One…Two…Three!"

My elbows bent, my gloved hands hanging limply at my waist, the frilly canopy of my parasol resting on my skirts behind me, I tilted my head in a feminine manner and smiled in a manner that I hoped would communicate to the world how wonderful I felt at that exact moment.

"Beautiful!" the cameraman said. I saw no outward sign from him that he could tell I was male.

"NEXT!" Gretchen shouted.

I stepped off my mark and was now directed over towards the back entrance of the Carriage House. Lisa was waiting for me. "I hope you like it," I told her.

"I'm sure I will," she smiled.

As we both entered the house, the door was held for us by an older gentleman, who told us, "Take the stairs straight ahead, ladies." I picked up my skirts and followed Lisa up a staircase that fortunately was just wide enough. At the top of the stairs, we were directed to a large, parlor-type room. One of Gretchen's assistants greeted us at the door and told us that if we needed to use the ladies room we could, but that we needed to remove our hats and gloves and be back in the hallway and lined up as soon as possible, as the guests were already being seated downstairs.

As I entered the room and looked around, I was immediately drawn, as if hypnotized, to a mirror on the far wall, the first mirror I'd seen since I'd been in the community enter before the parade, and the first full length mirror I'd seen all day. As I walked towards it, I saw my full skirts bounce gently, along with the ruffles across my bodice, the beautiful lavender satin that went up past my elbows and the prissy way in which I now automatically kept my gloved hands--hanging loosely at my wrists, down in front of my waistline.

"I think she sees something she likes," Carrie said, and I did: I saw, not myself as I'd resigned myself to looking--a boy in a wig and a hoopskirt, making a fool of himself out on Main Street, no less--but a strange, yet softly beautiful creature with distinctive and unmistakably feminine features and mannerisms. I smiled, and the girl in the mirror smiled back with my familiar smile.

I then saw another familiar feminine vision in yellow suddenly come up behind the girl in the mirror and playfully lift her lavender skirts. I caught a brief glimpse of my own slippered feet and ruffled ankles before I whirled around, turning my hoops with me, and stuck out my tongue at Lisa.

"Do you need to powder your nose, sweetie?" she asked

A few girls were waiting to use the rest room, but most of us had apparently planned ahead and were checking each other's hair and makeup. "Not yet," I said.

Lisa nodded as she carefully untied the bow underneath my chin and, with both hands, removed my hat.

"I don't want to take off my gloves," I told her quietly.

"Why not, sweetie?" Lisa looked sympathetic, but said, "You can't wear them to eat."

I sighed, pulled one of them off, and stared at my hand, at my drab, unpolished nails. "My hands just aren't as pretty without the gloves."

"Well, but aren't you glad I took the time to shave your arms?"

I was, although I had no idea if anybody would notice when I went back to work--whenever I went back to work, that was.

Carrie had crept up behind us. "Lisa, you're going to have to bring him along with you the next time we go to the salon," she said.

"Very funny," I said.

"But you can get your nails done with us!" Carrie giggled. "Don't you want to be pampered?" she asked.

I looked at both my hands, one gloved, the other naked. "I just don't want you to joke about it," I said, quietly.

"Ooooooh!" Carrie exclaimed, but Lisa must have shot her a look as I began to pull off my other glove, because she lowered her voice and said, "I'm sorry. If you come with us, I promise I won't tease you. You look cuter than half the girls here, and if you come to the salon with us, you'll love it!"

I looked up at Lisa. "Thank you Carrie," she said quietly.

"Lisa," Carrie said, "you are so lucky!" With a rustle of petticoats, she whirled around and walked away.

"Are you O.K.?" Lisa asked me. "She wasn't trying to be mean."

"Well, I just don't like her joking about that," I said. "I mean, you understand that I don't want to be a girl, you know, like get a sex change or anything like that."

"Oh, I know," Lisa said. "Just because you are enjoying this doesn't change anything about you."

"You don't think it's weird that I'm enjoying this?"

"Sweetie, you're just being you," she said. "I mean, you're still you, right?"

I ran my bare fingers down the bodice of my dress, past my waist and out over my hoops. "I think so," I said.

"Well, I know so!" Lisa replied. "Now, let's get ready to go back downstairs. I know you're probably famished after all of that marching this morning--I know I am!"

I had to admit that a bit of my stomach was indeed growling within my corset right then.

The now-familiar cry of "LADIES!" that came from the hallway could only mean one thing. Lisa and I soon found ourselves in the middle of a snarl of hoopskirts as we all lined up in the upstairs hallway. I was in line behind Lisa, and was absently gazing at her when Gretchen grabbed my arm and said "You, dear."

"What?" I asked.

"I want you to be the final belle to walk down the stairs," she said, pulling me out of the line and back to the end of the hall.

"But why?" I asked, trying to sound ladylike.

"Because there is somebody here that I want you to meet, and I told her that you would be the last belle down the stairs. That's the only way that she will be able to tell that you are…" She didn't finish her sentence.

"That I'm a guy?" I asked.

"Well, she certainly wouldn't think you were male by looking at you," she snapped. I think she meant that as a compliment. "I told her that you would be the last belle down the stairs."

"But why tell her at all?" I asked. This was not what I wanted--I wanted to be a belle, not a curiosity!

"I don't have time!" Gretchen announced, whirling on her heel and dramatically throwing up one hand in dismissal before striding back down to the opposite end of the hallway.

I stood there dumbly at the tail end of the line, and when I heard the applause from downstairs and saw the line begin to inch towards the head of the staircase, I assumed that the procession of belles had begun. The next-to-last girl in line, who was gowned in yellow like Lisa but not nearly as pretty, turned to me and asked, "Do you dress up as a girl very often?"

"I don't think so," I said, as our end of the line was now finally moving forward.

She laughed as we began to inch up the hall. "You don't think so?"

I caught a sideways glimpse of myself in a hallway mirror. The sound of polite clapping grew louder. Without my hat, gloves and parasol, I felt naked, but I felt more…natural somehow. "Or maybe I do," I said.

I could see at the end of the hallway ahead as one by one, the girls turned around the corner, apparently to descend the main staircase. The applause from downstairs continued. As I got closer to the top of the staircase, I could see more and more of the sweeping, curved staircase

"Remember," the girl in front of me said, "if you trip, everybody will see your pantaloons."

"I'll try not to," I said.

"Here I go," she whispered, placing one hand on the banister and taking first one, then several more girlish steps down the stairway.

I heard them applauding her as she disappeared around the bend, and I put one hand on the railing, dug the unpolished nails of my other hand deep into my petticoats, inhaled as deeply as I could in my corset, and started down the stairs, taking small, girlish steps.

As I rounded the corner, the dozens of ladies who were seated in the main hallway came into view. I hesitated for a moment to smile and survey the room, and that's when the applause suddenly began to swell. I took several more steps when I realized that the assembled ladies, who had all been seated at tables awaiting the serving of brunch, were now all rising to their feet. At the bottom of the staircase, I saw Lisa standing with Gretchen, and a woman I recognized as Maude Herndon, the president of the Ladies Auxiliary, all of whom were clapping enthusiastically. I touched my "bosom" before continuing the rest of the way to the landing where Gretchen shook my hand, and Lisa and I kissed each other's cheeks. Then I turned to Ms. Herndon. If she recognized me, she didn't show it. I'd delivered pizzas to her house on more than one occasion, and in my baseball cap and work pants she would never bother making eye contact with me, let alone speak to me. But today, instead of handing me a check and a single dollar tip before slamming the door in my face, she smiled kindly, handed me a long-stemmed rose and, like Lisa, kissed my cheek. Then she held me close and whispered something in my ear.

"What?" I asked. Given our history, I was uncomfortable being so close to her, especially in my hoops.

"Thank you so much," she whispered.

"For what?"

But she only leaned back and winked at me, before turning and motioning us over to a nearby table that was set for breakfast.

The applause mercifully died down as a man in a bow tie pulled out a chair for me. I gathered up my hoops and sat, and he pushed me, and my seat back in.

Lisa was to my left. I tried handing her my rose, but she only batted her eyelashes and showed me the one she'd already gotten. I then turned to my right, as the waiter was now helping Ms. Herndon with her chair.

"You're welcome," I told her when the applause had died down enough for relatively normal conversation levels to resume.

She patted the back of my hand. "You're not the first, you know."

"I'm not?"

She shook her head. "It doesn't happen every year, but it happens often enough. And you were marvelous. And you know Lisa!"

I nodded. "She's a special girl," I said. "How do you know her?"

"Why, from the club. She's such a pretty girl. You're very lucky. And you!" She patted my hand again as a covered plate was placed before me and my glass was filled with iced tea. "You are a special girl too," she whispered.

 

TO BE CONCLUDED

  

  

  

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