Good Christian Bitches (18 page)

T
he next morning, the only woman in Hillside Park who did not know about the blind item in Ellen Salter’s society column in
Hillside Park People
was Amanda herself. She and the children had fallen into a familiar rhythm of getting ready for the new school day—getting dressed; getting lunch together; for Sarah, last-minute homework review; and for Will, making sure that his skateboard, Game Boy, and iPod were all in perfect working order. Elizabeth, however, took the
Hillside Park People
, a weekly neighborhood publication. It fell to her to deliver the unwelcome story to Amanda, whose cell phone rang just as she and the children were stepping outside to begin the six-block walk, or, in Will’s case, skateboard ride, to school.

“I’m just getting the children out,” Amanda told Elizabeth. “Can it wait?”

“Not really,” Elizabeth said as the Vaughns left their house and began the short journey.

“If it’s about last night—” Amanda began, but Elizabeth cut her off.

“It’s not about last night,” Elizabeth said flatly. “Just listen.”

“Listen to what?”

Elizabeth read aloud, “ ‘Hostile takeover at the Longhorn Ball? Amanda Vaughn, who recently ankled multimillionaire hubby number one in sunny SoCal, has elbowed her way to the top of one of Hillside Park’s most important soirees. Since then, it’s been handcuffs and leg irons for anyone who gets in her way. Both Susie Caruth and Sharon Peavy found themselves in the grasp of the long arm of the law in recent days, and Hillside Park ladies are shying away by the droves from any involvement with the Ball, lest the same thing happen to them.’ ”

Amanda’s jaw dropped as she listened in horror. Her children looked at her, as if to say, “What’s wrong?”

“But wait, there’s more,” Elizabeth continued.

“ ‘Tales of stacks of cash and high-dollar gift cards from many top Dallas emporia going missing are also a highlight of the new reign. Where does it end? What price philanthropy?’

“Are you still there?” Elizabeth asked when she was finished.

“Barely,” was the only word Amanda could muster. She felt dizzy, as if the whole world were spinning and collapsing onto her. “How could anybody write something like that?” she asked when she was able to start breathing again.

“Write what?” Sarah asked brightly. Will was lost in his own world of skating and music, oblivious to his mother’s plight.

“Don’t worry about it,” Amanda told her daughter, trying to sound brave. “It’s nothing.”

Sarah studied her mother. “Whatever it is, Mom, it’s something and it’s not nothing.”

“Mom, I’m with the kids,” Amanda said into her cell phone. “I’ll meet you at the office at eight thirty. We’ll figure it out then. Where did that appear?”

“Ellen Salter’s column. The good news is that nobody believes a word she says.”

“As I recall, that’s why everybody opens the paper to her column first,” Amanda replied sarcastically. “So they can find out what they’re not supposed to believe for the week.”

“Try and look at it this way—at least it’s not like it was Alan Peppard’s column in the
Dallas Morning News
, thank God.”

“But, Mom . . .”

“Whatever. Stiff-upper-lip time. See you at eight thirty.”

Amanda disconnected. She was seething, and she was scared. The article made it sound as though she were responsible for the arrests of both Susie and Sharon, which was absurd, because she hadn’t even been involved with the Ball when Susie was marched out of the office by the police. As for Sharon, the truth was that Sharon had been headed for state prison when Amanda essentially destroyed the case against her single-handedly. But what was this about bags of cash and gift cards? It had to be Sharon giving Ellen Salter the information, because she was the only one who had any knowledge that there was cash in the office, or that Amanda had taken it to the bank.

If the article should have been smearing anyone, Amanda thought, it should have been Susie. She’s the one who was using the Longhorn Ball as her own personal ATM machine. Once again, no good deed goes unpunished. Amanda, glum, did not even notice that her daughter had been trying to get her attention for two whole blocks.

“What’s wrong, Mommy?” Sarah asked, taking her hand. “What did Gigi tell you? She was talking for such a long time.”

“A lady wrote some things about me in the newspaper that aren’t true,” Amanda explained, deciding that telling her daughter the truth was the fastest way to end the conversation. If she appeared to be holding back, Sarah would be after her like a bloodhound to get the facts.

Sarah thought about it for a moment. “If it’s not true, then you don’t have to be sad! Nobody will believe it!”

Amanda looked down at her daughter and shook her head sadly.

“I’m gonna tell you how some adults can be sometimes. The less truth there is in something, the more people want to believe it. It’s like there’s a really dark side to some people—the worse they can think of someone else, the better they’re allowed to feel about themselves.”

“I don’t understand,” Sarah said, bewildered.

Amanda noticed as Will, oblivious, skated out into the street without noticing the early rush-hour traffic cutting through Hillside Park. “William Armstrong Vaughn,” Amanda yelled, “you’ve got to pay attention!”

Will looked back at his mother, his expression saying, “They didn’t hit me, so don’t worry about it,” and went on skateboarding.

“It’s an ugly thing about human nature,” Amanda told Sarah. “Sometimes, the worse the thing you say, the more people want to believe it. And then they can’t wait to repeat it.”

“But gossip’s a sin,” Sarah said, still not getting it.

Amanda sighed. “You’re right, Sarah, it is. Gossip’s nothing more than evaluating and exploiting other people, and it’s wrong but very easy to participate in, unfortunately. Too many people get their value from being the one ‘in the know’ and more often than not, they have bad information—and it’s very hurtful and damaging to people. Everyone’s entitled to their own opinion of someone, but no one’s entitled to their own set of facts about someone. So often, gossip is presented and then repeated as fact, and it can be devastating to someone’s reputation. Your reputation’s your most valuable asset, so when people are being cruel, they’re also being very irresponsible and careless.”

Sarah pondered that and looked around. She noticed that one of the new friends she had made in school, a girl named Lacey Wood, born and raised in Hillside Park with family who had been friends with the Smiths for decades, was approaching. “Hi, Lacey!” Sarah called out. “Wanna walk with me?”

Lacey eyed Sarah and her mother. “My mom says your mom’s a bitch,” she said, crossing the street without another word.

Sarah burst into tears.

“And everybody says your healthy eating is just a cover for your anorexia,” Lacey called back. “Nobody wants to room with you at the church retreat this weekend because they say you’re going to be making yourself throw up the whole time! It’s disgusting!”

“That’s so not true!” Sarah wailed, burying her face in her mother’s skirt. “Mommy, how can they all just tell lies about me?”

“Those little girls said you’re anorexic?” Amanda asked, astonished.

Sarah nodded, her tears flowing freely. “They all said that.”

Amanda had to suppress the urge to scream or to kill someone. It was one thing to mess with an adult. It was another thing to start a rumor about a defenseless child. That was unforgivable. Heartbroken and furious, Amanda grabbed her daughter’s hand and stalked after the other girl.

“Lacey Wood!” she yelled. “You get back here this instant, young lady!”

Lacey turned and glared insolently at her. “Well, it’s all true!” she retorted. “My mother said it. You were even in the newspaper! And we’re not letting you in the gymnastics carpool, either! They’re gonna tell you we don’t have room, but we have room. We just don’t want
you
!”

Sarah, bawling by now, was shouting, “I don’t want to go to school!”

Will, piling on, had taken the ear buds out of his ear to listen. “That’s ’cause you’re a big baby!” he shouted at his sister.

Sarah wailed louder.

“Lacey,” Amanda railed, “I’m gonna tell your mother what you said, and she’s gonna wash your mouth out with soap!”

“Oh, then let me guess . . . you’re gonna have my mother arrested?” Lacey shot back.

Amanda was shaking all over. It was hopeless. Suddenly she felt an enormous urge to call packers and movers and put everything on the next moving van back to California. It might have been the land of fruits and nuts, but at least nobody got into your business the way they did here.

“I can’t go to school, Mommy,” Sarah said through sobs. “They’re gonna crucify me.”

“Only if they’ve erected two crosses and not one,” Amanda said, thinking quickly. “Will, you go on ahead. You go to school. Sarah’s staying with me today.”

“That’s not fair!” Will exclaimed. And then he brightened. “It’s okay, Mom. I was gonna ditch all my classes anyway.” With that, he darted ahead into the growing crowd of skateboarders and students making their way to school, and he was gone.

Amanda was
desperately
trying to suppress an outburst that would’ve terrified the devil himself. Anorexia? Shutting her out of a carpool over this ridiculous Longhorn Ball nonsense? And let’s see . . . who were the moms we were carpooling with? Oh, that’s right, one was famous for having an affair with the married father of one of her kindergarten students while she was teaching at Hillside Park Elementary. The other was famous for shutting herself in at home alone every night, drinking so heavily she knows better than to ever answer the phone past seven p.m., chain-smoking twenty feet from her child who has asthma so bad she’s on a nebulizer for home breathing treatments, and for being the
only
mom in the history of Hillside Park to be cited for endangering a child by trying to drive carpool while still under the influence of Ambien! By all means, ladies, please feel free to take my inventory! I can certainly see how you’d think you were in a position to judge me and my family! Amanda was seeing red, she was so angry, but she
had
to keep it together for Sarah’s sake.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Amanda told Sarah, lovingly stroking her hair. Amanda made a mental note to talk with Will about his school attendance. As if I don’t have enough on my mind already, she told herself. “They want to go after me, that’s one thing. But if people are going after you, well, this means war.”

“War?”

“It’s just a figure of speech. I’m not going to let you go to school and be humiliated. You’re just gonna hang around with Gigi and me today at the Longhorn Ball office. Incidentally, I’ve got a feeling today might be my last day as Chair.”

Sarah stopped walking. She wiped her tears away and looked up at her mother. “You mean you’re gonna let them run you off? But the Ball helps sick kids, doesn’t it?”

Amanda realized she had no comeback. “You’re right. I’m not going to let them run me off. You, Gigi, and I are going to go to the office. We’re going to put in a full day of work, and we’re going to get this Ball off the ground. So help me God.”

Sarah brightened. “That’ll teach grown-ups to believe everything they hear.”

“How did you ever get so smart?”

“I’m a Cali girl. We don’t take crap off nobody!”

“Sarah!” Amanda exclaimed. “Where did you ever learn an expression like that?”

“From Gigi.”

“I should have known.” Amanda laughed, set on salvaging the day and forcing it in a better direction. With a determined expression, she took her daughter’s hand, and they headed back to the house to get the car.

W
hen Amanda, Elizabeth, and Sarah arrived twenty minutes later at the office of the Longhorn Ball, they were surprised to find a chauffeur-driven Bentley idling in the no parking zone across the street, in front of Hillside Park Presbyterian. As Amanda’s SUV pulled up, the Bentley’s driver went around to the back of the car and held the door open. Tom Harrington emerged.

“Tom!” Amanda exclaimed, surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“Who’s he?” Sarah asked her grandmother.

“That’s Mr. Black Mercedes himself,” Elizabeth said.

“Really! He’s much younger than I imagined.”

Elizabeth glanced quizzically at her granddaughter but said nothing as Tom crossed the street and joined them. “I saw the paper this morning,” he said, totally disgusted. “I figured you could maybe use some help or another person to bounce ideas off. Or maybe just somebody with a gun.”

“You packin’?” Elizabeth asked Tom.

Tom grinned. “I’m not, but he is.” He gestured toward his driver, a man who clearly tipped the scales north of three hundred pounds and bore a striking resemblance to Hoss, the character played by Dan Blocker on the old
Bonanza
TV show.

“I hope you’re not paying for him by the pound. That’s a big boy.”

“Even if I did, he’d be worth every penny. . . . Am I invited in? Or is a man unwelcome in the sacred precincts of the Longhorn Ball office?”

Amanda glanced at Elizabeth. “I think it’s time to pass an emergency bylaw to admit men.”

“All in favor, say aye,” Elizabeth said.

“Aye,” chorused Amanda and Sarah.

“Good news!” Amanda told Tom. “You’re in.”

Tom returned a smile, Amanda unlocked the door, and the four of them went into the office.

Elizabeth turned to Sarah. “Let’s you and I go out and get coffee and doughnuts, okay? I think we ought to let these two do the high-level strategizing without our company.”

“But Gigi—” She took one look at her grandmother and knew that resistance was futile. She and Elizabeth went around the corner to get coffee, but not before Elizabeth gave Amanda a big wink, to which Amanda responded by rolling her eyes.

“After you.” Amanda held the door for Tom.

“Wouldn’t think of it. Ladies first.” The two of them headed into Amanda’s office, and Tom took a seat opposite her desk.

“We’ve still got no lights,” she said apologetically. “I’m hoping that maybe by next week, once we get our bills paid, we can get the power turned back on.”

“I think the lights are the least of your worries,” Tom replied, looking around. “So this is the nerve center of the mighty Longhorn Ball operations.”

“I’ll tell you who has a lot of nerve,” Amanda said, settling into her seat. “Sharon Peavy. How could she have said all those things about me to that reporter? Doesn’t she realize I kept her out of jail?”

“You want to walk me through that gift card thing? That’s the only piece of the puzzle I don’t think I have.”

Amanda summarized the events surrounding the Neiman’s gift card. “So I feel like I’ve got a world of trouble, and for no reason,” she concluded.

“Yeah, you do. What are you going to do about all this?”

“Honestly, I’ve got no idea. I’d like to tell all these people to go to hell, or much worse, but I don’t see what good that’s going to do. I’d really like to walk away from the Ball, but I don’t know what kind of example I’d be setting for my children. I feel like I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t.”

“I think you’ve described the situation exactly right.”

“Well, what would you do?”

“Well,” Tom began, “I know a guy in San Antonio who could make all your problems go away. You just put the names of the people who are bothering you on a piece of paper, and they’ll be floating down the Rio Grande before you can say ‘plausible deniability.’ ”

Amanda gave a rueful smile. “Don’t think that thought hasn’t crossed my mind. But I don’t really think that’s the best approach.”

“I honestly don’t see the difference between that and the kind of character assassination they’re doing on you. I could even go get my driver to take care of business,” he joked, “but then I’d have to find a new driver.”

Amanda laughed. “Three-hundred-fifty-pound marksmen who can drive a Bentley aren’t a dime a dozen,” she said, grinning. Her smile quickly faded as she became serious again. “I don’t know what to do, Tom. About anything.”

“Well, let’s take stock,” he said, his tone simultaneously gentle and businesslike. “What do we have?”

Amanda wanted to say, what we have is two people, one very recently divorced, one still pending, who’ve gone on one “date,” one living in the other’s house, and you seem to know me so well that you can pick out nicer clothing for me than I can. But she thought for a moment longer and said, “We’ve got an event that was the highlight of the social calendar in Hillside Park for over thirty years, and it was screwed up so badly by the last person to run it that nobody wants to go near it.”

Tom nodded.

“And we’ve got a whispering campaign that’s actually hit the newspaper,” Amanda continued, “whereby there’s not a single woman in Hillside Park who wants to lift a finger to help me. If anything, it seems like the whole town has closed ranks against me.”

“Check. That’s how I see it, too.”

“So I’m running a Ball, with no support, no volunteers, nobody who wants to chair a committee, no electricity, no computers, and no phone. And somehow, I’m supposed to spin this straw into three or four million dollars’ worth of gold for the Pediatric Foundation. Is that how you’re seeing it?”

“That’s how I’m seeing it.”

“What would you do,” Amanda asked, “wise and all-knowing developer of half of Mexico?”

“Punt,” Tom said teasingly. “And get on the next plane to Acapulco.”

Amanda gave him a dirty look.

“Thanks a lot. Seriously. I’m not going to quit. I’m not going to give them the satisfaction of destroying my reputation, harming my children,
and
running me off! You should have heard what one of the little girls said to Sarah this morning.” Tom waited. “I agree with you about what you said, that character assassination is like murder without a weapon,” she continued, sitting back in her chair. “And I’ll tell you what the problem is. Every single one of the women who’ve given me the most trouble in this whole thing—they’re all supposedly fine Christian women. Heather Sappington. Vodka bottle in one hand, Holy Bible in the other. Never misses a party Saturday night. Never misses services Sunday morning. Never misses a doctor’s appointment to get some more diet pills—at least that’s what my mother says.

“Sharon Peavy. My best friend growing up, but now she’s gotten so bitter and jealous about my life—which is a joke, because I’m the one getting over a divorce, not her. But I’ve got some money and she doesn’t, and I might not have those perfect knockers she has, but I’m not so bad for a woman who’s—oh, well . . . never mind. But she’s another one. Going to Bible study and looking all squeaky clean and religious, when the reality is that she’s slept with every man in Dallas who’s got a positive net worth.”

“Present company excluded,” Tom interrupted.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Your loss,” she cracked.

“I might still be on the Forbes list,” Tom said, with monumental understatement, “but I still wouldn’t spring for a night with that nasty girl.”

Amanda’s grin widened. “No, you wouldn’t,” she agreed. “And behind them has got to be Darlene Cockburn, because you know the three of them are thick as thieves and you know she’s been the info source for Mom’s age group—five marriages, four divorces, four massive settlements, and number five ready to be cashed in whenever she gives her lawyers the nod, and yet she has a whole building at the church named after her.

“And then there’s Ann Anderson,” she concluded. “Heather must have pictures of her with a Thoroughbred in a stable somewhere. Otherwise, I don’t understand for a minute how the two of them could be friends.”

She took a deep breath, and Tom waited for her to continue.

“The thing is,” Amanda went on slowly, “if these women want to go after me, fine. I’m a big girl. I can take it. I’ll do just fine whatever happens. But tear up my daughter’s heart? No way. Now this stuff is affecting my children. Sarah now, Will next. And that’s where I draw the line.”

“So what do you want to do?”

“I wish there was some way to teach them a lesson . . . It’s like my dad always said—you don’t ever want to start a fight, but it’s sure okay to finish one. I only took on the Longhorn Ball because it does good work and it raises so much money for the Pediatric Foundation, and I figured it would be a good thing to occupy my time. But it’s not only about the Ball any longer. There’s one thing these women just don’t seem able to grasp.”

“And what’s that?”

“You can be a good Christian,” Amanda said slowly, thinking it through. “Or you can be a bitch. But you can’t be a good Christian bitch.”

Tom threw back his head and laughed so hard he brayed like a donkey. “I love the expression and I’m sure I’ve known a few, but why don’t you give me your definition of a good Christian bitch.”

“It’s pretty self-explanatory,” Amanda said, “as a matter of fact. If you’re professing to be a good Christian, you’re claiming to have a desire to be like Christ, to have a heart like His. When a good Christian hides behind the cross while putting herself and her worldly desires ahead of her desire to be like Christ, at any and everyone else’s expense when she deems it necessary, she becomes a good Christian bitch. I mean, for heaven’s sake, don’t let Jesus get in the way of a good agenda. Does that make sense? Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

“Actually, I do. My mother used to say some of the meanest people she’d ever met, she met in church,” Tom said. “So, how can I help?” Tom asked. “This is a cause I’d like to sign on to. I’ve taken my own share of heat from the ‘good Christian bitches.’ ”

“We all have, believe me . . . This Ball is supposed to be run by women,” she pondered, “but except for Elizabeth, Sarah, and me, we don’t have any. They’ve all been scared off. So I guess it’s time to enlist the services of a man.”

“If I’m that man,” Tom said, grinning, “the answer is yes.”

“Only one thing, though.”

“What’s that?”

Amanda paused before she spoke. “We both know that you could write a check right now to the Pediatric Foundation big enough that we wouldn’t even have to hold the Ball. But that’s not the point. I don’t want you to step in and save me. What I want you to do is help me get this Ball back on its feet so it actually thrives, not just survives. And if you can do that, maybe I can focus on setting things right. These . . . if you’ll pardon the expression . . . bitches need to learn a lesson. They’ve gone after me for no reason other than the fact that I’m theoretically in their way, and they think I’ve caught all the breaks in life and they’ve caught none. Which is a whole ’nother story, because as nice a man as you are, I’m truly not ready for any involvements.”

“I understand.”

Amanda thought she could hear disappointment in his voice. “All I’m saying is,” she said earnestly, “let’s take care of the Ball and the bitches first. And then we’ll figure out where you and I stand. How is that?”

“That’s a deal.” They shook hands.

At that moment, Elizabeth and Sarah arrived with coffee and doughnuts.

“Looks like some sort of major deal went down in our absence,” Elizabeth told Sarah, seeing the handshake.

“This is better than school!” the little girl exclaimed.

“Don’t get too excited, honey,” Amanda told her daughter. “This is only going to last for a couple of days, until I get things squared away here in the community. Anyway, Mom, I’m pleased to announce the formation of the Men’s Auxiliary of the Longhorn Ball. And here’s the Chair of the Men’s Auxiliary, Tom Harrington.”

Elizabeth nodded approvingly. “Wait till the ladies hear about this.”

“Wait till the ladies find out I’m about to fix their wagon.”

Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed. “How?”

Sarah’s eyes lit up. “This is way better than school.”

Amanda glanced at Tom. “I haven’t exactly figured out how just yet. But if I don’t find a good enough plan, Tom here says he’s got a guy in San Antonio who can make all our problems go away.”

“That’s the spirit. Shoot ’em all and let God sort it out. Amanda, your daddy would be proud of you.”

“Mommy, are you really going to have those ladies killed?” Sarah asked, alarmed.

Everybody laughed. “Of course not, honey,” Amanda said. “But something tells me they’re about to get a lesson they’ll never forget.”