Chapter 10

At any rate, having been elected Queen of Carnival, the next step was to select a court. Normally, the court is composed of girls who were runners-up to the queen. That didn’t work that year for a couple of reasons. First, the only other girl with significant votes was Suellen and following the election she just disappeared. Quite honestly, no one cared, but the word eventually got around that she had withdrawn from the school, whether to go somewhere else or just to drop out, no one knew ... nor cared very much either.

The tradition at our school is that the court will have nine girls, three from each class. By the way, a “tradition” at my high school was anything that had been done once. Anyone not continuing a tradition does so at his or her peril. Anyway, we got eight from the cheerleader squad — yes, I was a princess, too — plus a new girl, Kristin Mitchell, who had just transferred into the school from out of town. Kris was a blonde junior, and just drop-dead gorgeous.

Well, Sheila had her court. (Jim put together nine guys to serve as princes, but they really don’t count. They’re there primarily as a neutral backdrop to the beauties in the court.) But then the troubles began. You guys might as well tune out for a while. This is strictly a girl thing.

The problem was what to wear. First, there was the question of sizes. Believe me when I tell you that a dress that looks lovely on a girl who’s five feet nine looks crummy on one who’s five feet two. And that’s the spread we had. Then there’s the matter of differences in coloration, and on and on and on.

All ten of us were meeting early one afternoon on the subject of dresses. When I could see we were close to trading blows, I suggested we go over to our place and talk it over with Mom. So all ten of us piled into cars and headed out. Sheila had decided she liked the Honda Civic so much she had bought one for herself. Moreover, she said a Cadillac Eldorado was much too ostentatious to drive to high school, so ... Guess who drives the Eldorado? Moi. What the hell ... She gave it to me, and I wasn’t about to give it back, so...

There were ten of us in three cars, and we all drove into the garage. Because it has been known to get cold north of Chicago and snow once in a while, the garage that was under most of the front part of the house was big enough for about twenty cars. Anyway, we parked and ran up the stairs to the kitchen.

“Mom!” Sheila yelled. “Are you here?”

“I’m in the gym,” Mom yelled, and we all went off in that direction.

When we went in, there she was, naked as usual, working out on the machines. Neither Sheila nor I thought anything about it at the time but the girls just gaped and gasped.

I guess it was Kris Mitchell who was the first to speak when Mom finished and got off the machine. (It was the last spot in her workout series, so no damage was done. Mom really relies on her daily workout and hates to be interrupted.) “My God!” Kris breathed. “Would you please stand beside Sheila and Sam?”

Mom responded with a quizzical look but did what she asked, moving between Sheila and me.

“These three are unreal!” Kris exclaimed. “We talk about the Red and Gold Twins, but you add their mother and you have triplets: A perfectly matched trio who differ only in the color of their hair.” Kris shook her head and added, “Of course, Mrs. Callaway, you’re far older than the others. You look to be at least 19 and I’ll bet you can even pass for 21 when you get dressed up, can’t you?”

Mom just yelped, ran to Kris, took her in her arms and melted her with a kiss. “We haven’t met, young lady,” Mom said, “but I love you already.” Then she moved back a step and extended her hand.

Kris just stood there glassy-eyed. “Never in my life have I encountered a level of love that this woman has inside her,” she murmured.

Seeing that the girls were in a state of shock, Mom slipped on a terrycloth wraparound that barely reached the top of her thighs and led the way to the family room. “Okay, girls,” she began, “what’s the occasion?”

I quickly explained the gown problem. Or what appeared to us to be an insoluble gown problem at the time.

“What’s the problem?” Mom asked. Then she giggled. As I’ve probably mentioned before, Mom’s giggle is truly a delight. “You’re probably approaching it like bridesmaids’ dresses, aren’t you? Where every girl is expected to wear the same thing?”