Beauty Queen (2 page)

Hurry! Leslie shouted.

Was your family rich or poor? Moira asked helpfully.

That was a little personal, but okay, as she was feeling a little dizzy, she was willing to skip over mortified indignation and go right to will do anything for food. Well ... we were poor when I was little. And then my father started his own freight transport company in Houston, and it got really big, and now .. . well, now, my family is, umm .. . wealthy.

Wait... are you Rebecca Lear as in Lear Transport? asked Melanie, who used to be the quiet one and had, remarkably, developed a definite Texas accent. Rebecca nodded sheepishly. Several sucked in their breath; apparently they had heard of LTI.

I know you! Melanie exclaimed excitedly. I thought you looked familiar! Youre one of the Lear girls! Yall used to be in the Houston papers all the time when I was growing up. Hey, wait a minute! she cried again, pushing up to her knees in her delight as recognition washed over her. Werent you the one who was Miss Texas?

Oh, no, please no ... She really hoped at the end of this seminar she would have transformed right out of that old tiara. Well, actually

Jesus, what are you doing here? Melanie the Chatterbox continued, her smile fading. Your life is perfect! She looked at the other women and announced, Were starving for someone who has a perfect life!

No, I dont! Rebecca irritably shot back. She was sick to death of everyone thinking that beauty queen somehow equaled perfection. Just because someone has a little money and a beauty queen title does not make her or her life perfect, trust me!

Then why are you here? Moira asked cheerfully.

Because! she cried, confused.

Your sisters seemed to think you needed help transforming, Moira, all atwitter, reminded her. Why? What is it that you need? Hold that stick and let it come, Rebecca. See what you are moving past, see where you are heading! Why are you here?

Rebecca closed her eyes, tried to see, even tapped the stick against her forehead to try and knock the vision loose before she died of hunger. Because I just went through a divorce, she admitted.

And you thought, after the divorce, you needed to be transformed because .. . you were not a good wife? Moira prompted.

No, of course not! Rebecca said instantly, feeling suddenly and terribly self-conscious. She was not the sort of person to wear her emotions or her problems openly. Actually, she wasnt the sort to wear them at all and usually pretended they just didnt exist.

Then were you a good wife?

Yes! She was, wasnt she? At least in the beginning?

Then what is it, Rebecca? Moira asked, coming to her feet, her broad, smiling face peering closely at her. And as Rebecca struggled to find an acceptable answer, Moira clasped her hands, began to slowly walk around her in a circle. What. Do. YOU. WANT?

She swallowed a lump in her throat. I want. .. I want.. . Okay, really, if she knew what she wanted, she wouldnt be standing on top of some mountain trying to explain her existence, would she? I want. .. confidence! she blurted.

Why should you want confidence? Teresa groused. Youve got more money and looks than any of us will ever have!

Thats not true! I lost it all when my husband left me for another woman, Rebecca said angrily, startling even herself. Did your husband leave you for someone else? Or announce it the very day you learned your father was dying? Just look at me now! I have never been anything but a beauty queen! I gave up all my dreams to be his wife, and now I have a young son, and Ive never had a job, and I never finished school, and Im still trying to figure out why I wasnt good enough for him! she cried. I want to find out who I am! Who I really am! And I want to believe in myself!

She stopped, shocked by her uncharacteristic outburst... but she clearly had their attention.

So what you are saying is that while it may seem like you and your life are all picture perfect, the truth is, theres nothing really very perfect for you at all, is there, Rebecca? Moira asked, unfazed. You dont believe in yourself, do you? You dont believe you are worthy or capable of love or hope, do you? she pressed, moving in closer, her face looming larger.

No! Rebecca cried. And I dont know what to do!

Get a job! Teresa called out to her, her voice kinder.

Please! Rebecca scoffed. Were they deaf? I have no experience at anything, and Ive never worked, and everyone in Dallas knows my husband. And I dont need a job.

Move to a new city! Eloise cried angrily. Leave that cheating sonovabitch behind and go somewhere and be yourself!

Move? Rebecca echoed weakly.

MOVE! someone else shouted.

What your Partners in Transformation are telling you, Rebecca, is that you should move out from the shadow of your husband, because he represents the insecurity and feelings of inadequacy that have bubbled up to toxic levels inside of you. And whether you need a job or not doesnt really matter, does it? The point is the only way youll ever believe in yourself is to prove that you can do whatever you set your mind to. Only you control your future, only you can prove yourself. What do you need, Rebecca? Say it! Moira shouted, pointing at her.

A job? Rebecca asked.

A job! Moira cried. What do you want, Rebecca?

A job!

A job! Moira echoed to the stars above.

That was it, that simple! What had seemed so ridiculous a few months ago now seemed genius. Suddenly, everything seemed clearly genius, and Rebecca felt a burst of hope throughout her body.

She suddenly tossed back her head and howled at the moon, then lowered her head, beaming at them.

At which point, Leslie clutched her stomach and turned pleading eyes to Moira. For the love of God, can we please eat now?

When Rebecca left Colorado, all pumped up and ready to kick some ass, she had immediately set out on her newly defined path. Which meant that she and Grayson had moved to her lake house near Austin and she had begun to send out resumes. Okay, admittedly thin resumes, but resumes nonetheless, because Moira said there was no such thing as an unmarketable person.

What Moira did not say, however, was that there was such a thing as an unqualified person. Fortunately, The Unqualified Applicant: Obtaining Employment in a Competitive Market, a new addition to Rebeccas ever-expanding arsenal of self-help books and tapes, had cleared all that up for her. And here was something else Moira did not say: Years of tennis and shopping had not exactly qualified her for the real world.

Seated on a park bench on the grounds of the state capi-tol in Austin, a bench that, incidentally, was just across the street from the Fleming and Fleming Employment Agency, Rebecca decided that her lack of experience in general was, like the rest of her miserable life, all Buds fault: (A) on general principle, (B) for having convinced her to be a social butterfly and waste her life, and (C) for then screw-ing around on her and leaving her high and dry. Asshole.

Then again, she really couldnt lay it all at Buds jacked-up feet. Yes, he was an ass, capital A, capital SS, but it wasnt as if he had chained her to a stove or anything. In the end, he was hardly ever home; she could have flown to the moon and back for all he cared. No, she was the one who gave it all up for Bud, dropped out of college with nothing more than a Miss Texas crown to fall back on, and put up with his affairs. And somehow, she had come up with the brilliant idea that if she had everything neatly and perfectly arranged, then life would be perfect. Her marriage would be perfect. She d be perfect.

It had not exactly worked out that way.

Rebecca sighed, cast a faint sneer at the shiny doors of the Fleming and Fleming Employment Agency, and recalled how Marianne Rinebergen, the less than helpful employment associate, had kindly suggested she take a class or two before seeking employment. It will help qualify you for, ah ... positions And then she had smiled very sympathetically.

Rebecca had wanted to reach across the desk and rub that sympathetic smile from her face, but had simply thanked her and walked outside (because she was always so unfailingly polite), wondering if there was anything on this planet she could do. In something of a fog, she had continued on across the street to the lovely capital grounds, exchanged a greeting with a smiling state trooper who stood at the gates, and plopped down on one of the wrought iron park benches that lined the walks.

And there she almost gave in to the feeling of despair until she recalled what her self-help book Surviving Divorce: A Womans Path to Starting Over said about pity parties: Poison! Concoct antidote immediately and recite

three positive things about YOU and NO ONE ELSE! So Rebecca smoothed her hair, adjusted her jacket, and folded her hands in her lap.

Hmm ... okay, it was a reach, but here was something positive: She knew it was over with Bud for at least two years before it actually ended, which meant she wasnt a total loser. She even managed to think this with only a slight roll of her eyes. It was amazing to think two people who had once been so madly in love could somehow come to loathe each other, but that was exactly what shed felt for so long that it was almost a relief when Bud had made his grand announcement. (Not that she wanted to think about the loathing too terribly hard, because it always made her wonder why she hadnt ended it much sooner herself, and that was a dark and slippery little slope, wasnt it?)

Moving on to Positive Thing Number Two: She stood her ground during the divorce and did not let Bud railroad her. Sort of. Okay, the truth was that in spite of being the heir to the Reynolds Chevrolet and Cadillac dealership dynasty, apparently Bud was just so glad to be done with their fifteen-year history that he gave her pretty much whatever her lawyer demanded, which was: the lake house (and if she never went back to Dallas again, it would be too soon, thank you); generous child support (guilt money to make up for his lack of visitation with Grayson); the Range Rover (because he had always hated it); her jewelry and personal articles (because he had no idea what they were). And then something about an equitable splitting of mutual assets, blah-dee blah blah bleck.

Could she really count that? Because by the time the Big Divorce Moment rolled around, Rebecca had been dead inside for so long that she had lost all interest and had wanted nothing more than to get away from Bud, their Turtle Creek mansion, and their friends, who, she had inadvertently discovered, had already become well acquainted with the soon-to-be Second Mrs. Reynolds. Women she had once thought were her friends had dropped off like so many flies, ending with Ruth, who said, Sorry, honey, but

you know Bud and Richard are tight. I have to go along. And then she proceeded to throw a very posh dinner party welcoming Mrs. Reynolds the Second into their fold.

That was when Mrs. Reynolds the First ceased to care, which infuriated her attorney (selected by Dad, who else?). Hes a rich man! he had shouted at her in a fit of frustration one afternoon. Everyone knows him! Hes on the goddamn radio or TV probably fifty times a day for those stupid cars, and youre not going to take advantage of that? Do you know what hed give to keep this out of the public eye? What are you going to do, depend on your beauty queen titles to feed you? Go for the jugular! Demand alimony!

At the end of his rant, Rebecca had politely but firmly declined. She did not want Buds money. She had just wanted to cast off all the nasty wrappings that were Bud and that life like a larva and become a butterfly. She had wanted to start over, to become a better person, a better mother, daughter, sistersomeone who was not so sti-flingly perfect and neatly arranged. And because she had been so unhappy and so uncommonly bored for so long, when her Partners in Transformation suggested starting over in Austin, she saw the brilliance in their thinking it would be startlingly invigorating.

And it was invigorating. For a whole week.

Gawd.

Rebecca looked up to the tops of the stately old pecan trees. It was so hard to become a butterfly when marital strife and high society were lifted from her calendar, she discovered she really had little to keep her occupied. She worked relentlessly on the lake house, rearranging things, cleaning, and rearranging again, marveling at how she had managed to live for so many years filling one empty moment after another with such meaningless pursuits as shopping and spas and dinner parties. Now that she was alone, friendless, and living forty-five miles from the nearest civilization (unless one counted Ruby Falls, which, even on International Lawn Mower Race Day, could not be considered civilization), she struggled to fill those empty moments, and discovered how pathetically ill-equipped she was to live life. She realized she had been someones daughter or wife for so many years that she couldnt even find Rebecca in the wreckage that was now her life.

Thus had begun her maddening, so-called transformation to her place in this stupid world. Meditation, Rachel had recommended. Clear your mind of all the negative vibes. But definitely keep up with the transformation therapy, so you can stay in touch with your alter ego. And it doesnt hurt to have a box of Oreos lying around, either.

Grand advice, only Rebecca didnt have a clue about what ego she was in touch with, if any. The job idea was more concrete; it was the best way to rediscover the confident girl in her she had buried fifteen years ago when she latched on to Bud, the girl who wanted to be an artist and dance in the ballet and raise horses and didnt care if her spice rack was alphabetized or the stripes on her couch lined up with the stripes on the couch pillows. Having spent the better half of the last decade making sure her life and heart didnt break in two, Rebecca had beaten that girl down and left her feeling worthless and numb.

In theory, a job seemed the perfect answer to rebuilding her self-esteemthe problem being, of course, that she didnt have any job skills, hello! Her resume was landing in round file after round file. No one called. No one returned her calls. She had hoped that Fleming and Fleming would have the answer Placing individuals in esteemed positions of employment since 1942, their ad said. But Marianne said, There are lots of people out of work right now, blah blah blah, and Youre not really quite qualified, blather blather blather.