The Help

in.

“Where in the world are your keys, Mama? I’m late for Hilly’s. I’m staying there tonight.”

“What? But Carlton’s home. What’s his new friend going to think if you leave for something better to do?”

I’ve put off telling her this because I knew, whether Carlton was home or not, it would turn into an argument.

“And Pascagoula made a roast and Daddy’s got the wood all ready for a fire tonight in the relaxing room.”

“It’s eighty-five degrees outside, Mama.”

“Now look. Your brother is home and I expect you to behave like a good sister. I don’t want you leaving until you’ve had a nice long visit with this girl.” She’s looking at her watch while I remind myself I’m twenty-three years old. “Please, darling,” she says and I sigh and carry a damn tray of mint juleps out to the others.

“Mama,” I say back in the kitchen at five twenty-eight. “I’ve got to go. Where are your keys? Hilly’s waiting on me.”

“But we haven’t even had the pigs in a blanket yet.”

“Hilly’s got . . . a stomach bug,” I whisper. “And her help doesn’t come in tomorrow. She needs me to watch the kids.”

Mother sighs. “I guess that means you’re going to church with them too. And I thought we could all go tomorrow as a family. Have Sunday dinner together.”

“Mama, please,” I say, rummaging through a basket where she keeps her keys. “I can’t find your keys anywhere.”

“You can’t take the Cadillac overnight. That’s our good Sunday church car.”

He’s going to be at Hilly’s in thirty minutes. I’m supposed to dress and do my makeup at Hilly’s so Mother won’t suspect anything. I can’t take Daddy’s new truck. It’s full of fertilizer and I know he’ll need it at dawn tomorrow.

“Alright, I’ll take the old truck, then.”

“I believe it has a trailer on it. Go ask your daddy.”

But I can’t ask Daddy because I can’t go through this in front of three other people who will look all hurt that I’m leaving, so I grab the old truck keys and say, “It doesn’t matter. I’m just going straight to Hilly’s,” and I huff outside only to find that not only does the old truck have a trailer hitched to it, but a half-ton tractor on top of that trailer.

So I drive into town for my first date in two years in a red 1941 Chevrolet four-on-the-floor with a John Deere motor grader hooked behind me. The engine sputters and churns and I wonder if the truck will make it. Chunks of mud spray behind me off the tires. The engine stalls on the main road, sending my dress and bag flying onto the dirty floor. I have to restart twice.

At five forty-five, a black thing streaks out in front of me and I feel a thunk. I try to stop but braking’s just not something you can do very quickly with a 10,000-pound piece of machinery behind you. I groan and pull over. I have to go check. Remarkably, the cat stands up, looks around stunned, and shoots back into the woods as quickly as it came.

At three minutes to six, after doing twenty in a fifty with horns honking and teenagers hollering at me, I park down the street from Hilly’s house since Hilly’s cul-de-sac doesn’t provide adequate parking for farm equipment. I grab my bag and run inside without even knocking, all out of breath and sweaty and windblown and there they are, the three of them, including my date. Having highballs in the front living room.

I freeze in the entrance hall with all of them looking at me. William and Stuart both stand up. God, he’s tall, has at least four inches over me. Hilly’s eyes are big when she grabs my arm. “Boys, we’ll be right back. Y’all just sit tight and talk about quarterbacks or something.”

Hilly whisks me off to her dressing room and we both start groaning. It’s just so goddamn awful.

“Skeeter, you don’t even have lipstick on! Your hair looks like a rat’s nest!”

“I know, look at me!” All traces of the Shinalator’s miracle are gone. “There’s no air-conditioning in the truck. I had to ride with the damn windows down.”

I scrub my face and Hilly sits me in her dressing room chair. She starts combing my hair out the way my mother used to do, twisting it into these giant rollers, spraying it with Final Net.

“Well? What did you think of him?” she asks.

I sigh and close my unmascaraed eyes. “He looks handsome.”

I smear the makeup on, something I hardly even know how to do. Hilly looks at me and smudges it off with a tissue, reapplies it. I slip into the black dress with the deep V in the front, the black Delman flats. Hilly quickly brushes out my hair. I wash my armpits with a wet rag and she rolls her eyes at me.

“I hit a cat,” I say.

“He’s already had two drinks waiting on you.”

I stand up and smooth my dress down. “Alright,” I say, “give it to me. One to ten.”

Hilly looks me up and down, stops on the dip in the front of the dress. She raises her eyebrows. I’ve never shown cleavage before in my life; kind of forgot I had it.

“Six,” she says, like she is surprised herself.

We just look at each other a second. Hilly lets out a little squeal and I smile back. Hilly’s never given me higher than a four.

When we come back into the front living room, William’s pointing his finger at Stuart. “I’m going to run for that seat and by God, with your daddy’s—”

“Stuart Whitworth,” Hilly announces, “I’d like to introduce Skeeter Phelan.”

He stands up, and for a minute my head is perfectly quiet inside. I make myself look, like self-inflicted torture, as he takes me in.

“Stuart here went to school over at the University of Alabama,” William says, adding, “Roll Tide.”

“Nice to meet you.” Stuart flips me a brief smile. Then he takes a long slurp of his drink until I hear the ice clink against his teeth. “So where we off to?” he asks William.

We take William’s Oldsmobile to the Robert E. Lee Hotel. Stuart opens my door and sits beside me in the back, but then leans over the seat talking to William about deer season the rest of the ride.

At the table, he pulls out my chair for me and I sit, smile, say thank you.

“You want a drink?” he asks me, not looking my way.

“No, thanks. Just water, please.”

He turns to the waiter and says, “Double Old Kentucky straight with a water back.”

I guess it’s some time after his fifth bourbon, I say, “So Hilly tells me you’re in the oil business. That must be interesting.”

“The money’s good. If that’s what you really want to know.”

“Oh, I didn’t . . .” But I stop because he’s craning his neck at something. I look up and see he’s staring at a woman who’s at the door, a busty blonde with red lipstick and a tight green dress.

William turns to see what Stuart’s looking at, but he swings back around quickly. He shakes his head no, very slightly, at Stuart and I see, heading out the door, it’s Hilly’s old boyfriend, Johnny Foote, with his new wife, Celia. They leave and William and I glance at each other, sharing our relief that Hilly didn’t see them.

“Lord, that girl’s hot as Tunica blacktop,” Stuart says under his breath and I suppose that’s when I just stop caring what happens.

At some point, Hilly looks at me to see what’s going on. I smile like everything’s fine and she smiles back, happy to see it’s all working out. “William! The lieutenant governor just walked in. Let’s go speak before he sits down.”

They go off together, leaving us, the two lovebirds sitting on the same side of the table, staring at all the happy couples in the room.

“So,” he says, hardly turning his head. “You ever go to any of the Alabama football games?”

I never even made it to Colonel Field and that was five thousand yards from my bed. “No, I’m not really a football fan.” I look at my watch. It’s hardly seven fifteen.

“That so.” He eyes the drink the waiter has handed him like he’d really enjoy downing it. “Well, what do you do with your time?”