Part+Four-+cotillion

Adele flew up the grand staircase and threw open the double French doors leading to her bedroom. The letter had seemed to Adele something out of a dream, a hopeful memory she had long since given up on ever coming true. Maybe this time her mother would stay. Maybe this time her father would be happy. Maybe this time there wouldn’t be an empty bed in the morning. It was too soon to even imagine, however. Imagining led to believing, and believing in the unlikely often led to disappointment. But it was becoming increasing difficult to contain the growing surge of excitement in the back of her throat. With a childlike enthusiasm, she flung herself onto her four-post bed and squealed into her pillow. Still dizzy, Adele rolled onto her side and propped her up with her elbow, her hair hanging down like a curtain. It was then that her eyes landed on her baby-animal-of-the-month calendar, which featured a family of ducks squatting in a wheelbarrow. A noxiously pink marker had circled the day’s date, as if to quarantine the evening’s dreadful activity from spreading to the rest of the month. A single word, “cotillion” lay poised in the little pink bubble, waiting to be recognized. Adele relaxed her elbow and let her head plop back onto the quilt. The Societal Youth’s Midsummer Cotillion was tonight. Held at the stately Blue Ridge Country Club, packed with the most privileged youth the county had to offer, and as boring as dirt every single year. Adele slid off her bed and went into her private bathroom. Slowly she began to draw herself a hot bath, filling the ivory claw-foot tub with steamy water. Opening the cupboard and pulling out several bottle of bath salts, oils, and bubble solution, Adele sighed with growing anxiety. The goal of a cotillion was, of course, what the goal of most activities for young ladies in Blue Ridge; marriage. Girls spent hours getting into their best girdles and padded brassieres, curling their hair and painting their lips, and generally doing their best job to deceive the young men of Blue Ridge into thinking they were marriage material. The concept was simple enough. Parade girls around and let the boys pick their favorites. To guarantee that no actually meaningful conversation would take place, play loud music and make them dance, in their most formal attire, in ninety-degree weather. By the time Adele was finished with her bath, Gretchen was waiting for her, curling iron and corset in hand. It took an hour and a half to get Adele ready. By the time they were finished, she looked like a china doll. A very bored, cranky, and sweaty china doll. Her father made a big fuss as she descended the steps, just like he always did whenever she went out. It was no secret to Adele that her father’s greatest wish was to see her future secured with a marriage; provided for, for the rest of her life. However, it was also no secret to the possible suitors that Adele reputation was less than pure. It was not just her mother’s questionable situation that kept young men from asking for her hand. Adele was rumored to have a soft spot for servants, farm boys, young repair men, and delivery boys that extended all the way back into her elementary finishing school. No serious allegations had been made, just gossip. Someone had seen a gardener leaving through the back door of Adele’s house after dark. Someone else had heard loud giggles coming from behind a shed. None of it was provable, yet all of it was palpable the moment Adele stepped out of the car her father had hired to drive her to the Club. Adele surveyed the crowd as she approached the wooden dance floor, which was in the middle of a field, just across from the Club’s pristine golf course. A canopy of white gauze covered the area, intertwined with strings of white Christmas lights. Adele’s white gloved hands lifted the hem of her white lace ball gown, preventing it from dragging in the dew. People could say what they wanted about her virtue, but they would shut their mouths when it came to her ensemble. Most of the other girls wore white as well, with a few light pink or yellow gowns peppered into the mix. Adele guessed they were trying to inspire thoughts of marriage. Subtlety was not a southern specialty.