A few people laugh nervously, but most turn their heads to see if Skeeter has had the gall to show up.

“I just wish instead of being so shy, you’d step up and accept our gratitude. We honestly couldn’t have accomplished so many installations without you.”

Skeeter keeps her eyes on the podium, her face stoic and unyielding. Hilly gives a quick, brilliant smile. “And finally, a special thanks to my husband, William Holbrook, for donating a weekend at his deer camp.” She smiles down at her husband, adds in a lower tone, “And don’t forget, voters. Holbrook for State Senate.”

The guests offer an amicable laugh at Hilly’s plug.

“What’s that, Virginia?” Hilly cups her ear, then straightens. “No, I’m not running with him. But congressmen with us tonight, if you don’t straighten this thing out with the separate schools, don’t think I won’t come down there and do it myself.”

There is more laughter at this. Senator and Missus Whitworth, seated at a table in the front, nod and smile. At her table in the back, Skeeter looks down at her lap. They spoke earlier, during the cocktail hour. Missus Whitworth steered the Senator away from Skeeter before he could give her a second hug. Stuart didn’t come.

Once the dinner and the speech have ended, people get up to dance, husbands head for the bar. There is a scurry to the auction tables for last-minute bids. Two grandmothers are in a bidding war over the child’s antique tea set. Someone started the rumor that it had belonged to royalty and had been smuggled out via donkey cart across Germany until it eventually wound up in the Magnolia Antique Store on Fairview Street. The price shot up from fifteen dollars to eighty-five in no time.

In the corner by the bar, Johnny yawns. Celia’s brow is scrunched together. “I can’t believe what she said about nonmembers helping. She told me they didn’t need any help this year.”

“Well, you can help out next year,” Johnny says.

Celia spots Hilly. For the moment, Hilly has only a few people around her.

“Johnny, I’ll be right back,” Celia says.

“And then let’s get the hell out of here. I’m sick of this monkey suit.”

Richard Cross, who’s a member of Johnny’s duck camp, slaps Johnny’s back. They say something, then laugh. Their gazes sweep across the crowd.

Celia almost makes it to Hilly this time, only to have Hilly slip behind the podium table. Celia backs away, as if she’s afraid to approach Hilly where she’d seemed so powerful a few minutes ago.

As soon as Celia disappears into the ladies room, Hilly heads for the corner.

“Why Johnny Foote,” Hilly says. “I’m surprised to see you here. Everybody knows you can’t stand big parties like this.” She squeezes the crook of his arm.

Johnny sighs. “You are aware that doe season opens tomorrow?”

Hilly gives him an auburn-lipsticked smile. The color matches her dress so perfectly, it must have been searched out for days.

“I am so tired of hearing that from everybody. You can miss one day of hunting season, Johnny Foote. You used to for me.”

Johnny rolls his eyes. “Celia wouldn’t have missed this for anything.”

“Where is that wife of yours?” she asks. Hilly’s still got her hand tucked in the crook of Johnny’s arm and she gives it another pull. “Not at the LSU game serving hot dogs, is she?”

Johnny frowns down at her, even though it’s true, that’s how they met.

“Oh, now you know I’m just teasing you. We dated long enough to where I can do that, can’t I?”

Before Johnny can answer, Hilly’s shoulder is tapped and she glides over to the next couple, laughing. Johnny sighs when he sees Celia headed toward him. “Good,” he says to Richard, “we can go home. I’m getting up in,” he looks at his watch, “five hours.”

Richard keeps his eyes locked on Celia as she strides toward them. She stops and bends down to retrieve her dropped napkin, offering a generous view of her bosoms. “Going from Hilly to Celia must’ve been quite the change, Johnny.”

Johnny shakes his head. “Like living in Antarctica all my life and one day moving to Hawaii.”

Richard laughs. “Like going to bed in seminary and waking up at Ole Miss,” Richard says, and they both laugh.

Then Richard adds in a lower voice, “Like a kid eating ice cream for the very first time.”

Johnny gives him a look. “That’s my wife you’re talking about.”

“Sorry, Johnny,” Richard says, lowering his eyes. “No harm meant.”

Celia walks up, sighs with a disappointed smile.

“Hey Celia, how are you?” Richard says. “You sure are looking nice tonight.”

“Thanks, Richard.” Celia lets out a loud hiccup and she frowns, covers her mouth with a tissue.

“You getting tipsy?” asks Johnny.

“She’s just having fun, aren’t you, Celia?” Richard says. “In fact, I’m fixing to get you a drink you’re gonna love. It’s called an Alabama Slammer.”

Johnny rolls his eyes at his friend. “And then we’re going home.” Three Alabama Slammers later, the winners of the silent auction are announced. Susie Pernell stands behind the podium while people mill about drinking or smoking at the tables, dancing to Glenn Miller and Frankie Valli songs, talking over the din of the microphone. As names are read, items are received with the excitement of someone winning a real contest, as if the booty were free and not paid for at three, four, or five times the store value. Tablecloths and nightgowns with the lace tatted by hand bring in high bids. Odd sterling servers are popular, for spooning out deviled eggs, removing pimentos from olives, cracking quail legs. Then there are the desserts: cakes, slabs of pralines, divinity fudge. And of course, Minny’s pie.

“ . . . and the winner of Minny Jackson’s world-famous chocolate custard pie is . . . Hilly Holbrook!”

There is a little more applause for this one, not just because Minny’s known for her treats, but because the name Hilly elicits applause on any occasion.

Hilly turns from her conversation. “What? Was that my name? I didn’t bid on anything.”

She never does, Skeeter thinks, sitting alone, a table away.

“Hilly, you just won Minny Jackson’s pie! Congratulations,” says the woman to her left.

Hilly scans the room, eyes narrowed.

Minny, having heard her name called in the same sentence as Hilly’s, is suddenly very alert. She is holding a dirty coffee cup in one hand, a heavy silver tray in the other. But she stands stock-still.

Hilly spots her, but doesn’t move either, just smiles very slightly. “Well. Wasn’t that sweet? Someone must’ve signed me up for that pie.”

She doesn’t take her eyes off Minny and Minny can feel it. She stacks the rest of the cups on the tray, and heads for the kitchen as fast as she can.

“Why congratulations, Hilly. I didn’t know you were such a fan of Minny’s pies!” Celia’s voice is shrill. She’s come up from behind without Hilly noticing. As she trots toward Hilly, Celia stumbles over a chair leg. There are sideline giggles.

Hilly stands very still, watching her approach. “Celia, is this some kind of joke?”

Skeeter moves in closer too. She’s bored to death by this predictable evening. Tired of seeing embarrassed faces of old friends too scared to come and speak to her. Celia’s the only interesting thing to happen all night.

“Hilly,” Celia says, grasping Hilly’s arm, “I’ve been trying to talk to you all night. I think there’s been some kind of miscommunication between us and I just think if I explained . . .”

“What have you done? Let me go—” Hilly says between gritted teeth. She shakes her head, tries to walk off.

But Celia clutches Hilly’s long sleeve. “No, wait! Hang on, you got to listen—”

Hilly pulls away, but still Celia doesn’t let go. There’s a moment of determination between them—Hilly trying to escape, Celia holding on, and then a ripping sound cuts through the air.