The Beauty Queen Page 9

  “I assumed they did in November,” I said. “It was the rest of the year I had my doubts about.”

  The mayor thought about that. “Politics is a complex business,” he said, ending that conversation. “What I wanted to ask you was if you would be one of the speakers at a rally to get the young people out to register. We’re holding it next Thursday night at the high school auditorium. It’s called ‘Make Yourself Heard.’ Would you be interested?”

  “What would I have to do?”

  “Nothing really,” he said. “Just appear there as both Miss Great Oaks and Miss Harrison County. Maybe draw a parallel about your election and the elections in November.”

  “Is the purpose to get them to register as Republicans?” I asked.

  “Of course not,” McGowan said. “It’s simply to get them to register. They can be communists for all I care, just as long as they exercise their right to vote.”

  “And is the rally free?”

  “You’re a regular Joan Baez, aren’t you?” McGowan said.

  “I’m apolitical,” I said. “But I don’t want to find myself endorsing something I don’t believe in. I do have an obligation to the Miss Harrison County Contest not to get involved with politics.”

  “The rally is free,” the mayor said. “There will be some entertainment and some speeches. We thought it would be nice if you appeared, because as part of the peer group, we thought you would be more convincing than a bunch of aging politicians. Right now this aging politician is starting to have his doubts.”

  “Welcome to the club,” I said. “Look, I’m sorry. You caught me at a bad time. Postcontest letdown, you know. Let me think about it; okay, and I’ll call you back tomorrow. All right?”

  “Fine,” he said. “Congratulations, once again.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “Good-by.”

  “Good-by.”

  I sat down, feeling evil and rotten, and tried to think. It didn’t do any good. There were no thoughts left in me. I turned the TV on to Lynn’s favorite soap and tried to follow the action. The phone rang again.

  “Hello,” I said, wondering how much an answering service would cost.

  “Hi there, Kit,” the man said. “This is Barry King.”

  “Right,” I said, remembering the Fourth of July. “How are you?”

  “Fine, Kit. How are you?”

  “Holding up under great strain.”

  Barry laughed, and all of a sudden, I decided I liked him after all. “How would you like to make it big on radio?” he asked.

  “Sure,” I said. “Everybody says radio’s due for a revival.”

  “It is,” he said. “Not this year. Maybe not even this century. But hold on, Kit, and it’ll be there.”

  “I’m holding on,” I said. “What do you want me to do?”

  “First of all, that Fourth of July stuff you did went over really well. A lot of people listen to that broadcast every year, but we’ve never had a response like this year’s. People called us, wrote in, saying how much they like you, what a nice voice you have. It broadcasts very well, low and smooth.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “I grant you it’s a pity it’s not TV,” he said. “With your looks, you’d be a star overnight. But you have the voice too, and that’s a big help.”

  “It certainly is,” I said and decided I might have gotten Helen Keller on the basis of my looks, but definitely not on the basis of my voice. It made me feel better.

  “Anyway, we’ve been talking about it, me and Larry Haskins, the program manager, and we’d like to take a shot at something. If you’re interested.”

  “You’re not planning to take a shot at me?” I said.

  Barry laughed. “That’s what I mean. That nice sense of humor. By the way, congratulations on winning. You must have been really excited.”

  “Thrilled,” I said.

  “I can believe it,” he said. “What we’d like you to do is a weekly fifteen-minute show. We’re thinking of calling it Youthvoice.”

  “What would I do?”

  “Don’t worry, you won’t have to monologue for fifteen minutes,” he said. “We’re crazy, but we’re not that crazy.”

  “Good,” I said. “I’m not that crazy either.”

  “We’d set up interviews for you,” he said. “Sometimes it would be adults in the community that kids would want to hear from. Sometimes it would be the kids themselves if they’re doing something important. We wouldn’t want it to turn into Kit and Her Friends, if you know what I mean.”

  “I know,” I said. “But I don’t think you’d have to worry about it.” They weren’t speaking to me anyway.

  “I know,” he said. “But you know how program managers are. They like to make sure things are clearly understood.”

  “Clearly,” I said. “How much work would be involved?”

  “Wait,” he said. “I’m not finished. If the show catches on, we might expand it. Keep the fifteen minutes for three weeks in a month, and the fourth week make it a half-hour rap session with two or three kids, you moderating.”

  “Just as long as they’re not my friends.”

  “Just as long as it doesn’t sound like they are.”

  “Would you pay me?”

  “Of course,” he said.

  “How much?” I asked.

  “You’d have to take that up with Larry, our program manager. I’m calling because we got along so well on the Fourth. Larry figured you’d be more interested if you heard it from me.”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “It sounds like fun, and I could use the money, but there might be some kind of regulation against it. I’d have to check.”

  “You mean with the beauty contest people?” he said. “By all means check it out with them, and then get back to us. We’d like to start in two weeks if it’s possible with you.”

  “I’ll tell you by tomorrow,” I said. “Either way.”

  “Fine,” he said. “It’s been a pleasure speaking to you. You have a very sexy voice over the phone, you know.”

  “Yes,” I said. “You sound like a radio broadcaster.”

  “I know,” he said. “It’s my curse. ’By, Kit.”

  “Good-by,” I said and wondered whether to keep the phone off the hook. Fool that I am, I didn’t, but hung up properly and tried to return to the soap opera. From what I could figure out, it had ended while I was on the phone, and a new one was on. I didn’t care. Other people’s problems seemed just wonderful to me then.

  The phone rang. I let it ring six times before I picked it up.

  “Hello,” I said, in my best German accent.

  “Is Miss Katherine Carson there, please? This is Charlotte Dearing of the Miss Harrison County Beauty Contest.”

  “I vill see,” I said, staying German to the end. “Miss Katherine!” I called, and this time Katherine was there to take the call.

  “Hello,” I said, back in mid-America. “This is Katherine Carson.”

  “Hello, Kit, this is Charlotte Dearing,” Ms. Dearing said.

  “Hi there,” I said. “How are you?”

  “I’m fine. We were a little concerned about you.”

  “Why?” I said.

  “You left so early last night,” she said. “Right after the contest. The judges didn’t have a chance to talk with you at all.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “My mother had to go to work. She’s a nurse you know, and it was a long drive back.” Actually, Mom was all in favor of staying there forever, but I was exhausted and depressed and wanted to be home. There was no reason for Charlotte Dearing to know that.

  “That was very considerate of you,” she said. “Worrying about your mother like that.”

  “Well, I also wanted my beauty sleep,” I said. “Eight hours a night, keeps my complexion clear and my eyes sparkling.”

  “Your eyes sparkled last night,” she said. “Especially when you read that Anne Frank selection. You were just lovely.”

  “Thank yo
u,” I said.

  “I called to congratulate you,” she said. “I didn’t have a chance to last night, what with all the confusion.”

  “Yes, there was a lot of that,” I said.

  “And to talk to you about the various responsibilities you will have as Miss Harrison County. Are you ready?”

  “I’m still here,” I said.

  “Fine,” she said. “First of all, there’s the state contest. We have very high hopes for you. You have the look of a winner.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “The contest is at the end of September,” she said. “I hope if you’re planning to go away to college, you’ll be able to return for it.”

  “I’m not going away to college,” I said.

  “Fine,” she said. “Sometimes that causes problems for our girls. Now as Miss Harrison County you will be expected to appear at the Harrison County Fair later this month.”

  “Sure,” I said. “Do I have to wear a bathing suit?”

  “Of course not,” she said. “A skirt and a blouse will be fine.”

  “Not jeans?”

  “We would prefer a skirt and blouse,” she said.

  “Just asking,” I said.

  “Fine,” she said. “It’s better if everything’s clearly understood from the beginning. It solves so many problems that way.”

  “Absolutely,” I said.

  “It is also customary for Miss Harrison County to spend a day at the Veterans Hospital in Lawrence. It’s a real morale booster for those fine young men.”

  “Should I wear a bathing suit?”

  “Of course not,” she said again. “A simple skirt and blouse.”

  “How about a dress?” I asked.

  “A dress would do nicely,” she said. “We have that visit scheduled for a week from Tuesday. Will that be all right with you?”

  “I assume so,” I said. “I have no pressing engagements this summer.”

  “That’s another thing,” she said. “Are you engaged?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Good,” she said. “The judges in the state and national contests prefer girls who are not seriously involved. You can never tell when the girl might decide to get married and have to drop out of the contest.”

  “I have no plans for getting married,” I said.

  “Fine,” she said. “Are you politically active?”

  “No,” I said. “But the mayor of Great Oaks just asked me to appear at a rally to get kids to register.”

  “That’s fine,” she said. “We’re very pleased when our girls are civic-minded. However, please, if possible, keep away from partisan politics. We can’t forbid you, of course, but it has been our experience that the judges shy away from girls who are overly involved, especially with left-wing politics.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” I said.

  “To get back to your responsibilities as Miss Harrison County,” she said as though we’d ever been away from them, “we like our girls to give an interview to the Lawrence Enterprise-Gazette. It’s become a tradition for them to have a picture spread on Miss Harrison County every year, with pictures from her childhood. That would be your childhood, of course.”

  “Of course,” I said. “I’m sure I could find some pictures.”

  “We also like to coach our girls before the state contest. You know seven years ago, Miss Harrison County won the state contest. Unfortunately she didn’t make it as one of the finalists in the national contest.”

  “Poor thing,” I said, in my most sympathetic voice.

  “She was a lovely girl,” Ms. Dearing said. “She used her scholarship money to go to the University of Massachusetts. She married a nice young man, an orthodontist, I believe.”

  “How nice,” I said. “After the contest was over, I hope.”

  “Of course,” Ms. Dearing said. “Would you be available for coaching the weekend before the state contest?”

  “I suppose,” I said. “Will I be chaperoned?”

  “Of course,” she said. “You’ll be a guest at my home for the weekend.”

  “It sounds lovely,” I said. “I’m sorry I had to ask, but I know my mother would.”

  “Certainly,” she said. “Put your mother’s mind at ease. There has never once been a scandal connected with this contest. Our standards are the highest.”

  “I’m sure they are,” I said.

  “Which brings up another question,” Ms. Dearing said.

  I waited for one on the status of my virginity, but fortunately I was disappointed.

  “Are you at all active in women’s liberation?” she asked.

  “Women’s liberation?” I said in a shocked voice. “Me?”

  “I assume you’re not,” she said. “Fine.”

  “Really,” I said. “Do I look like the sort who would be?”

  “You never can tell,” Ms. Dearing said. “Some of the most attractive girls around are sympathetic. And you must agree that they have some good thoughts.”

  “I’ve never found any,” I said.

  “Well, equal pay for equal work,” she said apologetically.

  “I grew up in a very old-fashioned household,” I said. “My mother always taught me a woman’s place is in the home. And there she doesn’t have to worry about equal pay.”

  “Fine,” she said. “Sometimes a girl who’s active in women’s liberation tries to embarrass the contest.”

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “The last thing I would want to do is embarrass the Miss Harrison County Beauty Contest.”

  “Do you have any questions?” Ms. Dearing asked.

  “Probably,” I said. “But I seem to have forgotten them.”

  “You have my phone number if you should think of them,” she said. “Good-by, Kit. It’s been a pleasure speaking to you.”

  “Thank you,” I said and hung up, trying to remember what I’d forgotten. Before I had a chance to sit down, the phone rang again. I suddenly remembered the radio show, and on the crazy assumption it was Ms. Dearing again, I picked up the phone and said, “Hello?”

  “Is this Kit Carson?” a man asked.

  “Speaking,” I said.

  “I bet you have lovely breasts,” the man said. “May I kiss your breasts?”

  I hung the phone up and went back to the TV. I turned the volume really loud, but it didn’t drown out the sounds of the phone ringing.

  Chapter 10

  I slept late the next morning, to make up for sleepless hours during the night. I didn’t get downstairs until after eleven. I made my way to the kitchen, where I saw Marly eating from a bag of potato chips. When she saw me, she tried to hide them.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I asked.

  “Nothing,” Marly said. “Just eating.”

  “That’s a pretty self-destructive thing to eat,” I said. “What happened to your diet?”

  “I thought about it,” Marly said. “And there was no point. I could lose all the weight in the world, and I’d still never be pretty. At least never as pretty as you are.”

  “Get out of this house,” I said. “I mean it, Marly. Go live with Dad. You can’t deal with Mom, and it’s time you stopped trying.”

  “I can’t,” she said. “I wouldn’t leave you alone with her.”

  “I’m not going to be here,” I said. “I’ll be in Colorado.”

  “Then you decided …”

  “Of course I decided,” I said, as though it hadn’t cost me a night’s sleep. “That’s what I want to do with my life and it’s about time I started. But that still doesn’t answer what you’re going to do.”

  “It wouldn’t be fair to Dad. He and Sally will just be getting married.”

  “Forget about fair,” I shouted. “They’ve never been fair to either of us. Besides, Dad loves you. He really does. I bet he’d be pleased if you asked to live with him. He’s not the world’s greatest influence, but he’ll hurt you a lot less than Mom. Especially if this Sally is as nice as
you say. Marly, do it.”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Can I think about it?”

  “Of course,” I said. “I’m not trying to run your life. Just to give you sisterly advice. You’re a smart person, and you’ll probably end up doing what’s best for yourself. Just like I’m going to do what’s best for me. But don’t make easy assumptions. Think about it. Promise me that.”

  “I promise,” she said. “Have you told Mom?”

  “I haven’t told anybody,” I said. “It’s going to be a fun day.”

  “Go on,” she said. “Procrastinating won’t help.”

  “I know,” I said. “I’ll see you later if I survive.”

  My first call was to Ms. Dearing. I dialed the number she gave me and asked for her. After a minute or so, they put her on.

  “Hello,” I said. “This is Katherine Carson.”

  “Hello, Kit,” she said. “Did you remember your question?”

  “Yes, but that’s not why I’m calling,” I said. “I’ll probably have to send you a letter, but I wanted you to know I won’t be able to keep the title.”

  “What? Why not?”

  “There’s no scandal,” I said. “And I was very pleased to have won. But I’ve decided to see about acting for a living, and that means I have to be free to travel.”

  “You mean you’re giving up being Miss Harrison County, and entering the state contest for an ambition like acting? Is that sensible?”

  “Very,” I said. “I spent a lot of time thinking about it, and it’s the only right choice.”

  “Have you spoken to your parents about it?”

  “Please don’t hassle me,” I said. “I was going to lie to you, say I’d decided to become a nun or something, but then I figured I’d be better off with the truth. I haven’t spoken to my parents about it, and I imagine when I do, they’ll agree with you, but it’s still something I have to do, and that’s it. I can’t change myself just for a title. I’d get ulcers.”

  “Don’t do anything hasty,” she said. “You know we had a lot of confidence in you. You’re a lovely girl, Katherine, and very talented.”

  “Actually,” I said, suddenly feeling a lot better, “I’m a very talented girl and lovely. At least, that’s what I’m out to prove.”