Sour Grapes

her thoughts.
    It was as she was climbing the stairs, one weary step in time, that she remembered her famous last words, “How hard could it be? I mean... what could happen at a beauty pageant?”
    Someday she would learn to keep her big mouth shut... or so she kept saying.

Chapter

14

    “S avannah, Savannah, hey... wake up!”
    “Wha... what?”
    Floating deep in the warm, black ocean of blissful sleep, Savannah felt a rough hand, reaching for her, pulling her, dragging her to surface.
    “Come on, Van. Wake up.”
    “No. Go away. Leave me alone.”
    The hand shook her again, even harder. “Savannah, you have to wake up.”
    Shoving the offending hand aside, she sat up in the bed and rubbed her hands over her eyes that still burned with fatigue. In the semidarkness of the room she could see the outline of the cursed creature who had disrupted her sleep... Atlanta.
    “Why?” she moaned. “Why did you wake me up?”
    “You were snoring.”
    “What?!”
    Atlanta walked over to her own bed, tossed her purse aside, and kicked off her shoes. “I said, you were snoring. Remember, you told me to wake you up if you were snoring, so that you could break the habit, in case you ever got married someday and actually slept with a man.”
    “I told you that years ago, when we were sleeping in the same bed with Vidalia and Marietta. What die hell does that have to do with right now?”
    Atlanta yawned, stretched, and sat down on her bed. “I thought I’d take a quick nap before lunch. Some of the judges will be there, and I wanna look good. That tour of the vineyards and winery about plumb wore me out. And how can you expect me to get a wink o’ sleep with you lyin’ there, sawin’ logs?”
    Cold fury flooded Savannah’s bloodstream with enough adrenaline to jolt her fully awake. Grabbing her pillow, she jumped out of bed, ran across the room, and began to beat Atlanta with it as hard she could... which wasn’t very hard, considering it was a fine, goose-down pillow and ridiculously soft.
    “Hey! What was that for?” Atlanta yelled when she finally stopped.
    “Think about it again in about ten years. By then, maybe you’ll be older and wiser and less self-centered, and you’ll realize how lucky you are that I didn’t use a hatchet instead.” She sighed, exhausted from her outburst “Shit. What time is it, anyway?”
    Atlanta got up, walked over to the window, and opened the curtains, allowing a nauseating amount of golden California sunshine to stream into the room. She glanced at her watch. “It’s ten-thirty-eight. What time did you lie down?” “ Ten thirty-four.”
    “Well, no wonder you’re cranky.”
    Savannah walked into the bathroom and glanced around for a clean cloth to wash her face and perhaps revive her sagging spirits, not to mention her sagging chinline. There had been four fresh cloths on the counter when she had left earlier. They all lay in a damp, rumpled pile on the floor. Er-r-r-r... teenage sisters, she thought. They should all be put on ice and not thawed out until they’re thirty.
    She opened the cupboard under the sink to check for any extra linens, but instead, found the space overflowing with “Atlanta Stuff.” Amid the jumble of hair rollers, makeup, and curling-wand cord, she saw two small boxes. Both alike. One of them was open, its contents half gone.
    “‘Lanta,” she said, reaching for the boxes. “Come here, darlin’.”
    Atlanta stuck her head around the corner. “Yeah? What?”
    Savannah held out the boxes. “Are these yours?” Atlanta snatched the laxatives out of her hand and held them against her chest. “So, what? Don’t you ever get stopped up once in a while?”
    “Once in a blue moon. But a bowl of bran flakes usually does the trick, and it’s a lot healthier than that stuff.”
    “Well, bully for you. I need a little more help.”
    “So, increase the fiber in your diet.”
    “Yeah, right... this from the Donut Queen.” Savannah walked out of the bathroom and pulled her sister over into the light by the window so that she could get a good look at her. Her skin looked terrible, dry and lined like that of a person who was much older.
    Her face wasn’t just thin, it was gaunt. And in the bright light, Savannah could see that she had used a lot of concealer to cover the dark circles under her eyes.
    Savannah reached out, grabbed her sister by both shoulders and made her face her squarely. “Atlanta, are you using laxatives to purge? Do