The Other Woman

A Southern woman who must choose to use her voice or be silenced forever

The Other Woman

 

‘The woman who has it all’ is what they say about me. From the outside looking in, I guess this is true. I have a handsome, successful husband who is a very well paid powerful attorney with his eye on the political arena. Two well dressed, blond hair, well-educated children, a boy and a girl of course. I live in an affluent neighbourhood, with a nanny, a housekeeper, a chef and a chauffeur. All of this I manage, juggle, organize, schedule and am responsible for. As well as all of the fundraisers and parties I am expected to attend as the loving wife or the devoted mother. All of this takes place from behind the iron gate that closes every night. Some days it surprises me, the more things change the more they stay the same.

‘The woman who has it all’ I think to myself as I stare in the mirror at 5am, readying for the day. My naturally curly hair has redesigned itself over night into a nest for birds, my pale skin with dark circles forming under the eyes, was not as promised, magically transformed by the expensive night cream I applied. It certainly doesn’t hide the fresh bruise forming on my face.

But hey it doesn’t matter how you feel, it only matters how you look right? I remind myself as I desperately try to brush out, well at this point since I am running late, rip out the knots in my hair and carefully apply my camouflage to face the world. ‘Smile’ I say to myself in the mirror, time to face the day.

Growing up in the South, South Carolina, Savannah, young girls, sorry young ladies are brought up to be seen and not heard. Look pretty, smile pretty, act pretty, and heavens forbid you ever let them see you cry. A pretty Southern girl doesn’t cry, or have emotions of her own for that matter.

My life was pretty much already laid out for me from the moment I was born or should I say planned. You see my Southern Mother has a plan, a God fearing plan for everything and everyone. And as everyone knows you don’t cross a Southern woman. Oh she may ‘fade’ into the background when her husband is near or ‘blush’ when complimented on the delicious food the caterers provided, yet everyone knows who is really in charge. I think even the men do or perhaps they fear more than know. They do seem to prefer to spend more time away from the home than in it.

At least my Daddy did. Growing up I didn’t see much of my Daddy. Have brief flashes of memories of aftershave, business suits and listening to his deep southern accent as he entertained the guests in our home. Daddy was a very wealthy, powerful attorney who was as my Mother often said, ‘busy doing an important job’. He passed away at age 42 from a heart attack. Shock to everyone, what a surprise people would say. Really? If all you do is work, yell, plot, and scheme it is no wonder your time gets called early, there is only so much your body and mind can handle when money, not love, is the focus.

Of course, my Mother and brother would say I am being harsh and ungrateful. Why look at all he has provided for us. Fancy clothes, a grand house, hired help, the best schools. Yes look at all he provided.

I swore as I was growing up that I would not become my parents, I’m sure all children say the same thing. My brother was the opposite. Yes ma’am, no sir, straighten his tie, shine his shoes and court the ladies while on his way to law school. Where else would he go as he to was part of Mother’s Plan. ‘My son goes to Harvard Law’ she would brag at her society luncheons.

I was the misfit with the unruly curly hair, the forever why questions and the wisdom/stupidity to think that I had a say in my own life.

Oh I did the classic defiant things growing up ranging from throwing tantrums with the nanny, asking too many why questions and not wearing the clothes I was supposed to wear as a proper southern child. As I grew older I experimented with smoking, drinking a beer or two (my mamma would faint more over the beer than the one cigarette I tried), sneaking out with the ‘wrong’ boy. Wrong as in wrong kind of family, closest I could get in a private school for privileged kids.

As a teenager I had brief moments of finding my voice. Challenging teachers’ concepts, appalled over the way the hired help were spoken too, and wanting to protest in favor of woman’s liberation.

All of this was met with sighs, shakes of the head, what am I going to do with you, what will people think and from my father, may he rest his soul, total silence, could be he didn’t know or didn’t care, either way complete disregard.

Eventually as was the case with the Southern woman for generations in my family, my voice was silenced. I went to my cotillion, put on the peacock display for the boys to say I was ripe for the taking. Finished school, married the right man, from the right family, produced my two children, a boy and a girl of course and moved into my gated palace with the reminder of, ‘it doesn’t matter how you feel, it only matters how you look’.

How well does anyone really know someone?

Smile pretty. Don’t forget, ‘she has it all’. If only they knew what was really hidden behind the gated pretty exterior.

 

Author's Note

Continue this story? This story was written as a short story submission, I was told that I could/should expand the story. Where do you think the characters should go? Or leave as it is?