Page 106 of Frankly, My Dear

Ellen’s face turned green, a ghastly contrast to all that pink she wore. She gulped for breath.

“Darling, perhaps I should take you inside to rest before dinner,” Andrew suggested soothingly to his wife. He shot a look of condemnation at James for causing his wife such distress.

“Oui,” Mrs. Baptiste agreed, standing to lead the way into the parlor. “A woman in your condition should not sit in the hot sun too long.” Before she left, Mrs. Baptiste also cast a disapproving glare at her son.

“She’s probably just got her corset laced too tight,” Selene said meanly as everyone showed such concern for the blonde woman who clung to her husband as they left the gallery into the main hallway.

Pierce glanced back and forth between her and James, obviously confused.

“You know,” Selene said, her lips beginning to feel numb from the second glass of syllabub, “I think you Southern men are all full of yourselves.”

“I’m from Pennsylvania originally,” Pierce said.

“Big deal!” James snapped, echoing one of the phrases Selene used.

“Yep, you Southern men are all male chauvinist pigs.”

James snorted with disgust. “Would you care to explain that remark and its relevance to anything in the world?”

Pierce smiled from ear to ear.

“Take Ellen, for example—”

“All right,” James said.

Selene gave James a black look.

“Oh, by the way, Pierce, you must ask Selene to ‘strut her stuff.’ She’s a model, you know.”

“Really?” Pierce asked, his eyes telling her just how much he’d like a demonstration. “I like models.”

“You like anything in a gown.”

“As I was saying before you so rudely interrupted me, James…Ellen is the quintessential Southern belle. Just what all you men want. Weak, simple, clinging, swooning, deferring to your more superior judgment. God, I think I’m going to puke.”

“Perhaps you’ve had too many syllabubs.”

“Perhaps I’ve had too much of arrogant, domineering, self-centered Southern gentlemen.” She looked at Pierce speculatively. “James has a real thing for blonde women, Pierce. Tell me, do you like blondes?”

“Oh, I much prefer brunettes,” he answered with charming good sense.

James took another bolt of booze.

“Did you hear about the blonde who walked into a tavern with a duck under her arm?” she asked Pierce, ignoring James’s warning frown. “No? Well the bartender said, ‘You can’t come in here with a pig.’ And the blonde said, ‘This isn’t a pig. It’s a duck.’ Then the bartender said, ‘I wasn’t talking to you. I was talking to the duck.’”

Pierce laughed.

James warned him dryly, “Don’t encourage her. She has a whole repertoire of these stupid blonde jokes.”

“Amazing,” Pierce said.

“How did the blonde happen to have a wooden baby?”

James rolled his eyes when Pierce asked, “How?”

“She got nailed by a carpenter.”

“Sacre bleu! Pierce will think you’re a loose woman, Selene.”