She would know Athena’s perfume anywhere.
In came Athena, lightly dusted in snow, wearing her usual giant black shift dress, but a scarf in all the colors of the rainbow, tied around her neck.
The parishioners turned in their seats to stare, and the reverend stopped his sermon, as the long line of women marched behind Athena, up the aisle, and Rachel didn’t recognize them until they were upon her.
Each squeezed her shoulder before taking a seat in the pews.
Here was Ginger Fitchett, in an exquisite vintage Chanel suit, black wool, the skirt hitting just at the knees, pillbox hat pinned to her dark hair, and a thin polka-dotted veil.
Shyanne was right behind her, wearing a long silk sheath, the décolletage and the hem framed by fans of delicate black lace. The sheath was split up the side, and one of her long, beautiful legs was revealed with every step. She was wearing opera-length evening gloves and a giant black hat. A small stuffed bird perched along the brim in a nest of feathers. She was wearing turquoise heels.
The Sinclairs came next, in matching dresses, long, ebony silk, flapper style, the hems heavily beaded, fringes hanging and clattering, the strands of beads making a racket as the Sinclairs eased into the pew. Their hair was up in complicated buns and twists. They had enormous amounts of hair, and it had been secured all over with black lacquered combs, sparkling with tiny rhinestones.
Della Dempsey marched behind them, in a cunning little cocktail dress, dark as night, the top formfitting, satiny and scalloped at the bustline. Her skirt was covered in peacock feathers, and she floated past them, and took her seat.
Martha Man Hands followed, and the girl named Misty turned away, in an attempt to hide herself. Martha wore a top that was jet-black and corseted tightly. Her arms and shoulders were bare, and her voluminous skirts were made of piles and piles of dyed dark taffeta. She wore a single ostrich feather in her short hair, clipped in place by several black barrettes.
The procession continued with Diane Savage Connor in a little black dress, the kind Audrey Hepburn made famous, white gloves, long strands of pearls, a black hat with a white satin bow pinned in her long black hair.
Next came Ronda, in a ball gown, black and enormous, skirts turning into a train behind her, wet from the snow. The train was two yards in length. A rhinestoned jacket covered her shoulders. The dress was surrounded by a cloud of black chiffon that began at her waist and followed down to the train. In her dark hair was a giant headband, bejeweled with tiny green amethysts. This was a giant dress for a giant woman, and she had trouble sliding into the aisle.
Tabby had been attempting to hold Ronda’s train, and her breasts -threatened to spill out of her dress. She wore a tiny black bustier, made entirely of rosettes, and a full skirt embroidered with a dazzling bird of paradise.
Red Mabel followed closely behind, and there was an audible gasp from the church as she stepped forward. Red Mabel wore a black tuxedo with tails, a black shirt and a white bow tie, a cummerbund the same material as Athena’s scarf. She wore a shiny top hat, which she removed and tipped at Rachel and Bucky. Red Mabel stopped, waiting for the woman she was escorting.
Laverna revealed herself, making a late and grand entrance as always.
Rachel burst into tears again, but for all the right reasons.
Her mother had been saved for last.
Laverna’s gown glittered and sparkled, and it threw off light all around the bare walls of the church. The bodice was tight, and Rachel was surprised at her mother’s curves. It clung to her, cap-sleeved, every inch covered in silver rhinestones and black bugle beads. Her skirt was Western style, complete with a black crinoline that grazed the floor. It swelled out and around her, the skirts layers of black ruffles, each peaked with a dusting of rhinestones, every layer roped with black pearls. Her hair was a wig, a giant blond beehive that was Victorian in style, ropes of the same black pearls orbiting it, a giant black butterfly with jeweled wings perched at the very top. Following behind was Frank, unleashed, wearing a little black sweater, rhinestones glued to his collar.
At this point, Laverna could not fit in the pew with the rest of the Flood Girls, so she sat down next to Rachel, lowered herself with her hands, her legs stuck out in the aisle, the crinolines and hoops too large to fit. Frank jumped up on her lap, and made a nest in all of the bustles.
After Laverna had wedged herself in, Reverend Foote cleared his throat.
The parishioners ignored him, still turned around in their seats, mouths open. Rachel could see Bert’s face, scarlet with rage.