Helena sat on the pink satin duvet covering her four-poster canopy bed, weeping, melting her Maybelline Black-on-Black Mascara down from seductive Southern belle into horrifying Southern Gothic streaks.

Laura Mercy tried to console her, but consolation was not Laura’s strong point. She was actually trying to sneak a peek inside her galpal’s closet, checking for outfits she might borrow.  

“Well, Hel,” Laura crooned with unfocused concern, “he’s not the only fish in the field.”

“HE’S THE ONE I WANT!” howled Hel, stomping her foot in frustrated fury.

“A lifetime of indulgence and pampering leaves the Southern belle ill-equipped to cope with denial of desire,” Ja’Rasta jotted in her notebook on the dining room table.

TO BE CONTINUED…