Southern Belle

This story is not based on any actual event or person. All characters and all parts of the story are completely fictional. Viewer discretion is advised.


Two women sat in a beautifully lit office room. The walls were a cream color, and the floor was dark oak colored hardwood. The room was spacious, with oak book cases on either wall, and large windows behind them that opened up to a city. Over the edge of the floor one could see the street, cars, people, and could hear the city noises, indicating this office was far up. Off in the distance was construction next to a well known and expensive hotel.
One woman wore a nice pinstripe suit and sat behind a desk, her dark hair pulled up into a bun, and her glasses sat low on her nose. She wore golden hoop earrings and a pretty diamond ring on her wedding ring finger. She appeared to be short, wearing fancy black heels to give her a few inches of height. Before her lay papers, notebooks and pens, as well as a phone, a decorative lamp, and various office supplies.
Across from her desk sat another woman with dirty blonde curly hair that fell over her shoulders in soft ringlets. She was dressed casually, in a worn pair of jeans and a pink and black sweater. She was shapely, and well endowed.

“Momma died when I was only eight years old. It hurt my daddy bad. Daddy always told me I looked just like Momma. She was so pretty, and I don’t think I’m pretty, so I ain’t sure where he got that idea from. Momma was tall and skinny. Her hair was so long and silky and the color of golden hay like we used to feed to our horses. Her eyebrows were so perfect. I remember when I’s a little girl, I always liked lookin’ at her when she did her makeup. She’d pluck them eyebrows like nobody’s business. I always said, ‘Momma, don’t that hurt when you go rippin’ the hair out like that?’ She’d always laugh and say, ‘Of course it does, but a woman’s got ta do what a woman’s got ta do, even if it hurts her.’
“Me, I ain’t no pretty thing like Momma. My hair is curly like Daddy’s, and it’s like a soapy mop water brown. Yuck. Who’d think that’s pretty? Not me. Boys used to tease me, they called me mop head. I sure do miss Momma. Daddy musta missed her too, ’cause he’d say, ‘Darlin’, you look so much like your momma, I just wanna marry you.’
“Well, after Momma died, Daddy moved us from the country of Dahlonega, Georgia to the big city of Atlanta.