Small Town, Big Talk, Small Group

Every single Saturday since 1808, the Lady Slipper Ladies have met to drink tea and spill some too. Of course, the group wasn’t the same members since they’d be well over two hundred years old, but the members were mostly the same last name, different generation. The woman are still the highest class of women in the town. Every Saturday, they went to Clarissa’s. It was one of three restaurants in the small town in the South of Texas. The population of their little town was merely 560 people and counting. With such a small town, comes lots and lots of gossip.

The Lady Slipper Ladies were the trifecta of gossip. The only problem, they are sworn as members to never share gossip with somebody outside of their group. 

That’s where Lindsey comes in. A twenty year old waitress at Clarissa’s who opens every Saturday morning. The first thing she does every Saturday is set up the rounded table in the back of the diner. She puts down the fanciest set of teacups, the packets of sugar, and the honeys and jams. 

At ten o’clock sharp, they show up. The ladies never disappoint with their eccentric outfits, but the hats are the epitome of a Lady Slipper Lady. Their hats range in color, size, and shape; they always draw your attention away from the woman themselves. They simply saunter to the back where their designated table is. The women always make an effort to smile their dazzling white teeth at me, and sometimes they might even say a “hello”. A second glance from one of the six Lady Slipper Ladies makes you move up in class, so when Lindsey had gotten an actual greeting, she was shocked.

They sit down, and if they aren’t attended to within five minutes, their sweetest yet most cutthroat member speaks up. The first time it happened, it left Lindsey shaking. The five-five foot woman had so much confidence when speaking to Lindsey that she moved to their table quicker than she had done anything before.

The ladies barely talk to each other until their tea comes out. Lindsey watches it all of the time. They look idly at their phone, the wall, different tables, anything but engaging in conversation. When she had first witnessed the ladies not talking, Lindsey asked a coworker what was happening. The coworker told her, “Just bring them their tea, and you’ll see what happens almost immediately.” Trusting what her college had told her, Lindsey brought out their drinks. Almost immediately, she saw a drastic difference.

“Margret Fields, from down on South Street, was blatantly flirting with the mail man,” one of the members shared out as Lindsey started to put down the cups.

“Wait, wait, wait,” another member with a pink hat began, “Gary the mailman of the young guy Henry?”

Another lady with a feathered hat chuckled before replying, “She’s forty-five and she married a man who’s thirty-five. I think we know which of the two she flirted with.”

The rest of the ladies rejoiced in a fancy laugh. That’s the only way Lindsey could have described it: fancy. The laughs were the most posh thing she had ever encountered. Their laughs could be enough to make somebody feel inferior.

“Speaking of Henry, Henry Theodore from down the street from my mansion,” a lady with green shoes and a matching hat started, “is getting a divorce from his wife of twenty-three years.”

Some of the women put down their tea cups. Two of the woman gasped.

The pink hat lady asked, “How is Melissa taking it?”

Green shoes and hat simply shook her head.

“I heard that she threw all of his stuff on the lawn,” an older looking woman wearing all yellow interfered.

The ladies nodded and looked at each other. They all went off on a few separate conversations. Whenever something seemingly important came up, they would get the group’s attention and announce the information.

Lindsey would make trips back and forth to try and pick up most of what the women were saying. They never seemed to quiet when she was near. In fact, every once in a while, they would ask her opinion.

“Wait a moment, dear,” a lady in blue told Lindsey. “Would you rather be proposed to with a huge diamond ring or a family heirloom?”

Lindsey paused to weigh her options and told the ladies, “At this point, I’d be happy with whatever I get as a proposal.”

She knew her answer was correct when there was a chorus of laughter at her comment. Lindsey poured the tea as they continued with the topic.

Pink hat lady chimed in, “Well, I would want a huge diamond ring like the one Todd gave me when he proposed.”

She brought her hand up to show off the ring, and I almost dropped the pitcher. The ring was bigger than most almonds, and Lindsey had thought that almond was the ideal diamond size. The subtle showing off was common amongst the ladies.

“I prefer something with sentimental value,” the yellow Lady Slipper shared. “My husband have me the ring that his ancestor, a queen, had worn when her husband proposed to her.”

All of the ladies went off on more separate talks of rings, cars, houses, couples, and so on and so forth.

Once they were satisfied with their tea session, they began the leave process. They flawlessly split the bill by passing the check around the table. Once that step was completed, they stood up from the table simultaneously. It was almost eerie to watch them move the same way each time. First member to move was Clara, then Magnolia, Stephanie and Diane moved together since they drive together, then Emily, and finally came Emma. Emma would always give me a tip of one hundred dollars and tell me one thing.

“Thank you again, darling,” she would start with her expensive smile. “You never fail to make us enjoy our time.”

Lindsey would smile right back, and accept the money. 

After the ladies leave, it almost felt like the restaurant was empty. Of course, there were other people there, but the important clients had left. Lindsey would continue her day, but retain the gossip from all of the ladies. Her shift ends at three, and she would go home immediately. Upon arrival, she would be given a tea cup by her mother. The two of them would sit on the couch, and Lindsey would relay the information.

“That one lady on South Street who married a younger man was seen flirting with the younger mail man,” Lindsey who tell her wife eyed mother.

The two of them would act like the regal women of the Lady Slipper Ladies. They would giggle and try to intimidate the same way the women had laughed. Once the gossiping was over, Lindsey and her mother would part ways and gossip to anybody they thought would benefit from the information. Today, though, Lindsey decided to talk to her mother about something.

“Mom, you realize that you are amazing regardless of being in a group like theirs or not,” Lindsey assured. “I don’t care if you have been the topic of their gossip because they didn’t let you in. I don’t care if they think you’re not good enough, because I already know that you’re better than them.”

Taken aback, Lindsey’s mother hesitated. Her face softened as she put her hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “Honey, I know you know that. And we have to realize something, they are simply a group of women talking. I’m not bothered by the fact that they may or may not talk about me. I don’t care that they didn’t let me join the group, so no need to worry.”

Lindsey smiles at her mother’s response, and filed out to her bedroom. Her mother’s ideas of not caring and not being bothered were a really good mindset to have. The only problem: Lindsey knew it was utter bullshit. Whenever Lindsey went by their table, and heard them talk dirt on some of the kindest women she had ever met, it hurt. 

Rumors can hurt. The rumors that the Lady Slipper Ladies spread have broken up couples, families, and neighborhoods. Lindsey was almost ashamed to serve them, and yet, she felt power knowing their secrets and sharing them with her mother and others. In a sense, she was as bad as the women. She tried to think of herself as a modern Robin Hood.

But just like the whole group, it was complete and utter horse shit.