Free She Walks in Beauty by Sarah Shankman Page A

beads.” The woman on Sam’s left corrected her. “That’s what their dresses are done with, hundreds of thousands of hand-sewn bugle beads—just like the girls’ gowns. But tonight’s nothing. It’ll get dressier tomorrow and Thursday, but Saturday’s when you see the really fancy duds.”
    The woman’s own scarlet suit was aglitter with the dancing lights of intricate beadwork. She had snow-white hair and a beautiful face. She was quite something.
    “I’m Sally Griffin.” She had a firm handshake. “I’m an image consultant from Raleigh, NC. I just finagled this press seat because I want to see close up what my girls do.”
    Image consultant? Her girls?
    “Sally does figure and wardrobe analysis for pageant contestants,” explained the Inquirer.
    “And interview coaching,” added Sally. “I’m full-service. I also recommend speech coaches and designers, hairstylists and makeup artists, and workout coaches for swimsuit. And, of course, I have my pageant workshops.”
    Workshops?
    Sally laughed. “Your first time? Well, most girls are as naive as you when they first enter pageants, but once I get my hands on them, they learn fast. They have to, if they’re going to get anywhere in this business. Listen up and work hard, I tell them. I do a workshop on looks, on interview, on first impressions. I also hold one for judges.”
    Judging school?
    “Oh, my, yes. You know, pageant officials and judges want to move up in the rankings, too. You start off as a volunteer on the local level, doing whatever you can to help your pageant, and then after a while you want to go to state. Once you’re at the state level, you start to get into the nationwide network of pageant people. And, of course, the ultimate is to judge Miss America.
    “For that, you need years of experience, and that extra something, just like the winning girls have, to catch the attention of the judges chairman and make him pick you. I’ve judged and emceed pageants for years. And I used to participate, of course, when I was younger.”
    Sam looked at Sally carefully as the music rose, the lights lowered.
    “I was Miss North Carolina ages ago.” Sally smiled, feeling Sam’s scrutiny. “I’m .” She patted Sam’s knee in that way southern women do. “Better to be over the hill than under it. No shame in getting old.”
    At that, Sam remembered the Shame Girls outside. But it was too late to ask the Inquirer. “Here we go!” the young blonde said.
    The curtain rose on the Miss America dancers, young men in white pants and white pullovers. In their midst strutted a figure in devilish black.
    “Nickie Brasco. He works the casino circuit the rest of the year,” the Inquirer whispered.
    The gentlemen soft-shoed and sang their way through a verse and chorus of “Tonight.” Then a back curtain lifted and there they were in all their glory: the Miss America finalists.
    The fifty of them sported short, tailored dresses in fuchsia, blue, and off-white, no two dresses quite the same. The girls posed and modeled their way through another chorus and verse of “Tonight,” then sang a chorus of “There She Is.” They did a quick turn down the runway and back, singing, smiling, waving all the while.
    “Let’s meet them face-to-face,” Brasco called, the signal for the Parade of States to begin from the two sides of the great stage.
    “I’m Miss Alabama, Ashley Dunbar, a graduate of Auburn University,” announced a big redhead with a booming voice from stage left, then strutted down the runway.
    Miss Alaska, a brunette with quite a bounce, declared from stage right that she was “Tricia Lewis, bringing you greetings from the frozen North. I’m a graduate of the University of Washington and a speech therapist.” She bounced behind Miss Alabama.
    They all had the same walk. The Miss America Suck-and-Tuck Glide, said the Inquirer. They suck in their tummies and tuck their buns under. Swing their arms like wings to alternate with the legs.