BeautyandtheButch by Paisley Smith Page A

Vega.”
    The woman flashed a well-honed wide and brilliant smile.
“I’m Elizabeth Huntingdon, the Miss Georgia National pageant director. I
understand you’ll be filming this week.”
    Lindsey nodded. “Yes.”
    “I have the names of the three contestants the network asked
us to choose for you to follow,” Elizabeth said and reached for an envelope on
the table where stylish women continued to line up for registration.
    Lindsey avoided looking at them. In this sea of leggy women,
she felt even shorter than her average height and dumpy in a pair of faded
jeans and green Converse tennis shoes. Although she’d never much aspired to
having long, luxurious locks and a blindingly bright smile, she recognized what
most people considered beautiful . She’d never admit it to Maurice
because he’d tease her to no end, but yeah —these women were fucking gorgeous.
    Long legs that stretched for miles. Soft hair that smelled
like perfume. Blossoming cleavage and bodies with curves so rife with
femininity they made Lindsey’s mouth water.
    She knew better than to shop where the price was too high.
    Throughout high school, she’d always been a tomboy with
short hair and no-fuss clothes, the kind of girl dodge ball fanatics foamed at
the mouth to get on their team. Nobody had really questioned her sexuality
until her best friend Reagan had made the cheerleading squad and then gotten
teased for being too chummy with the school dyke.
    That teasing had caused Reagan to find new friends,
to stop spending the night at Lindsey’s house—to stop sharing kisses under the
sheets.
    No doubt Reagan chalked up their innocent encounters to
practicing for boys. For Lindsey, however, those kisses and clandestine touches
meant far more. It wasn’t until college that she had her first real
relationship with a girl, but it wasn’t for want of wishing. Reagan had broken
her heart and in the process Lindsey had lost her best friend.
    Gorgeous girls aside, a job was a job and Lindsey was over
her high school angst. Even if surrounding herself by so much estrogen dragged
old memories to the surface, she still felt nothing but gratitude for her
position at TLN. Besides, producing this reality show would serve as a rung on
her ladder to bigger and better—and far more serious—production jobs.
    Nigel Simmons, her boss at TLN, had dangled a carrot for her
though. If she was able to draw something thought-provoking or shocking from
one of these reality programs, he’d promised to set up an interview with the
executive producer of Global Now , a prestigious news show recently
launched to rival 60 Minutes .
    A blonde with her hair done up in Velcro rollers sailed past
wearing a pink warm-up suit with “Team Tiffany” emblazoned across her ass.
    Discovering something of substance at this hare-brained
event would be akin to finding a diamond in a goat’s ass.
    Lindsey put her camera down and opened the envelope. As if
to punctuate the names, Ms. Huntingdon gave the backstory on each girl.
“Chelsea Walters is a socialite from here in Atlanta. Her father has something
to do with the baseball team. Long story short, she’s a talented singer and the
strongest contender for the title. Ella Northington is a pageant veteran and
daughter of a congressman. She majored in early childhood education and is an
alumna of the University of Georgia. Her talent is baton.”
    Lindsey resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Baton twirlers
and spoiled-rotten socialites. Sheesh.
    “Marquita Adams is an all-around beauty who’s also from Atlanta.
She’s on an academic scholarship at Emory, is studying to be a surgeon and is
also a talented opera singer.”
    “How does she find time to do one of those things, much less
all of them?” Lindsey muttered.
    One of Elizabeth’s waxed-to-perfection eyebrows arched. “Oh,
many of our girls have their fingers in lots of pies.”
    Lindsey bit the inside of her cheek to keep from snickering
when Maurice cleared his