the U.S. Army (We love the military.) Maybe it was luck, maybe they too were feeling charitable, or maybe they had been in Europe so long that they figured that even an American girl suffering from a bad hair day shaves her armpits. Whatever it was, we got to Prague, cleaned ourselves up, and had an unforgettable romantic weekend with the majors.
Now, almost exactly ten years and many hairstyles later, Jody has a new hair dryer, a husband, and a baby boy named Max. And I have had the chance to kiss some real foreign boys. It must mean I am getting older (or have better luggage), but now when I travel, I bring a hair dryer and always think of my adventures with my dear sister-friend Jody
—JILL POLLACK
“If you see someone with a stunning haircut, grab her by the wrist and demand fiercely to know the name, address, and home phone number of her hairdresser. If she refuses to tell you, burst into tears.”
—Cynthia Heimel
B B B
Seventeen years ago, it started as a long weekend getaway to Myrtle Beach in South Carolina—a bridge group of eight women in their early forties, leaving husbands and families for some rest and relaxation. This trip quickly grew to a full week and now numbers ten women, including those who moved away and would not miss it for the world. A rented five-bedroom house right on the ocean is our retreat.
It is a collection of “all chiefs and no Indians,” The personalities and talents are diverse, but nothing is ever held back. If you want to say it, you say it, and we go on.
Our conversation topics have changed over the years, but certain ground rules were set and have remained constant. We do not discuss our husbands. For the week they are referred to only as “them,” Another essential to our beach vacation is that our peace is not interrupted by a ringing telephone. No one calls us unless it is a dire emergency. For goodness sake, it's seven days—stuff can wait. Other traditions include drawing for our rooms when we arrive, piña coladas on the beach at 11:00 A.M., and pimento cheese and tomato sandwiches for lunch. Our big midweek feast is steamed crab legs and shrimp served picnic-style on a large dining table covered in newspapers. Absolutely the best!
This is a no-holds-barred time for bonding. We share stories, laugh, act terribly silly, and sometimes become very serious. There are long walks on the beach, sunbathing, reading, and just relaxing on the porch in a big rocker. We play ail types of music. In the evenings, we turn it up loud and shag to that fabulous Motown music.
The BBBs sporting their signature T-shirt
One summer, I arrived by airplane a day later than the rest. They had taken all my stuff with them, and agreed to meet me at the airport. It was a typical hot humid August afternoon. Since I work for the airlines and was flying standby, I was very professionally dressed. I sat next to a very dapper-looking businessman and excitedly told him about my friends and all the fun we would have. He wanted to talk, and I kept him entertained during the whole flight with my chatter about our group and what a diverse, talented, and sophisticated group of friends I was joining. He got off the plane with me, curiously watching to see who would meet me.
This group of normally fashionably turned-out women were standing by the gate as I deplaned. What a shock! I felt my face turning red. Each one wore shorts and a fluorescent pink T-shirt with three words boldly emblazoned in glitter across their chests: Beach Bridge Bitches.
They were covered in oily suntan lotion, sporting outrageous sunglasses, and had necklaces fashioned from seaweed and other beach “treasures.” I was given a “Hawaiian” welcome, complete with a seaweed lei ceremoniously placed around my neck.
The other passengers and bystanders were thoroughly entertained and giggled their way past our wild-looking “Ya-Ya” group. They got just a small taste of what the week held in store for us.
—PEG BURLEIGH
“I've had it up to my ass with sedate.”
—Thelma in Thelma and Louise
Jezzie
Have you ever been infatuated with someone? Not just a crush, or an attraction, but the insatiable urge to do something, anything, to become the object of another person's desire? That's how it was with my Kung-Fu instructor Tony. I was seventeen, and he was twenty-two. He had his own car, his own apartment, and an understated masculinity that I found enticing. He was tall, and lean, and muscular, and of course he was a top-notch martial artist (this ranks an A+ in the macho department, especially when handled in a humble manner). We needn't delve into the depths of his columbine-blue eyes or the punch in his step when he walked. His crooked smile or dry sense of humor probably wouldn't be of interest to you either, but suffice it to say I really had a thing for him.
At the same time, I had a freaky boy-crazy friend, whom we can call Jezzie (short for Jezebel). Jezzie was my friend because she was everything I wasn't. She was blonde, and she was chesty. She always had boys hanging on her every word, and she was chesty. She wore black underwear, and a black French bra, and she was…oh well, you get the picture. Anyway, Jezzie always got the cutest boys, and I got…well, I got to wave at them as they drove off in their hot rods with Jezzie. Jezzie often set me up with boys, but I was naive and kind of old-fashioned. She called it prudish. The fear of God (and more importantly, Mom) had been drilled into my head long before the onset of puberty. Boys seemed to somehow sense this, and so, by the tender age of seventeen, I had only been kissed twice.
By the time Tony began to pay me any attention, I had already pegged him as my one and only True Love. It would be like a Fred As tai re movie. He would dance (make that monkey roll) over to me, wink, and perform a flying drop kick to my wondering amazement. Then, he would lead me to his awaiting chariot (a ’75 silver Nova with tinted windows), and we would drive off into the sunset. He would beg me to marry him, and, not wanting to disappoint him, I would agree. We would have all the worldly goods a black belt would grant us. We would throw keggers for our friends, and I would be the envy of every girl. Tony would pick wildflowers for me every day, bring me coffee in the mornings, and spend hours gazing at me as I went about my daily routine. When we grew old, we would die in each others arms, neither of us able to sustain life without True Love.
forever in blue (nail polish, that is!)
Katie Hayes and Lizzie Anders were the best of friends—London hip-hoppers working at the start-up MTV offices in London, Craving more adventure, the pair decided to leave their jobs and embark on an around-the-world-holiday. They made the obligatory shopping excursions to purchase gear—including blue nail polish for their toes. Their plan was to travel through Africa to Asia and on to Australia and New Zealand. For the last leg of the trip they hoped to purchase a purple VW van and drive it across the U.S.
The first month of their trip was perfect—encounters with wonderful people and fascinating sites. However, on their flight from Ethiopia to Kenya, they found themselves in a terrifying situation. Their plane was hijacked, then crashed into the sea near the Comoro Islands. Miraculously, both women survived but Katie was more seriously injured, and the two were separated. In the makeshift hospital, Lizzie begged her caretakers to find her friend, but with the language barrier and post-crash chaos, no one was able to identify and locate Katie. Finally, just as they were both about to be shipped off to different cities,
