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States pageant in front of a worldwide audience of billions. I didn’t know her, but Frank and I loved to watch beauty pageants for their amazing camp value. (I was always disappointed when the talent portion passed without an accordion player.) We, of course, were rooting for Miss Louisiana as she made it through every cut, her bleached teeth glowing in her perfect smile under her perfect nose and her beautiful green eyes and long, teased and lacquered black hair. And she made it to the final five—which, of course, was the all-important question segment. I personally love that part of every pageant, as the contestants try desperately not to offend anyone and try to think fast enough on their feet so they don’t make fools of themselves. Frank and I leaned forward as Miss Louisiana was called forward and stepped to the microphone. The bland host with the big teeth and the televangelist hair pulled her question out and said, “There have been a lot of recent court decisions that have awarded gays and lesbians equal rights. Do you believe that gays and lesbians should be allowed to marry, and serve openly in the military?”
    Her eyes got wide with panic—you could tell she wasn’t expecting that, and I kind of felt sorry for her—until she stepped up to the microphone and said, “Well, I believe that everyone is made in God’s image.” She paused before adding, “But I believe marriage is between a man and a woman, and any judge who says otherwise shouldn’t be sitting on the bench and presiding over the law in a Christian nation, and I don’t believe it is God’s plan to let gays and lesbians to serve next to our brave soldiers who are out there risking their lives every day for our freedoms.” When the audience let out a collective gasp, she smiled and shrugged, “I’m sorry, I was raised a Christian and that’s what I believe.”
    There was a smattering of applause, but it was drowned out by boos and catcalls from the audience.
    Frank and I sat there, dumbfounded, unable to speak.
    She finished as first runner-up.
    That might have been the end of it, but an openly gay blogger who runs a celebrity gossip site called her some nasty names the next day on his blog, and it turned into a huge mess. Rather than backing down, she went on the offensive. Before long, evangelical Christian groups and the right-wing “Gestapo” (as Mom called them) were coming to her defense. She was eventually fired as Miss Louisiana because she was skipping required appearances as Miss Louisiana in order to promote herself as the new queen of the anti-gay movement, but she refused to take responsibility for her own actions. Instead, she claimed it was “the gays” who did it to her, and there was a huge conspiracy of radical homosexuals out to get even with her, and deny her her First Amendment rights to free speech. She was now commanding large speaking fees and had been hired by a national anti-gay marriage group, Protect American Marriage, as their spokesperson. She had also written a book called My American Dream ,which was soon to be released, and was being promoted as the star speaker at an anti-gay marriage rally being held somewhere in Kenner over the upcoming weekend. Mom was trying to organize a counter-protest.
    And here she was, walking into my grandparents’ home on the arm of my cousin, in a skintight blue dress with stiletto pumps, her big pageant smile plastered on her face.
    And now I knew why Papa Bradley had been so nervous— he knew she was coming.
    I felt resentment and anger beginning to simmer inside me. It was one thing to listen to her hateful homophobia on national television—it was quite another to have her waltz into my grandparents’ home like she owned the place.
    I wanted to punch the smug look off Jared’s face.
    As my anger began to boil over in my brain, I realized Mom was walking quickly across the room toward the door. I heard someone murmur “oh dear God”—it might have been Aunt