Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood

Come on!

Hurry up!

These are the headdresses...

...of the queens that have gone

before us.

They come from Indian holy ground...

...the jungles of the ancients...

...prairies of the Norwegians...

...and the forests

of the mighty Amazons.

The royal crowns of our people.

This is the blood of our people.

The wolf people...

...the alligator people...

...and the moon women...

...from which we gain our strengths

to rule all worlds.

It's okay, it's just chocolate.

Teensy Melissa Whitman,

I declare you...

...Princess Naked As a Jaybird.

Caro Eliza Bennett,

I crown you Duchess Soaring Hawk.

Necie Rose Kelleher,

I crown you Countess Singing Cloud.

And I, Viviane Joan Abbott,

am hereby and forever...

...Queen Dancing Creek.

Wait. I don't think we should

cut ourselves with that knife.

Silence!

We are the flames of the fires,

the whirling of the winds.

We are the waters of the rains

and the rivers and the oceans.

We are the rocks and the stones.

And now, by the power

invested in me, I declare...

...we are the mighty

Ya-Ya priestesses.

Let no man put us under.

Now our blood flows through each other

as it's done for all eternity.

Loyal forever.

We raise our voices

in the words of mumbo gumbo.

- Ya-Ya!

- Ya-Ya!

My mother.

What can I say about my mother?

There's nobody

like Vivi Abbott Walker.

She'll be the first one

to tell you that.

Mom was loaded with charm,

looks, the whole package.

- But damaged.

- Wounded.

- The most charming wounded person ever.

- Wounded? How?

By the times as much as anything.

She had star quality.

She wanted a bigger life than being

a cotton farmer's wife with four kids.

I don't know.

She's just too complex.

She can be alarmingly simple...

...and then, suddenly dark

and complicated.

Sidda, is that it?

We don't want to burn the place down.

Is that it?

That's exactly it.

But she danced her way through it.

Everybody smoked too much,

drank too much, fought too much.

The women manipulated, the men hid out,

huddled in their duck camps...

...waiting for the storm to pass.

And yet, it seems like

they're mostly having fun.

When you say "dark,"

you mean angry? Violent?

No.

Even though she knew how

to handle a switch or a belt.

Oh, no!

They came from the "spare the rod,

spoil the child" philosophy.

What?

I owe all my creativity to her.

If my childhood was easy,

I'd have nothing to write about.

"The daughter of a tap-dancing,

child-abuser of a mother...

...and a distant,

emotionally absent fath..."

Oh, sh*t! Oh, sh*t, Connor!

- God, this is a disaster.

- It's a little harsh.

- I didn't mean it that way!

- Calm down.

You don't understand.

Give me a Xanax. Please.

Opening nights only, babe.

And that's your rule.

All I can say is, I hope

this is not a real emergency...

...because I only brought

one bottle of vodka.

Vivi?

We're here!

I got this.

That ungrateful b*tch!

Who'd have thought

she'd be the one to do me in?

Here, bb, take a swallow.

It needs Tabasco.

Oh, my God. How?!

How could she do it?

She was supposed to be the good one!

You know how long

I was in labor with her?

- Two hours, not even.

- Well, it felt longer!

- Never speak to Time magazine.

- That writer probably trumped that up.

Those Yankees like to make us out

to be alligator-wrestling bigots.

You should call Sidda, get the facts.

Teensy, since you quit drinking,

you don't think.

How can I possibly call somebody

who no longer exists?

Get the phone.

Oh, my God, that's her.

Do not pick up the phone.

Connor, don't pick up the phone!

Connor, don't! Don't do it.

Hello?

- Hello, Connor.

- Hello, Vivi, how are you?

Well, just lovely.

Thank you for asking. Is she there?

- Why did you do that?

- She's fine.

Talk to her.

Mama?

Give it to me! Give it to me!

Sidda, she'll have to call you back.

Tell her she's dead!

She's dead to me!

Well, what did she say?

I'm sick and tired of her tantrums

and drunken rages!

I heard the ice in the glass, Mama!

Sounds of my happy childhood!

Why do you let her get to you?

What's wrong with a nice simple:

"Hi, Mom, love you too, see you later"?

- What's wrong with that?

- With normal people, you'd be right!

- But Vivi Walker...

- Who's a grown woman...

Has never gotten over anything

in her privileged, booze-soaked life!

Shep!

Shep, come here!

- Oh, my God, she's gonna do it.

- What?

Look, she's gonna marry that boy.

I mean, that man.

One:
Does that mean

you two are speaking?

And two:
How much

is it gonna cost me?

When is it?

And where is it?

Don't answer it, it's her. Don't!

Hello, Vivi!

Well, hello, Connor.

Did you call to talk to Sidda

or to hang up?

Tell her I received the invitation...

...and all I'll be sending

is my condolences to you.

I'll say to you exactly what I'd say

to my own mother: Grow up.

Same thing goes for you.

Both of you are acting like children.

Did she just hang up on me?

She hung up on me.

How has your old man hung in there

for forty-odd years?

For one thing, she moved out

of the bedroom sometime in the '60s...

...so he's had a lot

of time to himself.

- What, he snores?

- He breathes.

There are some things

that are none of our business...

...and we should stay out of it.

But I didn't mean this.

- We have an extreme situation here.

- And that requires extreme measures.

We can't be afraid to do

what we know we have to do.

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