Before It Stains

by R. E. Bradshaw

  Stephanie kissed him on the forehead. “Okay, honey. Don’t stay up too late.”

  “Good night, Mom.” He started to leave and turned back. “Can I have my box?”

  “Sure. I don’t think she’d mind.”

  Colt gathered his shoebox and left the room.

  Stephanie took a few more minutes to look through her box and then put it on top of the dresser. She put Colt’s blanket in one of her sweater bags and sealed it shut. It went on the top shelf in the walk-in closet. The Dirty Santa box went back on the bathroom closet shelf, pushed out of sight. It wasn’t the kind of thing Stephanie thought she should toss in the trash outside their house. If the broken dishes in the garbage had caused a stir, she was sure the contents of that box would be fodder for some interesting gossip. No need to confuse the heterosexuals any more than usual.

  Stephanie finished her cleaning frenzy just after midnight. Colt, exhausted from his day, had long since fallen asleep. Mo texted, “Good night. I love you,” around eleven. Stephanie didn’t respond. She was caught up examining the last seventeen years of her life with Mo. How much of the real Mo was kept from her? What other secret boxes might there be, figuratively or literally? What other choices had Mo made without telling Stephanie? Was all of what they had together based on a façade of happiness Mo provided? What should have seemed a sweet gesture, the box instead represented something entirely different to Stephanie. Now, sitting in bed, she looked at her phone and decided to send a message of her own.

  “I never knew you had so many secrets.”

  After hitting send, she turned off the phone and the lights. Stephanie didn’t want a reply. It was merely an observation.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Randy came by the house sharply at one p.m. George was still painting in the dining room, so Stephanie paid him, and told him to leave the windows open a bit. Colt was sprawled out on the couch in the den watching a movie. He barely looked up from the screen when she kissed him goodbye.

  “My phone will be off. If you need me, call Randy.” Stephanie did not intend to speak to Mo today. “George will be finished soon. Just lock up when you leave at four.”

  “No problem. Hey, can I order a pizza?”

  “I just fed you lunch,” Stephanie answered, amazed that he could be hungry again.

  Colt shrugged. “I can’t help it. I’m starving.”

  “Okay, but eat some fruit or something too.” Stephanie pulled some cash out of her wallet. “Here take this.” She paused and then added, “I’m going to cut my hair short, today.”

  Colt was already dialing the phone. “Okay, Mom. See you at the game.”

  It wasn’t as big a deal to Colt as it was to Stephanie. Her hair had never been short, at least not since she was six or seven. It hung down her back through college. Shortened to shoulder length after she had Colt, she’d worn substantially the same hairstyle for nearly sixteen years. Stephanie had no idea how she wanted it cut, she just hoped she didn’t look horrible when it was all said and done. She’d seen bad break-up haircuts before. God help the broken hearted lesbian with hair clippers and a drunk best friend. At least Randy wasn’t taking her to get a tattoo.

  As soon as she sat down in his car, Randy plopped a stack of papers in Stephanie’s lap, containing images of her face with different hairstyles.

  “Here, look at the ones I marked with sticky notes.”

  “How did you do this?” Stephanie said, pulling out the first marked page.

  Randy backed down the driveway, talking so fast Stephanie knew he’d had way too much caffeine. “You remember Will. He came over last night. We took pictures I had of you and ran them through his stylist program. These are the ones we liked the best.”

  “So my make-over has become a community project.”

  Randy laughed. “Yes, honey. It’s going to take a village. We’re headed to Day Spa for massages, facials, mani-pedis, and a color and cut for you.”

  “I like the color of my hair,” Stephanie said, pulling out a few strands to look at it.

  “Just some highlights, brighten you up, make your eyes pop. You’ll also be getting a new look from Will’s make-up artist. Waxing is optional, but highly recommended. I’m not privy to your personal hygiene habits, but it’s good to trim the bush occasionally, darlin’.”

  “I will have some waxing done, but I’m not going for the landing strip or Mohawk, or whatever they call it.” Stephanie cringed at the thought of that much hair being ripped from her crotch. “That just seems extreme.”

  Randy glanced at Stephanie. “So, you have kept up with the modern world whilst hidden behind the walls of suburbia.”

  Stephanie snapped. “What’s so wrong with my life, Randy? You keep insinuating that I’m not seeing the complete picture. Tell me then, what is it that you see is so awful?”

  Randy drew back from her. “Wow. Did you get any sleep last night?”

  Stephanie took her frustrations out on Randy, because she could. He could take it. He’d been begging for it since this whole thing started. He wanted her to be pissed and shout at the rafters. Randy knew her well enough to know that until Stephanie gave voice to her feelings, she would never heal. He’d listened to her for nearly twenty-five years. He was prepared for her worst.

  Stephanie gathered steam. “Answer me, what’s so terrible about my life? Everybody keeps hinting that I should have seen this coming - that somehow I am culpable in this, and I’m here to tell you, I am not! Poor Mo, mean ol’ Stephanie wants to hold her accountable.”

  “Well, ol’ Stephanie is going out the window today,” Randy said, grinning. “You want to know what I’d like to see change? I’d like to see you take care of yourself. You are a beautiful, desirable woman. You have, of late, lost sight of that. You define yourself as a wife and mother first. You’ve forgotten how to flaunt your assets. Today, you will let life happen to you. You are not in control. Today, you will be reborn.”

  “Oh, you are so full of shit,” Stephanie said, laughing, her anger subsiding.

  “Don’t interrupt me. I was just getting to the butterfly from the cocoon part.”

  “Randy, have I told you how much I love you? Thank you, for all this.”

  “It is my pleasure. Let’s have fun, shall we, drink Mint Juleps and tell ourselves that tomorrow is another day.”

  “Okay, but I have to be sober enough for Colt’s game at six.”

  “There you go, thinking like old Stephanie.”

  “Well, Peter Pan, some of us have adult responsibilities. Some things are not going to change. I’ll change my hair, my clothes, maybe even my wife, but I won’t stop being Colt’s mother, and I’m not stumbling drunk into one of his baseball games.”

  “Who knows, it might get you more indecent proposals.”

  Stephanie chuckled. “Oh God, don’t remind me. Maybe they won’t recognize me after my make-over.”

  Randy pressed down on the accelerator. “Honey, they may not recognize you, but they are sure as hell going to notice you.”

  #

  The facial mask was beginning to lose its appeal. After having her crotch set afire by having a “little waxing,” Stephanie enjoyed an hour-long massage, followed by lots of water and a sauna, leaving her feeling like a wet noodle. Now, in the final stages of the facial portion of her day, Stephanie was fighting heavy eyelids and the desire to drift away to the land of no worries. She would have, if the mask had not begun to tickle her nose. Unable to scratch, the itching was driving her to distraction. That’s probably why Stephanie didn’t notice the attractive woman walk up to Randy, who was seated next to her. His face was also covered in a meringue of white cream, but he had talked non-stop to the technician, and anybody that knew Randy would recognize that voice.

  “Why, Randall Ransom, you handsome devil. I have now discovered your beauty secret.”

  Stephanie wrinkled her nose against the tickling in her nostrils. She glanced over to see who was speaking. Randy sat up, grinning like a melting
Staypuff-marshmallow-man from under the frosting of his mask.

  “Martha Anne Smith! One of my absolute favorite people.”

  Stephanie recognized one of her biggest clients right away. Not only was she a client, she was one of the film school’s largest patrons and the Smith in the Smith foundation that funded much of Mo’s movie. Martha Anne Smith wielded lots of financial and political clout. Martha Anne, as usual, was dressed impeccably. In her late fifties, this woman was still stunning, and when she walked in a room people took notice. Stephanie wasn’t sure if it was her looks, the way she carried herself, her business shrewdness, or all of the above that made Martha Anne such a force, but that she was. Stephanie looked in the mirror and was horrified at her own appearance. She was Staypuff’s maniacal girlfriend. Maybe Martha Anne would not notice her.

  Randy called her out. “That’s Stephanie Austin hiding behind the face mask.”

  Stephanie waved, weakly. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Smith.”

  Martha Anne walked between the two salon chairs and patted Stephanie on the shoulder. “Stephanie, it’s wonderful to see you and how is that charming wife of yours? I’ve kept up with Dr. Hunt’s recent successes. How wonderful for you both.”

  Stephanie tried to pretend she didn’t look like a Halloween costume gone terribly wrong. “Mo is living the dream out in LA, as we speak. Thank you for your support over the years.”

  “The film school may be losing one of its finest faculty members, but it is a well deserved tribute to her work. I know you must be proud.”

  Stephanie tried to answer, but the tickling finally won over her attempts to ignore it. The sensation overwhelmed her. She caught the mighty sneeze with part of the terry cloth robe she was wearing, sending facial cream flying in all directions. When she raised her eyes to the mirror, she saw some of the cream was missing from her face. Parts of the flying muck had landed in her hair. Now, she looked like a zombie from the “Thriller” video.

  “My goodness, bless you,” Martha Anne commented, after stepping back from the exploding facial.

  “I’m so sorry. Did I get any on you?”

  “No darling, I’m fine.”

  Randy wiped at the bottom of his terry cloth robe. “I did not fare so well.”

  Stephanie apologized. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it.”

  “It’s simply your body telling you that cream is not for you,” Martha Anne stated. She turned to the technician. “Kim, the next time Stephanie comes in use my cream.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Smith,” the technician answered demurely.

  “It’s divine. You’ll love it,” Martha Anne added.

  “That’s very kind, thank you,” Stephanie said.

  “I called your office to set up an appointment, but I was told you were out until next week. How fortunate to find you here. My daughter is painting again. You remember Lauren, don’t you?”

  “Of course,” Stephanie answered, thinking who could forget meeting the exquisitely beautiful Lauren Smith.

  Martha Anne got to the point. “I would like to display some of her pieces at my properties. I would greatly appreciate it, if you could help me select the paintings and facilitate the installation.”

  “Certainly, it will be my pleasure,” Stephanie said, almost forgetting she looked like a horror film character.

  Martha Anne dug in her purse, pulling out two ivory colored cards. “I know this is short notice, but Lauren is having a gallery opening tomorrow night. I’m sorry I did not think of this sooner. If you have not already made plans, I’d love to see you both there. There will be a reception with dancing afterward.” She handed an invitation to both Stephanie and Randy. “I’m disappointed Dr. Hunt will be out of town. I do love conversing with her. She is so passionate about her art.”

  “I’m sure she will be sorry she missed you.”

  Randy spoke up, without consulting Stephanie. “We’ll be there.”

  “Wonderful, then I’ll see you tomorrow evening. Enjoy the rest of your spa day.” Martha Anne squeezed Randy’s shoulder. “And you, handsome, owe me a dance.”

  Stephanie waited until Martha Anne was out of hearing range. “We’ll be there? Don’t you think you should have asked me?”

  Randy shook his head. “No, we need somewhere to show off your new look. This is perfect. If Colt’s team wins tonight, they won’t play again until Friday. Your schedule is free.”

  “What if they lose? I’ll be making an apology to one of my biggest clients and Mo’s benefactor.”

  Randy shook his head. “They won’t lose. Have faith. This is going to be fun. Besides, it’s a great excuse to buy that expensive outfit.”

  “What expensive outfit?” Stephanie asked.

  “The one you owe yourself for putting Mo and Colt first all the time.”

  “I threw out half my wardrobe last night. I think I need to concentrate on buying some new work clothes.”

  Randy was becoming excited. “We’ll do that too, but you are getting a new ‘fuck me’ ensemble before tomorrow night, something disgustingly sexy.”

  “And who will I be wearing it for? Mo is out of town.”

  “There are other options,” Randy said, grinning mischievously.

  “I’m not ready for other options. I’m trying to deal with the mess I’m in. I don’t need any more trouble.”

  “Oh honey, trouble is exactly what you need. You need to be the trouble that walks into the room. It’s the very cure for what ails you.”

  The technician, who had been discretely quiet up until now, said dreamily, “He’s right. Nothing like making an entrance in ‘fuck me’ pumps to get your heart racing.”

  They both turned and stared at the technician. She blushed, quite embarrassed that she had voiced her fantasy aloud.

  Randy rescued her with, “See Steph, Kim here knows what I’m talking about. It’s even better that Mo won’t be there. You’ve got a free one coming and she can’t say a damn thing about it.”

  Stephanie grabbed a towel from the table by her chair. She began wiping away the cream on her face. There was little protest from Kim. Stephanie was sending out waves of “back off” in both Randy and Kim’s direction.

  “As usual, Randy, you think a good fuck is the answer to everything. I am not interested in playing the gotcha last game with Mo. Wild monkey sex with some stranger isn’t going to make me feel better.”

  Randy and Kim looked at each other and then turned back to Stephanie, saying in unison, “Yes it will.”

  #

  By the time Stephanie’s spa day was through, she felt more relaxed than she had in months. She thought she would include a spa day in her monthly schedule from now on. There was something to be said for being fawned over for hours and having all your needs attended to by others. Yes, Stephanie could learn to take the time to be pampered, at least once a month anyway. She felt fantastic.

  She wasn’t completely sold on her hair. The breeze whipping around her neck felt strange. Stephanie kept reaching to touch the hair on her shoulder that wasn’t there anymore. Randy and Will selected a style that they said was “sexy and fun.” Her shoulder length hair was now jagged cut near chin level. The sides and top were shaped in short layers, with playful uneven bangs over her forehead. Stephanie hadn’t had bangs since the eighties. Highlights had been added to “freshen” it up. Will and Randy were quite delighted with the finished product.

  “Holy shit, girl! Look at you!” Randy whooped.

  Will had a more sedate comment. “You are beautiful.”

  Others in the salon remarked on how much they liked the new hairstyle, but Stephanie wasn’t sure. Her reflection in the mirror looked so different, it startled her a bit. She’d asked the make-up artist to keep her look natural, not too heavy. Stephanie worried when it took so long to look “natural,” but the results were flawless. She also thought the shorter hair made her look much younger. The true test would be her son’s reaction. Stephanie would know the moment Colt laid eyes on her if she h
ad made a mistake.

  With no time left to go home and change - at least that was Randy’s excuse - they ducked into a boutique. Randy selected Stephanie’s purchases. She was too relaxed to argue. Although the body hugging, scooped neck, white tee and equally tight jeans would not have been her first choice for ballgame attire, Stephanie had to admit the look was flattering. Randy dubbed her outfit, “Casual sexy.” Stephanie was actually starting to feel sexy when they hooked arms and walked down the sidewalk together.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, leaning into Randy.

  He patted her hand on his arm. “This is only the beginning. Just hold on tight and watch me work.”

  #

  Arriving at the ball field, Stephanie did not want to draw attention. Best intentions aside, she made an entrance. It had been decided the night before, in order to avoid the gossips in the stands, Stephanie’s mother would bring lawn chairs so they could sit along the leftfield fence. Randy and Stephanie climbed down the hill, avoiding the stairs and the main flow of traffic to the stands. She could see Colt and a few of the players warming up their arms on the other side of the fence, near where her mother and PJ were already camped out in chairs. Two empty seats waited for Stephanie and Randy. Stephanie hoped to make it to the chairs without being spotted. It was not to be.

  Trevor sounded the alarm. Stephanie saw it happen. He glanced up in her direction and the kid’s jaw dropped. He pointed with his gloved hand, saying rather loudly, “Holy crap, Colt. Is that your mom?”

  Colt turned toward Stephanie. She shielded her eyes against the sun to see his reaction. He squinted at her, trying to make sure he was really seeing what was there.

  Wyatt chimed in, “Nah, that’s not his mom. She’s too hot!”

  By now, the three boys had come close together, all looking in Stephanie’s direction. Colt took a step closer to the fence. Stephanie lowered her hand and smiled at him. Colt grinned and then slapped Wyatt in the stomach with the back of his glove.

  “Shut up, man. That is my mom.”