by Ann DeFee
“You relax while the mask dries. Don’t talk or it’ll crack.” Maizie patted Jeannine’s shoulder before strolling up front.
The only other customer was a woman with a baby in a pram. Maizie recognized her from the country club as one of Magnolia Bluff’s newest transplants from Atlanta. She was petite, tan, blond, beautiful and stylishly dressed. Yep, this young matron had the potential to become a good customer—very good, indeed.
“Hi, I don’t think we’ve met.” One of the reasons Miss Scarlett’s was so successful was the friendly atmosphere and personal service. “I’m Maizie Walker. I own the Boudoir.”
The blonde extended her hand. “I’m so glad to meet you. I’m Paige Butler. I just love your store,” she gushed. “And this town is terrific. We’ve only been here six months, but I feel as if I’ve known people forever.”
Maizie glanced at PJ who was already loaded down with clothes that Paige had pulled off the racks in the few short minutes she’d been there. “If there’s anything we can do, just let us know.”
About that time the baby decided to join the party by letting out a wail.
“This is Ali,” Paige introduced her daughter. She was obviously a proud parent. “She wants me to hold her all the time. My mama says I’m spoiling her but I can’t help myself. I want to eat her up with a spoon.”
Paige’s daughter was a little dumpling. She was dressed all in pink and had a bow tied in her straw-colored hair.
“Do you mind if I pick her up?” Maizie tickled the baby’s chin.
“Be my guest, please.” Paige leaned over to readjust Ali’s frilly dress. “I’ve been fantasizing about having fifteen minutes to myself.”
“Ms. Crabtree’s mask won’t be ready for another ten minutes,” Maizie told Paige, ignoring her client’s grumbling in the background. “You two go on back to the dressing room and take your time.”
“Yes, ma’am. I surely will. Thanks.”
“Hey, Snookums,” Maizie cooed to the baby. “What a little cutie you are.” Ali’s crying stopped almost immediately when Maizie lifted her out of the pram.
When Hannah was a baby Maizie had spent countless hours in an antique rocking chair she’d inherited from her Grammy Nelson. On a whim she’d put that lovely old chair in Miss Scarlett’s. It was a beautiful addition to the décor as well as a perfect place for meditation when time allowed.
Maizie hummed and rocked while “Crabass’s” mask hardened. Baby Ali fell asleep almost immediately. Maizie kissed the top of the baby’s head, breathing in that sweet infant smell. There was nothing quite as innocent as a sleeping angel—awake was a different story. Ten peaceful minutes passed before Maizie admitted she had to do something about her client.
“PJ, Paige,” she whispered, trying to be as quiet. “I need to take care of Ms. Crabtree.”
“About time,” Jeannine muttered.
“We’re finished.” PJ appeared with an armload of clothing. “Paige found lots of stuff,” she said with a conspiratorial wink.
The young mom tucked the sleeping baby back into the pram and then pulled out her platinum American Express card. “Miz Walker, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you taking care of Ali.”
“You’re very welcome. We like to think of ourselves as a full-service operation. Now, if you’ll excuse me I need to rinse off my client’s mask.”
“It’s about time!” Mrs. C exclaimed when Maizie rejoined her.
Who could mistake those dulcet tones?
“Your skin’s going to feel so soft that you won’t mind the wait.”
“I doubt that, but get on with it.” The woman’s gravelly voice was like fingernails on a chalkboard.
“Here we go.” Maizie dabbed cleanser on Jeannine’s face. Although she’d used her very best product, she couldn’t see a dime’s worth of difference.
“How is that? Doesn’t your skin feel better?” Maizie turned Ms. Crabtree’s chair toward the mirror.
She employed her best shopkeeper’s voice to make certain she didn’t utter anything particularly vile. Fortunately Maizie was saved by the bell—the one on the front door.
“Hey, Paige. How’s it going?” The sound of a man’s voice in Miss Scarlett’s was unusual enough to be remarkable.
“Trip, my goodness, what are you doing here?” Paige sounded more like a lovesick teen than a mom. Or maybe a femme fatale.
When Maizie glanced up to check out what all the fuss was about, she was almost bowled over. Heavens to Betsy. The man talking to Paige could be Pierce Brosnan’s younger brother. Even the vestal virgins would be cheering.
“Maizie, PJ, this is Trip Fitzgerald. He’s the tennis coach at the country club. A bunch of us take lessons from him.”
How interesting. No wonder the gorgeous hunk had tanned legs and broad shoulders. Trip Fitzgerald was exactly what the jealousy Cupid had ordered.
“Mr. Fitzgerald, you’re new in town, too, right?” Maizie walked over to shake the newcomer’s hand.
“Yes, ma’am. I’ve been here a month. I’m originally from Atlanta.”
“Really. Well, welcome to Magnolia Bluffs. I hope we’ve been hospitable.”
“I couldn’t have asked for better.” His grin was boyish, charming and damned near perfect—an orthodontist’s dream.
“I need to get a birthday present for my mother,” he said, looking around. “Several of my students said you’re the best place in town.”
“We certainly try to be. PJ—”
PJ almost tripped over her own feet racing to his side. “I can help you. What does your mom like? We have all kinds of pretties.”
Before he could answer PJ was setting up a display of gift items that would be daunting for a seasoned shopper.
“Wow. That’s quite a selection,” he said, showcasing that grin again. “You ladies should come for tennis lessons. We have something for everyone. Groups, privates, semiprivates, you name it, we’ve got it. I think you’d really like it. It’s good exercise and a great way to get a tan.”
Maizie’s mind was whirling a mile a minute—which generally landed her in a heap of trouble.
“Tennis lessons sound like exactly what I need.” Were they ever.
Chapter Five
By noon Maizie was more than ready to tuck into a plate of juicy barbecue. It had been an interesting morning and she was tempted to treat herself to a frosty brew when she arrived early to meet Liza, but the thought of the carbs held her back.
The Crabtree ordeal and meeting Trip Fitzgerald had been followed by an “I’ve worn this at least a dozen times but now that it has a stain on the front I want to return it” and an “oh my, you mean you can’t dry it on hot” complaint. Retail wasn’t for sissies.
“Hey.” Liza breezed in and gave her twin a hug. Lately she did everything with a spring in her step, and why not? She was a newlywed and madly in love. Not that Maizie was jealous or anything.
“Have you ordered?” she asked as she took a seat on the picnic table bench.
“Nope. I was waiting for you. I’ve been studying the menu and I think I’ll go for the rib plate. See?” Maizie made a point of displaying her casual attire. “I changed into a T-shirt and jeans.”
“Good girl. Let’s see, what do I want?” Liza picked up the menu. “I think I’ll try the rib plate, too. I—”
Before she could continue her thought, the waitress appeared armed with two huge containers of iced tea. “I was bettin’ you gals would like a cold drink.” She set the glasses down and pulled out her order pad. “The ribs are looking mighty good, and the peach cobbler—whew.” She jokingly swiped her forehead. “I can put on five pounds just smellin’ that stuff. It’s downright sinful.”
“Both of us want the rib platter. We’ll discuss dessert later.” Liza put the menu back behind the Tabasco sauce.
“Excellent choice. If you need anything else, give me a holler.”
As soon as the waitress strolled off, Liza got down to why she’d wanted to do lunch.
“I’ve been putting a lot of thought into this, and I’m not convinced a shopping trip is what you need. I suspect there’s something more serious going here. You’re usually Little Miss Sunshine, and darn it, I want you to be happy again.”
Maizie fiddled with the salt shaker. Should she or shouldn’t she involve her twin? Not only was Liza a newlywed and desperately in love, she was also managing a huge property development project. She didn’t have time to listen to Maizie moan about her marital status.
As a matter of fact, both Liza and Kenni were acting like love-struck loons. It was enough to make a person gag. Deep down, Maizie had to admit she was jealous. She and Clay used to share that kind of passion, and by gosh, she wanted it again.
“I’ve decided to take up tennis,” she blurted.
“Tennis?” The look of confusion on Liza’s face was priceless. “You? Are you serious? The most strenuous thing you do is paint your nails.”
“I’ll have you know I played tennis in high school.” Sure, she wasn’t all that athletic, but Liza’s comment ruffled her tail feathers.
“Oh, I forgot. You were a regular Martina Navratilova.” Liza laughed at her own joke. “But what does that have to do with you being depressed?”
It was show time. Could she look her best friend, her twin in the face and lie? Or should she confide in her?
Confiding won, hands down. “Actually—” Maizie chewed on her bottom lip and screwed up her face.
Liza waited a few moments before speaking. “Actually what?”
“Actually, I have an ulterior motive.”
“Duh.” Liza crossed her arms. “Sweating isn’t exactly your thing, and believe it or not, Sweet Cakes, when you exercise you glow, big time.”
Every Southern girl knew that horses sweated, men perspired and women glowed. Maizie didn’t bother to suppress her grimace. “I have some waterproof makeup. It stops up your pores so I don’t normally wear it, but in this case I’ll give it a shot.”
“Look.” Liza propped her chin on her hand. “What is this really all about?”
“I want to make Clay jealous.”
“What?”
Maizie couldn’t help feeling uncomfortable. “Clay’s been ignoring me lately and I want him to realize that even though I’m middle-aged and plump, some men find me attractive.”
Liza massaged her forehead. “Let me get this straight. Please God, tell me I’m understanding this. You’re planning to flirt with some dude on the tennis court to make Clay jealous?”
“Sort of.”
Liza smacked her hand on the wooden table. “That’s one of the dumbest schemes I’ve ever heard. Let me make one thing perfectly clear. You are a gorgeous woman. And plump, please! Women all over the country pay good money to have what God’s given you.”
“Don’t get your knickers in a twist.” Maizie leaned forward to let Liza in on a secret. “It’s perfectly innocent. All I’m going to do is flirt with the new tennis pro. I checked him out, he’s not married, or engaged or even dating anyone.” She’d researched his relationship status by calling a friend who was a member of the club and a tennis fiend. “I’m certainly not planning to do anything other than get Clay’s attention. How can anything go wrong?”
Chapter Six
Maizie had tried to sound confident when talking to Liza, but to be totally truthful she wasn’t that sure her plan would work. And no matter what Liza said, she had gained several pounds—most of it right on her caboose.
However, she’d learned early in her beauty-pageant career that self-confidence could mask a ton of deficiencies, and fortunately that included a sizable derriere. It also required a certain amount of assistance, and in this case that meant a sexy, new tennis outfit.
Maizie and Clay were having breakfast when she volleyed the first shot in her “make my hubby jealous” campaign. “I’m going into Atlanta this morning to do some shopping.”
“Okay,” he answered.
“Just okay?” Why was she being so snarky? She frequently went to Atlanta, so why should this trip be different?
Clay put down the paper and shook his head.
“I’m sorry,” Maizie said. “That was uncalled for.”
He stared at her a few seconds and gently laid his hand on her cheek. “I love you. You know that, don’t you?”
The tenderness of his touch gave Maizie pause.
“Do you want me to come with you?”
“No! Uh, I mean, that’s not necessary.” Having him along would screw up the purpose of her shopping trip.
“Okay, if you’re sure.” Clay took her hand and kissed the tips of her fingers. Darn that man. He knew how to push every one of her buttons. She just wished he’d do it more often.
MAIZIE PULLED INTO THE parking lot of a tennis and golf superstore. It was a gigantic warehouse filled with sports equipment and clothing. She was more familiar with tony boutiques than places like the Tennis and Golfarama. Maizie was out of her element and didn’t have a clue where to start.
“May I help you?” a clerk asked when she walked in. The young woman was tanned brunette wearing skintight warm-up gear. There wasn’t an ounce of cellulite on that buff body.
“I need some tennis…uh…stuff.”
“A racquet or clothes?”
“Both. Actually, I haven’t played in years so I need everything, right down to the socks and bloomers.”
Maizie’s admission elicited a laugh from the saleswoman.
“I’m Cindi,” she said, sticking her hand out for a shake.
Maizie would just bet she dotted the “i” with a heart.
“I’m sure we can find exactly what you need.”
An hour later Maizie’s credit card was limp from exhaustion and she was the proud owner of three new tennis outfits—all super sexy, of course—a top-of-the-line racquet and a pair of shoes guaranteed to put a spring in her step. Now all she needed was a plan, preferably one that had a chance of working.
MAIZIE’S FRIEND AT THE TENNIS club had also informed her that Trip Fitzgerald wasn’t as young as he looked. He was actually closer to her age than to the young matrons who swarmed him like bees to honey.
But even so, Maizie had serious doubts about her ability to attract his attention. She wasn’t twenty anymore, nor was she a size zero. Would he think of her as nothing more than a middle-aged groupie? The last thing she wanted was to come off as a pathetic cliché.
That would be incredibly humiliating.
Maizie was closing in on D-day, or T-day, as the case may be. She had the clothes, the racket, the shoes and she’d signed up for a series of lessons. The only thing she lacked was confidence. So naturally she made an impromptu visit to Cousin Kenni’s salon, Permanently Yours.
Liza wasn’t on board with her “make Clay jealous” plan. Perhaps Kenni would be more encouraging. What would Maizie do if her cousin jumped aboard the “ohmigod, that’s a bad idea” bandwagon?
The Permanently Yours salon clientele ranged from senior citizens with tight perms to trendy adolescents and everyone in between. Like Miss Scarlett’s Boudoir, it was a happening place.
“Hey, Toolie, what’s up?” Maizie said as she walked in. Tallulah—aka Toolie—was an ex-pat from Atlanta, cute as a button and totally cool. Today she was sporting a spiked purple do that showed off her multiple earrings.
“Not much. Kenni’s in the back doing Laverne Hightower’s hair.” She made a face to indicate her “ick” reaction.
“Gotcha.” Maizie gave her a high five before heading toward the back of the salon.
“Hey, Raylene.” Raylene was Kenni’s other stylist. She specialized in the curly styles that were de rigueur with the over-eighty crowd. The hairdresser responded with a three-fingered wave.
“Hi, Kenni.” Maizie smiled at her cousin in the mirror.
“Hello, Mrs. Hightower. How are you doing?” She knew when to suck up.
“Hello, Maizie Walker. How are you?”
“Fine, thank y
ou, ma’am. You haven’t been to the boutique lately. We’re about to have a sale. You need to drop by, now ’ya hear? I always have gourmet coffee brewing.”
“Gourmet, huh?” Laverne was renowned for grazing through the free samples at the Piggly Wiggly.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Kenni secured the last pink foam roller and twirled her customer around. “I’m going to put you under the dryer now.”
Kenni made sure Laverne was comfortable under a hood that looked like an old Saturday Night Live cone of silence and then crooked her finger at Maizie.
“Let’s go to the office.” The salon’s office/break-room was really a storage area filled with boxes of beauty products, but there was a comfortable enough Goodwill couch and adequate refreshments.
“Sit, girl. You look like you’re ready for a discussion.”
“Yeah.” Maizie moved a stack of hairstyle magazines and sat down in an old vinyl chair.
“How about something to drink?” Without waiting for an answer, Kenni rummaged in the refrigerator and came up with two cans of iced tea.
Before she could hand over the drink, Maizie blurted out, “Clay and I aren’t exactly burning up the sheets anymore and I plan to do something about it.”
Kenni froze. “Oo-kay.” She put the cans back in the refrigerator and retrieved a pitcher of fluorescent green liquid.
“That stuff looks radioactive. What is it?”
Kenni grinned at Maizie’s description. “It’s Raylene’s version of a margarita. I think we’re gonna need it.”
“What about Mrs. Hightower?”
“Raylene can finish her up. She owes me one, and that will keep both of them out of this conversation. I suspect the fewer people involved, the better.”
Once they were settled with plastic cups of Raylene’s brew, Maizie told her cousin everything. Including descriptions of her three new tennis outfits with the halter tops and plunging necklines.