Stilettos & Scoundrels

by Laina Turner

  Chapter 4

  As the bright sun washed into my room, I opened my eyes and for a moment forgot where I was. I didn’t care much, as long as I could get some more sleep. I closed my eyes again and rolled over, hugging my pillow and snuggling down in anticipation of at least a few more minutes of shut-eye. I’d been having a wonderful dream about a beach, a parade of good–looking men, and me in a size–four bikini. I wanted it to continue.

  “Getup, lazy head! Breakfast is on the table!” my mother yelled up the stairs.

  I sat up and was quickly jolted into the reality that I was home. Not in my home, but rather my parents’ home. Argh. I flopped back down on the bed and shut my eyes again, willing myself to go back to sleep and to dream of anywhere but here. I wasn’t sure I was ready to face the world this morning—a common anxiety for me, especially before coffee.

  There was a brief moment where I inhaled, and then smelled the rich aromas of coffee and homemade cinnamon waffles wafting up to my room. Mmmm... heaven. Now this was motivation to get up.

  “Come on,” my mother yelled again. She didn’t believe anyone needed to sleep past five in the morning. To do so was laziness. When I was in high school, this aspect of my mother’s personality sucked. My friends always hated staying over because she always made them get up early, too, no matter what time we had gone to bed.

  “I’m coming! Give me a minute.” Groaning inwardly, I pushed myself up, swung my legs over the bed, and shuffled to the bathroom, trying to rub the sleep out of my eyes.

  My room was still the same as it was when I had lived at home: lime green walls with hot pink trim. I had chosen the colors in middle school, and while I still liked that combination, a room full of it was a bit much. Stuffed animals lined the shelves, along with my pom–poms and other memorabilia. It made me laugh when I thought of how important I used to think all of this stuff was. One time, when I asked my mother why she never redecorated my room into something more practical, she said she was waiting for grandchildren so she could turn it into a nursery. It wasn’t a topic I ever brought up again. Even though I loved kids, at this point in my life, it wasn’t something I was ready to think about.

  I stepped up to the antique pedestal sink my mother found at a flea market and splashed ice–cold water on my face to wake myself up. It helped a little, and I knew the coffee waiting for me downstairs would finish the job. I often wished I could mainline coffee. Stick a needle in a few minutes before I woke up, infusing me with what it took to get my day started.

  I thought about getting dressed for all of two seconds, but decided I needed that coffee sooner rather than later. If my mother didn’t like my blue Scooby Doo pajamas, well too bad, she would just have to live with it.

  I padded down the stairs into the kitchen where both my parents were seated. This had always been a gathering spot growing up and was one of my favorite parts of the house. The other rooms seemed rarely used compared to the kitchen, when I thought about it. My mother was constantly in there cooking something that smelled wonderful, or brewing an endless supply of iced tea.

  After school as a kid, I would sit in the warm and homey kitchen and tell my folks about my day, leaving out any bad things I did, while eating fresh–baked homemade cookies. The kitchen was still decorated the same as it had been when I was growing up, but I liked it. Pale yellow walls with light blue trim accents and a brick–red tile design as a splash guard behind the sink and around the counter. The whole house had beautiful oak wood floors, real wood that stood the test of time, and the kitchen was no exception. In this room, my mother had a beautiful handmade rag rug under the table. The kind where you wanted to take your shoes off and dig your toes in the pile.

  This morning my dad sat at the table, talking to my mom and nursing his coffee. Together since they were fifteen, they were still best friends and never seemed to run out of things to discuss. My mother dressed for the day in ivory dress slacks and a rose–colored silk blouse with ornate buttons, complete, of course, with earrings and her pearl necklace. She handed me a steaming cup of coffee when I walked in, just the way I liked it: lots of cream, two Splendas.

  “Thank you,” I said and gave her a hug.

  “What are your plans today?” asked my dad over his coffee as I sat down to my plate of steaming waffles and crispy bacon. It was nice being spoiled with coffee put in my hand and food on the table. I could get used to this—there had to be some great guy out there wanting to cater to me. Was that asking too much?

  I noticed my dad was still in his bathrobe, so I didn’t feel so bad for being in pajamas, though I was surprised my mother let that slide. She must be loosening up.

  “Nothing concrete,” I replied and took a sip of coffee. The first sip always tasted so good. I knew it was purely psychological, but I swore I felt it coursing through my veins, waking me up bit by bit. I poured syrup on my waffles and dug in with my fork. My taste buds were in ecstasy. I had become so used to the frozen stuff that I had forgotten how much better homemade ones were.

  I didn’t ever cook. In fact, I wasn’t sure the stove in my condominium even worked, and I was pretty sure I didn’t own a waffle maker. I was a microwave girl. It wasn’t worth the trouble for me to cook, but I was more than willing to eat someone else’s efforts.

  “I was thinking about going into town to visit Katy. I would love to see her new salon and the look on her face when she sees me.”

  Katy, my best friend from high school, owned the town’s most upscale beauty salon. To be more accurate, it would be the town’s only beauty salon, unless you counted Bob’s Barbershop, which wasn’t technically a beauty salon. I knew it was the best, even by Chicago standards. Katy and I both attended cosmetology school via the vocational program in high school. Katy did it because she loved it; I did it because Katy was doing it and because it got me out of two-class periods in school. Since it had been a while, I was looking forward to surprising her.

  “Katy does a great job, Presley.” My mother spoke up. She was now standing at the waffle maker, waiting for the remaining waffle to finish cooking. “You should see what she did with Gertrude Mayweather. She looks ten years younger.”

  “Then she looks seventy instead of eighty?” my dad teased. “Is that an improvement, Sue?”

  “It’s important to women,” she said, giving him a dirty look. “It might be something you should take note of.”

  At this, I rolled my eyes. To an outsider, it might look as if he’d made her mad, but I knew this was a game to them. After all these years, I was used to it.

  “Have you guys talked to Jesse lately?”

  “He’s like you. Doesn’t call like he should,” my mother replied.

  “He called last week,” my dad said. “Wednesday I think it was, to let us know that he was going on a few interviews, or auditions, whatever they call it.”

  “That’s what he said last time I talked to him,” I said. “Does he think he’s going to make it as an actor?”

  My dad shrugged. “Who knows with him, Presley? But at least he goes for what he wants. Even if that changes every few months.”

  “He just needs to find his true calling, but you can’t rush that,” my mother added. “Better he tries out some different things than rush into something.”

  “You always make excuses for him. It’s not fair.”

  “But you’ve always had a plan, Presley, that’s just the way you are. He’s always been a dreamer. He’ll find his way.”

  I didn’t disagree with my mother’s assessment of my brother’s personality, and he always got so fired up about his new careers that you couldn’t help but get excited with him. I just got jealous sometimes that it seemed like my parents had different expectations for him than for me. You had to love family dynamics.

  I took my dishes to the sink, rinsed them off, and put them in the dishwasher.

  “What are you two doing today?” I asked.

  “I have a garden club meeting. We’re planning the annual summ
er show. I hope to have my roses in there this year. I skipped last year because they just weren’t where they needed to be.” My mother fretted. “I still think I under fertilized in the spring, but it’s so hard to know. Who knows what your father’s doing?”

  “Might go see if Bill needs any help. He’s restoring an old Corvette Stingray. Piece of junk now, but she’ll be cherry when she’s finished.” My dad loved old cars and was always helping his buddy, Bill, with his clunkers. How they spent hours out there, I didn’t know. It didn’t always seem like they got a lot of work done for the amount of time they spent working.

  After a quick shower, I dried my hair and threw on a pair of boot cut jeans and a black lightweight turtleneck, perfect for a cool spring day. Black boots with two–inch heels and matching silver necklace and earrings completed my outfit. Simple and casual. I headed into town to visit Katy’s Klassy Kuts.

  On the way, I thought about the past. Katy and I had been inseparable since second grade, but once I went to college and Katy stayed here and opened her salon, we just drifted apart. Katy never understood why I liked the city so much. She preferred to be a big fish in a small pond. She always told me that the city was too busy and impersonal, while I couldn’t see why Katy would want to stay here in this small-town. It was, ironically, the same issue I had with Brian, but unlike with Brian, despite our differences and the distance, Katy and I were still great friends.

  Katy and I hadn’t seen each other in almost two years because I rarely came back home. My parents usually came to see me in the city. Good friends were hard to find; I needed to make more of an effort with Katy. A friend who could remember who you were at thirteen was rare. Those were the friends who kept you grounded...or at least helped you make fun of yourself.

  Business must be booming; I thought as I pulled into the nearly full parking lot of the salon. I walked through the door with my resolve to be a better friend and could hear the gossipy chatter of the salon. I smiled as I heard Katy’s voice-over the noise of the dryers. Looking around, I was impressed. Remodeled since the last time I saw it; it was gorgeous.

  “I don’t know, Joyce. He looks pretty damn cute to me...” I heard Katy say as I snuck up behind her. “I sure wouldn’t kick him out of my bed for a small transgression like that.”

  “But, Katy, he was ogling that new waitress and I was right there. All I can think of is what he must be doing when I’m not with him.”

  “Honey, men are always going to look. It’s in their nature, and we can’t stop it. As long as he knows what you’ll do to him if he does any more than look, then I don’t see the problem. He’s an attractive man, and you don’t want to get rid of him.”

  “Well, then I wouldn’t either,” I interrupted, surprising Katy by walking up behind her. “You’ve always had good taste in men, even if you have a one-track mind with what to do with them.” I had always admired Katy’s openness about sex. She knew what she wanted; she just didn’t always make the best choices. But who did?

  Shocked, Katy turned around and squealed, “Oh my God! It’s you, Presley Thurman in the flesh. You do still exist. And here I thought those Christmas cards were computer generated.” Katy gave me a big hug, excited. “What brings you here, and how long are you staying?”

  Katy was exactly as I remembered from the last time I saw her. Beautiful blonde hair, of course out of the bottle like so many others, but hers sure seemed natural. Five foot three with generous curves—the kind men liked to grab onto, in Katy’s words...

  Today Katy looked great in her form–fitting jeans and low–cut fuchsia top. She had on some great large, black costume jewelry that accented the fuchsia. She also wore tennis shoes, which considering she spent most of her time on her feet; it made sense. Plus, they were cute fuchsia Adidas. I might have to see where Katy got those.

  “I just found out yesterday that I would be coming into town and wanted it to be a surprise.”

  “Are you here visiting your parents?”

  “Yup, I had some unexpected free time and haven’t been here for a while. Thought I should pay a visit.”

  “Free time?” Katy said as she continued to work on Joyce’s hair. “Did you take vacation time from work?”

  “Yeah, well, not really. Currently, I am unemployed,” I said, a little nervously. It was a scary thing to say. “I’ll fill you in later when we have a lot more time, but enough about me. You look like you’re doing wonderful for yourself, Katy. This place is gorgeous! I’m so happy for you,” I said, giving her another hug.

  “Well, I have always wanted a good man too and that hasn’t happened yet.” Katy laughed. “But as far as the salon, I can’t complain,” she continued, with well–deserved pride in her voice looking around at all she had built. “I forgot you hadn’t seen it since I remodeled.”

  “She should be proud,” said Joyce, Katy’s current customer. “Nobody can do color the way Katy does. Look at this. You can’t tell this isn’t my natural color. Besides, who cares about men? Nothing but trouble.”

  Katy shook her head. “You can say that because you’re married.”

  “Happily married for five years. Five out of forty ain’t bad,” Joyce cackled.

  The women in the salon laughed at that remark. Many other patrons chimed in with agreement to Joyce’s statement. I rolled my eyes but admitted it was amusing, and there was a fun energy in this place.

  “Listen, Katy,” I said, “I know you’re busy working but I was hoping we could get together for dinner. You know, catch up.”

  “That would be great, Pres, but only if we are having drinks,” Katy said. “Meet me at La Casa at seven tonight. I’ll buy the margaritas.”

  “Yum! La Casa has the best margaritas anywhere.”

  La Casa wasn’t a Mexican restaurant, as its name implied. Rather, it was a melting pot of food. If you craved it, it was probably on the menu and could be counted on to be fantastic. How it got its name was anyone’s guess, but it was your typical greasy spoon with a liquor license.

  “Even better than anywhere in your fancy Chicago?” Katy asked, smirking.

  “Even there.” Just thinking about a cold margarita made me salivate, probably not a great thing to think about when it wasn’t even lunchtime.

  “It’s a date. I get done here at six, so I shouldn’t be late,” Katy said.

  “All right, see you then.”