She used to get the full beauty treatment: hair, eyebrows, manicure, pedicure, even an occasional facial. Now she had only her eyebrows and fingernails done, both at the local Wal-Mart, and her nails were her own, not the acrylic overlays she used to get. Once you started with that you had to keep it up or your fingers looked like shit. If she didn’t feel like devoting the time to having her nails done professionally at the salon she could do them herself at home and blow cool air from her blow dryer to hasten the drying process. They might not come out looking quite as nice as they did when she went to the salon, but at least she could work at her own pace and in the comfort of her own home.
Milo was right. They didn’t get enough time to enjoy their house. Virtually all their free time was spent riding either to or from the city. When you factored in the commute, their workweek was sixty hours. She didn’t want to spend her weekends sitting in a chair at the salon. Having to grocery shop was bad enough.
“Is it burning?” she asked Camille when her shoulders jerked.
“Just a little. I caught myself scratching the other day. Just keep going; I can take it.”
“Okay, if you say so. We’ve got another eight minutes. Let me know if it gets unbearable.”
“I will. This is such a convenience, Dawn. I really can’t afford to go to the salon. As it is I have to buy some new clothes.”
“Your old clothes look fine to me.”
Dawn, who generally didn’t impress easily, found herself admiring many of Camille’s outfits. Of course, most of the secretaries at her firm dressed real sharp, too. She always considered secretaries to be necessary but overpaid employees. Any idiot could keep a schedule, make travel arrangements, arrange for meeting rooms and catering. But many of those at the top levels made more money than professionals who, in her opinion, would be much more difficult to replace. Secretaries were a dime a dozen. How many people could come in off the street and supervise the preparation of a complicated payroll?
“I’ve lost some weight, and I’m not sure all of my things can be taken in.”
“I thought your face is looking slimmer these days. What’s your secret?”
“Stress.”
Dawn didn’t know how to deal with such forthrightness. “Oh,” was all she could say.
After Dawn combed the leave-in conditioner through Camille’s long tresses, and then wrapped the outer portion and wound the center on jumbo rollers, the women changed places. Dawn sat on the step stool, and Camille put a towel around her shoulders and smoothed Vaseline around her hairline to guard against burning.
Camille hummed as she applied the relaxer, stopping abruptly when she recognized the melody as that old Minnie Riperton tune Dawn had on in her CD player the other week. She couldn’t get that tune out of her head. “Dawn, it’s too bad I don’t know anything about cutting hair. Your hair has such a defined style; you’ll probably lose some of it because it’s grown out.”
“Oh, I’ll probably go in for a wash and set just before I’m due for my next touch-up, and I’ll ask her to reshape it.”
“How often do you touch up your hair, anyway?”
“Every four or five weeks. I know they recommend waiting six, but for me that’s a long time, probably because my hair is so short. It’s hard to hide that new growth, and if my hair starts to look like it needs a touch-up, that means I’ve waited too long.”
“I know what you mean. I usually wait six weeks, but I can go five if that works for you.” Camille didn’t want these home treatments to be a one-time thing; she wanted to do it on a regular basis. Wearing the same suits for two years was one thing. Walking around with nappy roots was something else. As a secretary to a director, she had to look her best going to work. She was desperate to pull it off without having to pay a fortune to do it.
“Mommy, Daddy’s home!” Shayla yelled.
“Whoop-de-doo,” Camille said softly. She could tell from the way Dawn’s eyebrows shot up that she’d heard her comment, but she didn’t care.
A minute later Reuben tapped on the open bathroom door. “Hey, what’s goin’ on here? You two starting a beauty salon?”
“Hi, Reuben,” Dawn said pleasantly. “We’re giving each other home treatments. It’s a lot more convenient than spending hours in the beauty salon.”
“And cheaper, too,” Camille added, “since we can’t afford to pay a hairdresser to relax even two strands of my hair.”
Dawn looked on with embarrassment as Reuben’s cheerful demeanor dissolved into a mask of stone. She rushed to say something pleasant. “It’s a harmless experiment, Reuben. A little mutual back-scrubbing that’ll benefit us both.”
“Harmless,” Camille repeated. “We’re not doing anything devious, like plotting how to murder our husbands.”
Dawn frowned. What the hell was Camille’s problem? Why was she deliberately seeking to embarrass Reuben?
“Camille, when you’ve rinsed Dawn I need to see you,” he said, amiably enough. Dawn saw him nod in the mirror. “Good to see you, Dawn. Excuse me.”
“Good to see you, too, Reuben.”
Camille finished the application and rinsed and shampooed Dawn’s hair thoroughly. Wrapping a towel around it, she said, “Dawn, if you can give me a minute I’ll go see what Reuben wants.”
“Sure, go ahead.” Dawn kept her expression impassive, but she already knew what Reuben wanted. She wondered if she should make a quick exit. She could easily wrap her own hair at home, and she didn’t want to be an ear-witness to a shouting match.
She pulled the towel off her head and poured conditioner over her hair and combed it through. In less than five minutes she had the longest strands at her crown rolled and had brushed the outside of her wet hair into a smooth circle. She covered it with a wrap net, fastened the Velcro, and began straightening up the bathroom. The sound of raised voices could be heard coming from the master bedroom. Just as she thought, Reuben was on Camille like pigeons on bread crumbs for making insensitive remarks designed to belittle him in front of her.
This wasn’t the first time Dawn had heard Camille make disparaging comments about Reuben. She always had something unflattering to say whenever his name came up during the long rides to and from the city. Dawn could only imagine how frustrated her friend must be. She and Milo had it hard enough trying to meet their monthly obligations while retaining their income, but Reuben had lost his job nearly a year ago. He worked more than forty hours between his two part-time jobs, but he couldn’t be earning very much. Still, she felt Camille’s statements were inappropriate, and that it would be only a matter of time until the things she said got back to Reuben. Milo had once remarked that somebody ought to cover her mouth with some duct tape.
Dawn quickly gathered her purse and keys and hurried out, stopping outside to ask Shayla to tell her mother that she had to leave. As she drove home it occurred to her that life in the Curry household was as rocky as in her own.
Chapter 38
The Currys
July 2004
Camille carried her summer suits into the house. She’d lost so much weight that she’d had no choice but to visit a seamstress and have them taken in. Buying a new wardrobe was out of the question. The bills were now due for the new furniture they’d bought two years ago on a deferred payment plan. She’d had a special account set aside to pay the bill in full and not have to pay any interest, but she panicked and raided it when their savings ran out a few months back, so they’d gotten slammed with two years’ worth of interest payments for their furniture. Withdrawals from their 401(k) accounts now kept them afloat. She hated to think what that would mean for them at tax time.
She’d been notified of her new salary increase, which sucked. She’d nodded politely at George when he’d informed her, but inside she fumed. What the hell was she supposed to do with three and a half percent? He’d probably gotten a lot more than that, and a bonus to boot. But it was the little people, like her, who had to get by on crumbs while the big shots got the bulk
of the loaf.
Once again she recalled her mother telling her to choose a husband carefully and to be sure to get someone who would be a success, someone who could support her. Here she was, just a few years away from forty, married to a man who didn’t make enough to keep a roof over their heads. What would happen when their retirement funds ran out? Why couldn’t Reuben find a damn job?
The Lees
Veronica proudly showed off her new kitchen. From the amazed looks on the faces of Camille and Dawn, she knew they could hardly believe it was the same room that they’d first seen when she and Norman gave that party to celebrate being hired by the hospital in Stroudsburg nearly two years ago. She couldn’t blame them; she had trouble believing it herself. Those roomdimming, dark wood cabinets had been taken down and replaced with white extra-long ones like Dawn and Milo had, with four shelves instead of three. One cabinet, in which they displayed their fancier drinking glasses and most colorful bowls, was made of glass with a wood trim. They’d bought sleek black appliances, including a stacked wall oven and microwave. A smooth surface, five-burner cooktop sat on one end of a large island. The old brick-print linoleum had been replaced with gleaming white tile. The stark black-and-white color scheme contained splashes of red—including a toaster, blender, and coffeemaker. A red ceramic holder held cooking utensils.
Their new carpet had also been installed, a sea of maroon so thick that you could see your footprints. They’d selected an attractive linoleum for the basement and accented it with throw rugs. She felt it unlikely that their basement would flood, but Norman pointed out that the area sometimes had days of heavy rains and that it didn’t make sense to spend a lot on flooring there. It looked pretty good, considering they’d done the work themselves. A few seams showed here and there, but it was a huge improvement over that old shag carpet.
“Ooh, it’s so lush,” Denise King said as she wiggled her bare feet on the carpet.
Her husband Lemuel poked Norman with his elbow. “Yeah, man, now I know why you’re always working overtime.”
“Whenever I can get it,” Norman admitted. “And that won’t change anytime soon. Gotta pay for all this.”
“It’s worth it, if you ask me,” Dawn said. “Milo will love this.”
“I hope he feels better tomorrow,” Veronica said politely.
“I do, too. He hated to miss it, but he said he’ll be over soon.”
Camille, who’d been quiet, spoke up. “Reuben said he’d try to stop by after work, but he’s usually pretty tired when he gets home.”
Veronica didn’t expect him to show up. The Currys had pretty much withdrawn from the social group the four couples had started, and she feared their marriage might be collapsing under the strain of financial problems caused by Reuben’s layoff. Camille made no secret of the fact that she’d run out of patience, but Veronica felt she was being unfair. Reuben worked so hard. He’d even quit his part-time job at the supermarket for a more lucrative one at the hospital in maintenance Norman had told him about.
“I can understand that,” Norman said. “He works a lot of hours.”
Camille could only grunt.
“Norman, you should put the chicken on,” Veronica said, glancing at her watch. She’d agreed to cover a shift for one of her coworkers tonight. An extra eight hours would be very tiring, but it would also mean overtime pay.
Lemuel King kept Norman company as he grilled chicken quarters in the backyard. The four women sat around a round patio table with its umbrella positioned to keep the late-afternoon sun out of their eyes.
“Oh, it feels good to sit down for a change,” Veronica said. She rolled her head back on her neck and then from side to side, eyes closed.
“You’ve really had a house full, haven’t you?” Denise asked empathetically.
“All summer. It hasn’t been easy, especially with the work we had done.”
“Living through a remodel is hard enough without having extra people in the house,” Denise commented.
“Cooking has been a challenge,” Veronica admitted. “We’ve probably used the grill three or four times a week. I just couldn’t face the mess in the kitchen.”
“How’s everything going with your niece?” Dawn asked.
Veronica smiled. “She’s a joy. So is Norman’s nephew. We ended up having to put him in the basement, because I forgot to mention to Norman that I’d invited Essence to spend the summer and he forgot to mention to me that he’d invited Chucky. But he’s a good kid, and he’s never complained about being stuck down there.”
“That makes for a lot of extra people, when you include your parents,” Camille remarked.
“Tell me about it. It’s doubled the size of our family. When I’m not cooking for eight people I’m doing the laundry. But Essence is a big help with that, and so is Lorinda.” She sighed. “Still, I have to admit I won’t be sorry to see the kids go home and my parents in their own place. Norman and I made a pact to never commit to any company without clearing it with the other first.”
“Have your parents found a place yet?”
“Yes, they found a ground-floor condo they like, right here in Mount Pocono. They’ll probably close the latter part of next month.” Her shoulders sagged in fatigue. “Then Norman and I will have to get them moved in.”
Camille raised her chin defiantly. “Well, one advantage to being broke is that no one has asked for us to keep their kids this summer.”
“Uh . . . How does Reuben like working at the hospital, Camille?” Veronica asked, wanting to change the subject.
She shrugged. “He says it’s all right. At least he makes more than at that supermarket. I kept telling him he was wasting his time, but it wasn’t until they hired a produce manager from outside instead of promoting him that he was ready to chuck it. And I like the fact that he’s home more during the week with the kids and gone all day Saturday and Sunday, when I’m home.”
Veronica rolled her eyes. There was just no getting Camille to shut up. She could understand the financial strain Camille must be under, but did she have to knock her husband every chance she got? It only made everyone uncomfortable.
“Again, Veronica, I think your kitchen and your new carpeting look wonderful,” Dawn said in what Veronica suspected was another attempt to change the subject. “And I hope you’re not overdoing it by entertaining us this afternoon and going to work tonight.”
“No problem. That’s why we made it an early evening. I’ll lay down at seven and sleep for a few hours.” She shrugged. “A woman’s gotta do what a woman’s gotta do. After all, these improvements all come with a price tag. But just eighteen more years and it’ll all be ours.”
“Eighteen years?” Dawn’s facial expression reflected her puzzlement. “Is that all?”
Denise nodded knowingly. “You must have gotten a twenty-year mortgage.”
“Yes, when we asked the bank to do the math it wasn’t much more each month than a thirty-year, so we went for it. This way we’ll own the house free and clear before we turn sixty.”
The Youngs
“So how was the great unveiling of the masterpiece?” Milo asked.
His question surprised Dawn. She hadn’t expected him to even acknowledge that she and Zach had gone over to the Lees’, not after he’d flatly said he just didn’t feel up to having Norman and Veronica’s brand-new kitchen shoved in his face.
“Hey, they’re good people, and I’m glad for them. They’re not show-offs or anything like that,” he said, “but I just can’t cope with it right now, not while this fucking house is bankrupting me. I’m sorry.”
She’d been terribly disappointed. Spending time with their friends was one of the few times Milo truly relaxed. These days he walked around more tightly wound than an unused garden hose.
“It was gorgeous,” she said now. “Their kitchen is right out of a magazine. It’s all black and white, with a few touches of red.”
“Sounds nice. But you’re home awfully early.”
She nodded. “Veronica’s working an extra shift tonight, and she wanted to sleep for a few hours before going in. She and Norman both work overtime whenever they can.”
He grunted. “Sure they do. It helps them pay for all that work they’re doing.”
“Zach and I are going to the pool, since it’s still early. He likes to practice his stroke just before the lifeguard goes off duty.” She remembered something she’d made a mental note to share with him. “Milo, I learned something interesting tonight. Veronica mentioned that they have a twenty-year mortgage, not thirty.”
“They could probably afford to do it. A forty-year-old house isn’t going to cost as much as new construction, Dawn.”
“I understand that, but I wondered if we should have looked into doing that. Veronica said it only came to a few more dollars every month, and they’ll own their house ten years earlier.”
“Well, it’s too late to do anything about it now, isn’t it?”
His sharp tone annoyed her. “You don’t have to jump down my throat, Milo. I was just wondering.” She left the room, wanting to put some space between them.
In her private bathroom she splashed cold water on her face. Why hadn’t they considered all their options instead of rushing in to the first deal that came along? If they’d moved a little slower, they might now be sitting as pretty as Veronica and Norman instead of struggling to get by month after month. Milo was probably right: most likely the Lees’ house had cost a lot less than her and Milo’s. All right, so when they first moved in, the house looked awful, but all older houses weren’t as outdated. Lots of owners modernized their kitchens and bathrooms and put down new carpet before selling. Dawn wished she and Milo had considered an existing house instead of building this new one on the lake. They’d never even thought about it.
But the Lees hadn’t gone out and spent thousands on new furniture for every room, like she and Milo had. Her usual expensive taste had resulted in more debt for them. She asked herself, if she had the option of financing over ten fewer years and making do with the same furniture they used back in Brooklyn, would she have done it?
If These Walls Could Talk Page 26