“Damaged?” She reached up and felt her hair. “It would be.” She shook her head. “Damaged. Can you beat that? Even my hair is damaged.”
“What’re you saying?” I asked, stopping to look closely at her.
“I can’t have children,” she said. “I’m damaged. Unlike you and every other woman on the planet.”
“Every woman I know can’t have babies.” I ran a comb through her hair. That wasn’t exactly true. Every one I knew did have a baby or two. Some even three. “Every woman I know doesn’t want a baby.” That wasn’t true either. Most of my friends adored babies. I wanted to pacify the woman in my chair and get her out of there quickly.
“I don’t know any woman who doesn’t want a baby,” she said hotly. “I guess it doesn’t matter, does it? I haven’t slept a full night in the last year. Do you know I hear babies crying? All night long, I get up just to make sure it’s in my head. Of course, it always is. Our house is so quiet I can hear my shoes as I walk across the new carpet. Did you ever notice how certain shoes make noises on carpet?”
“Sure,” I said, though I really hadn’t. “You want more than this off?” I measured off a piece of hair.
“That’s good,” she said, reaching up and touching her hair. “I really need some color. Can’t you do it for me, Vada Faith? Please?”
I’d already seen Marge Randolph, another faithful customer, frown at me over her Good Housekeeping. I’d slipped Dottie in ahead of her. I wasn’t about to upset Marge by coloring Dottie’s hair too.
“Sorry,” I said. “This is the best I can do for today.” I smiled in Marge’s direction and she nodded back, grudgingly.
I finished cutting Dottie’s hair and ran my hands through it, holding it up here and there, measuring it again by eye, to make sure it was even. I ruffled her blond hair with my fingers, plugged in the curling iron, and then picked up the dryer.
“One minute more, Marge,” I called, “and I’ll be with you.” I didn’t want to lose her business. She spent a great deal on expensive products and came in weekly to have her hair done. Besides she was mama’s old friend.
I turned on the dryer and directed it at the shoulder length hair I was drying. For a few minutes I worked in silence. Then I turned off the dryer and ran a brush through her hair.
“Did you breast feed your babies,” she asked, loudly, catching me off guard.
I could see in the mirror that several women behind us were staring over their magazines. “No,” I said, in a whisper. “I didn’t.”
“Well, you are going to Lamaze, aren’t you?” Her eyes met mine in the mirror.
“Maybe,” I said, keeping my voice low. I wanted to keep my surrogacy quiet for the time being and here this woman was shouting it to the whole world. My world anyway.
I had to get a move on. I had customers waiting and I was already behind. We’d had four or five walk-ins. We tried to serve everyone but today I wasn’t in the mood. I wished everyone, including the woman in front of me, would go home.
“You should think about Lamaze, honey. Me and Roy will coach you. Did I tell you I’m joining the La Leche League? Did you know breast milk is best for a baby?”
“I used formula for the twins.” Picking up the curling iron I started curling her hair. “If it wasn’t for that they’d have starved.” I stopped working to think about it. “I have heard breast milk’s best. I was so busy with the girls and they were so impatient.”
“I truly cannot wait for this baby. Look.” She lifted a chain from her neck for me to see. “This is a fertility amulet.” She fingered the trinket. “It’s been blessed. It’s supposed to make me fertile.” She sighed. “It hasn’t worked so far. I’m not giving up hope.” She tucked the trinket and chain back inside her shirt.
I picked up a bottle of spray and gave her hair a mist. It was our most expensive hair product.
“Roy’s finally finished with the new house,” she said. “He had the workers going nonstop and he had to oversee every little detail. It’s something else.” She shook her head. “I don’t like the quiet though. With all those high ceilings, I feel like I’m in a cathedral. It’s creepy. Our windows are bare. Roy insisted. They overlook the woods. Hey,” she brightened, “come and see it. My husband is working too much. Getting the business established. He’s never home. Just little old me. Wandering from room to room. Did I tell you I’m decorating the nursery myself? It will be spectacular. I’ve got people coming this afternoon with carpet and paint samples.”
“Great.” I gave her one last mist. “All done. My sister will take care of you up front.”
“Okay.” I nodded across to Marge as Dottie gathered her things. “You’re next.”
As Marge sat down, the other woman slipped a folded twenty into my pocket.
“Thanks,” I said, “but you don’t have to do that.”
“I want to, honey. Thank you. I feel so much better.” She leaned over and hugged me.
“What a nut case,” my sister said, after the woman had left. I was bent over the shampoo bowl washing Marge’s hair.
“Did I hear her say she was going to breast feed her baby?” My sister whispered as I went to the cabinet to get a towel for Marge’s hair. “Hell-o! Breast feed? Don’t you have to have a baby first? Like, um, give birth?”
“Stop!” I held up my hand and gave my sister a warning. This conversation wasn’t going to happen.
I went to wrap Marge’s hair in one of our biggest fluffiest white towels. She deserved something extra for having to wait so long.
Instead of moving away, Joy Ruth plopped down in the chair next to where I was working.
I sectioned off Marge’s hair, getting it ready to put on the plastic rollers she favored. “There’s Alberta,” I said, as the door of the shop opened, and Alberta Trent hobbled in, a cane in one hand and a pastry box in the other. “You might want to get started on her since we’re behind.”
“Well, your friend Dottie is a nut case if you ask me,” my sister whispered, stubbornly. “I don’t care what you say.” She put on a smile for Alberta and flounced toward the front of the shop.
“You ready for me, sweetheart?” the old woman called, pulling a tray of cookies from the box and placing it on the pink reception counter. She fidgeted with her hearing aid. “I said, are you ready, dearie?”
All sugar and spice, my sister gave the white haired woman the customary hug, and told her she loved her pink pantsuit. She wore the same one every week. Two piece polyester with big white buttons. She was one of our best customers and the biggest tipper we had. She could afford it since she was one of the wealthiest women in the state. Her father had made his fortune as owner of several coal mines, now defunct. Usually, she came in three times a week, to socialize and drop off goodies.
“About Dottie…” Joy Ruth held her comb poised in mid air, ready to take up the conversation again. She’d already shampooed her customer who was now waiting patiently in her pink pantsuit for her trim.
“Not now,” I said, sharply, cutting her off. “We’ll talk later.”
I was having trouble concentrating on Marge’s hair, which seemed to be taking forever to wind on rollers. What Dottie said was churning around in my head. How could she breast feed a baby I had?
“Only pregnant women go to Lamaze, honey.” A familiar voice whispered in my ear as strong arms grasped me from behind.
I managed to turn enough to see local news reporter, Barry Carruthers, close as my skin, a smile covering his face. He was our very own success story in Shady Creek. He’d been the best sax player in the high school band and though people had long suspected him of being gay he was so charming nobody really cared. He was one of the few of us who had gone to college and was now on television doing the nightly news.
If my old school chum wasn’t so handsome with his blue eyes and blond hair I might have smacked him. That and if Marge hadn’t turned to stare at us.
“Excuse me,” I said to her and pulled him across the room to
the supply closet. “Where did you come from?” I scowled at him. “Are you spying on me?” I glanced around but thankfully didn’t see any of his camera crew lurking in the corners of the shop.
“I have to get back to my customer.” I knew Marge’s ears were tuned in to what we were saying even though her hands were fiddling with the clasp on her purse. “You don’t have an appointment. What do you want?”
“I came in to make one.” He smiled and adjusted his gold wire rimmed glasses. He leaned forward and whispered. “I overheard the news. Now, tell me, why don’t you want anyone to know you’re pregnant?”
I waved him away. He was asking questions like we were best friends. Like we shared secrets. Like he was one of the girls. Well, ordinarily that was how we treated him, but not today. He was butting into something that was none of his business. He might have his sights set on finding the news story of his career but I wasn’t helping him. Not if I could help it.
Barry had a serious bald spot. It kept me busy thinking of ways to conceal it. I discouraged him from combing his hair to one side. I supplied him with an industrial strength glaze that kept it plastered to his head in the style that looked best. If he wasn’t careful, I’d be out of the stuff when he came in for his next appointment.
“I am not you-know-what,” I whispered, checking to make sure the customers nearby were buried behind magazines. Luckily we had all the latest copies.
“Thank God,” John Denver sang loudly from the speaker above me, “I’m a country boy.”
While I frowned at Barry, a voice called out from the front of the shop. “Hi.
It’s me.” I turned to see Dottie tripping through the reception area toward me. “I’m back.”
“Lord,” I said, looking towards the heavens, “what have I done to deserve this?”
I didn’t know I’d spoken aloud until Barry gave me a strange look. With that, he went to study the hairstyle magazines in the wall rack across the room.
Dorene, whose dryer had long ago stopped, waved from her chair when I passed on my way back to my station. Whatever disaster lay ahead, I had to get busy or I’d never finish my appointments.
“Honey,” Dottie gushed, as I rewet a section of Marge’s hair with a spray of water, “I love that wonderful hair spray you used on me. It smells heavenly.” She sniffed the air. “I came back to buy some.”
“Great,” I said, “glad you like it.” I finally wound the last piece of Marge’s hair onto a roller.
“I have to get Marge under the dryer and I’ll be right with you.” I directed Marge to a dryer and found the magazine she’d been reading earlier and handed it to her. “Coffee?” I asked, but she shook her head and opened the magazine.
I motioned for Dorene. She took her time waddling over to my chair and making herself comfortable.
“I’ll be right back,” I said, picking up a Coke I’d been sipping on all day and motioning for Dottie to follow me. “I’ll show you our products.”
“I want you to see what I bought in the baby shop next door, Vada Faith,” she said, excitedly, hurrying along behind me. She pulled something from the bag she carried. “For our little one. Can you believe it. This is for our baby.”
I turned and stared at the baby outfit she held in front of my face, tiny white pajamas with a fuzzy yellow duck on the front.
“I thought we could bring him home from the hospital in this. What do you think?” She rubbed the material between her fingers.
I could feel my facial muscles drawing taut and a tension headache building.
“Too heavy?” She asked anxiously. “Should I go back and get the lightweight one? This is so soft.” She held it next to her cheek. “Should I get pink or blue or one of each? I simply cannot wait for the baby. Can you?”
Was it my imagination or were all eyes in the shop on me? Was there a lull in conversation? I was afraid to look around to see who was listening.
“Joy Ruth,” I said, and she looked up from the appointment book, “would you finish Dorene for me?” I put the Coke can on the reception counter with a slight bang and went across to the display cabinet that held the products we used.
Surprisingly, Joy Ruth hurried off to work on Dorene without any questions.
“What’s the matter?” Dottie asked, trotting along behind me like a wounded puppy. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No.” I snapped, looking at the array of hair products. I was furious at the woman. For showing up here unannounced and for talking about the surrogacy. Then pulling out that baby outfit. What was wrong with her? She might as well announce my intentions on the evening news.
“Dottie,” I said, trying to calm myself down, “it’s just not appropriate for you to come in here and talk about me having a baby for you. This surrogacy is very personal and private to me.”
I turned to say more and then I really looked at her. Her eyes were filling with tears and she looked pathetic. I just couldn’t be mad at her. After all she’d been through. Wanting a baby and trying so hard to have one. Then being discouraged and being childless.
Maybe there was something wrong with me if I didn’t want to discuss the surrogacy.
“Listen,” I said, sighing, “I haven’t told anyone yet, that’s all. I wanted to wait. Look,” I patted her arm, “it doesn’t matter, okay.” I picked up a bottle of the expensive hair spray and handed it to her. “Here’s what I used. You take it and try it. If you like it next time you can buy it.”
“Oh, I’m glad you’re not mad at me. Honey, you are the sweetest person I’ve ever met.” She beamed at me. “I’m happy you’re having our baby. I can’t believe it yet. Within a year I’m going to be a mother.” She leaned over and hugged me. “It’s all because of you, honey. You’re the best thing that’s happened to me and Roy in a long time.”
When I got the woman out the door with her parcels, Barry came up to me, snapping his fingers, “Hey,” he lowered his voice, “I heard what she said. You’re going to be a surrogate mother.” He ran his fingers through his thinning hair and smiled brightly. “Tell me I’m right. Come on, girlfriend.”
Barry was the nosiest person I knew and of course he’d been eavesdropping. “Give, now,” he said with the same Richard Simmons perkiness he’d had all his life.
“I’m only thinking about it, Barry,” I said, wearily. I was tired of trying to keep it quiet. “I haven’t told anyone yet.”
“This is a great story.” He put his arm around my shoulder as I walked back to my station. “I could break it on the evening news,” he said, in my ear. “Then, you could appear on Live with Maddie Magill and explain what you’re doing. Her talk show is fun. People will love you for doing this.”
“No!” I pulled away from him. I was afraid everyone in the shop was talking about Dottie Kilgore. I glanced around and could see that most of the women had gone back to what they were doing before she had arrived. Most of them were buried behind magazines. “John Wasper would never want this on television.”
I took the broom and swept around my chair then picked up the small pile of hair with a paper towel. I thought of John Wasper who was putting up an oak shelf for Midgy today. “He’s not keen on this anyway.” I lowered my voice. “You just keep quiet about it for now. You hear?”
“Fine,” he said in almost a whisper. He took a card from his wallet and handed it to me. “I won’t tell a soul until I hear from you. I promise. Call me, honey, and let us do this story. You’re the first person in Shady Creek to be a surrogate mother. This is big. People will be interested. This is exciting, historic. Women who can’t have babies will love it. You may persuade someone else to be a surrogate.” He was rocking back and forth on his feet, proud of himself.
He was the kind of person you couldn’t help but like even when he was driving you nuts. John Wasper would never want me appearing on television telling people what I planned to do. He didn’t like what I was doing and he wouldn’t want the world to know it.
“Can you work me
in on Tuesday?” He asked, louder now. “I’m desperate for a trim.”
“Sure,” I said, and penciled him into the appointment book. “See you at 11:00.” I didn’t tell him I hoped by Tuesday he’d be completely bald and I’d have nothing to wash or comb but his shiny head.
Wearily, I put away the appointment book and went to take my last customer.
Chapter Nine
“Are you really going through with this?” Joy Ruth asked, as she swept up hair around her chair. It had been a long day and we were both ready to go home.
“Yes.” I stifled a yawn.
After spending the day on my feet and listening to customers complain about the ills of the world the thought of being a surrogate mother seemed like a breeze. How hard could having this baby be, anyway? I emptied the small trash can from the shampoo area into the large one by the back door.
“Women are surrogates because they like being pregnant.” My sister’s voice took on a school teacher tone. “Have you forgotten that you didn’t especially like being pregnant?”
“How could I forget anything when you’re here to remind me? Seven days a week. You’re like mama’s warped Elvis record that keeps repeating hound dog. Only you like to repeat all my faults.”
“Not your faults. I wouldn’t need to remind you of anything if you’d just listen the first time around.”
“You’ve been wanting to talk all day. So, go ahead,” I said, wearily, “talk.”
“Authentic surrogates are selfless women who really want to help a childless couple. You don’t want to do that. You just want the glory or the money. I never knew you to be so mercenary. How could you do this for, for pocket change?”
“Oh, give it up,” I snapped, wondering if some of what she said was true. “It’s been a long day. I want to help Roy and Dottie. Can’t you understand? Besides in a few years this will be a common practice. It’s in the Bible.”
“Are you telling me surrogacy is sanctioned by God?”
“Don’t you remember the story about Abraham and Sarah. She was infertile. Her maid, Hagar, bore them a child. And,” I said with emphasis, “Abraham and Hagar had to get intimate to do this. Do you see me being intimate with anyone? No, this is strictly clinical. Now, I’m not going to discuss it any further.”
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