The Wisdom of Hair

by Kim Boykin

  “I’m gonna wear a frog suit to ’Cedes’s wedding and say ‘ribbit’ when it’s time for her and the poop-head to say I do. Then I’ll be all practiced up for when I get married.”

  “Jeffrey,” Alexis said with the most serious look on her face. “Now, what did I tell you about weddings? Don’t you remember? Whose day is it first?”

  The boy thought for a minute. “The bride’s.”

  “That’s right.” She was delighted but still holding him tight. “And then whose day is it?”

  “The bride’s mother.” He was figuring out how things work real fast, because he was losing the excitement that had propelled him like a motor.

  “And then whose day is it?” she asked.

  “If he’s lucky, the groom’s.” The little boy was nearly sedate.

  “Good boy,” she said and kissed him on the forehead.

  Sara Jane was in the dressing room waiting to take her turn on the pedestal while her mother and I watched the Mercedes and Jeffrey Show. All of us were peeved that Darnel was letting that ugly girl hog the pink-carpeted platform, especially Mrs. Farquhar. When Mercedes was done, Sara Jane came out in a pretty little off-shoulder gown.

  “Honey, can you step down and let Miss Myers up there a minute?” Darnel asked after Sara Jane had been on the pedestal for about three seconds. Sara Jane didn’t like that dress anyway, but she looked at Darnel like she had better think twice before she made that request again.

  “Tell me…Margie,” Mrs. Farquhar said to the woman who had been so helpful to us. “Do you work on commission?”

  “Yes. Yes ma’am, I do,” she said with a puzzled look.

  “Good, because I think I see the perfect dress right there.” Mrs. Farquhar pointed to a particular gown behind glass doors that was locked up tight with the other gowns in the Designer section.

  “Yes ma’am, I’ll go get the key,” Margie said, excited over the prospect of making a big sale. “Darnel, I need the keys to the glass closet.”

  “Margie, I was helping these folks earlier. I’ll get it for them; you can go on back to Lingerie now.”

  Darnel left the redheaded girl there standing alone on the platform with no one to ooh and aah over her, because her mama was off chasing Jeffrey again. She opened the case and pulled the dress out and showed Mrs. Farquhar the price tag. “Three thousand dollars,” she announced, looking for the sticker shock in Mrs. Farquhar’s eyes.

  Mrs. Farquhar took the dress out of her arms and handed it to Margie. “Can you help Sara Jane into this one, please? I think it’ll do just fine.”

  When Sara Jane came out of the dressing room, I knew exactly what Mrs. Farquhar meant about knowing when you’ve found the perfect dress. I have never seen anything so beautiful in my life. It wasn’t just the dress or my beautiful friend; it was the two of them together that left no doubt that this was indeed the dress.

  The ugly redheaded girl announced to her mother, so that God and everybody could hear, that there couldn’t possibly be anything for her in Atlanta. On their way out, the girl’s mother was trying to appease her by promising to take her to New York or Paris if need be to find the right dress. Darnel watched them go and then watched us like we were going to steal something.

  Margie took the long train out of its special bag and gave it a gentle shake; the beaded white illusion with inset lace flowed down the pedestal steps out the entrance of the department. “It’s cathedral length, honey,” Margie whispered as she pinned the veil on Sara Jane’s head and looked like she might just cry over such a beautiful sight. “It’s perfect.”

  22

  With the perfect dress ordered and paid for, we were high as kites and decided to set out for a mall everybody in town was talking about. Lenox Square made the downtown Rich’s look cheap and plain, like those dresses on the sale rack in the Bridal Room. Mrs. Farquhar was so excited over the prospect of shopping in stores like Saks and Neiman Marcus that she talked in hushed tones when we passed through their doors, like they were holy places.

  I paid too much for a plain little bangle that was just costume jewelry, but it came in the prettiest little gold foil box that said “Saks Fifth Avenue” in raised letters across the top. The saleslady put it in a fancy paper sack that I kept for the longest time, even though I lost the bracelet a couple of weeks later at one of Sara Jane’s parties.

  Mrs. Farquhar bought a tiny box of Godiva chocolates with four pieces inside, one for me, one for her, and two for the bride. I didn’t know anything about fancy chocolates, but that little candy was the best thing I had ever put in my mouth. I looked on the bottom of a two-pound box and nearly fell over when I saw that the box of chocolates cost more than the entire outfit I was wearing.

  Mrs. Farquhar shopped, and Sara Jane and I gawked at the rich people and the rich prices of most everything there. I decided there were two kinds of shoppers at that mall—folks who looked like they belonged there and folks like us who came to gawk. We didn’t mind being gawkers, and I know if Mrs. Farquhar had not spent a small fortune on Sara Jane’s dress that day, she would’ve blended right in with those rich people.

  “Sara Jane, let’s look at a few dresses for your trousseau,” Mrs. Farquhar called, holding up a silk dress that looked similar to the one under my bed back home.

  “I know you’re probably sick of this by now, but I can’t say no to her when she shops like this. Do you want to look around? Maybe meet us back here in an hour or so and we’ll have lunch?”

  “Sure.” Not knowing if I’d ever see such a place again in my lifetime, I wanted to explore the mall. I had what was left of the fifty dollars I’d earned styling Ethyl’s hair; I hadn’t intended to spend it, but when you’re with somebody who shops like the Farquhars do, you’re so caught up in the moment it’s easy not to worry about if you’re going to have enough to eat later on. You just shop.

  The least expensive place in the mall was Rich’s, which wasn’t as big as the downtown store but tried to be every bit as grand as the other Lenox Square stores. Luckily, the prices were the same. Somehow, I ended up in the Lingerie Department with $37.50 burning a hole in my pocketbook, staring at a pretty little short thing on a mannequin.

  “Do you like it?” The saleslady smiled and winked at me. “It would make a good early Christmas present for some happy man. You give him that, and no telling what you’ll get.”

  She laughed, making me blush.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s a teddy. It’s short and sweet and guaranteed to work wonders.”

  While I was gawking at the mannequin, she’d pulled one from the rack that was just my size and was dangling it in front of me the way Mama had dangled her “Cabaret” outfit, only this time I was enticed.

  “There’s no harm in trying it on.” I nodded like a zombie as she led me to the dressing room. “It comes with silk panties.”

  I slipped into the teddy and wondered what in the world I’d need the panties for. The hem of the thing came just above my bare bottom. My long legs were tanned and lean. One of the spaghetti straps slid off of my shoulder sending chills down my thighs at the thought of Winston’s fingers pulling the straps down, his breath on the lace edge of the neckline as he pushed it out of his way. The price tag caught my eye. Fifty-five dollars.

  “It’s on sale,” the woman hovering outside the dressing room door called. “I know it looks like a dream on you.”

  I could make $37.50 go a long way back in Davenport. “How much on sale?”

  “It’s worth ten times what it costs and it’s forty percent off.”

  I did the math and looked at myself again. Minutes later, I stuffed $4.50 in my pocket, then hid the flimsy thing in the bottom of my purse.

  We ate lunch at a fancy restaurant and celebrated our “good shopping luck,” as Mrs. Farquhar called it, with a slice of grasshopper cheesecake. Now, I must admit I was put off by the name, but it was every bit as good as that Godiva chocolate and was so rich, I slept most of the way home. M
rs. Farquhar slept, too, with her prize for the day, a little sample of the wedding gown fabric, in her hand. I woke up a couple of times to check on Sara Jane, because I knew she wanted to hurry up and get home so that she could tell Jimmy she had found the dress.

  “Are you getting tired?”

  “I’m fine, Zora.” She smiled. “Go on back to sleep. We’ll be home before you know it.”

  When I woke up, she was pulling into my driveway. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and smiled at Mrs. Farquhar, who was still fast asleep.

  “She’s worn out,” Sara Jane whispered. “It’s more the excitement of the hunt than the actual shopping that does it to her.”

  “Thanks for inviting me. I had a ball.”

  “Don’t forget your purchase.” She handed me the Saks bag with the bracelet in it.

  I was glad it was dark and she couldn’t see the shame on my face. I told myself it came from keeping things from someone who loved me and was always as open as can be, but it had more to do with my motive for buying that little piece of lacy silk and the woman’s guarantee it would work wonders.

  “I love you, Sara Jane.” I slung my pocketbook over my shoulder and heard the bag crinkle inside. “Have fun with Jimmy tonight.”

  She put the car in gear. “Zora, you know this isn’t going anywhere. Think about what I said about Jimmy’s friend, okay?”

  “We—” I wanted to say I loved him and we’d made love. I wanted to tell her I’d bought something to charm Winston with and hoped I’d be trying on a wedding dress one day. “We had fun, didn’t we?”

  She nodded and I closed the door as quietly as possible. Sara Jane waved and pulled out of the driveway. The day had been so full that other than buying the teddy, I truly hadn’t thought much about Winston, or Jimmy’s friend, or any man for that matter.

  As I climbed the stairs, I wondered if it had something to do with what Mrs. Farquhar called “Retail Amnesia,” meaning that just looking at or actually buying something new makes you forget your troubles. I thought about Emma, wondering what she could have possibly been trying to forget when she lived with Winston. Before, I’d always thought she was just a lot like Mrs. Farquhar and just loved to shop.

  I walked into my little place and noticed the magazine I’d left on the couch was gone. Two glasses and a cereal bowl were in the sink. I pushed my bedroom door open, the bed was unmade.

  “I meant to straighten up this morning,” he said, from the old chair in the corner of my bedroom.

  I looked at him and didn’t say anything.

  He walked over to the bed and pulled the spread up like he was trying to make the bed. “I had a bad night and just wanted to stay here. I hope that’s okay?”

  I nodded, not really knowing what that meant. Then he looked at me and somehow I knew that it had something to do with Emma. Whether it was her birthday or their anniversary or the day she died, it had crushed him so that he had taken refuge here.

  I walked around the bed to where he stood and kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll fix us some dinner.”

  He followed me into the kitchen. There on the counter was a small accordion-like wine rack filled with nine bottles of wine and two good crystal glasses.

  “Do you want some wine?” he asked.

  He never said he bought those things for me, but I knew he did. He opened a bottle of Beaujolais and spent the next few minutes trying to teach me how to pronounce the word properly. We drank that fine French wine with bacon and eggs, and toast with peach preserves Mrs. Farquhar had given me that summer.

  “I missed you,” he said, while I was cleaning up the dishes.

  My heart stopped. “I missed you, too,” I whispered.

  He turned the little radio on until he found some music so we could hold each other close and dance. It seemed like I had never left at all, and this was the way things should be. While the man on the radio was announcing the next song or selling something to the other listeners, we kissed and nuzzled each other, waiting for the music to begin again.

  We danced for a long time without stopping, not even for a drink. After a while, we wandered into the bedroom, and I went into the bathroom to change into the short little sexy thing I’d bought in Atlanta. When I came out, he smiled at me, and I remember thinking this must be what it’s like to love and be loved.

  The next morning, the phone rang and woke us up. I reached across Winston and answered it.

  “Zora?” Mrs. Farquhar said. “We sure missed you at church this morning. Aren’t you feeling well, darling?”

  “I’m fine,” I said. “I guess I just overslept.”

  “I’m so worn out from our trip, I didn’t cook. Jerry and Jimmy went out to pick up some barbecue. We’ll hold dinner for you, if you like.”

  “Oh, no ma’am, y’all go ahead. I’ll be fine. I’m just going to hang around here for a while. Maybe clean up a little bit.”

  “Well, you rest up, but if you change your mind, do come on by.”

  He never asked who was on the phone, just spooned up close to me and kissed the back of my neck. He pulled the sheet back and watched his fingers travel over my body. He loved to do that, and sometimes it seemed like he did it for hours.

  I lay there thinking about when I was a child and the times I trespassed in the pasture of some rich guy’s mountain home, losing myself amongst his horses. One of the mares, Jezebel, so her fancy halter said, quivered when any male got near her, even the geldings. It was funny to watch her eyes widen as she called to them. The other mares made a game of running hard from their lovers, but she ached for them like I ached for Winston.

  I wish he hadn’t known this about me the way the other horses knew it about Jezebel. I wish he had to talk to me, had to seduce me with words, because I think that maybe things might have been different.

  I didn’t realize that he’d dozed off and I startled him when I asked if he wanted some breakfast. He stretched and yawned. “I’ll cook for you,” he said, which felt strange because I’ve never been good at letting somebody else do for me. He got in my kitchen and messed up every single dish and pan I had as he panfried two little beef filets with some garlic, then dumped a whole carton of sliced mushrooms over them and put the lid on. He cut the ends off of green beans and steamed them in a pot that he jammed my colander into, then wrapped two potatoes in tinfoil before throwing them in the oven. The thermostat was set way too high, but I didn’t say anything, even when the bottoms of the potatoes were crusty and hard.

  “Beaujolais or Pinot Noir?” he asked as he set the table.

  Even though he’d schooled me on pronouncing the names of fancy wines, I felt better pointing at the bottle. He opened the wine, poured a tad in the glass, and swirled it around. After taking a tiny sip, he nodded in approval.

  “Good choice,” he said.

  He had obviously gone to the grocery store while I was gone because he made me a salad with some kind of dressing that he made from scratch.

  “Thank you,” I said as he put the bowl in front of me. If he could cook like this, what in the world did he need me for?

  The entire meal was great, and if we’d had a little sliver of that grasshopper cheesecake like I had in Atlanta, it would’ve been perfect. I was so charmed by this man and the fact that he had done something sweet for me, I never noticed the absence of conversation. We enjoyed our food in silence like we did our time in bed, and that seemed so natural at the time.

  The wine was going straight to my head. I sat across from him at my little table and slid my foot up his thigh until it rested between his legs. He put his napkin in his plate and began to massage my foot, then gradually slid his hand up my thigh.

  He pushed back from the table and came to where I was sitting, and pushed the spaghetti straps off of my shoulders. I closed my eyes and let him enjoy making me crazy for him. I should’ve learned something from those mares and the way they brought their lovers to their knees with the chase. But my mind was awash with lust and red wine a
nd something else that I had to say before I burst.

  “I love you,” I whispered.

  He looked at me like I had said something in a language he didn’t understand and hugged me close. It wasn’t the way lovers hold each other; it was more how a brother or a sister might hold you. He said nothing.

  I knew I had to get Winston into bed, to please him more than ever because that was the only way I could keep him. So that’s where we stayed the rest of the day, drinking, sleeping, and touching in silence.

  23

  I don’t know why I crept about the apartment so quietly, because Winston was still drunk from the night before. I dressed and ate a little biscuit left over from Thursday’s dinner, looking in on him every so often and then one last time before I left. His face was so peaceful, vulnerable, almost innocent.

  The morning was crisp and beautiful, like apple season in the mountains. Leaves rustled about as I tiptoed down the steps of the garage apartment and stepped into a world of live oaks awash with color. Not the brilliant reds and oranges of the hardwoods back home, but deep greens and rich browns. Still pretty.

  I walked like a little girl playing dress-up in her mother’s clothes, grown-up and giddy at the same time. I loved playing house with Winston. It agreed with me, having my man, loving him to the point that I was grateful to be alive just so I could feel this way. I spoke to everyone I passed by. I could tell by the way an old woman smiled and nodded back at me that she knew what I was feeling, that she had felt that way herself at one time.

  If I hadn’t been tethered to the ground by graduating and getting a job, I would have floated right up to that sweet November sky and made a place there for me and Winston forever. Instead, I glided through the door of the beauty school, hung my jacket up on the rack, and turned around to find Sissy Carson right in my face with an annoying know-it-all smirk.

  “Who is he?” she asked.

  “What?”

  “I’ve seen that look too many times on my own face. Come on and tell now. Who is he?”