Taylor Made

by Sherryle Kiser Jackson

  Then the thought occurred to her that this could be the uniform for the Epic Beauty stylists at the hair show less than a month away. Forget a tacky T-shirt or matching smocks. She could just see a monogrammed EB representing the salon’s name stitched in silver. She got actual goose bumps thinking about it and how everyone would be praising her for the style concept.

  Pill decided she would make just one pit stop to check the price on the way to the lingerie department. She did not have to travel far in the women’s section before she spotted a rack of the featured blouses with a sales sign perched on the rack boasting 33 percent off, which made her ignore the sixty-eight dollar original price tag. Pill fingered the silky smooth material before selecting her size and placing it in front of her. It was perfect. If she bought a size up, she could get away with wearing it as a short dress, just to set herself apart.

  The possibilities pulsed through her mind like the techno music coming through the speakers. It was saying, buy, buy, buy. She would get one in her size to show the girls at the shop just to see what they thought. Although they had plenty in size small, Pill noticed just two in an extra large.

  Suddenly the rack looked sparse, choices few. She yanked one of the roomier-sized shirts as if someone were trying to muscle it out of her hands. She had to get one for Shae, just in case they weren’t there when she returned. Candy and Deena were plus-sized as well, but preferred their shirts snug. What if they couldn’t find a shirt in their size later? They all had to have this shirt if they were going to sport them in the show.

  You cannot buy six shirts, Pill told herself. She came for a negligee. She was going to do the right thing. She sandwiched the two shirts on a nearby rack among other random items from last season deep discounted with a 50 percent sales sign.

  The aisle to lingerie took her past the shoe department. Determined not to veer off track again, her keen senses zeroed in on every pair of silver shoes as she passed. She did a double take at a display table at the corner. A pair of Marc Fisher dressy slingbacks was saying something to her, and she was listening. Like love at first sight, her heart began to pine over the fact that she had to have them to complete the look. Whether she wore the iced-white tunic as a dress or with leggings as the window mannequin suggested, these shoes were ideal for her. She ignored the platform pumps by Guess with the chain that dangled from one side of the heel to other that called to her from the same display rounder.

  Pill’s head began to pound because she knew she had some serious decisions to make before leaving the mall. She forced herself to trudge on to her destination. It took her no more than fifteen minutes to find a coral-blue bustier and matching bottoms trimmed and accented with chocolate brown that were enticing enough without saying she was trying too hard to make a statement. There was no fuss, no hassle, because the lingerie was not her top priority anymore.

  She didn’t buy it. She didn’t make that one purchase she came for. It wasn’t like she didn’t own a negligee, she reasoned. Corey had seen all her goods. She had worn all her bridal shower gear in the first two months when she vowed to dress as fly to bed as she did in the day. Corey didn’t have a care in the world then, but that routine got old real quick. Each morning she woke up with marks and indentions from binding corsets and uncomfortable garter belts.

  Pill braced herself to exit the store the way she came. She walked purposely past the shoes and sped up her pace in women’s apparel, as if being chased out of the store. She almost collided with a couple at the entrance to the mall. She sat on the bench outside the store to get herself together.

  Ironically, the mall was where she occasionally came to think. Every thought was attached to a hue of fabric, a style of handbag, or a particular fit of jeans. She never shopped with her girlfriends. She came to the mall to wrestle with her subconscious in anonymity. It was where she crafted her individuality. She could listen to her internal conversation above the elevator music and really face herself in the two-way mirror of a dressing room. There she could figure out how to cover up her flaws. It was like soul-searching. It was truly the only therapy she’d known.

  Today wasn’t supposed to be about her, though. It was about pleasing Corey. She should leave, but it was like she couldn’t move, knowing someone could easily scoop up her hidden stash. No one could tell her that her dilemma didn’t rank up there with the Gulf oil spill and the fight against terrorism. Lord, help me was the only prayer she uttered for fear of appearing crazy to the passersby in the mall. She wanted God to stop her, tell her no or wave a dark flag. Like a spiritual RSVP, she wanted regrets only so she could walk away. She was driving herself crazy with the possibilities—get the shirts only, buy the negligee, forget them all and get the shoes.

  While she waited to hear from God, she tried to qualify the sound of His voice. She’d call into work to talk to Carmen about the hair show uniform idea, and if Carmen sounded as if she had any reservations at all, she’d forget about the shirts and her obsession about buying them.

  Pill pulled out her cell phone and dialed the shop’s number. To her surprise, Carmen thought it was a good idea, especially embroidering the shirts with the Epic Beauty brand. Maybe this was her sign. When Carmen asked if Pill could see if a salesperson could put the shirts on a 24-hour hold, Pill accepted responsibility for buying them, collecting the money from the girls, and sending them off to be embroidered. She couldn’t take the chance of them being reshelved for the general public before her coworkers decided to come and purchase them.

  Armed with her list of her coworker’s sizes, Pill stood up and made her way through the entrance again. She realized she failed to think things through. Sure, her coworkers would pay her back, she thought, but where was she going to get the money for the temporary loan? On credit? How would she tabulate that debit from her earnings and explain the necessity to Corey?

  At that moment, two ladies brushed past her with freshly made up faces, fabulous outfits, and four or five large shopping bags between them. Today had been a good shopping day for them, Pill surmised as they paraded their way to the mall entrance. She glanced back at them with envy and noticed that one of them had dropped a receipt. It fell and lay crumpled like a miniflag without a staff after the pomp and circumstance was over.

  That piece of paper reminded her of when she was in high school and came to the store with a folded shopping bag in her purse looking for discarded receipts like this one. She resisted the urge to pick it up and see what high-priced item she could discreetly lift from the rack and return for cash like she did back then.

  Now she had cash and a credit card. She also had not moved from that spot. A family of four had to walk around her in the aisle, stepping on the receipt, marring it and the memory in the process. She answered the knock from her past with an answer on the opposite extreme.

  Instead of shoplifting, she promised God she would shop, then stop. This would be her last visit to the mall in a long, long while. This was her sacrifice for her marriage. She’d have to do her Christmas shopping online because she was making a solemn vow. She picked out the six shirts and the coral and brown lingerie with a clear conscious. The Marc Fisher and Guess platform pumps and another outfit she wanted to sport in D.C., she brought to the register when she found the dial to temporarily shut off her guilt. She left it in the hands of her Silver Sliver lover to pick up the tab.

  Pill pulled into her driveway with anxiety and an overwhelming sense of duty. She left all the bags except the one with the lingerie in the car when she realized Corey was already home. She had totally destroyed her desire, but thought her surprise might be salvageable if Corey was on his best behavior. She was praying that he didn’t burp, fart, scratch, or say something stupid in her presence. She knew she was just looking for an excuse, but those were the real deal breakers for her.

  She left her purchase on the landing at the base of the stairs and followed the sound of the television to the living room. Corey was relaxing on the couch. He had pulled the leather ottom
an up to it to form a recliner. She hesitated to sit down next to him because in her opinion he was wasting their forty-two-inch plasma HD television watching old Technicolor programs as he often did. She hated those programs. She was not about to sit there and watch it with him.

  “Hey,” Pill greeted him.

  “Hey,” Corey parroted, barely looking up.

  There was a pause like they were two strangers forced to sit near each another at a lobby gate of an airport. Pill conveniently forgot she was supposed to be luring him upstairs with her. Ravage him, ravage him, she thought. Where was her inner seductress? She couldn’t help thinking how disappointed he’d be if he knew the contents of her car trunk or the balance on her credit card right now. She was disappointed in herself.

  “What’s this, MASH?” Pill asked to break the monotony. Ironically, she remembered it being one of her mother’s favorite shows.

  “Hogan’s Heroes,” Corey said. “I have never really watched this before. It’s pretty good. MASH was set in Vietnam. Apparently this was during one of the World Wars.”

  Although his tone was bland, his eyes were hopeful that she would take an interest in what he was watching, so Pill decided not to criticize. She would continue to extend a plank if he would. Soon, they would have a bridge.

  “Did you eat yet?” Pill asked. “Tell me you didn’t touch those chicken cutlets I had in the refrigerator.”

  Corey just gave her a look like she couldn’t be serious. He was good for bringing food in, but left the chore of cooking totally up to her. “Yeah, I saw that. I just heated up some leftovers. I didn’t know when you were coming in.”

  “I wanted to cook for us, I mean, I always cook for us, but I wanted to cook us something real special. Later, as in later this weekend. I want to spice it up a bit—Cajun dish, you know?” She was rambling, trying to buy some time. Her plans were being altered as she spoke.

  His eyebrows went north to show his confusion. He studied her for a minute. “I can’t wait.”

  She gave him a weak smile as a rain check for a date he didn’t know they were supposed to have. The volume on the TV was down low, and he picked up a book that was tented on his chest that she recognized as one of the titles Deacon Tripp had given them, Power of a Praying Husband. She went to the nearby entertainment center to pick up the second book in the stack they had brought home from that visit as well called The Five Love Languages.

  The first page she turned to posed the question, “What happens to the love after the wedding?” She glanced over at Corey as if she had heard him voice that question. She was relieved to find him engrossed in his book. She was not about to read this whole book, she thought, but she was determined to find the basic answer to that question before retiring that night. She found it in the very next chapter. People speak different love languages.

  Chapter 18

  “When was the last time you had a haircut? Get the cloth so I can trim you up right quick. I can’t have you out there, neck just fuzzy, feeling like a piece of suede,” Pill said, running her palm down the back of Corey’s neck, sending a chill through him.

  Corey had a feeling he was being set up as he unstraddled the dining-room stool to meet his wife’s request. Pill was being uncharacteristically accommodating, he thought. He was waiting for the big whammy. First, it was the poor man’s feast after church that morning.

  On the ride home, she asked him, as she often did, what he wanted to eat to tide him over until dinner. He didn’t know what it was, but he was craving a spam sandwich and barbeque pork rinds from his independent bachelor days not that long ago. Surprisingly, she didn’t flinch or furl her lip in judgmental indignation like he expected. She just asked him to stop at the convenience store where junk food was priced like organics and nutrition wasn’t promised at all. She came out with the underbelly in food processing and a packet of grape Kool-Aid.

  At home, they had fun reminiscing about other down-and-out meals they had consumed in their leaner days. She cut thin slices of tomato and sandwiched the fried spam patty with toast slathered with mayonnaise like a pro. Then she sweetened the already-sweet Kool-Aid, and they shared a bag of pork rinds. Vienna sausages and Ramen noodles were spoken of like gourmet entrees.

  He found it hard to imagine Pill eating this way. It reminded him that just like this meal, he was treated to only random samples of her past. None of what she allowed him to view translated into the exquisitely refined woman he saw today.

  At one point she got serious and asked after repeated shakes of her head, “I know why I had to eat like this, but why did you?” He knew to her it must have seemed absurd to struggle when his parents had their share of a small fortune thanks to his uncle. Her question spoke to the fact that she really didn’t understand him. He just didn’t want his fate tied to anyone else. He let her know that it was always important for him to be on his own, and until he could do better, he ate what he could.

  Now, the complimentary grooming session had him suspicious. It was the same way he’d felt when they spent the past three nights in their own bibliotherapy with the books Deacon Tripp had given them. Ironically, it was for the same amount of time the chicken cutlets were left marinating for the super special dinner that never happened.

  Maybe he was just a little guilty, Corey thought. He was harboring his own secrets. He had taken off his wedding ring. When he and Crystal decided to catch a bite to eat after work, he pretended to be a single man. He shinnied his platinum band of commitment into his uniform pocket without a second thought until now.

  He wondered if taking the ring off were even necessary. They flirted harmlessly, joked a little, but mostly talked about transferring his credits and finishing his degree at the same four-year institution like she had done. That was it. He didn’t hint or suggest anything further. He put his ring back on at the end of the night, and they both went to their separate homes after she programmed her number into his cell phone.

  Corey didn’t know what he was doing. Reacting, he guessed, to the way Crystal supported him at work, motivated him, and seemed to understand him. Now Pill seemed to be turning around, and he realized it was a big mistake to lead Crystal on and jeopardize his marriage with Pill.

  The constant yanks of his hair brought him back to the present. Pill had converted their kitchen to a beauty station. With an old sheet on the hardwood, Corey sat in a folding chair rather than their dinette stool so he would be the right height for her to ride the waves of his thick, lush hair to trim the ends evenly. She turned and tilted his head at will. She took the electric trimmer to his neck and folded back his ear on each side to give him precise lines.

  This is what he always wanted from her—her delicate touches and her undivided attention. He didn’t wear a cape so she ran her hand down his shirt front when she was finished to sweep the loose hairs to the cloth. He was getting more excited with each touch. She palmed his head with both hands and gently massaged his scalp, working her way toward the front while leaning him slightly forward. He felt loose hairs fall past his face and some that collected in his lashes and on the bridge of his nose. Then he wiped his face as she brushed at his collar.

  Finished, she blew on his neck. It was cool and spicy and tingly at the same time. He didn’t think he could take much more stimulation. He wanted her but didn’t want to encounter the roadblocks of trying to convince her with words. He heard her inhale as if she were a child about to take another shot at the candles on her birthday cake. Turning around quickly, Corey grabbed her hands in his, gently this time. He stood over her but stared deeply into her eyes in an attempt to communicate his desire. The kiss that followed showed she understood.

  Corey scooped her in his arms and proceeded to carry her upstairs. He felt like King Kong in the original black-and-white version that he had seen late one night on television. Pill played the role of the bleachedblond woman who complied with the big ape after she realized he didn’t intend to hurt her. She reached for a package on the landing, but he didn
’t stop. They didn’t have time or need for her purchase. The bedroom caucus was convening.

  Pill opened up to him like a marigold in full bloom, and Corey blossomed alongside her. He drifted off after their passionate session, assured that their marriage bed was the fertile soil that would keep their union alive. He had to make sure not to defile it.

  When he awoke, he stared at Pill’s serene smile. No longer was she the sexy she-cat he saw every time he looked at her. She had an angelic glow. He bent to kiss her.

  Guilt gnawed at him at that moment. He admitted to himself that he was attracted to another woman, but no one captivated him like Pill. He couldn’t afford to be distracted, he thought. He had to make what he and Pill had right again.

  “What?” she blushed, covering her limbs with their sheet when she found him staring.

  “Just thinking about how I could go one more time.” Corey stretched his body leisurely while stretching out his words. “Correction, there is no number that could count the amount of times I want to do that with you. Forget the cutlets and all the money you spend on groceries. I’ll take spam sandwiches and pork rinds for dinner every day.”

  Corey noticed her look at him. Disappointment was etched in her delicate features. She rolled her entire body away from him. He nuzzled up behind her in his confusion and touched her arm. “Was sup?”

  “Nothing, Corey. As usual, you’re on to the next time. Clear your scorecard, next game, right?” Pill said irritated, getting up from the bed quickly, taking the tousled top sheet with her. He was left baffled and exposed. Corey watched her leave the bedroom altogether.