“Are you not coming in for your appointment because you’re an elephant, you’re sick, or you’re in a grumpy mood?” I asked as Jenae walked in from the alley in the infamous sweatpants, an oversized sweatshirt, and a Creighton Blue Jay baseball hat over uncombed hair. Kelly and I had our sneaking suspicions that Jenae was off her meds again based on the past two days.
“All three,” Lucy responded, pulling my attention back to the telephone.
“Not to sound judgmental, but isn’t the wife supposed to stand by her husband when he makes big announcements like this?”
“Not if she’s an elephant.”
I put the mail in the drawer and pulled out the schedule for the day as Lucy changed topics: “Did you hear about Johnny Madlin’s killer?” A call from Lucy was never quick. “They electrocuted him.” Nebraska had barely wiped the dust off the electric chair from Willie Otey’s execution and apparently felt the need to use it again. “And Theresa has another chemotherapy treatment today. What an awful day.”
Theresa’s baby, Mary Elizabeth, who was due in May, had been born by C-section in mid-March. The delicate balance between waiting for the baby to be “ready” to be born and rushing to have the baby born so that Theresa could start treatment weighed heavily on her friends and family. While waiting, the cancer in Theresa had thrived with the hormones that helped her baby grow. The very proud godmother of Mary Elizabeth was Lucy. No sooner had the water from the baptismal font dried on Mary Beth’s newly baptized head than Theresa was taken in to start an aggressive chemotherapy.
“OK, well, I guess I can’t force you to get your hair done,” I said.
“It’s against the law.”
“Hope you feel better soon.”
Jenae was sitting in her chair in her station staring at herself in the mirror.
I hurried over to her station, stood behind her chair, and looked at her in the mirror. “So I heard that your number eighteen is about to be drafted, Toots. Ya gonna miss him?” Announcements of the draft were coming up, and the state of Nebraska wondered where Brooke Berringer might end up.
Jenae didn’t answer, and then Toby and Virginia walked in from the alley with several coffee orders. They both looked at Jenae and then at me.
“I forgot to tell you something, Jenae,” I added.
Jenae looked at me in the mirror; her eyes without makeup made her look very young. Kelly and Katie walked in. Kelly ran up to the chair and stood next to me, looking worried as her eyes met Jenae’s in the mirror.
“I threw everyone’s name in a hat and pulled out your name. Jenae Tolliver!” I said loudly. Jenae blinked. “Don’t you want to know what you won?” Kelly put her hand on Jenae’s shoulder. “The day off, Toots.” Jenae started crying into her hands and then got up and hugged me. We had about fifteen minutes before the first appointments.
“I got your bag.” Kelly was holding Jenae’s purse. “You want me to drive you home?” Kelly had just gotten her license. Jenae nodded.
“You want to let us know what’s going on,” I asked Jenae as she pulled her head from my shoulder. She shook her head no.
Almost in a whisper, I said, “Jenae, you need to go home. I know you’re trying to see if you don’t need your medicine sometimes, but you do. I want you back here tomorrow in stilettos and sequins or whatever.”
Jenae pulled a Kleenex out of the pocket of her sweatpants and blew her nose. She nodded her head up and down as she hugged me again. “Sorry.”
“No problem. Stilettos, remember.”
Kelly walked Jenae to her car as I looked over the schedule with Toby and Virginia. Double booking was never fun, but no one complained, as we juggled appointments all day. By lunch, I was hoping that Jenae’s one o’clock appointment I was covering would be late so I could eat a sandwich in the back room. The bell over the door rang as an incredibly gorgeous woman walked into Vanity Insanity. I looked up at the petite blond in a gray, perfectly fitting professional blouse and skirt. She glanced at Jenae’s station and frowned.
I looked at the schedule. “Henning?” I asked.
“Yes, I’m looking for Jenae. I have an appointment with her.”
“Jenae went home sick, but I’m picking up some of her appointments. I’m Ben.”
Henning looked me over and then looked at the clock on the wall. “Sure. I guess that will work. Where do you want me?”
I was glad that A.C. wasn’t here because he would have seen that as an opportunity. All the possible answers to that question. I directed C. Henning to my chair and pulled out an apron. “What are we doing today?”
“Just a wash and style.” She smiled. “I’m going to an event tonight, and I’d like something fun and different. What do you think?”
Again with the interesting questions.
“I’m meeting an old friend tonight. I ran into him at the Holy Name Fish Fry. You ever been to one of those?”
I combed out the long locks before directing C. Henning to the sink to wash her hair. “Oh, yeah. Holy Name is the granddaddy of all fish fries. The beer, the fish, the way you smell when you leave. It’s all good.”
“Anyway, I ran into this friend, whom I haven’t seen in years and we just clicked. Just like that. We clicked.”
I stopped combing.
“Anyway, he and I kind of have a history… If you know what I mean.”
“History?”
“We go way back to grade school. I haven’t seen him in years. Then there he was, handing out flyers for his campaign at the fish fry.”
The word “campaign” hit me like a bad mythical creature in a poorly lit movie.
“He’s having some big party to kick off his campaign. He doesn’t know I’m coming. I thought I’d surprise him.”
“Are we cutting off your ends, uh, Carol?”
“Charlotte. My name is Charlotte.” Of course it is.
So the mythical creature did exit, and she was sitting in my chair. Charlotte the Harlot even had a real last name. I checked out her boob job as I started drying her hair. I felt a bit of that old guilt as I tried not to make C. Henning look too good.
While Charlotte Henning was paying for her services, Katie answered the phone. She was getting better at speaking English, so she was excited to grab the phone whenever it rang. Katie handed me the phone as I watched my one o’clock leave the salon.
“A.C. on the phone. He sound serious.”
“What’s up?” I answered the phone, wondering if he had news about Robin.
“Brook Berringer died. It’s on all the local channels. Plane crash.”
I couldn’t reply.
A.C. continued, “Not a great day in Nebraska. Sorry to have to be the one to give you the news.”
“I’m good.” I hung up and turned to Toby, who had been watching me on the phone with concern.
“Everything OK?” Toby asked quietly.
“Some pretty bad news.” I turned on our flat screen and turned to ESPN. A man reported, “Brook Berringer, former Nebraska Cornhusker, died in a private plane crash in a field in Raymond, Nebraska. A friend and brother to Berringer’s fiancée also died. Berringer was expected to be drafted in the NFL this coming week.”
I walked over and sat on the pew near the front door and watched ESPN. Toby came over and sat next to me. “I hope Jenae gets herself together before she hears.”
“I’ll go over and check on her later. I’ll let her know,” I said as I walked over to the desk and picked up the phone. I’d been double booked all day. I could juggle one more appointment. I dialed.
“I changed my mind, Lu,” I told the grumpy pregnant woman on the other end of the line.
“Changed your mind about what?”
“Your appointment. Get your little elephant butt in here. I’m going to make you beautiful. You have to go tonight, Lucy. Your husband is running for city council. You’re going to stand next to him.”
“But…”
“No buts except your elephant butt in my chair.”
Her hair looked great that night.
31
Theresa: Guido the Wig
Friday, November 1
1996
Cra-zy, cra-zy, cra-zy.
On the drive back to Vanity Insanity from the Beauty Supply Warehouse, the rain attacked my windshield like an army of uninvited flying ants. A ripped wiper on the driver side was not doing its job as the wipers moved back and forth, making a creepy sound that pounded in my head.
Cra-zy, cra-zy, cra-zy.
I parked on the street side of the salon since after seven o’clock most of my staff had gone home. Toby was probably the only one still cleaning up now. I could see the back of Theresa’s head in the Vanity Insanity window as I got closer to the door. She was sitting on the pew across from the UP desk. Her hair, as long as it had even been to my recollection, flowed down her back.
“Are you ready for this?” I asked as I walked into the salon. I smiled as I pointed to the box I held in my hand.
“Is that my new friend?” she asked. Theresa and I had gone to the Beauty Supply Warehouse a few weeks earlier to see the selection of wigs. As soon as she’d found out she had cancer, she’d decided to shave her head, donate her hair to Locks for Love, and avoid having her hair come out gradually. She would wear hats around the house and save the wig for outings in public places. Together we found a color similar to her caramel hair, so Theresa ordered a shoulder-length wig, and we waited. I’d called her as soon as the warehouse let me know her wig was in.
“Yep, I say we call your little friend in this box Guido. Just a thought.”
Theresa smiled and tilted her head. “Guido? I like it.”
“Word on the street, you been lookin’ for Guido,” I said in scrappy Mafia accent. Toby came out of the back room with a box of supplies.
“Hi, Toby!” Theresa said as she started walking to my chair.
“Hey, Theresa.” Toby was always awkward when Theresa came in. I think he suffered from Beautiful Girl Syndrome. I knew that Toby liked Theresa, but his face would turn red and he came off rude whenever she was around. Theresa was always kind to him, though. For the past several months, Toby had been asking me for updates on Theresa’s health.
“Ben, I’m in Chicago until Tuesday. Remember,” Toby said as he wiped his station down, preparing to leave town for a conference on hairstyles.
“Yep. Come back with some new crazy ideas. I won’t let anyone touch your station when you’re gone.” I smiled. Toby cleared his throat and forced a smile back.
Theresa sat down in my safe chair and smiled at me in the mirror. She pulled a ponytail holder out of her purse and handed it to me.
“I guess I won’t be needing one of those for a while.”
As I combed out Theresa’s long hair, clumps began to fall into my hand. I knew I would get through this appointment, but I felt my hands start to shake.
“Bye.” Toby carried his box of supplies to the door and set it on the pew.
“Have fun in Chicago, Toby,” Theresa said.
“‘Have fun stormin’ the castle!’” I yelled to Toby.
Theresa’s laugh echoed against the walls, “I know this one. Sounds like Princess Bride, right? Billy Crystal is dressed up as a really ugly, old guy and he yells it to…Westley. Right?”
From my peripheral vision I saw Toby touch the upper casings of the door, rub the door handle, and dart out of Vanity Insanity. “You are good.”
“Dancing Queen” by Abba was playing on the sound system. Toby must have switched to an oldies station when everyone left.
Friday night and the lights are low
Looking out for a place to go…
Theresa watched me put her hair in a high ponytail. Her smile fell into a solemn expression. I rarely ever saw the beauty before me without a smile. Did Theresa really have cancer? Did the person in front of me really have something in her blood or her system or whatever that was trying to kill her? She didn’t look sick to me. Maybe there had been a mix-up in the lab. Maybe this was all just a terrible mistake we’d be talking about ten years from now. “Wow, wasn’t that crazy? We thought Theresa had cancer.” My hands started shaking again as I picked up the scissors.
“Oh! I almost forgot!” I yelled as I put the scissors on my station. I ran to the back room and came back with a bottle of wine and two wine glasses. Theresa’s smile came back. I would do anything to keep that smile on her face.
“Now I’m not trying to be romantic or anything here,” I said as I poured the wine. “I wouldn’t want Michael mad at me for hitting on you. I just thought that since it’s after hours, we could enjoy this appointment.” What great irony. Theresa knew we both needed a glass of wine.
“Awesome, Ben. Great idea.”
You are the dancing queen, young and sweet, only seventeen
Dancing queen, feel the beat from the tambourine
You can dance, you can jive, having the time of your life
See that girl, watch that scene, diggin’ the dancing queen.
We both took a big sip.
“Remember how Lovey would murder this song?” I set down my glass, picked up the scissors, and took a deep breath.
“Oh my gosh. In her little two-piece, she would act so cool walking around Brookhill singing at the top of her lungs: ‘See that girl, watch her scream, kicking the dancing queen.’” Theresa sang loudly as she mimicked Lovey. We both laughed more loudly than we would have on a normal day. Today was not a normal day.
“But wait, there’s more,” I added. “Then she would sing: ‘Better want a watussie, Everything is fine, you’re in the mood to dance.’”
“‘Want a watussie’? What’s a watussie?” Theresa covered her nose as tears came out of her eyes while she laughed.
“Exactly.” I held her ponytail in one hand and the scissors in the other one.
“What are the real words anyway?” Theresa asked, laughing more.
“I don’t even know. If I listen to the music, I still hear watussie.” I looked down at her as I said this. I could see several large tears spill against her cheek. Theresa was trying to laugh, but the tears came stronger. She covered her face.
“You don’t have to do this, you know,” I whispered.
Do what? Get her hair cut? Shave her head? Have cancer?
Theresa took a deep breath as she wiped the tears from her face. She grabbed her glass of wine from the station and held it up toward the box that held her wig. “To Guido! My new little friend.”
I cut slowly through the thick hair just below her ponytail holder. I placed her long ponytail on Toby’s counter. I would need to clean up his station later. I took the electric razor and began shaving Theresa’s remaining hair from her head in long rows. The pieces of hair fell in clumps to the floor like an army of dying ants. Theresa smiled in the mirror. Even without any hair on her head, she was beautiful.
I opened the box and set it on her lap. I picked up my wine glass and held it above the box.
“To Guido.” I set down my wine glass, pulled out the wig, and placed it on her head. Theresa smiled at me in the mirror. I smiled at her in the mirror.
“You know, it looks pretty real, don’t you think?” I said.
“Not bad,” Theresa sniffled. “Just for a short time, so it’s going to be great.”
Theresa kept her new wig on as we finished our wine. The rain lasted into the night, hitting the roof tops of the homes in Omaha, like an army of uninvited cancer cells attacking a beautiful woman.
32
Octavia: Trim, Wash and Set
Friday, November 15
1996
“What a hoot! I haven’t guessed the number of jelly beans in a jar since fifth-grade math!”
“Don’t even talk about the jar,” Virginia mumbled to Lucy as she walked by, her eyes big and threatening.
“OK.” Lucy looked at me, confused, and followed me to the back room.
&n
bsp; “We had a little contest,” I said under my breath, “that didn’t work out so well…Actually, it divided the crew. Long story.”
“Oh, tell me. Please.”
I looked out at the staff and then shut the door to the back room. “The Head JAM saleswoman gave me a huge bag of products and a stipend that was to go toward a contest with clients. For someone to win the bag of products.”
“Sounds like a harmless little gimmick. Kind of fun.”
“No, not ‘kind of fun.’ So Virginia had the idea to buy a ‘humongous’ jar to fill with jelly beans. She bought the jar, the biggest I’ve ever seen. Jenae went out and bought a carload of jellybeans to fill the jar.”
“Still sounds fun to me.”
“OK, so Virginia hands out bags to each staff member with the instruction to count the jelly beans. Jenae, Caroline, and Patti felt that an estimated number found on the label of each bag would do. Toby and Kelly felt that the exact number was the whole point of the contest. More than anything Jenae did not want to count the jelly beans. Toby did not think he could trust the others, so he counted all 7,943 beans with a ‘humongous’ deal of jelly bean resentment.”
“Did you have the contest?”
“The jelly bean jar has been sitting on the UP desk since last week when Monkey Man won. He told me that he needed a giant jar of jelly beans and a bag of hair spray like he needed a hole in his head—or monkey head. So he didn’t take it. It’s been very quiet around here.”
“So the jar sits.”
“The jar is the center of tension around here. I vow never to have a contest again.” I held my hand up in a scout’s honor pledge. “Now what brings you in here today?”
“Not the festive energy, that’s for sure. I probably won’t help change the mood here. I needed to let you know that Theresa finished her stem-cell procedure last week.”
“I know you’ve told me, but what is a stem cell…?”
“It’s barbaric, that’s what it is. The doctors basically took Theresa to death’s door.”
“OK, but why?”
“It’s a pretty aggressive procedure that’s usually saved for high-risk patients. I didn’t hear that from Theresa, though. A friend of mine who’s a nurse told me. She said that the patient receives a high dose of chemotherapy with a bone-marrow or stem-cell transplant. I think since they didn’t get a good start on attacking the cancer in the beginning, they’re resorting to this.”
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