by Ellen Dye
“Oh, there you are, my dear Wanda Jo,” Mrs. Habersham called above Bitsy’s outraged sputters at her sudden demotion to shampoo girl.
As she made her way around the corner, I noticed her hair was still brilliantly green. She carried an exceptionally large garment bag in her arms.
Molly jumped forward, clearly upset that her defenses had been breached.
I patted her shoulder. “It’s okay. I’ll take care of it. Why don’t you go back to the front desk?”
She nodded gratefully before zipping on her way.
I accepted Mrs. Habersham’s exuberant air kisses. “If you’ll just have a seat…” I paused, indicating my chair, and grabbed a cape. “I’ll have you back to your regular champagne blonde in no time.”
Mrs. Habersham looked stricken. “Oh, no, dear.”
I raised a brow. “No?”
“You know, it was the green-on-green look that won me the competition.”
I nodded.
“Well, there’s a formal ball coming this Friday night. Breast cancer awareness, you see. Very pink.”
I nodded.
“So, I’m simply taking the whole color concept up a notch.”
She quickly unzipped the garment bag to reveal a hot pink ball gown trimmed with more ruffles than I’d ever seen this side of Gone with the Wind.
I gaped.
“Naturally, it doesn’t have to be an exact match. But as close as you can come, dear.” She sat back, wearing a satisfied smile. “So exciting, this is. This will be the hottest new rage to hit Worthington in years. And I’m at the very front of it. A trendsetter. Why, I just never thought such a thing could happen to me.”
That made two of us.
Chapter Nineteen
I shifted slightly to the right, re-crossed my legs, and forced my back upright against the new, slick, vinyl-covered chair. I sucked in a sigh of exasperation, resisted the urge to drum my fingertips on the armrest, and even more importantly, I remained seated.
“Relax, will you?” Val called from the waiting area, where she lounged on the sofa. “It’s all going to work out.”
I lost the battle and began to pace.
“What could go wrong?” she asked as I embarked on a lap past the sofa, heading for the far wall. “Be Headed is now a reality. And it looks darned good, too. Remind me to give those decorators a raise.”
I smiled. She was right. Our combined efforts had turned out to be more stunning than we had imagined: Sunny yellow stations paired with hydraulic chairs covered in French country blue; sharply pleated, crisp chintz swags topped the large front windows; and the wood-grain-look floor gleamed in the late afternoon sun.
The place smelled of fresh paint and new beginnings. We’d even optimistically propped our Open For Business sign on the reception desk.
That previous burst of optimism now seemed more than a touch premature.
“What is taking him so long?” I whispered, gesturing toward the man dressed in a stiff white shirt and dark suit.
He’d arrived nearly an hour ago, carrying a metal clipboard, to begin the official inspection of Be Headed. Now it seemed as though he’d never finish. I watched as he made yet another notation, then entered the children’s play area, moving at a snail’s pace.
Val shrugged. “Maybe he’s just a thorough inspector. It doesn’t matter how long it takes. We’re going to pass. We will open tomorrow.”
“How can you possibly say that with such confidence?” I turned, embarking on another lap. “He could find something horribly wrong. And then we won’t open. And then we’ll have to fix it. Except we won’t have any money to fix it. And then—” I broke off in a high squeak as a mental image of Be Headed being whisked away, much like Dorothy’s house in The Wizard of Oz, played behind my eyes.
“There’s nothing wrong for him to find. We’ll pass.”
I ignored the comment and turned again. “And you know, we still haven’t heard from the State yet.”
Val groaned. “We passed. You know we did.”
“Well, I know you did. Mama Dove looked fantastic. That was one perfect wedge cut you did.”
“Nettie looked great, too.”
I groaned. Mrs. Habersham had had a stunning debut with her pink-on-pink look for the breast cancer awareness ball. The photos had even found their way to our local paper. Naturally, Nettie had wasted no time in jumping on the color bandwagon.
“Well, she did.”
“She was purple, Val.” I shot her a look. “Wild, flaming purple.”
Val smoothed the front of her royal purple shirt and then waggled her matching nails. “Your point?”
I kept walking.
“Hey, the important point here is that you created the look she wanted. Customer first, and all that.”
I groaned and returned to the original subject. “We should have heard something by now.”
For the last three weeks I’d made the daily trot to the mailbox, anxiously hoping for a small envelope with the West Virginia state seal in miniature gracing the upper left corner. It would contain my license. And conversely I’d been dreading the appearance of a much larger envelope, bearing that same seal, containing all necessary paperwork to repeat the test after receiving a failing score.
Consequently I’d developed quite an aversion to large envelopes lately. I’d nearly fainted when I’d seen what turned out to be a home brewing catalogue for Nettie yesterday.
“Well, who knows?” Val stretched her arms above her head. “Maybe they’re just really busy. One great thing, though. We’re opening to a full book.”
“Not necessarily a great thing. Especially since opening day is tomorrow, and as of right now only one of us has a license.” I glanced toward the inspector, who was now heading through the doorway leading to the skin care room. “And we don’t even know if we actually have a salon yet.”
Val made a shooing motion to the right as I executed an about-face. “A few feet over. We don’t want any grooves marring the new flooring. And we do so—”
The chime above the front door rang, cutting off Val’s words.
“So did I miss Wanda Jo’s panic attack?” Mitzi asked.
I shot her a look and kept walking.
“Oh. Good. I’m right on time.”
The phone rang, and Mitzi answered. I began a fresh lap. And then I stood perfectly still, my gaze riveted in horror on the large manila envelope Mitzi had just placed on the desk. Oh, Lord. It was for me; I just knew it. And I just knew what the contents were.
Mitzi hung up the phone with a grin. “Hey, you’re totally booked tomorrow, Wanda Jo. Color from opening to closing.” She scribbled across a line in the appointment book. “This one might be challenging, though. She wants seafoam green. Is that like mint?”
Val laughed. “Friend of Mrs. Habersham?”
“Of course. Lord bless her for mentioning Wanda Jo in that article. Girl, you really started a hot trend.”
“Yeah,” Val chimed in. “Just think, people used to be impressed with dyed-to-match shoes and evening bags.”
They laughed; I gaped in horror at the envelope.
“Honey, are you okay?” Mitzi asked.
I pointed and squeaked.
“No. No, it’s not. Well, it is for you.” She held up the envelope. “No return address, though. And it’s much too heavy. Feels like a book or something.”
I resumed normal breathing, decided to put off opening whatever it was until later, and began another lap.
“Speaking of color, here’s a good one,” Val began. “Did I ever tell you the one about Hairdresser Hattie and the Mystery Blonde?”
“Oh, a story.” Mitzi took a seat next to Val. “Lay it on me.”
I gave up pacing and sat in the chair opposite.
“One day as Hairdresser Hattie was working, this blonde came in wearing one of those old Walkmans with earphones. She asks Hattie for a haircut, and Hattie quickly takes her back.
“Now this woman isn’t just blonde—
she is the most perfect shade of blonde Hattie has ever seen. We’re talking pure blonde, like golden sunlight, and the texture of silk.
“So like any good hairdresser, Hattie’s wondering—”
“Is it natural,” Mitzi and I both interjected.
“Damn straight,” Val returned. “That’s the only thing Hattie can think about the whole time she’s getting the lady seated and caped. What a mystery!
“Hattie picks up her comb and clips and prepares to get down to business. And that’s when she notices the lady still has the earphones on. Hattie tells her that she’s got to take them off to get a haircut. Then, oddly enough, the blonde looks really scared.
“So Hattie says, ‘You’ve got to take ’em off. Otherwise I can’t even section your hair.’ The blonde thinks for a minute, and then she reluctantly takes them off.
“Then Hattie’s down to business. She’s sectioning and pinning—all the while wondering if hair this perfectly blonde is natural. Hattie turns around for just a second to grab her shears, and when she turns back she gets the shock of her life.
“The blonde is slumped over in the chair. And even worse, she’s not breathing. But there’s noise, like talking, coming from the earphones.
“Hattie moves closer, picks them up, and holding the earphones close to her own ear she listens: ‘Breathe in… breathe out… breathe in…’
“ ‘Yep!’ Hattie declares. The mystery was solved. This was definitely a natural blonde.”
We all laughed.
“How do you think these things up?” Mitzi wiped her eyes.
“They just come to me.” Val nudged my arm. “Hey, that’s our combined crew coming across the parking lot.”
And sure enough it was. Rye, Kate, and Olivia were in the lead, each girl carrying a large foil-covered pan between hot-mitted hands. Mama and Mr. Loudermilk preceded Uncle Jimmy and Aunt Nettie, her electric purple hair coordinating nicely with her batik print muu-muu. Jamie Sue and Ray were walking side by side, each carrying a large grocery sack. Mama Dove brought up the rear, walking close to a young man I was sure I’d never seen but who looked awfully familiar…
“Jack!” Mitzi exclaimed.
Ah, familiar look explained, I thought as I watched Mitzi bolt through the door.
Odd to see the whole clan, at least on my side, out together at this time of day. As Doug had promised, the Dew Drop had been re-opened ten days after the fire and was serving to a nearly full house. Meaning that the kinfolk should be up to their ears in local eats at this time and not moseying across a parking lot in Worthington.
There were only two possible reasons for their presence here. The first being an impromptu pity party, complete with comfort food. And the second would be…
I shook my head. That would be almost too good to be true.
We quickly ushered the crew in, the girls deposited their pans on the reception desk, and a hearty round of compliments ensued. And in the midst of the melee, Mitzi proudly introduced her son to one and all.
A few minutes later, Olivia and Kate stepped forward wearing matching smiles. “Congratulations.”
Each brought one hand from behind her back and held up matching envelopes bearing the state seal.
Val and I tore into our envelopes, confirming the good news, and Mitzi joined in our victory dance.
“Ahem.”
Our group fell silent as our attention shifted toward the temporarily forgotten inspector. He grinned. “You’re in business.”
Our resounding cheer could have been heard clear to the West Coast.
Moments later, as I settled back on the sofa with a huge slab of warm peach cobbler, surrounded by my family and friends, I realized life just didn’t get much better than this. But still, there was something missing.
Or, more accurately, someone. Namely, the elusive Sam Branson, who had once again extended his Florida vacation. Not that he’d actually notified me. I’d come by this latest depressing tidbit via Dottie, who had kindheartedly tried to soften the news with a platter of biscuits and gravy.
“Don’t mope. He has to come home eventually.” Val flopped down beside me.
I raised a brow.
“Well, he does. It’s a fact.”
I nodded, drowning my sorrows in a healthy bite of cobbler.
Val looked at her watch. “So, how long do we have?”
“Until what?”
“Until you begin your opening day panic attack.”
I laughed. “Interestingly enough, I really don’t feel panicked.”
“Worried?”
“Nope. Not that either.”
“Okay. What would you be, then?”
“Right now?”
Val nodded.
“Content, I guess.” Well, it was mostly true.
“Cool.” Val nudged my arm. “I bet you’ll be a whole bunch of other things by this time tomorrow.”
****
Val was right, as always. Through the course of the day, a million different sensations had edged out yesterday’s simple “content.” And the leader of the pack, I decided, was exhaustion as I finished sweeping stray bits of pastel green hair from around the base of my chair.
“I think you’ve covered the rainbow,” Val commented as I dumped the latest colorful offering into the trashcan.
“Absolutely,” I agreed, pausing to take in the spectrum of after-color trims. From light powder blue to the sunniest of yellows and vibrant orange—they were all there.
“It’s a shame we couldn’t have gotten them all together for a group snapshot.” Val brought her hands together, making a frame. “Be Headed: where we say, ‘in living color’ and mean it. It would make a heck of an advertisement. Probably bring in loads of new business.”
I laughed. “After today, I don’t think we need to worry too much about that.”
“True.”
We both paused, glancing around at the dozens of plants and bouquets brought by well-wishing clients. Honestly, the place resembled a florist’s shop more than a beauty salon at the moment.
“Quite the turnout we had,” Mitzi chimed in from her post at the reception desk. “And tomorrow is looking to be even better.”
Val and I made our way to the desk.
“Are you serious?” I asked, peering over Mitzi’s shoulder at the appointment book.
“Dead on, girlfriend. We three are totally booked straight through”—Mitzi paused, flipping pages—“the middle of next week.”
Looking through the pages, I grinned. An invisible weight I’d been carrying for months magically slid from my shoulders.
“We’d best consider hiring a receptionist or a nail tech. Possibly both,” Mitzi suggested, looking first toward Val and then to me.
“I’ll start working on that newspaper ad.” Val rooted through a stack of congratulatory cards on the desk. “Now where did I put that form…”
Mitzi pulled a single sheet from beneath the zippered bank bag. “Here.” She glanced at her watch. “I’d better hurry if I’m going to get this deposit made today.”
“I’ll go with you.” Val pulled her purse from the desk drawer and waved the form. “I’ll fill this out on the way, and we can drop it by the newspaper office. Are you okay with locking up, Wanda Jo?”
“No problem.”
“Great. So we’ll all meet up again at the Dew Drop in about an hour?”
“Are you kidding?” I laughed. “Wild horses couldn’t keep me away from our own grand opening celebration.”
Val laughed. “Fibber. I think you really mean that wild horses couldn’t keep you away from Dottie’s lasagna.”
“Absolutely.” As if on cue, my stomach rumbled another reminder that I’d been too busy earlier to break for lunch.
Mitzi was part way out the door when she suddenly turned back. “I almost forgot. Here’s your key. Oh, and don’t forget that package.”
I raised a brow.
“The envelope that came yesterday. I tucked it in the bottom drawer.”<
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I quickly retrieved the envelope and took both it and my latest key back to my station. Goodness, but it felt good to sit down. I toed off what I’d previously believed to be my most comfortable pair of flats. The last nine straight hours on my feet certainly had disproved that belief. The idea of purchasing a pair of NurseMates just like Mama’s held enormous appeal at the moment.
And now it was complete, I thought, as I slid my newest addition onto my key ring and gave the lot a jangle. A full set of entirely new keys that represented my entirely new life. It was a good feeling.
Now for the contents of the mystery envelope bearing no return address. I tore open the flap and peeked inside. Well, this certainly was a surprise.
“Marrying Up.” I read the faded mauve script scrawled across the cover. There was a paper clip attached to the inside pages, its top sticking slightly above.
“I guess today really is a day for miracles,” I mused aloud, momentarily ignoring a snapshot which fluttered to the floor and giving my full attention to the number, written in Reed’s blocky hand, gracing the amount space on the check attached.
And it was a considerable amount. Certainly enough to see Olivia well into a decent college. I leaned over, my gaze riveted to Reed’s signature, and retrieved the snapshot.
Finally, convinced the check wasn’t written in disappearing ink, I turned my gaze toward the photo.
Centered on a background of bright blue sky laced with deep green palm fronds was Reed—once again in his well-moussed, spiked glory. He was wearing a loud orange Hawaiian print shirt, unbuttoned much too low, his arm wrapped tightly around the fleshy shoulders of Trixie Kilgreen. She was gazing up at Reed, an expression of pure adoration on her face.
For the first time this afternoon I felt fortunate I’d been too busy to break for lunch.
Then I laughed. “Well, wrinkles to you, old boy. Literally.”
I was still smiling as I tucked the photo beneath the clip. It was over. I had a new life now, and apparently so did Reed. And the odd thing was—momentary nausea aside—I was much too happy with my own circumstances to spare much of a thought for Reed.
Turning the book over, I opened the back cover. There, written ages ago, was my looping, childish handwriting in bright pink ink. A real blast from the past: “Remember, you can do this. You won’t end up a bitter hairdresser like Mama. You won’t always have to work so hard and be so tired. And above all, you won’t end up stuck in Buckston County.