Last Chance Beauty Queen

by Hope Ramsay

  She turned and strode down the drive toward the sidewalk.

  “Hey, Rocky, good luck with that whole dress avoidance thing. Because I also heard through the grapevine that Dale Pontius has insisted that you ride his Watermelon Queen float,” Dash called after her, “or else.”

  Caroline stopped and looked back. “What?”

  Randall shrugged. “Just giving you the heads-up.” He glanced toward Hugh and then back. “I heard something about Dale Pontius driving a hard bargain.”

  Caroline muttered an oath, turned, and stalked down the driveway, her shoulders straight. Hugh couldn’t help admiring the swing of her hips and the nice shape of her derriere.

  It was really too bad that her father owned the land he needed. Caroline—or Rocky—might be a very nice diversion.

  Caroline opened the front door of the Cut ’n Curl. The pungent mélange of permanent solution, shampoo, and hairspray invited her into her own private reverie.

  The beauty shop was a world of its own, papered in pink-striped wallpaper and shuttered with green moiré curtains. Caroline remembered helping Momma pick out the paper and hang it. She’d learned to sew a straight seam by helping to make the curtains. Momma had done a real nice job of decorating the place. It was classy and homey all at the same time.

  The Cut ’n Curl had three workstations covered in pink marble-patterned Formica, a bank of hair dryers with pink vinyl seats, and a two-seat shampoo area near the back with two-toned, lime green chairs.

  As usual, a near-quorum of the Christ Church Ladies Auxiliary was present and accounted for.

  Lessie Anderson was in Momma’s chair with her hair up in permanent rollers. Thelma Hanks was under the dryer. Millie Polk, Rachel’s mother, was sitting on a side chair waiting on her highlights to set. She was reading a much-thumbed copy of Destiny, June Morlan’s latest bodice ripper that featured a snotty hero who was much like Hugh deBracy.

  Jane, Caroline’s sister-in-law, had Miriam Randall’s hand in hers as she worked on painting the octogenarian’s nails alternate shades of pink and green. Miriam’s white hair was arranged in crown braids, and she was wearing a bright green pantsuit with a pair of pink Keds slip-ons.

  Momma looked up as Caroline entered. Ruby Rhodes wore her dark hair in a short style that allowed it to curl freely around her head. As usual, she was well put together and looked way younger than her fifty-eight years. Her dark denim jeans hugged her still-youthful contours. A bright pink blazer over a green scoop-necked shell accentuated her tiny waist. A pair of pink ballet shoes and a tiny diamond pendant completed the ensemble.

  Momma gave Caroline her maternal look—one part sappy smile and another steel magnolia. “Sugar,” she said, “don’t you ever wear anything that has color in it? I declare, you look like you’re going to a meeting of Quakers in that suit.”

  Caroline looked down at her Jones of New York microfiber all-season gray pantsuit and the white August Silk shell. She looked professional and in charge. That was really all that mattered. “Momma, folks aren’t going to take me seriously if I dress in pink and green. Which reminds me, I just heard from Dash that the whole town is expecting me to put on my old Watermelon Queen dress and make a spectacle of myself in front of my boss. But I told you that I wouldn’t do that when we talked last night.”

  “Yes, I know, dear, but I’m afraid there’s been a change in plans.”

  “A change in plans?”

  “Yes. Dale said that he won’t let that Englishman on the reviewing stand unless you ride on the float.”

  Caroline stared at Momma for a full thirty seconds as the implications of this settled in her brain.

  “Shall I call Dale and tell him you refuse?” Momma asked, an unmistakable note of glee in her voice.

  Caroline collapsed, defeated, into the stylist chair next to Lessie. “I can’t ride on that float. The senator is going to be there on the reviewing stand.”

  “What difference does that make?”

  She shrugged. “He’s my boss. And, well, he doesn’t know about my history as a Watermelon Queen. And besides, I’m supposed to be working. And when I work, he’s supposed to be the center of attention, not me.”

  “Well, that’s admirable, sweetie, but if you want to get his Lordship on the reviewing stand, you’re going to have to put on your dress and ride on that float.”

  Caroline groaned. “I am never going to live this down.”

  “I’m sure the senator will understand. I don’t see what’s so embarrassing about being a Watermelon Queen, myself.”

  Caroline rolled her eyes. Momma had no idea about how politics worked. It was best, all the way around, for Caroline to be as plain and vanilla as possible. The more she worked in the background, the better it was for Senator Warren. In fact, that was her job description.

  “Don’t roll your eyes like that, Rocky. It’s annoying.”

  “I’m sorry. But really, this is a disaster. I don’t want to ride that float.”

  “I know. But if you don’t, then the senator is going to be angry. So you’ve got a problem either way. That being the case, my advice is that you just relax and enjoy it. Riding on the float will be a lot of fun. You remember that, don’t you—the fun of the Watermelon Festival?”

  Caroline closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath redolent with the aroma of the almond-scented shampoo that Momma always used. “I never wanted to ever wear that dress again,” she muttered.

  “Aw, sweetie, don’t you remember how excited you were when you were named Watermelon Queen?”

  “I do. But the excitement was replaced by embarrassment. I don’t want to relive the experience.”

  “Honey, maybe putting on the dress and riding on the float will help you get over what happened twelve years ago,” Momma said.

  “I doubt it.” Caroline crossed her arms.

  “You know,” Millie said into the silence that descended between mother and daughter, “my husband says we should be nice to this Englishman. We need his investment on account of the economy being so bad around here. Just last night he said that we needed a factory more than a putt-putt dedicated to the Lord.”

  Everyone looked at Millie like she’d lost her mind. Loyalty ran deep among the members of the Committee to Resurrect Golfing for God.

  “Thanks, Mrs. Polk,” Caroline said, “but to be clear with y’all, I’m not here to convince Daddy to sell his land. I’m here to convince the baron to take his factory someplace else.”

  “Oh, I’m not sure my husband is going to like hearing that,” Mrs. Polk said.

  Momma stepped in before a political discussion broke out. Momma might have political views, but she disapproved of them in her beauty shop.

  “Rocky, you really don’t have much of a choice. I certainly wish he hadn’t come to town. But it seems to me that it will be worse for your career if he’s denied the chance to sit up there with the VIPs because you refuse to put on a pretty pink and green dress.”

  Momma had, of course, put her finger right on the crux of the problem. “I’m stuck, aren’t I?” Caroline said on a long sigh.

  “I’m afraid so. So let’s get your hair trimmed. And Jane can give you a manicure, too. It looks like you’ve been biting your nails again.”

  “Momma, I am not going to pouf out my hair and wear a tiara. I’ll ride on the float, but do I have to wear my dress?”

  “Yes. It’s at the cleaners, and I’m sure it still fits you.”

  “It hardly fit me when I was eighteen.”

  “Oh, piffle, Rocky. It fit you just fine. I know you are a little sensitive about your bustline, but honey, you looked gorgeous in that dress twelve years ago.”

  “Cheer up, Rocky, it’s not so bad,” Jane said from her place at the manicure station.

  Caroline braced for one of Jane’s Pollyanna observations. “How do you figure that? I don’t think my boss will ever take me seriously again if he ever sees me exposed in that dress with my hair poufed out and a tiara on my head.�
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  “Oh, it can’t be that bad. I mean, riding on the float has to be way more fun than standing around with a lot of self-important dignitaries. And besides, I’ve seen those dresses. They are way cool. And you don’t have to pouf out your hair or wear a tiara.”

  Caroline turned her gaze on Momma, who was in the process of taking the permanent rollers out of Lessie’s hair. “Did you hear that, Momma?”

  “I did. No one said you had to have poufy hair,” Momma said.

  “You know,” Jane said, “if you didn’t try to fight the curl in your hair, it would look pretty just left down and kind of natural. And I have some pink and green ribbons left over from a dress I made for Haley. You could wear them like a garland instead of a tiara. If you like, I’ll do your hair. We could make it simple. It could be done on Saturday morning. No fuss, no muss.”

  Caroline felt just a tiny wave of jealousy. She knew it was wrong to feel jealous of Jane. After all, Jane had made Caroline’s older brother, Clay, a happy man. But sometimes Caroline envied the relationship Jane and Ruby had developed. Jane had taken up knitting and sewing and cooking and was turning herself into a real domestic goddess. Momma seemed to approve of that. But then Momma could cook and sew and knit—in addition to running a business.

  Caroline could just about manage to heat up a Lean Cuisine. And she had never had any interest in sewing or knitting. Maybe God had given Jane to Momma as compensation.

  “Thanks, Jane, you’re on,” Caroline said, then settled back in the chair and studied the members of the Ladies Auxiliary for a moment. “So, what’s new in Last Chance these days?”

  “We were just discussing the marital state of William Ellis when you came in.” Thelma gave Caroline a furtive look out of the corner of her eye. “He needs a wife, preferably an Episcopalian, and that’s a fact.”

  Well, that wasn’t exactly new news in Last Chance. The girls had been trying to find a mate for Bill Ellis for at least a year. “Is he still being lured by Jenny Carpenter’s pies?” Caroline asked.

  “He is,” Lessie said, “and everyone is in an uproar because he’s judging the pie contest again this year, and we all reckon Jenny’s peach pie is going to win again. Really, we need to find some unbiased judges for that contest.”

  “We do,” the ladies chorused.

  “And we need to find a good woman for Bill.”

  “Sounds like he needs a woman who knows her way around a rolling pin,” Caroline said.

  “Do not joke about this, Rocky. Besides, you could do a whole lot worse for yourself than Reverend Ellis. After all, Bill is gainfully employed and close to the Lord,” Lessie replied with a little sniff.

  “Reverend Ellis is not for Rocky.”

  This pronouncement, coming from Miriam Randall, brought all activity at the Cut ’n Curl to a screeching halt. Lessie got halfway out of her chair. Momma turned around at her station and stared at the little old lady. Thelma ducked down out of the hair dryer, and Millie closed Destiny with her finger inside the paperback to mark her place.

  “No?” Ruby asked. “Then who?”

  Miriam blinked in Caroline’s direction from behind her 1950s-style rhinestone trifocals. “I’m not sure, but not Reverend Ellis. He belongs to someone else.”

  Caroline’s stomach clutched. Every one in town thought Miriam Randall had a pipeline to the Lord that allowed her to make perfect matches by helping to identify a person’s soulmate. Caroline didn’t need a soulmate right at the moment, so she hoped Miz Miriam would keep her thoughts to herself.

  Apparently Miz Miriam had other plans. Because she gave Caroline one of her sweet little ol’ lady grins and said, “Oh, Rocky, you should be looking for a salt of the earth.”

  “Salt of the earth?” Caroline’s voice cracked.

  “Honey, I’ve known for some time that you’re destined to be with a man who is… well, it’s really hard to explain.” Miriam paused a moment, her brown eyes twinkling. “See, your soulmate is going to be someone practical and down to earth and, well, just a regular sort of guy. And I’ve been getting the feeling that he’s about to make an appearance in your life. Any day now.”

  “Really?” Her hands went clammy, and white spots invaded her field of vision. Finding a regular sort of guy sounded okay, so long as it happened after the election. Before the election was no good. And whoever he was, he had to be ready to drop everything and move to Washington. That was nonnegotiable.

  “Well, isn’t that a surprise,” Momma said with a little frown folding her brow. “Oh, well, not as surprising as that time you predicted that Tulane would marry a minister’s daughter. But Caroline with just a regular Joe is very reassuring, Miriam, thank you so much. I’ve been worried lately that she’d end up with one of those lawyers or politicians up in Columbia, you know?”

  “Well,” Miriam said in her chipper voice, “I can’t say what his occupation might be, but it stands to reason that a man like that would probably work with his hands.” The old lady cocked her head sideways and blinked her deep brown eyes at Caroline as if she were studying tea leaves in the bottom of a cup.

  “Uh, thanks, Miz Miriam,” Caroline said, “but I’m not actually looking for a soulmate, or even a steady boyfriend, right at the moment. I’m really trying to help Senator Warren get reelected. And then I’m hoping that he’ll give me a job in his DC office. So all in all, I could wait to find true love. I could wait a long time.”

  “Yes, but can your true love wait for you?” Miriam said.

  Lessie giggled like a schoolgirl. “You know,” she said, “you don’t want to wait too long, dear. The biological clock just keeps ticking, and if you don’t pay it any mind, you might find yourself an old maid. And besides, everyone knows it’s a blessing to be one of Miriam’s matches. Those marriages never fail. Ever. So you listen to her advice, you hear?”

  CHAPTER

  4

  Caroline guided her oldest brother’s Ford pickup into the parking lot at the Red Hot Pig Place, a low cinder block structure out on the two-lane state road that stretched between the towns of Last Chance and Allenberg.

  The Pig Place served real barbecue, not that tomato-based garbage that most suburban barbecue places served. The pork hash at the Pig Place was made with vinegar and pepper sauce, the hush puppies were guaranteed to clog your arteries, and the slaw was creamy and delicious.

  For all that, Caroline, who was constantly watching her weight, would have preferred a restaurant closer to Orangeburg where she and Rachel could get a decent salad. But Caroline knew how much Rachel loved barbecue. And Rachel never had to worry about her weight.

  Rachel was acting kind of weird tonight. She insisted that they take the back corner booth, and once they were seated, she kept looking around and jumping every time someone came through the door.

  “Hey, Rache,” Caroline asked once their platters of hash had arrived, “what’s up?”

  Rachel looked down at the checkered tablecloth, her shoulders slumped, her hair down around her face in a way that hid her beautiful peaches-and-cream skin, her incredible topaz eyes, and her amazing bone structure.

  Rachel didn’t think she was pretty. Caroline had been trying to argue her out of that belief ever since she could remember. But then Caroline knew the treachery of looking into mirrors. Somehow they always managed to reflect back every fault.

  She reached forward and patted Rachel’s hand. “Honey, what’s happened? What’s wrong?”

  Rachel pulled her hand back, picked up her fork, and played with the hush puppies on her plate. “They’re cutting corners at the chicken plant,” she finally said.

  “Cutting corners?”

  She nodded and finally looked up with a truly tortured look on her face. “On safety. And I’ve been worried sick about it. I shouldn’t even tell you. You’ll probably tell someone in Columbia, and the whole thing will come crashing down on me. I don’t want to be responsible. I just want my job. But I want things to be right at the plant.”


  “Are you talking about OSHA or food safety?”

  “A little bit of both.”

  “Holy smokes.”

  “Yeah, exactly. What should I do?”

  “You have to call the authorities.”

  “But, Rocky, Mr. Marshall seems really preoccupied these days, and I hate to say it, but he hardly ever shows up for work. I never really thought Hettie Marshall was married to a lazy man but…” Rachel let her voice fade out and popped a hush puppy into her mouth. She closed her eyes and chewed.

  There was nothing like hush puppies from the Pig Place to provide immediate comfort, and about two thousand calories each.

  “You have to tell the authorities. Lives might be at stake.”

  Rachel swallowed her food and took a sip of her sweet tea. “But if I call the authorities, they’ll close us down, and I’m not sure we’ll ever reopen. And if we don’t reopen, I don’t even want to think about what will happen to Last Chance.”

  The hush puppies in Caroline’s stomach turned to lead. “Of course you’ll reopen.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure. I don’t think Mr. Marshall is in a very good financial position. I think he took a big hit during the economic downturn a couple of years ago, and the plant is hanging on by its fingernails. To make things worse, Mr. Marshall doesn’t seem to be working very hard at keeping us afloat.”

  “That’s not good.”

  “No, it’s not.” Rachel leaned in and spoke in a near whisper that just carried over the twangy sound of Brad Paisley singing on the radio. “I know how important Golfing for God is to your family. Heck, Momma’s even joined the committee to resurrect it. But Daddy has been talking nonstop about how having a new factory in town would be a good thing. And he should know. He’s a banker.”

  “Yeah, so your momma said this afternoon at the Cut ’n Curl. Boy, this could get really ugly.”

  Rachel nodded. “Look, Rocky, the point is that Golfing for God, even if it becomes a real tourist attraction, will never employ as many people as the chicken plant. And that’s a fact no one can dispute.”