Tickled Pink

by Debby Mayne

  “We could name him Jimmy Junior and call him J. J.” He turns to me and winks. “Or Bubba.”

  “That’s Laura and Pete’s oldest boy’s name.”

  “You can have more than one Bubba.”

  “Yeah . . . um . . . I don’t think so.”

  He gets a thoughtful look on his face. “Okay, I’ll work some more on the boy name list. Now for the girls. Do you like Juanita? That was my grandma’s name.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “I like it ’cept it’s hard to come up with a middle name to go with it.”

  I change position and settle in for a long ride filled with names flying at me, one after another. And I’m not disappointed. One thing I’m just now realizin’ about my husband is how creative he can be.

  “We can blend our names and call the kid Jimmeste or Celjim.”

  I give him one of the wifely looks I’ve mastered and shake my head. “I don’t think so.”

  He laughs. “At least I’m tryin’ to come up with somethin’ good.” Silence falls between us for all of thirty seconds before his face lights up. “Hey, I know. How about Apple or Cocoa?”

  “Nah, them kinda names only work in Hollywood.”

  “I reckon you’re right.”

  Time to change the subject. “Who all do you think will come to the reunion?”

  “Pete said near ’bout everyone will be there. I’m glad ’cause last time we didn’t have all that great a turnout.”

  “I’m curious about how everyone looks. The only one I seen lately is Priscilla, and that’s just ’cause she’s on TV all the time.” I have mixed feelings about Priscilla. I hate the fact that she hasn’t changed much, but I will always have a special place in my heart for the woman who showed me how to look beautiful.

  “Do you think she’ll bring that boy with her? What’s his name?”

  “Tim.” Laura didn’t mention him when I last spoke to her. “I don’t know, but I hope so. He’s a worker, that one.”

  “Too bad Priscilla can’t find it in her heart to love him ’cause he sure is crazy about her . . . at least he was.”

  “I don’t know if Priscilla can find it in her heart to love anyone but herself.”

  “Celeste! That ain’t a very nice thing for you to say.”

  “I know.” And I do know it’s bad to say such stuff, but I can’t help how I feel. “It’s just that when all a woman thinks about is makin’ a name for herself at the expense of everything else in life, it seems selfish.”

  “Or maybe she’s not ready to settle down.”

  “Let’s talk about somethin’ else, Jimmy.” Blabberin’ about Priscilla annoys me so bad I wanna spit.

  “She did do you a favor by showin’ you how beautiful you can be.”

  I tilt my head toward him, lower my sunglasses so he catches the full effect, and give him one of them looks only a wife can do. “Did you hear me?”

  He pulls his chin back. “Loud and clear.”

  “What do you think about the name Marybeth?”

  “I dunno. It’s okay I guess.” He laughs.

  Who knew pickin’ a name would be so hard? Maybe a boy’s name will be easier. “I like Matthew for a boy.”

  Jimmy shakes his head. “There’s already too many of them.”

  “That’s because it’s a nice name.”

  “I still think we should consider namin’ him after me. We can name him Jimmy and call him Bubba.” He cuts a glance my way and grins. “Or Bubba-Jim.”

  I groan. “Let’s both think on this and talk about it later.”

  “You were the one who brung it up,” Jimmy reminds me.

  “No, I don’t think it was me. Regardless, I don’t wanna keep spoutin’ out stupid names just ’cause we ain’t had time to think about it yet.”

  “Okay, okay. I wonder if Laura will want us to do somethin’ at the reunion. You reckon she’ll have a list of chores for us?”

  “She never bothered to ask this time, so I won’t do nothin’, even if she asks me to.” Laura can be mighty bossy, which is why I plan to steer clear of her until the actual party.

  “That ain’t right, Celeste. Laura’s got her hands full with Pete and the young’uns.” A frown covers Jimmy’s face. “Now that Pete’s sober, I won’t have no one to drink with.”

  “You ain’t had a drink in months, so why do you care?”

  “Celeste,” he says real slow, “that’s part of the fun of reunions. Besides, it helps me loosen up to knock back a few.”

  “Maybe you don’t need to loosen up so much.”

  “It wouldn’t hurt for you to loosen up too. Maybe me and you can—”

  “I’m pregnant, remember? Pregnant mamas ain’t s’posed to drink alcohol ’cause it might hurt our baby.”

  “Oh.” He chews on his bottom lip. “I have a picture of my mama drinkin’ beer when she was pregnant with me.”

  “I’m not your mama.”

  “You can say that again.” He reaches over, takes my hand, and lifts it to his lips for a kiss. “And I’m happy you’re my wife. Have I told you lately how much I love you?”

  I force myself to smile at Jimmy. When me and him first got together, it was more for companionship, and neither of us had people waitin’ in line for dates. After a while, we got comfortable around each other, and at some point along the way it grew into love—but for the life of me, I can’t pinpoint when that happened. All I know is that we might not have all the sizzle and pop some folks do, but we have a good marriage. Jimmy don’t have to worry about me lookin’ at some other man, and I don’t think he’s stupid enough to chase another woman ’cause I can be meaner’n a junkyard dog when I get all riled up.

  “It’ll be nice to see folks we haven’t seen in years.” I pull down the visor mirror and smooth my hair back. I’ve managed to keep up the beauty program Priscilla put me on, and my skin don’t look like I’ve aged much since the last reunion. “I wonder if everyone will look old.”

  “Prob’ly.” Jimmy laughs. “I seen Harold Fitzpatrick when he came down to the coast a few months ago. His hair is fallin’ out.”

  I glance at my husband’s head, but I don’t mention that circular bald spot toward the back. When I told him about it last year, he said I was seein’ things and that his hair is thick as ever. Whatever Jimmy can’t see ain’t there.

  We arrive at the Olson Family Hotel on Main Street in Piney Point. It’s a lot older than some of the places closer to Hattiesburg, but we done decided it’ll be easier to participate in activities if we’re right there in the heart of things.

  “Wanna stay here while I run inside and get us a room?”

  “Yeah. It shouldn’t take long to get the room, since we have a reservation.” Then it dawns on me. When I asked Jimmy to reserve the room, he didn’t say nothin’. “You did make a reservation, right?”

  “I . . . uh . . . no, I forgot.”

  Since I done been married five years, I know it won’t do me a single solitary bit of good to fuss at Jimmy. It’s too late to change things anyway. “Then I best go inside with you, since I know the Olsons better than you do.”

  “Tell ya what, Celeste. I’ll stay in the car while you go inside.”

  Again, I figure it’s best not to argue. I just grab my purse, get out of the car, and slam the door without botherin’ to comment or even look at my husband. It might be pointless to say somethin’, but I have this pent-up anger that’s gotta get out.

  I walk right up to the front desk and see Clyde Olson standin’ there watchin’ the TV on the counter. He laughs at somethin’ he hears before turnin’ to me. “Hey, there, Celeste. Haven’t seen you in a while. What can I do for ya?”

  “Hey, Clyde. Me and Jimmy need a room.”

  He shakes his head. “I don’t know if we have anything available, with the reunion and all.”

  I used to babysit Clyde’s brats—I mean young’uns—when him and his wife used to go out clubbin’ back in the day, and I remember them tellin’
me there was always a room available for family when they came to town. “How ’bout that room on the third floor—the one at the end of the hall?”

  He scrunches up his forehead and rubs his chin. “What are you talkin’ about, Celeste?”

  “You don’t wanna mess with me right now, Clyde. I’m pregnant, Jimmy’s out in the car, and I’m tired. Just give me the keys to that room, and everything will be okay.”

  “Hold on just a minute. Let me call my wife.”

  As he calls his wife, I stand there starin’ at him and drummin’ my fingers on the counter to make sure he don’t forget how annoyed I can get. Last time—when he and his wife came home three hours after they was s’posed to—I read them the riot act and threatened to never babysit for them again. Since I was the only person who would even consider sittin’ with his bratty kids, that scared them into promisin’ never to do that again. And they didn’t.

  “Okay, Celeste. Rose said since no one else is usin’ it, and you’re practically family, we can let you have that room.”

  I smile and pull out my credit card. “I want your best rate too.”

  He holds up his hands. “We don’t have a rate for the family room. It’s on the house.”

  At least one thing is goin’ right. “Why, thank you, Clyde. Me and Jimmy appreciate it. If you ever come down to Biloxi” —I don’t know what’s gotten into me. The very thought of entertainin’ Clyde and Rose Olson and their brats sounds like a total nightmare—“maybe you can give us a call, and we can meet you for dinner.”

  “That would be real nice . . . that is, if we can ever get away.”

  He hands me a coupla keys, and I take off as fast as my swollen feet can carry me. Jimmy looks a little worried, until I get in the car. “Okay, we got a room. Let’s get our suitcases and get settled.”

  I decide not to mention the fact that our room is free. Jimmy don’t need to think he done somethin’ right by forgettin’ to make the reservation.

  28

  Priscilla

  On my way to the Piney Point salon, my mind swirls with activity, and right there in the center of my thoughts is Tim. I’ve been thinking about Tim quite a bit lately, but it makes sense with the class reunion coming up. If it weren’t for him, I have a feeling the ten-year reunion would have been a total flop. But even though he made sure everything happened that was supposed to, we still had some issues . . . like Pete Moss getting drunk and crashing his truck.

  The idea of thinking about Tim makes sense, but the precise thoughts are a bit disconcerting. After seeing him dressed as a clown and obviously enjoying the kids at Haley’s birthday party, I can’t help but compare him to other men I’ve felt that heart-fluttering, head-in-the-clouds chemistry with. My feelings for Tim have been positive, but I’ve never had that fiery-hot passion I expect in a romantic relationship. Being with him is comfortable, relaxed, and . . . well, easy. I can always be myself with him and not worry that he’s looking over my shoulder for something . . . or someone better.

  I arrive at Prissy’s Cut ’n Curl and Ice Factory Day Spa and see a spot near the door. As I get closer, I notice that my name has been painted on the curb in front of the spot. “Reserved for Priscilla,” and I smile.

  There’s a group of folks standing in the reception area, and they all turn to face me when I walk in. Chester is the first one to come forward with open arms. “Hey, girl. We wondered when you’d get here. How do you like what we’ve done?” He waves his arms around in a sweeping gesture.

  The wall in front of me is covered with framed candid photos of the hairdressers and spa workers. I take a step back and look around for the full effect. Small white lights have been strategically placed to accent certain aspects of the room and décor, such as the ceiling-high wooden beam that’s a replica of what used to support the ceiling and the old-fashioned elevator that took forever to get right. Knowing they went to all this trouble brings joy to my heart and a lump of pride to my throat.

  “It’s perfect.” I sigh. “I couldn’t have done better.”

  Chester glances over at Sheila and winks. “We kept remembering what you said about not wanting to compromise the integrity of the old ice factory.”

  “Y’all did a wonderful job.”

  Someone walks in behind me, and the crowd of employees disperses as the client steps up to the appointment desk and announces she’s here for a facial. Chester enters something into the computer and leads her to the back.

  “Wanna see your appointment calendar?” Sheila asks. “We tried to give you occasional breaks between clients, but it sure was difficult. It never was easy, but now that you’re a TV star, everyone wants your hands on their hair.”

  I laugh. “I wouldn’t exactly call myself a TV star.”

  “You do realize that near ’bout everyone in town watches every single show you’re on, right?” Sheila plants a fist on her hip and chuckles as she shakes her head. “We even have a call chain to let folks know.”

  “Call chain?”

  “Yeah, I call three people, and they call three people, and before ya know it, every household in Piney Point is made aware.”

  “Sort of like the church prayer chain.”

  Sheila nods. “Yeah, and we do that too. Most of us pray for you before you go on.”

  “I certainly appreciate that. Don’t forget to add prayers for the production people. It gets rather crazy around the studios sometimes.”

  “Okay, I’ll keep that in mind.” She punches a few keys on the computer and motions for me to take a peek. “Looky here. You got appointments startin’ in about fifteen minutes. I tried to give you a full hour lunch break, but with all the folks linin’ up, I could only manage a half hour.”

  “That’s okay.” I’m actually glad I only have a half hour because I won’t have as much time to think about my parents, Tim, and some of the other things that have been taking over my mind lately.

  “We have a station set up for you, but if you want to swap with me, I understand.”

  Sheila has claimed the best position in the salon, since she’s the manager. “No, I don’t care where I am.”

  “If you change your mind, just holler. It’s not a lot of trouble.”

  We exchange a glance, and practically a lifetime of respect flows between us. Sheila is a seasoned professional who doesn’t mind working hard and learning whatever it takes to make her one of the best hairdressers in Piney Point. And I know she respects me for all I’ve managed to accomplish. One area where she’s ahead of me is the relationship department. She’s been married to the same man for decades, and I know they work hard at maintaining the spark in their relationship, which hasn’t been easy, considering all they’ve been through. Between her long hours at the salon and his problems with lack of job security, even the best marriage would be tested.

  My morning appointments are filled with as many questions about being on TV as information about hair. Every now and then, Sheila or Chester walks by and joins in the discussion. I enjoy the camaraderie that I don’t normally have with my crazy-busy schedule.

  It’s almost lunchtime, and I’m about to finish with my last morning client’s hair, when Sheila pops over to my station. “Tim’s here. He wants to take you to lunch.”

  “Send him on back.”

  After Sheila goes to get Tim, my client’s eyes light up. “Tim’s that fella you were with in that magazine, isn’t he?”

  I nod. “Yes, Tim and I have been very good friends for quite a while.”

  “You know what they say about a man and woman being good friends, right?”

  I’m tempted to ask who “they” are, but I don’t want to anger her. Mother used to go ballistic when I said the vague “they.”

  Tim shows up with a smile. My client’s chin drops. “You’re even better looking in person than in your pictures.”

  “Pictures?” I say. “As in more than one?”

  “Yes, one was in Famous People News, and then I saw another picture on Entertai
nment Tonight.

  From behind me, I hear Sheila’s voice. “Don’t forget the series in the Piney Point Herald.”

  Tim and I look at each other in the mirror, and he starts laughing. “Some people go lookin’ for fame and fortune, while others have it lookin’ for them.” He winks at me. “Looks like you fall in the second group, Priscilla.”

  I level him with a look filled with attitude. “Don’t forget, Tim, I’m not the only person in those photos.”

  “Yeah, but I have to admit I’m mighty proud to be seen with you.”

  The look he gives me now is filled with question . . . and a hint of doubt. I swallow hard as my chest constricts. Something between us is changing, and I don’t know how to act.

  “Ready for lunch?” He lifts a sandwich bag. “I wasn’t sure if you had something here or if you had time to get away, so I stopped off and picked up something for both of us.”

  “Whatcha got?” I nod toward the bag.

  “Turkey sub with everything—all the veggies . . . and a bag of baked chips ’cause I know they’re healthier.”

  “I’ll have what you brought. My other lunch will still be good tomorrow.”

  As Tim follows me back to the break room, I sense that we’re being watched. A glance over my shoulder confirms my hunch.

  Without either of us having to say a word, Tim and I prepare our food. He unwraps the sandwiches and places them on paper towels, while I get drinks from the fridge—a cream soda for him and bottled water for me. I place the drinks on the table as he pours some of the baked chips beside the sandwiches. I find comfort in the familiar, and a peaceful wave flows through me.

  “I been gettin’ some serious attention around town this time.” Tim lifts his sandwich and pauses. “That picture in the magazine sure did make the rounds.”

  “Does that upset you?”

  He purses his lips and slowly shakes his head as he holds my gaze. “Nah, in fact, I sorta like it.”

  I laugh. “Not every guy would be that honest.”

  He wiggles his eyebrows. “Don’t forget, Priscilla, I’m not every guy.”