by Debby Mayne
“Isn’t it cute?” You’d think she’d talk right by now.
“That’s what I’m sayin’. I love havin’ her here, Mama . . . ”
She has that look on her face like she wants to add, Can we keep her? But that’s just my memory playin’ tricks on me. Back when she was a little girl, she used to bring home stray animals and beg us to let her keep ’em.
Priscilla smiles back at Bonnie Sue, sorta like they’re in on a secret or somethin’. “I used to have to get creative when I was your age because my mother didn’t understand why anyone would be interested in the latest fashion.”
“Oh, I understand wantin’ to be stylish and all, but . . . ” I look at my daughter who isn’t payin’ an ounce of attention to me ’cause she’s lookin’ at Priscilla with adoring eyes. “You look cute, Bonnie Sue. And Priscilla, I appreciate you helpin’ her out. We can’t afford all that many new clothes for the young’uns these days.”
Priscilla smiles at me. “Did you know that most of the clothes I wore in high school came from thrift shops and discount stores?”
“No, I didn’t know that.” I look away as fast as I can. “I best be gettin’ supper on the table before it’s too late. Pete was starvin’ when we left the hospital.”
Tim glances over at Priscilla. “I reckon we best be gettin’ along so y’all can have some family time.”
Priscilla nods at him and takes a step toward me. “Laura, if you want to change your appointment to Saturday morning, I’ll work it out.”
“You don’t hafta do that.” I know she’s bein’ extra nice to me on account of all we’ve been through, and I appreciate it, but I’m not used to folks makin’ an extra effort for me.
“But I want to. I’ll call you in the morning with the new time. Do you mind if it’s early morning?”
“That’s probably best for me,” I admit. “Thanks. Bonnie Sue, go wake your daddy up and tell him his supper’s ready.”
32
Priscilla
I don’t know why it’s so difficult for Laura to accept favors.” I look at Tim as he drives me back to my mother’s house. “All I have to do is go in a little bit early and move my next client back by half an hour.”
“It’s pride.” Tim pulls up to a stop sign and looks at me for a moment before turning his attention back to the road. “And I’m not sure she feels worthy.”
“That’s just silly.”
“Maybe to you.” He purses his lips, so I know there’s something he’s not saying.
“What?”
He smiles. “What do you mean, what?”
“That look on your face. What are you not telling me?”
“Priscilla, it may come as a shock to you, but I’m not about to tell you everything I’m thinkin’. That goes against man-code.”
I start to make a comment about how ridiculous that sounds, but I stop myself. Tim has always been the most open guy I’ve known, so if he wants to keep something to himself, I’m sure he has a valid reason.
We pull up in front of Mother’s house and stop, but I don’t get out of the car right away. It feels good to just sit here in silence with Tim—something I wouldn’t be able to do with just anyone.
“You okay, Priscilla?” he asks after several minutes.
I nod. “Tim, you’re an amazing man.”
“Thank you. I think you’re pretty special, too.”
He places his hand on mine, and I feel a sizzle travel up my arm. My mouth instantly goes dry.
“You okay, Priscilla?” He laces his fingers through mine.
“Um . . . yeah.” I pull my hand away from him and open the car door. Whatever is happening between Tim and me feels good, but I don’t know what to do with it. I’ve known him for thirteen years, and until this week, I’ve only seen him as a very good friend who is always there for me. I hop out of the car, bend over, and look him in the eye. “Thanks for everything, Tim.”
His gaze locks with mine, and he slowly nods. “You’re always welcome, Priscilla.”
I slam the car door shut, turn, and walk as quickly as I can to the front door without looking back. After I open the front door to the house, I hear the sound of Tim’s car pulling away from the curb.
“Is that you, Priscilla?” Mother comes out from the back of the house to the foyer. “Where did y’all go for dinner?”
I’m glad she’s asking a question with an easy answer and one that I can talk about because it prevents me from facing something that is frightening to me at the moment—my new attraction to Tim.
Mother seems preoccupied, which is just fine with me. I tell her all about taking the Moss kids out to eat, and she pretends to listen. I pour myself a glass of water, down it, and put the glass in the dishwasher. “I think I’ll go to my room now. I have a big day tomorrow.”
I’m up early the next morning, but not early enough to catch Mother before she left for work. There’s a note on the counter in front of the coffeepot letting me know she’ll be home late. I eat a bowl of cereal and down a cup of coffee then head to work for a full day. My mind is racing with so many things—from what Laura’s going through to my strange new feelings for Tim—so I crank up the music to excise the thoughts from my head.
There’s a crowd outside the salon and day spa when I arrive in the parking lot. That’s odd. I pull into my spot and get out, hoping to make it into the building without incident. I’m halfway up the sidewalk when some woman thrusts a microphone in front of me. “Is it true that you’ve been commissioned to travel with the First Lady?”
I stop in my tracks and stare at her, thinking this must be a joke. She’s serious. “What are you talking about?”
“Priscilla!”
I glance up at the door of the salon and see Sheila gesturing wildly for me to go inside. “Excuse me,” I say to the woman with the mic. “I have work to do.”
“Just say yes or no.”
“No.” I tip my head down and forge ahead as cameras click around me.
When I’m close enough to the front door, Sheila grabs hold of my arm and pulls me inside. “I tried to call and warn you, but you didn’t answer your cell phone.”
I had the music up so loud I obviously didn’t hear my phone. “What is going on?”
Chester peeks around the partition but quickly darts back when he catches me looking at him. “C’mere, Chester,” Sheila says in her mom-voice. “Tell her what you done.”
He slinks around the partition and gives me a long look of remorse. “I sorta gave them folks the wrong idea.”
“Does it have something to do with the First Lady?”
Chester shrugs and looks at Sheila for support. She nods and motions for him to tell me.
“I got a call from one of the magazine reporters askin’ questions about what you’re doin’ here, and I got a little carried away. I said . . . ” He casts a pitiful look toward Sheila before putting his hand over his face. “I am so embarrassed.”
“Okay, I’ll tell her. He told the reporter that you were here for your class reunion, but you’re leavin’ the day after to work with a very important dignitary.”
“Where did the reporter get the impression you were talking about the First Lady?” I ask.
Chester holds out his hands. “She kept askin’ who the dignitary was, and I kept on sayin’ no when she mentioned names, until she asked if it was the First Lady. I didn’t answer her that time.” He scrunches his forehead into a pitiful expression. “I never actually came right out and said you were travelin’ with the First Lady.”
Sheila rolls her eyes. “But you didn’t deny it either.”
I put my purse down on the reception desk and walk around behind the counter to reschedule Laura Moss “Why did you even say I’m working with an important dignitary?”
“I don’t know. This is the first time anyone has called me for information, and it made me feel . . . well, it made me feel—”
Sheila steps up to help him out. “It made him feel important. Some peop
le just can’t help themselves.”
Chester folds his hands and places them under his chin as he looks at me with pleading eyes. “I’m really sorry, Priscilla. I’ll do anything you want to make up for it.”
I glance over at Sheila, who winks and gives me the go-ahead to tease Chester. “I’ll think of something really good. In the meantime, I need to let a few people know I’m changing Saturday’s schedule.”
Sheila leans over and looks at the computer. “Don’t tell me Laura talked you into givin’ her a Saturday appointment.”
“She didn’t. I’m the one who offered it. After what she’s been through, it’s time she had a little extra pampering.”
“Want me to give her a free facial?” Chester asks.
I lift my eyebrows and look back and forth between him and Sheila, who nods before I smile at him. “What a great idea! She’ll get extra special treatment, and you’ll make up for what you said to the reporter.”
“One more thing, Chester,” Sheila adds. “March right out there and let the folks know you were mistaken—that Priscilla isn’t goin’ anywhere with the First Lady.”
“But—” He looks at me for support.
I grin at him. “You heard her. Go tell them.”
It takes every ounce of self-restraint I have to keep a straight face until he’s gone. Sheila and I both crack up laughing at the same time.
“He’s lovin’ your fame a bit too much,” Sheila says between snorts of giggles. “You shoulda seen him last time you were on air. You’da thought he had somethin’ to do with it.”
I quickly pull a straight face. “I have to admit I agree with him.”
“What?” She gives me a questioning look.
“If it weren’t for you, Chester, and the rest of the folks who work for the Cut ’n Curl, none of my success would be possible.”
She flicks her hand from the wrist. “Get out. It’s all you, Priscilla. There are thousands of hair salons with good hairdressers all over the country, but you don’t see their owners on TV.”
“I’m just sayin’ . . . ” I smile at her as I pick up the phone to start making my scheduling calls.
The noise out in front of the salon dies down quickly after Chester comes back inside, his face red and glistening with nervous sweat. “You’d think I done somethin’ really bad the way they took the news.”
“They’ll get over it.” I point to the schedule. “Looks like you have an opening on Friday, so why don’t you give Laura a call and let her know you’re gifting her with a free facial.”
His shoulders hunch, and he hangs his head, looking an awful lot like one of Laura and Pete’s kids when they’re being punished. But I don’t feel bad since the free facial was his idea. Tim’s comment about his mother saying he’s never grown up pops into my head. If I didn’t think I’d get called out for being sexist, I might comment about all men having a hard time growing up. No doubt Sheila would agree with me, but there’s no point in starting a discussion that has the potential to get out of control while I’m here such a short time.
I’m asked to do some of my favorite cuts—the quintessential long shag and a short razor cut. Most people love the movement those two styles give them, and I get to fall back on my creativity as I layer according to facial shapes. They’re the easiest ways to flatter a face, either by making the client appear thinner or taking attention away from something they’re not happy with.
“How about some highlights?” I ask my last appointment of the morning.
“I don’t know.” She studies herself in the mirror. “What kind of highlights were you thinkin’?”
“Something subtle . . . like a hint of butterscotch here and here.” The association with food generally grabs folks.
“Ooh, yeah, that sounds delicious.”
She leaves right at noon looking like a butterscotch sundae. On her way out, she gets all kinds of compliments from all the hairdressers and some of the clients. We do that for one another to reinforce people’s confidence.
Sheila motions for me to join her in the break room, so I follow her back. “I brought enough food for both of us so you wouldn’t have to go out.” She opens the fridge and announces, “Lasagna.”
“Thanks.”
She sticks the containers of lasagna in the microwave, while I pour both of us glasses of iced tea. Sheila and I have always worked well together, and at times like this I miss working in the salon.
Almost as though we’d rehearsed it, we’re finished with the meal preparation, and we sit down together. Sheila says, “You wanna say the blessin’, or do you want me to?”
I nod toward her. “You.”
We bow our heads, and she thanks the Lord for the beautiful day, our food, and simply being together. After she says, “Amen,” I echo her and open my eyes to see her grinning widely.
“What are you smiling about?”
She giggles. “After all these years, I think you’re startin’ to come to your senses with Tim.”
33
Celeste
Wanna call Pete ’n Laura?” Jimmy gently lifts my legs and shoves one of the pillows beneath them. “How’s that? Comfy?”
“Yeah, thanks. I don’t know about callin’ the Mosses. They might put us to work.”
Jimmy cackles. “That’s okay, sweetie. I don’t mind workin’. In fact, I think it’ll be fun to run around town doin’ stuff for the reunion.”
I point to the hotel room phone. “Okay, go ahead and call ’em then, but don’t tell ’em nothin’ about the baby.”
“Why not?”
“I wanna surprise ’em.” I’m still in my first trimester, but I couldn’t wait to buy maternity clothes and wear ’em. And now that I’m pregnant, I don’t hold my stomach in, so that little bit of a tummy-pooch shows from all the cookin’ I been doin’ since me and Jimmy got married.
Jimmy lifts the receiver and punches in their phone number that he obviously still remembers. He exchanges a polite greeting with Laura, but I can tell the instant Pete gets on the line because his language turns salty.
“Jimmy!” I whisper.
He cups the phone and whispers back, “Sorry, hon.” Then he goes back to his conversation with Pete and makes arrangements for us to go over to their house tomorrow evenin’. Jimmy even offers to bring dinner. After he’s off the phone, he plops down on the bed next to me and takes off his shoes and socks. “I’m not used to watchin’ ever’thing I say around my buddies.”
“You need to break that habit on account of I don’t want our baby to learn that kinda trashy talk.”
“He’ll hear it in the locker room.”
“Or maybe she won’t.”
Jimmy laughs as he bends over and drops a kiss on my not-quite-so-new-but-improved nose. “If it’s a she, I hope she’s as purty as you.”
How can I fuss at a man who says such sweet things? “I want my babies to be as happy as I am.”
“Babies? As in more ’n one?” He gets right up in my face and grabs both my hands. “Celeste, do you know somethin’ you ain’t told me?”
I pull my hands free and swat at him with a pillow. “No, silly, I’m just talkin’ about the babies we’ll have in the future.”
He gives me one of them vacant grins that lets me know he ain’t so sure what to say. I s’pect he’s thinkin’ we might not wanna have another kid, but he don’t wanna say that on account of my condition.
We watch TV for about an hour when one of my cravings hits me hard. “Jimmy, I want some hush puppies.”
He looks at the clock and frowns. “Where am I gonna get hush puppies at this hour?”
“Joe-Bob’s Fish Fry.”
“Celeste, Joe-Bob’s is clear on the other side of Hattiesburg.”
“Please, Jimmy. I don’t think I’ll be able to go to sleep if I don’t get some hush puppies.”
He lets out a breath, closes his eyes, and shakes his head before he gets up and slides his bare feet into his shoes. “Okay, I’ll go get ’em. Want
anything else while I’m out?”
“A tub of slaw would be good.”
“Do me a favor and give ’em a call so the order will be ready when I get there.”
I smile and nod. “Okay, sweetie.”
As soon as he leaves, I call in the order and switch the channel from the news to my favorite sitcom that Jimmy thinks is stupid. I figure it’ll take at least forty-five minutes for him to go to Joe-Bob’s, pick up the order, and come back.
Almost exactly forty-five minutes later, he comes walkin’ into the room with a humongous brown sack that looks like it’s filled to the top. “Today’s their fried catfish special, and I figgered while I was there . . . ”
I inhale the aroma of fresh-fried catfish, something I haven’t smelled since I left Piney Point. Biloxi has some good seafood restaurants, but nothin’ like Joe-Bob’s. Me and Jimmy done ate supper, but one thing about this pregnancy is I’m always up for another meal.
Jimmy lays everything out on the little round table and pulls a coupla chairs over. “Where you wanna sit?”
I point to the chair by the window. “I’ll take that one.”
“I’ll go get us a coupla cold drinks.”
By the time Jimmy gets back from the vending machine, I’ve already eaten two hush puppies. Them things’ll melt in your mouth they’re so good.
Jimmy laughs as he watches me stuff a bit of catfish into my mouth. “Celeste, your eyes is rollin’ back in your head.”
“This is a taste of heaven.”
He nibbles a tail off one of the catfish on his plate and nods. “Don’t I know it.”
After we finish our second supper, I stuff everything in the bag so Jimmy can take it to the garbage can down the hall. We don’t want our room stinkin’ more’n it already does.
Me and Jimmy both sleep great with our bellies full, but when I wake up, I have a hard time gettin’ up. Jimmy stands over me, his eyes wide as saucers. “Man, Celeste, your cheeks is so puffy you look like one of them Cabbage Patch dolls.”
I wanna smack him, but then I remember how sweet he was for goin’ over to Joe-Bob’s last night. As I slowly sit up, the stench from the fish fills my nostrils. “This place reeks.”