“I didn’t expect you to come here tonight. And get into bed with me.”
His expression changed, sobering. “I didn’t expect to come here either.”
“Then why did you?” Francine asked.
Keaton closed his eyes for several seconds. “I don’t know. When I got back my intent was to shower and go straight to bed. When I couldn’t sleep I knew it was because you were on my mind. I’d promised to call you, but there were so many things happening at once. When I did find the time it was always too late here on the East Coast.”
Her eyebrows flickered. “You managed to take care of all of your business?”
“Thankfully I did.”
Rolling off Francine, he lay down beside her, took her hand, and laced their fingers together. Keaton told her he’d sold his house and about the volatile situation with his brother-in-law. “We were business partners for almost ten years. He put up the money to produce all my films. Things went sour when he wanted financial and creative control.”
“Does he have any experience with moviemaking?” Francine asked.
Keaton shook his head. “If he did, then I would’ve possibly considered relinquishing some control in lieu of his increased financing. Our business relationship ended once he refused to release the money I needed to complete my last film.”
“What happened to it?”
“I had to scrap it. With the sale of my house I now have the money, but the principal actors are involved with other projects. I had my attorney send him a dissolution agreement and he took it badly. He retaliated by attacking my sister.”
Francine’s eyelids fluttered wildly. “Is she okay?”
“Physically, yes. Emotionally, however, she’s a wreck. She’s racked with guilt, blaming herself for staying in a marriage when she should’ve gotten out years ago.”
“Why did she stay?”
“Liana kept saying it was because of her children. Personally I believe it’s because she didn’t want to be labeled a single mother. That is something that frightens her. But I told her being divorced doesn’t necessarily mean their father won’t be in their lives.”
“That’s silly, Keaton. Millions of women raise their children without a husband or man in their lives and the kids turn out okay. Look at Presidents Clinton and Obama. What she has to do is step up and become mother and father.”
“You’re preaching to the choir, Francine. My sister has always had a man’s protection, so if it wasn’t me or Dad, then it was Hollis. It’s going to take a while before she’s strong enough to realize she can make it through life without a husband. One thing she doesn’t have to worry about is not having enough money to take care of my niece and nephew.” Keaton told her about Liana’s cleaning out their six-figure joint bank account.
Francine laughed uncontrollably. “At least she knew enough to secure her finances.”
“She had to because she moved out of her home and into a hotel suite costing her two fifty a night. She delayed her plan to go to Pittsburgh because she’d left certain documents needed to register her children in a new school back at the house, so she asked me to get them for her.”
“Did you?”
“Eventually I did, after leaving countless messages with Hollis’s executive assistant that I wanted to meet with him but he kept putting me off for almost two weeks. He must have known I wasn’t going away so he arranged for us to meet at a restaurant where I told him in no uncertain terms that if he ever raised his voice again or even breathed hard on my sister he would rue the day he woke up that morning.”
“If her marriage was that bad why hadn’t she considered marriage counseling?”
“I don’t know. Liana can be very closemouthed when she chooses to be, and I believe when she called me to say she and Hollis had had a terrible argument it wasn’t the first time her husband had verbally abused her. My niece verified this when she told me her daddy yells at her mommy all the time.”
“That’s horrible.”
Keaton nodded. “No child should grow up with parents verbally or physically abusing each other. I told him I wanted the file with the kids’ birth certificates, school immunizations, and their Social Security cards, and after that he wouldn’t have to worry about seeing me ever again.”
“Did you get them?”
Keaton smiled. “Liana told me where I could find them. When I went to the house I kept thinking Hollis had given in much too easily but he had to know it was over and his wife and children weren’t coming back.” He paused. “What have you been up to since I’ve been away?”
“Working.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s enough, Keaton. I get up, go to the salon, cut, blow, perm, and relax hair, and then come home and chill out. Oh, I forgot. I’ve started biking between here and the Creek again.”
“What time do you go biking?”
“I start out just before dawn. By the time I reach Angels Landing the sun is up.”
“Aren’t you afraid to be out at that time of morning by yourself?” he asked.
“No,” she said, laughing.
“What if you get a flat?”
“I’d call my mother and tell her to pick me up.”
“I want you to be careful, Francine.”
Rising slightly on an elbow, she gave him a direct stare. “I am. Why the concern?”
Turning over, he flopped down on his belly. “I don’t want anything to happen to you,” he mumbled.
Going to her knees, Francine shook him when she realized he was falling asleep. “Keaton, you’re going to have to get up.” His response came in the form of a snore. Her gaze moved slowly over the white tee stretched over his broad back and down to a pair of khaki walking shorts, and then to his bare legs and feet. His physique was nothing short of perfection.
Her erotic dream had just manifested itself in the man sleeping in her bed. Slipping off the mattress, she turned the lamp to the lowest setting. Francine knew there would be another night and another time when Keaton would share her bed again. And it wouldn’t be to sleep. She walked into the other bedroom and got into bed—alone.
Only her dramatic training kept Francine from reacting when Keaton walked into the Beauty Box for a much-needed haircut and shave. All conversations came to an abrupt halt when he sat in her chair, then quickly started up again as if there hadn’t been a pause. Leaning closer, she draped the cape around his neck.
“Sleep well?” she whispered in his ear.
He smiled, his eyes meeting hers in the mirror’s reflection. “Like a baby,” he said sotto voce. “I’d expected to wake up to find you beside me,” he continued, talking through clenched teeth.
She flashed a saccharine smile. “Win some, lose some.”
Francine had slept later than she’d planned, rising to find Keaton gone. It wasn’t until she walked into the kitchen to brew a cup of tea that she saw the note he’d left on the countertop. She’d read it once, and then again, unable to stop smiling. Good morning, sleeping beauty. Will you go to the Happy Hour with me Saturday night? I hope you’ll enjoy your day. XXXOOO—
She planned to have a very good day. It was Tuesday, senior citizens’ discount day, and she hoped to get the elderly men and women in and out quickly. Most of the women wanted roller sets and those wishing to hold back the hands of time had requested dyes and tints. The men were easier. She utilized either scissors or clippers to cut their short hair. Reaching into the pocket of her jeans, she handed Keaton the note, watching as he read it. She’d answered his invitation with Yes, enclosing the single word in a red heart.
She had made arrangements to meet Morgan at her shop. They’d made plans for Francine to select a kitten from the litter sired by Rasputin, Morgan’s Russian Blue. The kittens were still too young to leave their mother, but Morgan had given her first choice of the pedigree felines. When Francine had mentioned Morgan’s offer of a pedigree kitten to her grandmother, Dinah couldn’t stop smiling. Dinah always had cats as pets. She’d had to give up he
r last one for adoption when she moved out of her home and into the condo, which had a no-pets rule.
Francine cut and shaved Keaton in record time because the chairs in the reception area were filled with customers with appointments and a few walk-ins. She gave him his bill, not meeting his eyes when he slipped a tip into the pocket of her smock. She didn’t know why, but she felt as if every eye in the salon was trained on her and Keaton when he thanked her.
Francine couldn’t believe she was becoming paranoid, but Miss Bernice was glaring at her. Brooke had wrapped her damp hair in a towel. “May I help you with something, Miss Bernice?” The woman mumbled something that sounded to her like “only the Lord can help you” under her breath. She froze. “Excuse me.” Mavis returned to her station, unwrapping the towel from Miss Bernice’s damp hair, preempting whatever she was about to say.
She’d learned since coming to work at the Beauty Box to ignore most of what was said or went on in the salon. Francine thought of herself as invisible when customers talked about one another without actually mentioning names. It was as if they were speaking in code. But she always knew exactly who they were talking about. Miss Bernice, who unfortunately lived on Magnolia Drive, had become the unofficial neighborhood watch. She could be seen peering through her curtains at any time of the day or night. What the Cove needed was a senior facility where retirees could play board games, dance, watch movies, or engage in age-appropriate exercises. It was something Francine planned to propose to Alice as the mayoral candidate touting change and progress for the town.
“I need you to attend the town hall meeting for me tonight,” Mavis said to Francine, as she reached for the plastic rollers in a nearby tray.
“Are you okay, Mama?” It was a rare occasion when Mavis missed a monthly town hall or chamber of commerce meeting.
“I must have bent over the wrong way, because my back went out again. I have an appointment to see Dr. Monroe at five.”
She saw her mother grimace each time she raised her arms. “Why don’t you call him and ask if he can see you now.”
Miss Bernice’s head came around. “She gotta finish my head first.”
Francine’s temper flared. “My mother doesn’t have to do anything but feel better,” she said angrily. “Mama, go call Dr. Monroe and I’ll finish setting Miss Bernice’s hair.” She engaged in a staredown, silently daring Miss Bernice to say something else.
Mavis put down her comb. “Thanks, baby.” Resting a hand at the small of her back, she slowly made her way toward the lounge.
Francine moved over to finish what her mother had started. There were days when she could ignore the grumpy woman and days when she couldn’t. Today was one of those days when she refused to put up with her backhanded innuendos.
Mavis had always had back problems, and standing on her feet for hours exacerbated them. After the last episode Francine had tried again to get her mother to reduce her workdays from five to four, but it was like talking to a brick wall. It was only when Mavis was down in her back that she was forced to stay at home and rest. Her mother knew Francine could run the shop as well as she did, but claimed she wasn’t ready to give up doing what she so loved to do.
Francine finished rolling up Miss Bernice’s hair, spritzing it with the setting lotion from a spray bottle. Covering the colorful rollers with a net, she inserted plastic ear covers under the net, making certain they were securely in place. Lifting the bonnet of a dryer, she waited until Miss Bernice sat down, then lowered the bonnet, programming the time and adjusting the temperature.
It’d become an assembly line when Francine slipped on a pair of latex gloves to apply a relaxer to a college student’s new growth until it was straight. She directed her to the shampoo area where Brooke waited for her.
Francine retreated to the rear of the salon and mixed several colors to achieve a warm brown shade with golden highlights for her next client. The young woman had been warned not to put any chemicals in her hair during her pregnancy. Now that she’d given birth she wanted and needed a makeover.
“Do you want me to trim the ends?” she asked. The woman’s hair hung halfway down her back.
Warm brown eyes met hers in the mirror. “I’d like you to cut it just above my shoulders. I don’t have the time to blow it out.”
“Are you sure?” It was the same question Francine asked every woman who requested she cut their hair. Once she picked up her scissors and began to cut there was no turning back.
“I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life. I know long hair is in style, but it’s not practical for me.”
Francine smiled. “Just double-checking. I’ll cut it in layers so if you do decide to blow it out yourself, your hair will fall into a style.”
There was a lull in activity midmorning and she slipped into the back to sit and put her feet up. Mavis had called to report that Dr. Monroe had given her a prescription for painkillers and that he wanted her to stay off her feet for a week. Hopefully her mother would take the doctor’s advice and do just that.
Reaching for her cell, she sent her father a text about her mother’s back problem. She had to wait only seconds for the reply. He was coming home. Francine knew if her mother wouldn’t heed her advice, Mavis would listen to her husband.
Danita Yarrow approached her, pen and pad in hand. “I’m taking lunch orders. Do you want anything, Red?”
She nodded to the nail technician. “Where are you ordering from?”
“The supermarket deli.”
Francine stared at the black-and-white airbrushed designs on Danita’s nails. “I’ll have the soup of the day and tuna on a bed of lettuce.” Mavis paid for the coffee, sweet breads, and lunch for those employees who elected not to bring food from home. Surprisingly, no one abused the perk.
With the exception of the masseuse/aesthetician, all of the staff were paid a flat salary and at the end of the year received a generous bonus based on years of employment.
Candace, a stylist with short hair dyed a becoming platinum, a shade that complemented her golden-brown complexion, entered the lounge. “Red, your mama’s eleven thirty is here.”
She pushed to her feet. “Who does she have?”
“Miss Hannah. Good luck,” she whispered as she turned on her heels and walked away.
Groaning to herself, Francine left to take care of one of Mavis’s longtime customers. If the librarian wanted a dye job, then she was out of luck. There was no way she would be able to mix the tints and dyes to achieve the cotton-candy–pink shade. Then there was the teasing. It was a wonder the woman had any hair left after all these years of affecting that outdated style.
Hannah sat in Mavis’s chair, her head swaddled in a towel. Francine rested her hands on the shoulders of the semiretired librarian. “Good afternoon, Miss Hannah. I’m going to do your hair today.”
Hannah removed her glasses. “You know I like it teased. Do you know how to tease hair?”
“Yes, Miss Hannah.” Removing the towel, Francine spritzed her hair, and then set it on large rollers.
“Your young man is as charming as he is handsome.”
Her hands stilled. “Who are you talking about?”
“Keaton Grace, of course. I didn’t want to believe it when he said he was building a movie studio in the Cove.”
“Who’s building a studio?” asked the woman sitting in Danita’s chair.
Hannah, realizing she had a captive audience, revealed everything she’d discussed with Keaton. “Of course, I suggested he join the chamber if he’s going to run a business here. It’s going to put Cavanaugh Island on the map once it becomes known we have the only movie studio in the Lowcountry.”
Bernice, who’d pushed up her dryer bonnet to hear the conversation, made a clucking sound with her tongue and teeth. “I don’t understand, folks. First you want to vote for Alice Parker jest because she’s a woman. Now y’all happy ’bout movie folks coming here with dey wicked ways. What’s next? A topless bar?”
; “You’re wrong, Bernice,” Hannah countered. “You underestimate folks. They’re not going to vote for Alice just because she’s a woman. They’re going to examine the issues and vote for the candidate whom they believe will improve their quality of life.”
Bernice refused to back down. “You say that ’cause you and her husband are blood.”
Hannah’s face turned a brilliant red. “It has nothing to do with—”
“Miss Bernice, you’re going to have to stay under the dryer,” Francine said, interrupting the librarian, while hoping to diffuse the volatile situation. Walking over to the dryer, she pulled the bonnet down over Bernice’s head. She increased the time by an additional ten minutes. When the dryer stopped, she combed out Bernice, styling her hair as Mavis would’ve done. She tucked in a wayward strand.
Bernice patted the silver curls. “Nice job, Red.”
She inclined her head. “Thank you, Miss Bernice.”
Francine was certain she heard a collective sigh of relief when the door closed behind Bernice Wagner. If there had been another hair salon on the island Francine would’ve suggested the woman go there. The chatter continued as those who’d overheard Hannah mention a movie studio discussed the advantages and pitfalls of having actors and possible paparazzi invade their cloistered existence.
She still felt somewhat responsible that she hadn’t warned Keaton in advance that his business would be all over the Cove and eventually the island because Hannah was a compulsive tattler.
Her practiced professional smile was in place when Hannah sat in her chair. She removed the rollers, brushing out her hair with a rubber-tipped brush. “I’m going to trim your ends before I tease you.” Pulling up strands between her first two fingers, she showed Hannah the uneven split ends.
“Do whatever you think is best.”
Hannah had given Francine the opening she needed to suggest that teasing was breaking and thinning the woman’s hair. “I’d like to style your hair, giving you fullness without teasing it so much. Dying and teasing is weakening your hair follicles.”
“But I like the color. It’s my signature,” Hannah said.
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