Pretty Is as Pretty Does

by Debby Mayne

  Celeste is about to let him have it, and quite frankly, I don’t give a flip, but Priscilla lifts her hands and turns to me. “Do you have a handout?”

  I nod. “I do, but I haven’t had time to make copies. It’s still in my computer.”

  “Why don’t I run by your place and pick it up later? I’m free, so I might as well make myself useful.”

  I want to tell her I have everything under control, and I don’t need her help, but I think it’s pretty obvious that would be a lie. I sigh. “That’ll be just fine.”

  Jimmy hops to his feet. “I gotta go now.”

  “Yeah, me too. I’m payin’ a babysitter, and they’re not cheap these days.” I gather the papers I’ve scattered all over the table and get up to leave.

  “You’re a mess, Laura,” Celeste says. “You used to be so organized, but it looks like you’ve gotten in over your head.” She looked me up and down. “And next time you go somewhere, you might want to take a look in the mirror before you leave the house.”

  Them’s fightin’ words. I let my bag fall onto the chair I’d just gotten out of and turn to face her. I can see Priscilla shaking her head behind Celeste, and then she wedges herself between us. “I’ll see you soon when I come by for the handout,” she says as she stares at me.

  I take a deep breath, look away, stuff the papers back into the bag, and fling it over my shoulder. Then I lean toward Celeste and give her the evilest smile I can manage. “At least I don’t have a unibrow.”

  Before she has a chance to recover, I do an about-face and storm away from the table, resisting the urge to turn back. I should feel better, but I don’t. In fact, by the time I get to my car, I feel terrible—like I just punched a helpless kid on the playground. To top it off, I just ticked off one of the few people willing to help with this shindig. What is it about a class reunion that puts us right back where we were ten years ago?

  Back in high school, Celeste was a social outcast. She didn’t even bother going to the prom, even though there were about a half dozen girls who decided they didn’t have to have a date to attend. They all slid out of their rented limo, glided up the sidewalk like they were movie stars on the red carpet, and waltzed into the gym wearing their fluffy gowns, with their hair all done up. When they first started dancing with each other, heads turned, but by the end of the evening, after some of the boys slipped out the back door, a lot of us girls were dancing with each other. But Celeste would have none of that. She sniped about the prom for weeks afterward. The girls who went just laughed at her, though.

  The very thought of my young’uns having to face other people’s mean-spiritedness sent a shiver of rage up my spine. What will I do if I get a call from the school letting me know one of my girls is being made fun of, and she refuses to go back into the classroom? I’ll be tempted to put on my biggest fake-rock rings and head on down to the school to put someone’s lights out.

  I get home and pull some money out of my grocery budget envelope for Tracy.

  “You forgot to tell me Renee and Bubba were comin’ home from school.”

  “It’s not like you had to do anything,” I tell her.

  She bobs her head, sticks her hand out, grabs the money, and leaves without so much as a thank you.

  11

  Priscilla

  I need to get over being shocked by my former classmates’ behavior. Every time I come back home, something happens that leaves me speechless, which is one of the many reasons I don’t visit as often as I probably should.

  The dynamics in the reunion committee are tense, to put it mildly. According to the buzz in the salon, Laura Moss keeps running people off the committee, so she has to keep recruiting new folks, which is why no one knows what’s going on—not even Laura. I can deal with her because I understand how much she cares about doing a good job, but I’m not so sure Celeste can. I actually felt sorry for Laura, until that killer comeback. I had to bite the insides of my cheeks to keep from laughing . . . but it was mean, really.

  Since I wasn’t sure anyone knew about Celeste’s appointments with me, I didn’t say a word. But I did study her while we were sitting there trying to help Laura, and I think there might actually be a pretty girl beneath those overgrown eyebrows and other stray hairs on her face. Her hair needs some serious conditioning and shaping. A little concealer and foundation will even out her skin tones. Add some mascara and a touch of lipstick, and I believe some people in Piney Point will be shocked. Now I’ve got a plan of action.

  I stop by the printer and have copies made for Laura. Since I’m not sure of the financial arrangements, I go ahead and pay with my own money. There’s a stack of jobs waiting, so I tell the guy to have them delivered to Laura as soon as they’re ready.

  Mother pounces on me as soon as I walk in the door. “I heard you were looking for a band for the reunion. Have you thought about the college orchestra?”

  I stop in my tracks and stare at her. “College orchestra? For a high school reunion?”

  “Yes. You are all grown up now. Surely some of you have acquired some cultured taste.”

  “I don’t think that’ll go over well.”

  Mother narrows her eyes. “I suppose I should expect that from someone who doesn’t understand the value of a good education.”

  Before I have a chance to say anything, she heads off toward her bedroom, leaving me standing there alone.

  The next morning, a pounding at the front door awakens me. I sit up and glance around the room to get my bearings, and then I realize I’m probably the only one in the house. Mother and Dad mentioned having early classes and meetings all day.

  Grabbing my robe, I head for the front door to see who it is. I stand on my tiptoes and glance out the peephole. Tim! I make sure my robe is covering everything and tighten the belt.

  “Close your eyes,” I say as I open the door. “Have a seat while I go throw on some clothes.”

  “Sure thing,” he says. “Take your time.”

  Tim has never seen me without makeup or before I’ve done my hair. Maybe if he gets a good look at my mascara-free eyes with the blonde eyelashes and my freckle-splattered nose and cheeks, he’ll lose interest. I pull on some jeans and slip into an oversized T-shirt before joining him.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask. “Don’t you have to work?”

  “That’s a fine how-do-you-do.”

  “Sorry,” I say, “but I know how busy you always are, and you’re planning on taking off some time for the reunion festivities, and—”

  Tim closes the distance between us and smiles down at me. “Hey, you’re cute without all that stuff on your face.” Then he blinks and opens his eyes wide. “You got your braces off.”

  I feign hurt feelings. “You finally noticed.”

  “You look great, Priscilla, but you looked good before too.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  “I said you were cute—makeup, no makeup, braces, no braces, whatever.” He folds his arms and gets a smug look on his face. “Impeccable, even.”

  “Impeccable?” I smile. “Is that the word of the day?” I ponder the idea of helping him with proper word use and quickly decide against it.

  “Yep. You look better than ever,” he says as he steps back and gives me the once over.

  “You’re kidding.” I look down. “I always thought I was scary looking first thing in the morning.”

  “Nope.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and looks around. “Got any coffee?”

  “Sure, follow me. I’ll put on a pot of coffee and scramble some eggs.”

  A few minutes later, Tim and I are sitting across the kitchen table from each other, and I have to admit, it feels mighty cozy. Too bad the chemistry just isn’t there for me.

  I tell him the details of what happened to the townhouse. “I wish you’d called me,” he says. “I might coulda helped.”

  Well, it’s not like he’s my boyfriend or anything, but I don’t want to sound ungrateful so I just shrug. “It
all happened so fast. Sorry about that.”

  Tim holds my gaze for a long moment then offers a sympathetic smile. “Apology accepted. If there’s anything I can do . . .”

  Although I know he hopes I’ll need him for something, I really don’t. And what if Maurice comes to town early? What if he wants to strike something up? Maybe inviting Tim to be my date for the reunion was a bad idea. Even so, I’m not going to hurt Tim’s feelings and go off with Maurice. If he’s truly interested in me, I’m sure he’ll understand that we’ll have to wait for another time.

  “You’re sweet to offer, Tim, but I’ll be just fine.” I stand up and carry the plates to the sink.

  “I’ll go see Sheila while I’m here, but . . .” He scrunches his forehead. “You do want me to come back, don’t you?”

  I think about how to word this for a few seconds. “Yes, of course I do.”

  He smiles like a kid on Christmas morning. “I’m pleased as punch to be your date.” He stops, thinks for a second, and adds, “And I’ll make sure I’m impeccable.”

  “Good.” I stifle a laugh as I grab the kitchen towel and wipe my hands. “Me too.”

  I follow him to the door and stand there as he backs out of the driveway. Once he’s out of sight, I go back inside and get ready to go to the salon.

  “Why, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” Janelle says as soon as I walk in the door of the Piney Point Cut ’n Curl. She points her comb toward the unused station. “Even after all this time, the place seems empty without you.”

  I go up to her and give her a hug and an air kiss, being careful not to touch her chemical-covered gloves. She leans back and looks me over with concern.

  “Have you lost weight, Priscilla?”

  “Maybe a little,” I admit. “But I’m sure it’s just temporary.”

  Janelle makes a motherly tsking sound. “Don’t go gettin’ too skinny like some of these girls do. I can’t understand why grown women want to get rid of their curves.” She gestures toward her own womanly body. “I like having a little extra.”

  Chester glances over his shoulder as he turns his client around so she can see what he did to her hair. “As long as the little extra is in the right place.”

  I point to my chair. “If anyone is overbooked or wants a break, I can take a few appointments, starting tomorrow.”

  “I might could use some help tomorrow. I’m booked through lunch, and you know how I get when I skip a meal.”

  Chester howls. “Boy howdy, do we ever.”

  “No comment,” Janelle says, grinning as she turns away.

  Times like this, I miss working in a salon. The camaraderie among hairdressers who get along is like a sisterhood—even when one of the sisters is a guy—that keeps the day from being too long. I make a mental note to spend more time downstairs when I get back to Jackson.

  I chat with the hairdressers for a few more minutes before I go home to make some phone calls to check on my townhouse. The insurance company has already assessed the damage and has given the contractor the go-ahead to start the work. I’m happy everything is supposed to be done before I return, even though the representative who works for the homeowners’ management company told me not to hold my breath. I’ve known her awhile, and I know she’s always cynical. But I also trust her to check in on the workers every now and then.

  Since I have a few hours to kill, with nothing pressing to do, I rummage through the freezer to see what I can find. Mother’s obviously been grocery shopping; I’ll surprise her with supper on the table when she and Dad get home. I’ve always loved oven-roasted chicken.

  Dad shows up first. He walks into the kitchen, sniffing the air. “Smells good, Priscilla. It’s been a mighty long time since I came home to a cooked meal.”

  That’s odd, I think, particularly since there’s so much food in the house. Mother’s always worked, but she’s never neglected meals.

  “I know you and Mother have been busy, and I’m here, so . . .” I shrug. “I figure I might as well carry my share of the load.”

  He grins, kisses me on the cheek, and loosens his tie. Dad’s ways are rather old-fashioned, even though he’s barely in his mid-fifties. Even back when I was in college, only the oldest professors dressed up for class.

  Dad drops the smile and gives me a serious look. “Your mother should be home soon. She mentioned something about Classy Lassy business after her last class.” Something about the way he says that makes me uncomfortable.

  “Why don’t you go change clothes while I finish up here?”

  He sighs and nods. “I don’t want you to think you have to do all this work while you’re here, Priscilla.”

  “It’s nothing, and you know I don’t mind. Now go on and change so we can eat when Mother comes home.”

  The look he gives me is sad, but I don’t say a word. After he leaves, I do a mental replay of how strangely my folks have been acting. Mother has always had an acerbic tongue, but she’s been even more caustic than I remember. Dad, on the other hand has never been the greatest communicator, but his sighs have become so pronounced. Maybe he wants to talk, but that makes me uncomfortable.

  Shortly after Dad returns, Mother walks in the door. One look at her face, and I know we’re in for some strained conversation. I offer up the blessing before we get our plates and fill them with the food I’ve left in pots on the burners.

  I decide to start the conversation rather than suffer in silence, so I bring up the fact that I’m planning on working in the salon starting tomorrow. Dad nods but stuffs another bite into his mouth rather than respond.

  Mother, on the other hand, uses this as an example of why I should be pursuing more worthwhile goals. “It’s not like anyone’s life depends on what you do, Priscilla. Can’t you take a few days off and enjoy being home?”

  My stomach tightens. When I look at Dad, I see that he’s trying hard not to say anything. So I shake my head. “I miss working in the salon. And they need me—it’s a busy time.”

  She rolls her eyes and shrugs. “To each her own, I suppose.”

  Time to change topics. I turn to Dad. “So how’s Grandma doing? Did she get her garden planted this year?”

  “Just a couple of tomato vines and some peppers.” He cuts his chicken and stabs it with his fork. “I told her I’d come over and mulch her garden this weekend.”

  “Anything to get away from working around your own house,” Mother snaps.

  Uh oh. Looks like another touchy subject, leaving less doubt in my mind that my suspicions are correct. Around here the old folks say, “When mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy,” and I’m starting to see the truth of that.

  “So how are your classes?” I ask Mother. It’s the only thing I can think of that might be safe.

  “We’re heading into finals.” She glances over at Dad, who is too busy shoveling food into his mouth to notice. “I’d like to take some time off during semester break and do a little regional traveling, since we’re not going to have summer off this year.”

  Dad slams his fork down on the table and glares at Mother. She has clearly hit on another cause of dissention. “Suzanne, I’ve already told you why I’m teaching summer classes.”

  “You don’t owe anyone anything,” Mother retorts. “I’m sure if you hadn’t offered, other professors would have stepped up and filled in.”

  I hold up my hands to get their attention. There’s no way I can let this go on. “Whoa. What is going on here?”

  Mother flicks her hand from the wrist. “You tell her.”

  Dad puts his fork down and leans back. “Your mother is upset because I offered to take over Annie Parker’s classes so she can stay home with the baby she’s having next week.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Mother says before I can tell Dad how sweet it is for him to do that. “You’re the head of the department. You should be delegating instead of trying to do everything yourself.”

  Dad stands up and carries his plate over to the sink. “So
rry, Priscilla, but I can’t eat any more right now. I’m going for a walk.”

  Silence falls in the kitchen until the door slams behind Dad. When he’s gone, I look at Mother. Her lips are so puckered she looks like she’s been sucking a lemon.

  “What is with you two?” I ask.

  “You’re a smart woman,” she says, standing. “Figure it out for yourself.” And before I have a chance to do that, she adds, “He’s been making decisions that affect me without discussing them first.”

  I open my mouth, but no words come out. My parents have issues that are much deeper than what I can understand at the moment.

  “What?” Mother’s frown rips at my heart.

  “I don’t like seeing the two of you snapping at each other—”

  “It’s nothing I’d expect you to understand. And not your problem.”

  “But it is! You’re my parents, and I care about both of you. What has happened since I’ve been gone?”

  “I sure wish I knew, Priscilla.” She shakes her head and leaves me alone in the kitchen.

  12

  Tim

  I don’t know what I expected when I met Pricilla’s parents a few months ago, but it was nothing like what I saw. I thought she’d have one of them steel magnolia mamas who knows when to turn on the charm and when to lift the shield. Instead, I saw a woman who was so unsure of herself around her own daughter she didn’t know what to say. But it makes sense, I guess: Priscilla wears fashionable heels and cute outfits and always looks sharp as a tack. Her mother wears boring old boxy suits and sensible shoes. You’d never guess they were mother and daughter.

  And if I’d heard her talk without knowing she was from the South, I would have guessed she came from Chicago or some other city where they all talk like news people on TV. That woman has no accent whatsoever. Priscilla says her mother had coaching to lose it, and she keeps offering to hire someone to help Priscilla. I advise her against it, of course, and she just laughs and tells me not to worry, she’s perfectly fine with her accent.