by Debby Mayne
Pete and I used to chase each other on the playground in elementary school, but when other girls started getting all . . . girly, he started chasing them. Then he sprouted up and developed some muscle when he started high school. By then, everyone knew he was a bad boy but not in an attractive way. While other guys took their images to the edge, Pete managed to cross the line and hang over the cliff. He’s the one who mooned a carful of cheerleaders after the Panthers won the regional championship. And he’s the one who always broke into doing the Worm at the school dances, clearing the floor and sometimes getting the party shut down. Even though everyone thought he was funny, no self-respecting girl wanted to be known as Pete Moss’s girlfriend. Except me. I always saw something beneath that rough, beyond-redneck exterior.
Pete Moss was my first boyfriend . . . and my only boyfriend. I never had any thoughts of looking past the man who settled for me. And I think he appreciates me, even though sometimes I wonder how he functions with so much alcohol in his bloodstream. Fortunately, he never drinks on the job.
The doorbell rings, so I wipe my hands on the dishtowel and go answer it. By the time I get there, the delivery truck is halfway down the street, and there’s a brown box on my doorstep. I bring it into the house and saw it open using a steak knife.
When I lift the bubble wrap, I’m happy to see the programs I ordered for the reunion. But that joy only lasts a few seconds when I realize they’ve put the wrong class mascot on the front. That’s a tiger, not a panther. I think I’m going to toss my cookies.
I call Celeste to break the news that we’ve got a mess on our hands. The tone of her voice takes me by surprise.
“You can’t let this do you in, Laura. Find a solution. It’s not like someone’s life depends on the programs being perfect.”
“What’s gotten into you, Celeste?” I ask. “I thought I could count on you to be . . . sympathetic.”
“You’re trying to do too much, and you’re too easily rattled. Want me to come over later?”
I would have said yes if she’d acted like herself, but now I’m not sure. “Why don’t I try to come up with a solution, and you can come over tomorrow?”
“That’s an excellent idea,” she says. “Have a nice evening.”
What in the world? My whole world seems off-kilter. Until now, the one person I could always count on for a pity party—or at least a decent grouch session—was Celeste. We haven’t exactly been close friends, but between insults, we’ve had an understanding. Celeste has always been an outcast because, quite frankly, she’s gross. Her hair and clothes have always been a mess, and her personality is even worse. Early on, I found a way to get in with folks by giving them something they need, but I’m not delusional. I know that if I ever stopped doing for others, they’d kick me to the curb.
A blood-curdling scream interrupts my thoughts. “What in the world is goin’ on up there?” I holler.
“Mama,” Bubba hollers back. “Tell Renee to get out of my room.”
“Get out of Bubba’s room, Renee.”
“He won’t let me have my doll back.”
“Give her the doll, Bubba.” I stand at the bottom of the stairs, yelling, when I know it’s not gonna do me a bit of good. “Don’t make me come up there.”
The phone rings, but I stand there frozen in place, as I try to decide whether to answer the phone or go upstairs and threaten my kids with something they know I won’t follow through with. Another scream makes my decision for me. I stomp up the stairs in time to see Renee’s bright-red face covered in tears as she tries to push open the door that has smashed her fingers.
“Bubba, open that door, or I’m gonna—”
The door flies open, but I don’t see my oldest child. Renee holds her fingers with her other hand, and she’s bent over in pain.
“Let me see your hand, Sweetie,” I say.
Her whole body shakes with sobs as she holds out her hand toward me and shows me her scrunched fingers that I’m sure will be purple and blue very soon. “Come on, let’s go put some ice on it.” As we descend the stairs, I holler over my shoulder. “I’ll deal with you in a few minutes, Bubba Moss. Stay in your room until I come back.”
I glance at the caller ID as we pass by the phone. Unknown caller. I hate when that happens. Other people might be able to let it go, assuming if it’s important enough the person will call back. But not me. I hate the very thought of missing any calls—most likely because I get so few.
After putting some ice cubes in a plastic Ziplock bag, I tell Renee to put her hand on the table. She’s still sniffling, but the tears have stopped. I gently place the bag of ice on her fingers. “If the swelling doesn’t go down, I’ll take you to the doctor.”
She blinks. “Mama, can I have a cookie?”
As she nibbles around the edge of the first cookie, I pick up the phone hoping “unknown caller” left a voice mail. I’m in luck.
“Hey, Laura, this is Priscilla Slater. I’ve been thinkin’ about all your hard work on the reunion committee, and I’d like to offer you an appointment for a cut and color—complimentary, of course. Just give me a call so we can set up a time.”
Well, don’t that just beat all. I have an appointment with Sheila, but I’ve been seriously considering canceling it since money is so scarce. I haven’t been to the beauty shop in ages, since my grocery budget leaves very little room these days for sifting a few funds for personal use. I want to hate Priscilla, but right now, she’s probably the best friend I have in the world, and she doesn’t even know it.
17
Priscilla
After I leave the message on Laura Moss’s phone, I pray that she won’t take it the wrong way. She’s always been a tad sensitive, and I never know what’ll make her defensive. As caustic as she is, back in high school I saw enough of her that I know she’s not a bad person deep down.
Once when I asked if she’d like to hang out after a game since the football players had a party to celebrate their championship, she turned to me and said she didn’t need a pity-friend. That was like a slap in the face, but I found out later that she and Pete had had a fight before the game. I’d like to think we’ve all grown up and people have gotten past their teenage angst, but based on what I’m seeing now, that isn’t necessarily the case.
Oh well, the deed is done, and I’ll have to wait to see the outcome. Laura will either call for the appointment I’m offering, or she’ll be insulted and give me the cold shoulder next time we have a committee meeting.
My next appointment is waiting, but Chester thrusts the phone at me. “For you,” he says. “Good luck.”
How odd, I think, as I put the phone to my ear. “This is Priscilla.”
“We need you here immediately,” Rosemary says in the tight voice she uses when disaster strikes. “Mandy didn’t show up for work, and now people are coming to the salon expecting me to drop what I’m doing to help them in the office.”
I close my eyes, drop my head back, and do a mental palm-to-forehead. Oh no—I forgot to call after Celeste left yesterday. So unlike me. “When was the last time you spoke to her?”
“Last night—when I let her have a piece of my mind.”
I feel the weight of the world on my shoulders as I listen to her complain about how Mandy can’t get it through her thick skull that no teenybopper is going to tell Rosemary and her team of highly skilled hairdressers what to do. Good thing I was planning to be in Jackson tomorrow to check on my townhouse; I’ll stop at the office and have a powwow with those two. Mandy is bringing out a side of Rosemary I’ve never seen before.
“Are you hearing me, Priscilla?”
“Of course I am, Rosemary. Let me see what I can find out. I’ll call you back soon.”
“What do you want me to tell this woman who insists you were about to place an order for those shampoos we quit buying last year?”
“Tell her I’ll be back in a few weeks, and I can talk to her then. If she says it’s urgent, get her number and
I’ll call her back.” I pause for a moment before asking, “By the way, how many people have come looking for me?”
“Um . . .” She clears her throat. “Just one other vendor and this one woman, but I’m sure there’ll be more.”
That sounds about right. “Okay, tell her what I said and hang tight. I’ll call you back after I figure things out.”
The first person I call is Mandy. I can practically hear the steam coming out of her ears.
“That Rosemary is such a—”
“Stop right there, Mandy. I hired you to do a job, and I expect you to handle it like an adult.” I’m beyond tiptoeing around this girl’s fragile ego. “You can’t just not show up for work and expect me to trust you.”
I hear her sniffling, but right now I don’t have an ounce of pity for her.
“So tell me how it’s gonna be. Do you want to work or not?”
“Not if I have to deal with that know-it-all Rosemary,” she says.
“I never asked you to deal with Rosemary,” I remind her. “In fact, I told you to stay in the office and away from the salon.”
“I know, but . . . It’s just that without you there, I feel so . . . I don’t know . . .” She sniffles again. “I hate being by myself all the time.”
“Would it help if I let you hire someone to help out with the phone?” I ask. I try to keep a lean staff, but I’ve been thinking about adding one more employee.
“You’ll do that?”
“Yes, but only if you promise to stay in the office and away from the salon. I’ll tell Rosemary that if she needs anything, she’s to call me.”
“Who are you gonna hire?” she asks.
“That’s up to you. Why don’t you call a temp agency and see if you can find someone for minimum wage?” I can offer a raise later if she works out.
“Okay, I’ll do that right away.”
“Do you want me to come help you get started?” I ask.
“No, I can handle it.” She already sounds happier, and I can hear the tone of authority in her voice. I hope I haven’t created a monster.
“I’m coming back to check on my townhouse, but it’ll only be for the day since I can’t stay in it overnight.”
After we hang up, I call Rosemary back and tell her what I’ve done. “Are you crazy?” she asks.
“Probably, but it’s the only thing I can think of for now.”
“Now that I think about it, maybe it’s not so crazy. Back when my kids were little, I would invite someone over to play with them, and that pretty much guaranteed a peaceful afternoon.”
“That’s what I’m counting on.”
I see how immature Mandy is, now, but I pray she’ll dig deep and rise to the occasion. I still need to check in on things at the office, since Mandy has already proved she’s not reliable. I call to confirm my appointment with the orthodontist.
“Why don’t you talk to Tim?” Sheila asks after I get off the phone. “I bet he wouldn’t mind checking in on Mandy every now and then.”
“Good idea.” Tim knows enough about the situation to be a humongous help. I’ve seen the way Mandy looks at him, so maybe she’ll be on her best behavior knowing that he might pop in.
Mother and Dad exchanged a glance of disapproval the next morning when I mentioned I wouldn’t be home for supper. “If you had a more professional career, you wouldn’t have to deal with such menial tasks,” Mother had said over breakfast.
Dad nodded his agreement. “Your mother is right.”
Seems like the only time they agree anymore is when they don’t like something I’m doing. I smile at the irony of the situation. At least I’m good for something in their lives.
I finish my last appointment just before lunch and head on over to Jackson. I pull out my cell phone and call Tim. He sounds happy to hear from me and even happier to help me out.
“You might want to think about replacing Mandy after this reunion is over,” he says. “Not that I’m telling you how to run your business or anything.”
“Maybe.” Finding Mandy was hard enough. I must have gone through a couple dozen applications to narrow down four people suitable for interviewing. Two of the applicants were way overqualified, so I knew as soon as the job market turned around, they’d be gone. I wanted someone to grow with me, but now I wonder if that’s asking too much for an assistant.
“Will you have time to have dinner with me while you’re here?” he asks.
I start to say no, but catch myself, since I’ve just asked Tim to do me a favor. “Sure, that sounds good, but I can’t hang around long. I want to get back to Piney Point before it’s too late, and Mother and Dad have to get up early.”
“They still wait up for you. Sweet.”
“Well . . .” I’m not sure if they’ll wait up or not, but it seems like getting back before it’s too late would be the courteous thing to do.
“I’ll meet you at your office, and we’ll go to dinner from there,” Tim says.
As I get closer to Jackson, my mind races through all the possibilities of what I might encounter when I arrive at the office. This is something I know I need to do, but I also realize the risk is I’ll see or hear something that will force my hand with her.
I arrive at my condo and do a walk-through. The carpet is gone and there’s been extensive drywall work. It’s sort of disconcerting to see my home looking like this.
Later I pull into the parking lot and see Mandy’s and Rosemary’s cars. At least I know they’re both here.
Before I get out of the car, I pause for a prayer for wisdom—something I haven’t done in a while. It’s not that I’ve lost faith or anything. It’s more a matter of remembering who’s in charge.
Okay, now I get out of my car, take a deep breath, and charge forward. I walk up the steps as normally as I always have, which should be a warning to Mandy that someone is coming.
The door to my office is open, with Mandy sitting behind the desk, her nameplate displayed front and center, and a vase of fresh flowers perched on the edge of my desk. She’s talking to someone I can’t see, but she’s aware I’m there. I gesture to let her know I’m going downstairs, and her face turns bright red.
“Rosemary said to tell you she wants to see you when you arrive,” she says.
“Don’t go anywhere,” I say.
“I’ll be right here.”
Rosemary greets me at the door. “I heard you just pulled in,” she says without giving me a chance to say hi. “What is going on upstairs? Three different people have come here looking for Mandy, saying they’re applying for a job with her.” Her expression is frantic, so I take her by the arm and lead her back to the break room.
“So what’s going on with Mandy?”
I explain about hiring temporary assistance for Mandy and letting her know Tim will help out by checking in with her a few times. She calms down a bit. “I thought this would be the best way to keep her out of your hair,” I say.
“Now that I think about it, that’s ridiculous. You shouldn’t have to pay for someone to keep her company.”
With a grin, I reply, “I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t ask you, isn’t it? But that’s not really what I’m doing. I’m going to need a second person in the office to handle the extra work as my business grows.”
“Right.” She stands up and starts to leave but turns around to face me. “You’re a much nicer person than I’d be.”
It’s not that I’m nice. It’s more a case of survival and doing what needs to be done at the moment.
Mandy steps out of the office and looks back and forth between Rosemary and me. Rosemary’s lips tighten, and Mandy starts to bob her head. I hold up my hands.
“Okay, ladies, it’s time we have a face-off. You’re both working for the Cut ’n Curl in completely different capacities, but we’re still on the same team.” I look at the manager of the shop downstairs. “Rosemary, you’re an excellent hairdresser and one of the best salon managers I’ve known. Your decisions are final
when I’m not here.” I turn to Mandy. “Mandy, I expect you to be on top of everything in the office, except what relates directly to the shop downstairs. You’ll handle end-of-day paperwork, interface with vendors on the phone, and assist me with whatever I assign you to do. You won’t deal with clients; that’s the salon manager’s job.” I hold her gaze to make sure she’s listening.
“How about orders?” Rosemary cuts Mandy a sharp glance before looking at me. “Do I have to have approval from . . . her?”
“No. If you need anything, go ahead and order it.”
Mandy folds her arms. “But what if—?”
I hold up a hand. “I trust Rosemary to know what she needs. If there’s an issue with the salon, it’s between her and me.” I pause as she processes the lecture. “You coordinate the orders from all the salons, but you don’t determine what they need.”
“But what if—?”
“There are no what-ifs.” I gesture around the office. “This is your territory. What goes on in the salon is Rosemary’s. Understood?”
Mandy’s lips form a straight line as she challenges me with a stare. Finally, she shrugs and looks down. “Yes.”
I give Rosemary a hug. “Thanks for coming up here. I don’t want to keep you from your clients.”
After she’s gone, Mandy starts to head back into her office, her head hanging low, looking dejected. “I’ve been trying my best, but I guess—”
“How’s the employee search coming along?”
“No one good yet. It’s hard finding someone I think will fit in.”
I smile my understanding. “Yes, I know.”
18
Tim
Priscilla is stressed. I can hear it in her voice. I want to do something to make things better for her, but I learned awhile back that she sort of freaks out when I overstep my boundaries. Dinner will have to do.