by Debby Mayne
We go over the day’s appointments, and I see that she’s even busier than I am. But she still offers to work late so I can deal with reunion committee issues that seem to be snowballing out of control. I don’t know what has happened to Laura. She used to be so organized. Now it seems as though she’s tossed everything related to the reunion into a blender, and all we’re getting is a huge mass of unidentifiable mush.
Before calling Laura, I look over my schedule for the morning of the reunion. Sheila’s right. I’m one hundred percent booked, but I see a couple of people who aren’t going to the reunion are on the day’s calendar, so I call them first and reschedule them for another time with the promise of a ten percent discount. Not one of them turns me down. Then I call Laura to give her the good news.
“Hey,” I say as soon as she answers her phone. “You’ll be happy to hear I can work you in at ten o’clock that morning.”
“Ten isn’t a good time for me,” she says.
The hair on the back of my neck stands up, so I take three deep breaths. “Look, Laura, this is a free appointment. I had to completely rearrange my schedule for you, and there’s nothing else I can do. Do you want the ten o’clock appointment or not?”
Before I have a chance to add take it or leave it, she blurts, “Okay, I’ll be there at ten o’clock, and I want the works, but I won’t have much time.”
I don’t say what’s really on my mind. “Okay. I’ll do everything I can to make you look beautiful in the time we have.”
She snorts as we’re hanging up. I have mixed feelings about Laura Moss. She’s turned into Laura “Mess.” It’s obvious to everyone that she’s frustrated with Pete, and although I’m sure she loves him on some level, I know she must be miserable for all she has to put up with.
I’m still standing in the back room staring at the wall when I hear someone behind me. I turn around and see Sheila, letting me know Celeste has arrived. She grins, winks, and gives me a thumbs-up, our sign that we’re in this together. I love Sheila.
Celeste doesn’t say a word, until I tell her to sit in the chair at my station. “I thought I’d get the private room,” she says. “Why do I have to sit out here with everyone else?”
“That’s for facials,” I inform her through gritted teeth and a forced smile.
She makes a face and rolls her eyes. “Oh.”
I pull out the brush and start messing with her hair, first brushing it straight back then parting it on either side. Her attempt at wispy bangs is a miserable failure. She watches as I go through the motions of trying to figure out how to make her look her best.
“Do you know what you’re doing?” she asks after about five minutes.
“I think so.” I put down the brush and spin her away from the mirror to face me. “Your hair is very short, so I’m limited on what I can do with it, unless you are willing to try something completely different.”
She pouts her freshly glossed lips then shrugs. “What do you have in mind?”
Bracing myself for a negative reaction, I say, “I think you’d look good with longer hair, so I’d like to put in some extensions.”
Her eyebrows shoot up, and she claps her hands. “Just like Fergie and Britney and . . .” She’s way more excited than I’ve ever seen her, even after her first appointment. Obviously this isn’t going to be a hard sell. But then she looks worried. “Do you think my mama will pay for them? I’ve heard they can be expensive.”
They are expensive, but I’m doing it for cost. “I’m giving her a discount.”
Her expression softens. “Oh good. She likes getting good deals. How much is this gonna set her back?”
I hesitate since I consider it rude to ask the price of a gift, but this is a little different since she may have to foot the bill in the future to maintain her look. When I tell her the price at cost, she gasps and lifts her hands. “I’m not even gonna ask the full price.”
As I work the extensions into her hair, she asks one question after another. I tell her how to maintain her hair, how long the extensions will last, and what styles are best for her face. After three hours of grueling work, Celeste takes a long look at her image in the mirror. Even I’m amazed at how wonderful she looks, so I totally understand her shock.
Just when I think I’ve seen everything, she jumps up out of her chair, throws her arms around my shoulders, and gives me a rib-crushing squeeze. “I love you, Priscilla Slater. You are my absolute best friend in the whole wide world.”
That is sad on so many levels.
22
Trudy
The hottest place in town these days is Prissy’s Cut ’n Curl. At least that’s what my sisters have both told me when they called to find out when I’m arriving. I now have a fresh haircut and color that, to be honest, I hate. Joel made all kinds of noise about how my hairstyle is the latest and greatest, but it doesn’t suit me. My hair is too flat on top and straight on the sides, but what bothers me most is that my hair makes me look like every other girl out there. And it’s too dark. I don’t know why I let Joel talk me into moving away from ash blonde to what Mama always called dirty dishwater blonde.
On my way out to the apartment complex parking lot, I wave at Alan Maxwell, one of the geekiest but sweetest guys I’ve ever dated. We went out a few times, but I cut it off because he started making sounds about wanting a committed relationship, which I wasn’t ready for.
For the past few days, I’ve managed to get my car to start, although each time it takes longer. I slide into the driver’s seat, send a prayer upward, and turn the key. It makes a clinking sound then . . . nothing. I try again, knowing it’s futile.
I pull out my cell phone, but I have no idea who to call. Movement outside my window catches my eye, so I turn around and see Alan standing there, leaning over, and motioning for me to open my window. I push the window power button, but of course it doesn’t work. So I open the door.
“Car won’t start?” He points to the engine. “Pop your hood, and I’ll see what’s going on.”
“I’m sure it’s just my battery.” I push the dashboard button to pop my hood. “Maybe you can help me jumpstart my car.”
He takes one look under the hood before stepping back and shaking his head. “Looks like there might be several things going on.”
I let my head fall forward until it touches the steering wheel. Lord, why can’t I get a break?
Alan taps me on the shoulder, and I look up. “Why don’t we swap cars for the day, and I’ll take yours to my mechanic. He’s very good.”
“But you drive a Jaguar.”
“It’s just a car.” He shrugs. “Let’s go ahead and jumpstart your car. I think I’ll be able to get it to the mechanic shop and have it back by this afternoon.”
Bless his heart. I know his Jag is more than just a car to him. “Can you call me with the price before they fix it?”
Alan shakes his head. “Nope. This one’s on me. I get a great deal from this guy in exchange for all the computer work I do for him. He only charges me for parts.” He gives me a pitying smile. “And it sure looks like you can use a break.”
I tilt my head. “I sure can, but your Jag?”
“C’mon, I wanna show you something.” I get out of my car and follow him over to his. He shows me a few things that are different. “Just be aware that when you step on the gas, there’s no hesitation.”
After we get my car started, I take off in the Jag. He’s not kidding about stepping on the gas. I could totally get used to this.
When I get home from work, I go straight to the mailboxes and see Alan going through his mail. He smiles up at me. “Looks like your car will be in the shop for a while. They’re having to look for some older parts that the factory doesn’t make anymore.” He points toward the parking lot. “My buddy let me borrow a clunker from the shop.”
My shoulders sag. “I need my car. I have to go to and from work, and my high school reunion is coming up soon, and—”
He holds up h
is hand. “Tell you what. You keep my car for as long as you need it. I’ll just use this loaner car to go to and from work.”
I stand there, speechless, my mouth hanging open, as I stare at him. Now I know how Cinderella felt. This is so unreal.
He holds out both hands, palms up. “How’s that sound?”
“Are you sure? I mean, it’s a Jaguar. Your dream car.”
He laughs. “Yes, of course I’m sure. I’ve seen you drive, and I don’t think you’re a big risk. Just be careful, okay?”
I close the distance between us and place my hand on his arm. Then I lean over and give him a kiss on the cheek. Alan’s face goes from a sickly light shade to flaming red as he tries to regain his balance.
I want to do something nice for him. “Can I cook you supper, Alan?”
“Supper? When?”
“Tonight.” I smile and give my hair a flirty toss.
He blushes again. “Um . . . sure, that sounds good. What time?”
“How about in an hour?”
“Okay,” he says. “That’ll give me time to change into something more comfortable. Want me to bring anything?”
“Just yourself.”
I hold my smile until I’m behind the closed door of my apartment, then I lean against it and close my eyes. Alan has done more for me in one day than my ex did for me in all the years I knew him.
An hour later, I hear the knock on my door. I have the jarred spaghetti sauce in a pot and the pasta boiled, with bagged salad and a couple bottles of buy-one-get-one salad dressing sitting on the table.
Alan doesn’t seem to mind that the pasta is overcooked and mushy or that some of the lettuce is wilted around the edges. He hardly even takes his eyes off me, as if he thinks I might disappear if he does.
“Do you have a date for your reunion?”
I shake my head. “No, I’m going alone.”
“I would offer to go with you, but I’m afraid I have to attend an all-day workshop on Saturday.”
I hadn’t even thought about inviting him, and to my surprise I’m disappointed that he’s not available. “Oh, Alan, that’s such a bummer.”
“I know,” he says. “It really is.” He forces a smile. “But I’ll be there with you in spirit.”
“That’s nice to know.” I scoop some spaghetti with my fork but pause. “You’re being way beyond generous in offering your Jag. I really don’t have to go.”
“I wouldn’t want you to do that. Your ten-year reunion only comes around once.” He leans back in his chair and rubs his chin. “It makes me feel good to let you borrow the Jag. I guess it’s sort of like I’m your knight—” His face turns bright red, and he stops. “Just take the car and enjoy yourself, okay?”
“You are such a sweetie pie! No one has ever done such a nice thing like this for me.”
He shrugs and looks all pleased with himself. “When do you plan to leave?”
I sit back down in my chair and explain that I’ve already missed some of the events leading up to the big day. “I’d love to be there for the bonfire and maybe even run around and see some of my old friends.” I pause and give him a soulful look. “But I can’t very well be gone with your car that long.”
“Yes, you can, Trudy. I insist.”
As we finish our supper, I study him and see that beneath his geeky exterior is one of the highest quality guys I’ve ever met. And he’s not bad looking either.
23
Priscilla
I get to the salon early to prepare for Celeste’s last beauty treatment. She wanted to have her hair done on the day of the big event, but by the time she tried to schedule an appointment, I was booked solid.
“You may be creating a monster,” Sheila says as she prepares her station. “I never gave Celeste much thought, but now that she’s actually attractive, it’s hard not to notice her.”
“Yeah, that girl is everywhere,” Janelle says.
Chester rolls his eyes. “I’ve heard Celeste is flaunting her stuff all over town.”
“At least she has some stuff to flaunt.” Sheila laughs. “Maybe you can give her a hair-tossing lesson. I heard she smacked Mr. Shaw in the face with them new extensions while standing in line at the cinema.”
“Hoo boy,” Chester says. “I bet Mr. Shaw let her have it. That man is me-ean.”
“Naw, he didn’t.” Sheila shakes her head. “My cousin who was sellin’ tickets told me Mr. Shaw actually complimented her on how nice she looks.”
Janelle groans. “I wish he hadn’t done that. Now there’ll be no livin’ with that woman.”
“It’s not like you have to live with her,” Chester says as he lines his combs up on the counter. He glances up toward the front door and nods. “Well, speak of the devil.”
I don’t even have to go up front to greet Celeste because the instant she spots me, she heads my way. “I’ve decided on a black sequined dress with a splash of color at the collar, so let’s go with magenta on the nails,” she says before I have a chance to say a word. “Oh, and I think I’ll wear my hair down, so never mind showing me how to put it up.”
“Okay,” I say slowly. I motion for her to have a seat in the chair. “Is there anything else you need before we get started?”
She starts to turn around toward me, but her gaze is averted by something at the salon door. I look to see what has her attention, and I nearly drop my comb. It’s Trudy Baynard, her hair looking washed out and her skin more spray-tanned than ever. And if the pinched look on her face is any indication, she’s wearing Spanx at least two sizes too small.
But I can’t ignore the fact that she’s still more stylish and chic than anyone else I know in Piney Point. Her new haircut is straight out of Elle Magazine, which surprises me since she’s always gone with the classic pageant “big hair” look.
“Hey, Trudy,” Sheila says in her faux friendly voice reserved for only the snobbiest of clients. “What can we do for you?”
“I came for a manicure.” Trudy holds up one of her hands to emphasize the point that not only does she not need a manicure but she’s sporting one of the biggest rocks I’ve ever seen.
Sheila gives her a mock sympathetic smile and shakes her head. “Sorry, hon, but we’re all booked up until after the reunion.”
Trudy smiles as she scans all the people in the salon then settles her gaze on me. “Any way you can work me in, Priscilla?”
“Um . . .” If Celeste hadn’t been sitting there, I might have agreed to stay later, just to find out if the latest rumors I’ve been hearing about Trudy are true. But I’d already told Celeste I didn’t have any appointments left. I slowly shake my head.
Trudy frowns without crinkling her forehead. I have no idea where she learned to do that, but it’s obviously one of her best skills. “Can I talk to you a minute?” she asks. “Privately?”
I glance down at Celeste, who seems hypnotized by something on Trudy. “Do you mind?”
Celeste shudders back to the moment as she turns her attention back to me. “Don’t take too long.”
“Come on,” I say, motioning for Trudy to join me in the back. “I only have a minute or two.”
As soon as we get to the private room, Trudy closes the door, leans against it, and shuts her eyes. When she opens them, I see an expression I’ve never noticed on her before. It’s a combination of fear, helplessness, and desperation.
“What’s wrong, Trudy?” I ask, now that her mask is off.
“I can’t go to the reunion looking like this,” she says, her voice shaking.
“What are you talking about? You look as fabulous as ever.”
She reaches up and yanks on her hair. “Are you kidding me? The guy in Atlanta butchered my hair, and you’re the only person who can do anything about it.”
Now that she’s appealed to my charitable sensibilities, I touch her hair and turn her around so I can get a better look. Although her Atlanta hairdresser gave her one of the best cuts I’ve ever seen, she’s obviously miserable wi
th it.
“What would you like me to do?” I ask.
“I want it lighter and . . . fluffier maybe?”
The golden blonde color and razor-cut layers are flattering for her face, which I see is starting to show a hint of aging, but I’ve seen this kind of reaction before. In Jackson, we call it the “hair can’t be too blonde or too big syndrome.”
I’m torn between honesty and wanting to please a potential client. Her pleading eyes grab my heartstrings, so I finally nod. “Tell you what, Trudy. I’m booked all day today and tomorrow, but if you can come by before we open in the morning, I can meet you here at eight.”
“Eight?” she shrieks. “That’s way too early. Can’t we get together after hours, like, tonight?”
“We could, but some of the hairdressers don’t finish by closing, so their customers are still here. I thought it might be nice if we had the place to ourselves.”
She taps her chin with her index finger for a few seconds before smiling. “Okay, that actually sounds good, now that you’ve put it like that. I’ll be here at eight.” Then she reminds me that she needs a manicure. “Any chance I can get this mess taken care of?”
I look closely and see that her acrylics have grown out about the length of a hair’s width. “Your nails look fine.”
“Maybe they look fine to you, but I have an image . . .” She swallows hard. “Priscilla, things haven’t been going so well for me lately, and I really need this.”
Her heart-wrenching expression catches me by surprise, so I finally agree to add a manicure to her list of treatments. “Now please do me a favor and don’t say anything on your way out. I’ve already had to turn people down.”
Trudy grabs me for a hug. “This will totally be our secret.” She turns and breezes out of the salon, leaving everyone gaping toward the door.
Celeste sighs and rolls her eyes. “That took some nerve.”
“What?” I ask.
“Trudy Baynard, that’s what. She doesn’t even live in Piney Point anymore, but she still acts like she owns the place.”
I quickly shift the conversation to another topic. “Looks like you’re enjoying your new look.”