by Debby Mayne
She smiles. “I love being beautiful.”
For the remainder of her time in my chair, we talk about her newfound beauty. Every now and then I catch Sheila chuckling to herself in my peripheral vision. I want to laugh, too, but I don’t dare, or I’ll destroy every ounce of self-confidence I’ve helped build in formerly mousy Celeste.
After I get home, Mother takes one look at me and makes one of her sour-lemon faces. “If you had a more intellectual job, you wouldn’t be so physically exhausted.”
“I love what I do, Mother, so please . . .” I give her the look I mastered as a teenager and only use when I return home.
“Okay, okay, it’s your life.” She opens the fridge and pretends to scan the contents before closing it and turning back to face me. “So are you planning to go to karaoke night at the cinema?”
I’d hoped to attend all the events leading up to the reunion, but I’m so exhausted the only thing that sounds good right now is getting out of this kitchen and into bed. “Afraid not,” I say.
Mother gives me one of her told-you-so looks. “That’s what I’m talking about, Priscilla, but—” She stops. “I think I’ll call your father and have him pick up something for dinner on his way home.”
The next morning I crawl out of bed feeling as though someone had taken a sledgehammer to my calves that ached from standing on my feet all day. I’m not even tempted by my cute pumps, and I slide my feet into a pair of athletic shoes.
When I arrive at the salon, I see Trudy sitting in a superex-pensive car parallel parked in the fire lane. “I’m sorry, but you need to move your car,” I tell her.
“Why? It’s not like there’s anyone else there or anything.”
“The Piney Point finest are towing cars these days.” I step back and get a good look at the shiny black car that probably costs more than many of my hairdressers make in a year.
“Oh, okay, you should have said that,” she says as she turns the key in the ignition. “I’ll be right in.”
Ten minutes later, Trudy joins me in the salon. She’s wearing a very cute jogging suit that I doubt has seen even a drop of sweat.
As I carefully apply a lighter color to her already over-processed hair, she immediately starts in on how trendy Atlanta is and what a different lifestyle she leads now that she’s in the big city. “Oh, but you probably understand, now that you’re in Jackson.” The way she emphasizes the word Jackson lets me know what she’s really thinking. I actually liked her more yesterday when she let down her guard and showed her desperation.
“So you must be doing really well to be able to afford a car like that,” I say. The instant those words leave my mouth, I realize she might think I’m jealous.
Before I have a chance to say another word, she smiles and sighs. “Yes, I’m doing quite well. I’m the head of a very successful department, and there’s talk about moving some of us up to the New York store.”
“Wow,” I say.
“Of course, there are no guarantees, and I’m starting to have an active social life, so I might not even want to leave. I’m sure you know how cool and hip Atlanta is these days.”
I listen to her go on and on about all the fun things to do in Atlanta. Every now and then she slips and drops her façade, and I can see more of that vulnerability I never noticed before yesterday. But that doesn’t last long when she realizes how closely I’m looking at her.
She occasionally compares Atlanta to Jackson, leaving me feeling like the biggest hick in the South. By the time I dry her hair and get it all teased and fluffed, I wonder why I ever considered myself successful. Trudy Baynard has always led a charmed life, and based on what she’s telling me, it’s only gotten better. The desperate act she pulled yesterday had to be a ploy to get an appointment.
And I’m a little hurt that she hasn’t asked one question about my life. She doesn’t even mention anything about my teeth being straighter, even though I smile so much my cheeks hurt.
We sit down at the manicure table, where she shifts the conversation to how we’ve all aged over the years. “I simply cannot believe I’m struggling so hard to lose weight . . .” She looks me up and down. “But I’m sure you understand.”
“Yes, I do,” I say as I shift to hide my size ten thighs that hang slightly off the edge of my chair. I’m tall enough to handle more weight, but sitting across from Trudy can make anyone feel frumpy.
“I feel like such a cow at a size eight.” She flinches and looks around as though she’s concerned the empty salon has ears. “It was bad enough when I went from a four to a six. I couldn’t look in the mirror for days, it upset me so much.” She shudders.
Really? I swallow hard to prevent telling Trudy what I’m really thinking.
Fortunately I don’t have to say a word for her to change the subject. “Have you seen Michael since you’ve been in town?”
I look up to see her expression, but she’s hard to read. Her beauty pageant training is serving her well. “No, why?”
She shrugs. “Just wondering.”
Her plastic smile creates a barrier between us, so I finish my work without asking any more questions. She chatters some more about her life, and I try to listen, but I find my mind drifting to how I’ll react to seeing Maurice.
24
Laura
I’m terrified of going to the Cut ’n Curl. I know it’s ridiculous, but the very thought of Priscilla Slater, style icon and super-businesswoman, picking through my hair gives me the willies. I even consider going into Hattiesburg and getting my hair trimmed before my appointment with Priscilla so she won’t see how bad I butchered it. Yes, that’s right. I cut my own hair, and it’s not pretty. Since no one has said anything about it, I figure my attempts to disguise the mistakes are successful.
Pete doesn’t even look at my hair, and if he did, he wouldn’t say a word. That’s because I cut his hair, too, which is much easier since I can see the back.
Mama says it’s okay to be low maintenance but not no maintenance, and that’s what I am. No maintenance. All Pete has to do is bring home the paycheck, and I do everything else. I’m not all that good at everything, but it gets done . . . well, at least most of it.
I think the reason Pete doesn’t mind that my cooking style is quick ’n easy is because his mother’s was nonexistent. As a kid, most times Pete and his brothers had to fend for themselves, so he grew up on boxed mac and cheese or those little crinkly Japanese noodles with the packet of powder you can get four-for-a-buck when they go on sale.
Isn’t it funny how I started out thinking about my hair, and my thoughts turned to food? That always happens with me. Food is on my mind day and night, and that leads to another thing. My belly. I don’t own a single pair of regular pants that don’t give me a muffin top. That’s why I’ve resorted to elastic banded clothes . . . or loose dresses that don’t have a waist. Unless there’s a mirror around, I can fool myself into thinking my blubber doesn’t show. And I do everything I can to avoid mirrors. Now if I can figure out a way to avoid my reflection in the big windows in front of the grocery store . . .
Speaking of mirrors, I sigh as I realize it’s time to decide what to do. My appointment with Priscilla is fast approaching. Not that I’m Priscilla’s biggest fan, but she does have a heart. I’d never consider paying her crazy-high prices. It frosts me when I hear people say her salon is a bargain. I think it makes them feel special to get their hair done at the Cut ’n Curl instead of the Snappy Shears on the outskirts of town. I actually went to Snappy Shears during their grand opening. Other than the fact that I had to wait for an hour and couldn’t pick who cut my hair, it wasn’t half bad. At least they sold hotdogs for a dollar and had a spinny wheel to try your luck for a discount. That killed some time, and I got half off my cut that turned out a little lopsided but nothing I couldn’t fix when I got home. I think the girl will be much better after she has a year or two under her belt.
Little Jack is with his nana, but it’s almost time for me to pic
k Bonnie Sue up from kindergarten. I don’t know where the mornings go when I’m by myself. Time drags when all the young’uns are home.
I run the brush through my hair and toss it into my tote with all the other stuff I think I might need on the four-mile drive to the school. When I get to the school, I find myself at the tail end of the carpool lane. Bonnie Sue will be spittin’ nails after having to wait for all the other mamas to buckle their young’uns into their booster seats. I slowly inch up as each car pulls away, until I’m next in line. One look at her frowny face lets me know she had a bad day, so we’ll be making a run through the drive-thru. I hoist my tote up from the floor to the passenger seat and start rummaging through it looking for my wallet. Stuff falls on the floor, but I don’t care. I have to do damage control or I’ll have a screamin’ meany all the way home, and that always gives me a headache.
First thing Bonnie Sue says when she gets in the car is, “What took you so long, Mama? I’m starvin’.”
I force myself to smile at her before I grab my tote at the bottom corners and dump it upside down in the seat. The wallet isn’t there.
“Bonnie Sue, Sweetheart, Darlin’, looks like I forgot my wallet, so you’ll have to wait until we get home for a snack.”
I look at her in my rearview mirror with the most apologetic look I can manage. She doesn’t cut me a bit of slack.
“Did you go to the grocery store?”
“No,” I say. I take another look at the seat, hoping to see my wallet appear, but the teacher on duty motions for me to get out of the way so the only mama later than me can pick up her precious little angel who looks even madder than Bonnie Sue, if that’s possible.
“We don’t have nothin’ good at home. I want somethin’ to eat,” she growls. “Now.”
As soon as I turn on to the main road that leads to our house, I step hard on the gas pedal. The sound of Bonnie Sue’s hollerin’ nearly drowns out the siren as it approaches from behind. It’s the blue light that gets my attention.
Oh lordy, I think as I pull over to the side of the road. Of all days . . .
“Hey, Laura,” I hear as I crank open my window. “How’s Pete?”
I glance up and see Jumpin’ Joe, one of the boys who was on Pete’s softball team before we had the young’uns. “Hey, Jumpin’ Joe. Pete’s just fine. Are you still playin’ softball?”
He shakes his head and adjusts the toothpick stickin’ outa his mouth as he talks around it. “Not lately. Been workin’ overtime.” As he talks, he looks behind the car and jots something down before walking back over to the window. “I need to see your driver’s license.”
I point to the cluttered seat beside me and give him an apologetic smile. “I went off and left it at home,” I say. “You know how it is.”
“Yeah, I do.” He rocks back on his heels as I wonder what to do next. “Tell ya what, Laura, you slow this thing down, and I’ll let you go this time.”
I want to jump out of the car and hug the man, but Bonnie Sue is in the back watching every move I make. No telling what she’ll tell people.
“Thank you so much, Jumpin’ Joe.” I grin. “Why don’t you stop by sometime and watch a ballgame with Pete. I’m sure he’d love to see you.”
“Nah, I don’t think so . . . not after that DUI. He’s still pretty hot I didn’t let him off.”
Oh, I had no idea Jumpin’ Joe was the one who caught him. “Well, in that case, you’re probably better off not coming over. Thanks again.”
I wait for him to nod and say good-bye before pulling away. The instant we hit the road again, Bonnie pipes up, “Mama, what is DUI?”
After I nearly choke, I clear my throat. “Why don’t you ask your daddy when he gets home? He knows more about those things than I do.”
I reach down and turn on the radio before she has a chance to pitch another fit. By the time we get home, she’s cooled her jets enough to make it into the house before stomping her little foot and demanding a snack.
Little Jack comes home a few minutes later. He’s exhausted, but at least the neighbor fed him lunch, so he’s not hungry.
I’m actually happy to see my older two kids when they get home from school. Things have calmed down enough for me to feed them crackers and peanut butter before they play with the little kids. As much grief as they give me, my young’uns are actually pretty good when they’re rested and fed. I’m ’specially proud of how much they look after each other.
Pete comes home from work smelling like he tangled with a skunk. I plug my nose and point to the door. “Don’t come in here smellin’ like that,” I say.
“Whaddya want me to do? Strip nekkid?”
“I don’t care what you do. I just don’t want you stinkin’ up the house.”
He laughs as he continues toward our bedroom. I chase after him, grabbing a plastic grocery bag I’d left on the counter.
“Drop ’em in here,” I say. “Don’t let ’em fall on the floor. I don’t want the rugs to stink.”
I’m met by Bonnie Sue as I leave the bedroom. “Where’s Daddy?”
“He’s takin’ a shower. Give him a few minutes.”
She scowls but leaves. I run straight to the laundry room and dump the contents of the plastic bag into the washer. After I start the water, I dump in some laundry detergent, a full box of baking soda, and a cup of vinegar for good measure. Foam quickly rises, so I slam the lid shut. Then I punch the “extra rinse” button.
When I get back to the kitchen, Bonnie Sue has her daddy cornered. “Daddy, what’s DEI?”
Pete gives me a questioning look, and I shrug. He’s the one who got the DUI, not me, and it’s his place to explain it to the kids when they find out.
“Tell me, Daddy, I wanna know.”
“Bonnie Sue,” Pete says, “how do you expect me to tell you what a DEI is when I don’t even know?”
I can’t let him get away with thinkin’ he’s so smart, so I crank my head around and say, “She means DUI.”
“Yeah, Daddy, what’s DUI?”
It’s hard not to smile, but I manage to keep a straight face. I pull out the pots and pans to start supper, but I keep my ears open to listen to Pete squirm out of that one.
“A DUI is when a grown-up does something that another grown-up wishes he could do but doesn’t because he has a job that won’t let him,” Pete says.
“Huh?” I spin around to face him. I don’t understand a word of his explanation, so how can he expect a five-year-old to?
Bonnie Sue taps her chin with her finger then nods. “Oh.” Then she turns around and smiles at me. “Daddy’s smarter’n you, Mama. He knows a lot of stuff me and you don’t understand.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Pete smirking. I want to run right over to him and rip his face off, but I don’t. I just close my eyes and ask the Lord to give me the patience and smarts to finish raisin’ these young’uns without losing my mind.
“What’s for supper?” Pete asks. “I’m starvin’.”
I’m starving too, but not for food. “You’ll find out when it’s time to eat,” I say.
He opens his mouth but quickly closes it when he sees my face. “I think I’ll go see if I can help Bubba with his homework.”
“Good idea.”
After he leaves the kitchen, I stand there staring at the empty pots thinking that’s exactly how I feel most of the time lately. Empty. I have everything I’ve always thought I wanted—a husband, kids, and a house—but something is still missing. I’ve always compensated for my shortcomings by doing for everyone, but that’s not enough anymore. Maybe that’s why I feel like I’m falling apart half the time and the other half, I don’t even care. Being the organized person has been my way of coping and being accepted, but that’s not even working anymore. I can’t keep up this juggling act, but when I try, everyone else seems to think I done gone crazy. Maybe they’re right.
And that’s when I decide I’ll go to my appointment with Priscilla just as I am. I don’t see any p
oint in hiding my butchered hair anymore. In fact, I can’t hide anything about my life. Piney Point is a small town and people talk. By the time I got the call from Pete to come bail him out after his DUI, half the town already knew, so who am I trying to kid?
25
Priscilla
Tim has stopped by and called periodically since he’s been in town, letting me know how he’s coming along with items on my list. I know he’s disappointed I’m working so many hours, but I can’t say I didn’t warn him. I did, didn’t I? I’m pretty sure I said something about taking appointments while I’m here.
At any rate, I need to block out some time for him, and since a group is meeting over at Wes Hudson’s place on the edge of town for a bonfire shortly after dark tomorrow night, I decide that’s where we’ll go. It’s a weeknight, so not everyone will be there. When he calls, I explain all this.
“But what about tonight?” he asks.
“Would you like to attend a committee meeting?” I feel bad that this is all I can offer, but I do feel some responsibility to make sure everything runs smoothly.
He shrugs. “That’s fine. Is it at Laura’s?”
The problem is that Laura isn’t the one who told me about the meeting. In fact, she hasn’t said a word, making me think she doesn’t want me there. Not that I mind not having extra things to do, but I want to help. I really do . . . in spite of the fact that sometimes I think Laura has lost her mind. Or because of that, I’m not really sure.
I’m the first one at the shop, since I started taking a couple of early morning appointments. No matter how much emphasis you put on the importance of keeping a secret, there are just some people who can’t keep their mouths shut. As soon as folks found out, they insisted on being one of those before-hours customers. Fortunately, this is the last week I’ll be doing this, then I’ll get a break when I head back to my office in Jackson, where I’ll have a completely different set of problems to deal with.