by Debby Mayne
My appointment arrives, and I get her situated in the chair at my station when I see Tim’s reflection in the mirror. When we make eye contact, he gives me a smile that lets me know he understands I’m busy. I turn all my attention to my client and former classmate, Annette Brasher, as she tells me her thoughts. Then I ask questions and make recommendations designed to help her make the final decisions on what we do.
On her way out, Annette gives me a hug and tells me I’m brilliant. We’re at the front of the shop, so I glance over at Tim, who is smiling and giving me the thumbs-up.
“I agree with her,” he says. “She walked outa here lookin’ ten times hotter than when she first came in.”
“It’s about more than being hot,” I tell him.
“Isn’t that what women expect when they go to the beauty shop? To come out lookin’ hot?”
“I’m sure that’s one thing they want, but that’s not all. It’s just as much about getting in tune with who they are deep down and being worthy of someone else pampering them.”
The look on Tim’s face lets me know he totally doesn’t get what I’m saying. I’m not surprised. He’s a guy. No matter how the lines between what is expected of men and women are blurred, I’ve come to realize there are some fundamental differences we can’t change. God created us that way, and there’s not a thing we can do about it.
“I don’t wanna take up all your time, Priscilla. I just wanted to find out what all’s going on this week.”
“I have a committee meeting tonight, and since I had to beg to be included, I can’t very well miss.”
Disappointment replaces his hopeful expression. “But I thought—”
“Would you like to go with me?” I ask before he finishes letting me know he came to town a week early just so he can spend some time with me. My guilty feeling is a given, but I don’t want to be reminded of it.
His eyebrows shoot up. “You want me to help with planning? Sure, I’d love to.”
“I don’t think there’ll be much more planning going on. More like finding ways to put out fires that were started because someone dropped the ball or someone else’s feelings got hurt.”
“Yeah,” he says, nodding his understanding. “I’ve been on committees before. I know how it is.”
“Would you like to go to lunch?” I ask. There isn’t much to do in Piney Point, and I don’t want Tim to get too bored, since he’s taking vacation time to be here.
“Of course. What time?”
We make arrangements for lunch. My next client walks in as Tim is leaving. She points toward the door. “Is that your boyfriend?”
I’m not sure what to call Tim, so I shrug. “Well, sort of. We’ve been friends for a while, and he’s my date for the reunion.”
She settles into the chair in my station, and our gazes meet in the mirror. “So,” she says with a smile. “When are you gonna settle down and let the boy catch you, Priscilla? You’re not gettin’ any younger, ya know.”
“I’m not old enough to worry about that,” I say as I take a stealthy glance at myself. The fluorescent lighting shows all my lines and adds a grayish caste to my skin. “Excuse me a sec,” I say as I jot a note to myself to have the lighting changed in the main part of the salon. The other salons have flattering, low-wattage incandescent bulbs, rather than the glaring bluish-white light in here. A girl needs all the help she can get.
The morning flies by. A color and four cuts later, Tim stops by at the designated time. As soon as we step outside, he asks how my day is going. I tell him how busy I am.
“Yeah, I can imagine. Doing hair is like weedin’ and trimmin’ in the garden. All the while you’re workin’ hard at it, you know you’ll have to do it all over again in a few weeks.”
“So true.”
“Relationships are like that too. A guy can’t just be nice to his favorite girl once and be done with it. Every so often she needs tendin’ to, or she’ll start to wilt.”
I look at Tim, smile, and nod. Sometimes he shows wisdom way beyond his years.
26
Tim
I’m on my way to Priscilla’s parents’ house to pick her up for the committee meeting, but I have to admit I’d much rather be doing something else. Anything else for that matter. Sitting around with a bunch of people who, according to what I’ve gathered from the things Priscilla has said about them, can barely stand each other, trying to come up with something that will impress folks who don’t much care about anything but what people think of them . . . Ya know, it all seems pointless.
But it’s important to Priscilla to be there, and if nothing else, I consider it my job as her reunion date to be supportive. And it might earn me some points. I won’t volunteer my opinion, but if she asks, I can’t be anything but honest. Knowing Priscilla, though, she won’t ask.
Her mama greets me at the door with a stern half-smile that looks like she might-a been suckin’ lemons before I arrived. The woman reminds me of one of my old teachers who used to tell me not to slouch. I instantly straighten my back.
“Good evening, Timothy,” she says as she steps aside. “Come on in. Priscilla will be right out.”
This is supposed to be an opportunity to make small talk with the girl’s folks and get to know them better . . . maybe even impress them a little. I want to, except I’m not so sure I have a good grip on my latest vocabulary words, and the worst thing I can think of is to use them wrong in a sentence in front of a college teacher.
Priscilla makes her entrance right when I’m startin’ to sweat. “Hi there, Tim.” She leans over and kisses her mama then hugs her daddy before headin’ for the door. “Let’s go and get this committee thing over with.”
All the way to her frenemy’s house, she warns me about all sorts of things that might happen. Laura’s husband, Pete, is a lush, Celeste is a time bomb waiting to explode on anyone who looks at her funny, Jimmy is basically there taking up space, and Laura is passive aggressive. She doesn’t have to tell me any of that. I’ve been listening to her. Even though she admits she hasn’t seen these folks in a while, her hairdressers keep her updated on all the latest. They’ve told her that nothing much has changed.
There are several cars lined up in the driveway of the tract house. On our way to the front door, we have to walk around a tricycle and some other kiddie vehicle with a face painted on the front.
Priscilla wipes her hands on the side of her pants and rings the doorbell. I sense her nerves are tighter’n a drum, so I place my hand on her back, lean over, and whisper, “Everything will be just fine.”
The instant the door opens I know I’m looking at Pete Moss. The man is wearing a white T-shirt, blue jeans that are slung low beneath a potbelly, and ratty sneakers. His hair looks rumpled and not intentionally. He looks like he needs a shave and a few more hours of sleep.
I wait for an introduction, but after giving me and Priscilla a once-over, he turns around and wanders off. The man sure could use some manners.
Priscilla seems to know where she’s going, so I follow her through the slightly messy house. Honestly, I expected much worse. My shoes don’t even stick to the floor, so it’s not all that bad.
I hear voices, so I know we’re getting closer. “Hey, Priscilla, we’re back here in the kitchen.”
A few steps later, and we’re right there, smack dab center of attention. Laura fumbles with some papers and drops her pencil, but she stands up and gestures toward a couple of chairs. “Have a seat,” she says, clearly trying to be hospitable but obviously flustered . . . and the meetin’ hasn’t even got started.
Priscilla introduces us all around. Even before she tells me who’s who, I know, but to be truthful, Celeste is much prettier than I expected. Maybe that’s because Priscilla done got hold of her and made her over for the reunion. I try to look real close at her hair without being obvious. I can’t tell she’s even wearing extensions. I want to tell Priscilla she done a nice job, but this doesn’t seem like the right time to do that.
“We have a lot of ground to cover,” Laura says. “So let’s get started.”
Conversation flies from every direction, including Jimmy who keeps saying he’s happy not to be the only man in the room. I wonder why Pete isn’t here to show his wife some support, but again, I don’t say nothin’.
After an hour or so of everyone presenting their thoughts and everyone else shooting them down, Laura holds up her hands. “Okay, y’all, here’s what we’re gonna do.” Then she tells everyone her plans and what she expects from the committee—most of it not a bit related to what we talked about. I wonder why they even bother meeting, since she’s reading from a paper she must have typed up before we all got there.
Priscilla keeps her mouth shut, but I see that jaw of hers pulsating. I want to reach over and rub her neck muscles, but this is probably not the best time to do that.
I’m sittin’ there trying to decide if I should say anything or offer to do something since everyone else seems to have things to do all day when Laura’s husband, Pete, comes into the kitchen and lets out a loud burp. Jimmy laughs and makes an obscene comment.
Before I know it, Pete is standing in front of Jimmy’s chair, holding him by the collar and about to lift him right out of it. I can’t just sit there and do nothing, so I get up and try to wedge myself between them. Priscilla tugs at my belt and tries to pull me away, but she obviously doesn’t understand much about men.
Jimmy looks like he’s about to choke to death, so I grab hold of Pete’s fingers and peel them off, one by one. It would have been much harder to do if he hadn’t been under the influence. It looks—and smells—like he’s been drinking for hours.
Pete swings his arm around so fast I don’t even realize his fist has made contact with my chin until I find myself sprawled out on the kitchen floor. I’m embarrassed more than hurt, but since there’s nothing much else I can do, I look at Priscilla as she bends over me. “I’m sorry,” I say.
“No, I’m sorry. I should have warned you.” She touches my chin with a real concerned look on her face. “Do I need to take you to the doctor?” she asks.
“Naw.” I stand up, rubbing my chin. “I been hit much worse ’n this and lived through it.” I turn around and see Laura’s eyes lookin’ all wide as saucers.
Pete stumbles back, getting my attention. “Hey, look, I’m sorry,” he says. “I don’t know what come over me.”
Jimmy is jumpin’ around, punchin’ the air with his fists. “C’mon, Pete. Finish what you started.”
“Sit down, Jimmy,” Celeste says. “Or he really will finish what he started, and we’ll have to do a minute of silence in your memory at the reunion.”
I take a long hard look at everyone in the room and realize no one is surprised by what just happened. Priscilla wasn’t kiddin’ when she said these people have issues. Pete leaves the kitchen, but not before bumping into the door on the way out. He mutters somethin’ I can’t understand. I look around and see that no one else is payin’ him a bit of attention. It’s almost like nothin’ ever happened.
“So here’s your list, Jimmy,” Laura says in her wore-out-mama voice. “If you have a problem with anything, just tell me, and I’ll try to get someone else to do it for you.”
Jimmy pretends to study the list and refuses to look anyone in the eye. I’m ready to jump in again if need be, but it looks like the excitement is over.
Laura bosses everyone around, including Priscilla, who could very easily say, “Do you have any idea who I am?” Laura obviously doesn’t know or doesn’t care that Priscilla is just now starting to build an empire of what promises to be one of the finest chains of hair salons in the Southeast . . . maybe even the whole entire country.
“Celeste, I want you to be in charge of stayin’ on top of the caterer,” Laura says. “Make sure they use that red cocktail sauce for the shrimp and not the white tartar sauce.”
“What if people prefer the tartar sauce?” Celeste asks.
Laura slams the paper she’s holding onto the table and glares at Celeste. “You are kidding me, right? That stuff is just downright gross.” She makes a face and shudders.
Celeste opens her mouth but doesn’t say a word. She just sighs and looks at Priscilla, who looks like she’s tryin’ her best not to laugh.
“Did you ever get in touch with that DJ you were tellin’ us about, Priscilla?” Laura asks.
“What?” Now Priscilla’s coolness disappears, and I see redness creeping up her face. “I thought you had the band covered.”
Laura shrugs. “Looks like they won’t be able to play after all.”
“I think I can help with that,” I say, pulling my phone out of my pocket. “Were you thinking of DJ Joey? He’s a friend of mine.” Priscilla looks at me with relief, and I take my phone and send a quick text message.
“Any questions about what you’re supposed to do, Jimmy?”
“Nope.” He thumps his paper. “Got everything I need right here.”
“How ’bout you, Priscilla?”
“Everything looks clear but one thing,” Priscilla says. “What is this award you want me to hand out?”
Here’s the real kicker. Laura actually comes right out and says, “Priscilla, our very own Miss Most Likely to Succeed . . .” She pauses to make a face and roll her eyes. “You get to present the award to Didi Holcomb for actually being the most successful alum of our Piney Point High School graduating class.”
My head snaps around to see Priscilla’s reaction, and she simply nods and says, “Oh, okay. I’ll be happy to. What else do you need me to do, Laura?”
What? She can’t take that kind of attitude from Ms. Bossy without an argument. “Do you realize—” I start to say but Priscilla gives me a look letting me know I better shut my trap.
I do what she wants me to do, but I don’t like it one single solitary bit. Ms. Bossy gives me a smug look, and then Joey’s text comes through to say the date is fine with him.
When Laura’s all done tellin’ everyone what to do, Pete tells everyone to get outa the house. Priscilla marches me toward the door but waits until Celeste and Jimmy leave before going outside.
“See you tomorrow night at the bonfire,” Priscilla says like nothing just happened. “Have a good evening, Pete.”
As soon as we’re in the car, I shove the key in the ignition, but before turning it, I turn around to face her. “You weren’t kidding when you told me about them folks.”
She laughs. “You haven’t seen them at their best yet. Just wait until the party.”
“I can’t imagine anything worse.”
“Then just sit back and enjoy the show.” She sighs. “You might be sorry you offered to get involved.”
“I want to be here for you.” I pause and take a long look at her beautiful face. “Why did you let her talk to you like that? Doesn’t she understand how successful you are?”
She shrugs. “What does it matter?”
“Oh trust me, it matters. She’s one of those women who’ll bad-mouth you to everyone in town. I know about people like her.” I fold my arms and stare straight ahead, knowing I have one of those faces my mama says looks like a snarlin’ dog.
Priscilla smiles and touches my face. “I think you’re very sweet, Tim, but don’t worry about what’s going on between Laura and me. She means well.”
“Did you hear what she said to you? Just who is that Didi Hol—what’s-her-name? Does she own three very successful hair salons?”
“No,” Priscilla says with a soft chuckle. “Didi Holcomb is an ear, nose, and throat specialist. I barely beat her out of being class valedictorian. She was the salutatorian.”
“Oh.” Okay, so the other smart girl is a doctor, but that don’t make her more successful. I reckon it all depends on how you measure success.
27
Priscilla
Woohoo!” Chester hollers as he walks into the salon on the morning of the bonfire. “Last day before we get clobbered with all the reunion folks.�
�� He lifts a can of something I’ve never seen before.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“It removes smoky smells, and I’d be willin’ to bet the family farm this place will reek tomorrow.”
Sheila laughs. “Nothing like a little advanced planning. I just hope no one gets too close to the fire. Seems we have one of those almost every year. Breaks my heart to be the one to tell a girl we can’t salvage singed hair.”
“Did someone remember to get the permit?” Chester asks. “I hear the fire department is cracking down on account of all the brushfires we been havin’.”
“We need a permit for that?” I ask.
“These days you need a permit for just about anything you do,” Sheila says.
“Be right back.” I leave the floor and go to the back room to call Laura.
She answers in her typical breathless tone that I used to think was fake but now realize it’s probably because she’s running after her kids.
“Did you remember to get a permit for the bonfire?” I ask.
A long silence gives me the answer I need. When she finally speaks, I hear panic in her voice. “I’m runnin’ so crazy today I don’t know if I’m comin’ or goin’.”
“Tell you what, Laura. Make your list of things you have to get done today and run by here while you’re out. I’ll try to take some of it off your hands.”
“I can’t—”
“Laura, you really need to delegate, or you’ll make yourself crazy.” I hold my breath, waiting for her to blast me about minding my own business.
Instead, she sighs. “Okay. For the first time in my life, I bit off more than I could chew.”
Since she’s in advice-taking mode, I press even more. “Fix yourself a cup of tea, have a seat at your kitchen table, and jot down all the things that have to get done. When you get here, I’ll make a copy of it, and we’ll figure out what you can do and what I need to do. In the meantime, I’ll call Celeste and Jimmy to see if they can help.” After I hang up, I wonder if I should go get my head examined. It’s not like I don’t have anything else to do.