Pretty Is as Pretty Does

by Debby Mayne

  My first appointment is due to arrive soon, so I get off the phone and walk back out onto the floor. Chester lifts his eyebrows, and I shake my head.

  “Think we can get a permit this close to the bonfire?”

  Chester shrugs. “Maybe y’all can do something else.”

  Sheila chuckles. “Yeah, everyone can bring flashlights.”

  “That’s crazy,” Janelle says. “You can’t roast weenies and marshmallows with flashlights.”

  As soon as my client walks in, I go into professional mode. Fortunately, all she wants is a quick trim. She’s in and out in less than half an hour.

  I’m sweeping when I notice a shadow hovering very close. I glance up and see Tim standing there smiling. “I can’t get over seein’ you cleanin’ the floor. I have to admit it seems strange.”

  I prop the broom with one hand and plant my other fist on my hips. “So now you’re calling me strange?”

  “Nah, I’d never call you anything but beautiful.” He gives me one of those lopsided grins that seems to work on so many girls . . . but not me. But still, I appreciate that he’s trying so hard.

  “So what can I do for you?”

  He holds out both hands. “I stopped by to see if there’s anything I can do to help. I’m not used to having this much free time.”

  I have an instant lightbulb moment. “Yes, as a matter of fact, there is.” I tell him about Laura and how overwhelmed she is. “She’s coming in here with a list sometime this morning.”

  “Just tell me what to do, and I’m all over it.”

  Since I have no idea what time Laura is coming in, I make a quick decision. “Let’s start with the folks here. They’ve been working tirelessly getting everyone ready for the reunion, and tomorrow’s going to be a bear. Would you mind going down to Olson’s Café and picking up a couple dozen doughnuts?”

  “Make mine raspberry cream,” Chester says. He closes his eyes and lets out a sigh.

  I laugh and turn back to Tim. “Do you mind?”

  “Of course I don’t mind. I’ll be happy to do whatever you need.”

  “Then why don’t you get a variety,” I say. “Let me get you some money.”

  After Tim leaves, Sheila steps over to my station. “You could do much worse, ya know. He’s cute, sweet, and loyal.”

  I smile but don’t say a word. Sheila’s right, but there’s something missing for me. When I look at Tim, a warm feeling of comfort comes over me. Comfort is the last thing I expect in the early stages of a romantic relationship. I sometimes wonder what would happen between Tim and me if I let my guard down, but I don’t want to risk leading him on. And there are also the unresolved feelings I have for Maurice. I get a jittery feeling in the pit of my stomach just thinking about him. Nah, it wouldn’t be fair to go there with Tim.

  To my surprise, Laura arrives before Tim gets back with the doughnuts. She’s a mess too. Her top doesn’t match her skirt, her feet are clad in a pair of dirty sneakers, and her hair looks like she teased it and forgot to smooth it down.

  “Where’s your young’uns?” Sheila asks.

  “Oldest three are in school, and Jack’s with a friend.” Laura holds up a sheet of paper and turns to me. “Here’s my list.”

  I take it from her and see only a half dozen items that don’t appear all that significant. “This is it?”

  Laura hangs her head. “No, of course not. I’m just in such a dither, I can’t think of everything I have to do.”

  I’ve known Laura most of my life, and I’ve never seen her like this. I want to rip up the paper and send her home to start over, but that would only make matters worse. So I force a smile and invite her to the back room. “I don’t have much time until my next appointment arrives, but Tim will be here soon with doughnuts.”

  “Doughnuts?” Her expression instantly perks up. “That sounds good. Got any coffee to go with them?”

  “I’ll make a fresh pot.” As I insert the coffee pod and start it brewing, I tell her some of the obvious things she forgot to add to her list. Tim walks in just as I sit down across from Laura. I point to another chair. “We’re working on the list of things to do,” I tell him, hoping he won’t react.

  To my relief, he nods, sits down, and looks over the list. His jaw tightens for a few seconds before he clears his throat. “Mind if I have a go at this list?” He looks up at Laura.

  She gestures toward the list. “Have at it.”

  My appointment arrives, so I leave them alone. On my way to my station, I say a silent prayer for a miracle and some patience with Laura.

  An hour later, my washed, cut, and blown-dry client walks out of the salon with a smile. I pop in on my reunion planners and am surprised to see grins on both of their faces.

  “How’s everything going?” I ask.

  “Things are lookin’ up,” Laura says. “Tim told me to call Pete and ask for his help. I thought that sounded crazy, but he insisted.” She turns to Tim and offers a smile of gratitude.

  “So Pete’s helping?”

  Tim nods. “Yeah, he already has. When Laura mentioned we needed a permit for the bonfire, he called one of his buddies down at City Hall. It’s ready, so all I have to do is stop by and pick it up.”

  “That’s great news!” I look back and forth between Tim and Laura, in awe of how well they’ve obviously worked together. And I’m proud of how Tim has taken advantage of the fact that Pete probably feels bad about punching him in the face.

  “Laura actually has most of the work done, with just a few loose ends we need to help her tie up,” Tim says. “You were right about her, Priscilla. She’s organized and a mighty hard worker.”

  “Priscilla told you that?” Laura asked.

  “Yep, and she said the reunion is in good hands as long as you’re in charge.”

  I’m sure I didn’t I put it like that, but it seems to make Laura happy, so who am I to call him out on his choice of words—especially since he’s trying to charm Laura to make her feel better. “Do you have lists for everyone?” I ask.

  Tim glances down at the list and nods. “There’s not much left to do, and I can do most of the legwork,” he says. “I thought it might be a good idea for you to call the caterer,” he says as he hands me their phone number. “They’ve been giving Laura a hard time, and they refuse to speak to Celeste.”

  “Anything else?” I ask.

  “Nope, we have everything else all taken care of—including the DJ.” Tim turns to Laura and winks. She blushes. Apparently, someone needs to tell her husband even a wife needs a little flirting with every now and then.

  “You mentioned something about picking up extra serving bowls,” Tim says as he jots it down on the list. “Want me to do it?”

  Laura nods. “Good idea. Once I have the young’uns, I’m clumsy as an ox.”

  Sheila pops her head into the break room. “Your next appointment is here, Priscilla.”

  All of us stand up from the table, Tim holding the master list and Laura smiling. I never imagined this would turn out so well. After Laura leaves, I look at Tim. “You are a real lifesaver, ya know that?”

  “I just want you to enjoy yourself at your reunion,” he says. “And it was obvious Laura was in way over her head.”

  “Thank you.”

  He looks down at me for a long, awkward moment. I gesture toward the front of the salon. “Better not keep my client waiting. I’ll see you tonight.”

  An hour later, I get a call from my condo association letting me know all the work has been done on my townhouse. The sun is starting to shine on my day.

  28

  Trudy

  Why would I even want to go to the bonfire?” I ask.

  My sister Amy looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Because they’re fun.”

  I agree, but I have an image that has taken most of my energy to uphold, and I’m not about to ruin that now—especially after all the work I’ve had done on my hair. “I don’t see anything fun about sittin’ around si
ngin’ ‘Kumbaya’ and eatin’ burnt marshmallows.”

  “C’mon, Trudy, you and I both know that’s not why you don’t wanna go.” For a second, I think she’s talking about my not wanting smoky, frizzy, smelly hair, but then she blurts the biggest reason. “You’ll have to face Michael sooner or later, so you might as well get it over with.”

  I let out a laugh that sounds more like a bark. “Michael is so in the past. I’m not the least bit worried about seeing him.”

  She folds her arms and lifts one eyebrow—a skill I’ve worked on but can’t for the life of me get the hang of. “Really?”

  “Really,” I say as I grab my designer handbag. It’s a threeyear-old Michael Kors I picked up at a consignment shop, but I doubt anyone in Piney Point will know.

  “Where are you going?” she asks.

  “You’re starting to sound like Mama.”

  She shrugs. “That’s not necessarily a bad thing.”

  “Just remember,” I say, pointing my finger at her face. “You are the baby sister, so I have seniority. Don’t go gettin’ too big for your britches just ’cause no one’s around to stop you.”

  I hear her laughing as I turn and walk away. If I hadn’t just gotten my nails done, I’d pinch her just like I did when we were little girls and she got all smart-alecky on me. It worked back then.

  Amy still lives at home with our parents. After getting her Associate’s degree from PPCC, she went on to Southern Miss where she studied special education, but I don’t believe she spent a single day in the classroom after her student teaching ended. She gets modeling jobs that keep her happy. Mama and Daddy are hardly ever around anymore, so she doesn’t see any reason to move out. “They need someone to take care of the house,” she says. “As long as I’m makin’ sure nothin’ breaks or gets broken into, they can travel as much as they want and not have to worry about things around here.”

  As soon as I get in the car, I realize I have nowhere to go. I sit and stare at the dashboard of Alan’s Jaguar. I sure could get used to it if I let myself, but what good would that do? It would only make me want something I can’t afford.

  I take a deep breath and start the car. Since I’m in town in this really cool car, I might as well make the most of it, so I think I’ll go for a drive. Maybe people will be out and about so they can see me.

  The streets of downtown Piney Point are crawling with people, and I barely recognize a few of them. It’s strange coming back to a place where I used to know everyone in town.

  I pass by the Cut ’n Curl and see a group of women clustered in the waiting area. They appear to be talking and having fun, so I slow down to see their faces.

  The urge to stop takes over, so I take a drive around the block looking for a parking spot. I’m not used to parking this car, so I decide to use the parking lot three blocks away. Fortunately, it’s not too hot or humid, so my hair should be okay. And I’m wearing flats today—really cute ones with rounded toes and colorful little stones that make my otherwise simple outfit of skinny jeans and belted white button-front top with the sleeves rolled up to my elbows. This is the look I call casual, effortless chic, never mind the fact that it takes just as much effort as any other look.

  After I park the Jaguar, I slowly stroll down the sidewalk toward the Cut ’n Curl, pretending to window shop. But it’s hard, considering I have no interest in smocked children’s clothing, country crafts, or stationery. When I finally reach the door of the Cut ’n Curl, I pause, take a deep breath, plaster on my best pageant smile, and enter. All heads turn, but instead of staring at me in awe, the people immediately go back to what they were doing. That has never happened to me before—at least not in Piney Point. That old pride kicks in, and my feelings are hurt.

  Some girl with Shawna on her nametag comes up to the counter and taps a key on the computer. “Do you have an appointment?” she asks.

  “Um . . .” I glance around at the others waiting in the reception area before turning back to Shawna. “No, I just thought I’d stop by and see what’s going on.” When I see that she’s confused, I add, “I’m a friend of Priscilla’s and I don’t get to see her all that often, since she moved to Jackson, and I’m in At—”

  “Oh, okay. What did you say your name was?”

  Another first in Piney Point. “Trudy.”

  “Last name?”

  Can the humiliation get any worse? “Trudy Baynard,” I say with more annoyance than I intend.

  Shawna’s eyes widen as she slowly backs toward the main floor of the salon. The room is in an L shape, and Priscilla’s station is around the corner, so Shawna disappears. When she comes back to the front, she gestures for me to follow.

  “She’s working on a color, but she says you can come on back.”

  The moment is awkward, no matter what I do. So I follow her.

  Priscilla is chatting with someone else I’ve never seen before. The woman in the chair has flawless, golden skin, wide turquoise eyes, full lips that must have cost her a fortune in collagen injections, and cheekbones that make me want to claw her face. She’s gorgeous, even with her hair all foiled up.

  “Hey Trudy,” Priscilla says. “I can’t believe your timing.”

  “What?”

  The woman in the chair smiles at me and extends her hand. “I’ve heard so much about you, Ms. Baynard. My name’s Marlene Vanderford.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I say before turning back to Priscilla, hoping she’ll give me some kind of clue as to who this woman is. Her name sounds vaguely familiar, but I can’t for the life of me place where I’ve heard it.

  “Marlene is in town promoting the Miss Mississippi pageant, and she’s helping with the Animal Rescue Mission,” Priscilla explains.

  It suddenly dawns on me. Marlene Vanderford won second runner up in last year’s Miss Mississippi pageant. I look back at her, and she’s still smiling. And not one of those pageant smiles I’ve come to recognize from a mile away. It’s one of those eye-crinkling, forehead-wrinkling smiles I’ve worked hard to avoid.

  “Nice to meet you, Marlene,” I say as I lightly take her hand.

  She closes her hand around mine and grips it. Hard. Not the feather-light handshake pageant girls practice. No wonder she didn’t win the big title. But then I remember she got farther than I did in the state pageant. I didn’t even make the top five.

  “Here,” Priscilla says as she takes a flyer off the counter in front of her. “Marlene has been passing these out, hoping to raise funds for her cause.”

  I stare down at the poster and study the picture of Miss Mississippi’s second runner up wearing jeans and a charity logo T-shirt, surrounded by cats, dogs, and a couple of unidentifiable creatures. “Every year millions of animals are abandoned, and it’s my goal to reduce that amount as much as I can,” Marlene explains. “I realize I can’t save all of them, but even if I’m able to help a few, I figure I’ve accomplished something worthwhile.”

  “That’s very . . . charitable of you,” I say, wishing I hadn’t stopped in.

  Still grinning, Marlene takes both of my hands. “Trudy, I want you to know that you are my idol. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have been able to be in the pageant.”

  Now this girl has my full attention. “What did I do?”

  Marlene sighs as she takes a long look at the flyer on the counter before looking back at me. “It was your prom gown charity that made it all possible.”

  “What does a prom gown have to do with a beauty pageant?” I ask.

  “I come from a single-parent family, and my mother couldn’t afford the wardrobe I needed to be in the pageant. But I wanted to enter it with hope of winning a scholarship and promoting my charity. After the prom, a group of girls from my hometown got together and gave me some of their castoffs so I wouldn’t have to spend a dime on clothes.” The joy on her face is real.

  My jaw falls slack, but I quickly recover. “You wore castoffs in the pageant?” Doesn’t she know how uncool that is?

&nb
sp; She nods. “Some of the girls got the idea from your charity.” Her eyes light up as she adds, “And some of the dresses were recycled twice!” She gives my hands a squeeze before letting go. “Now I’m a junior at Southern, thanks to the pageant and . . .” She looks at me with adoration in her eyes. “And people like you.”

  “I-I’m glad I was able to help,” I say. Now I’m speechless. This girl obviously has no idea how the game is played.

  “Marlene hasn’t told you the best part yet,” Priscilla says with obvious joy. “She’s coming to our reunion. Isn’t that wonderful?”

  “Who are you coming with?” I ask.

  “Hank Starkey.” Marlene looks so proud that if I didn’t know Hank Starkey I would think she’s talking about someone worth mentioning. Hank Starkey just so happens to be the dorkiest guy I remember. In fact, he’s even dorkier than Alan Maxwell.

  “Yes,” Priscilla says as she unwraps one of the foils, checks it, and folds it back. “Hank joined the Myers and Shockley CPA firm a couple years ago.”

  “I don’t know if I’m supposed to tell people, but since it’s just us . . .” Marlene’s voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. “He hopes to make partner sometime this summer.”

  Knock me over with a feather. I can’t think of anything more boring than dating a CPA, unless it’s Hank Starkey himself. How can this pageant beauty be so excited?

  “Ever since Hank and I met on a mission trip last summer, I’ve been smitten,” she continues. “Oh, since you haven’t lived around here in a while, you probably don’t know about the mission trips to Mexico to build churches and schools. Groups of churches from this area go every summer.” She smiles. “Too bad you’re so busy with your job. I bet you’d really enjoy going on one of those trips.”

  I force a smile. “I’m sure.”

  “Last year was my first mission trip with this group, and I fell in love with it.” Her cheeks turn pinkish as she adds, “And with Hank. That man has such a heart for God.”

  “Isn’t it hot in Mexico?” I ask. “I mean, during the summer.”

  “It’s stifling,” she says. “That’s all the more reason for doing the work. We’re getting donations of air conditioners and other essential supplies.”