“He already looks like Tom Cruise!” she said, in that girly gush voice that men loved. “Well, maybe Tom Cruise’s older brother.”
“Yeah?” Bettina said, piping up, “then tell him to definitely come on in here! I’ll give him a massage on the house!”
She started that snort laugh of hers and we couldn’t hold back the giggles. I was getting punch-drunk tired. The problem was that our giggles—mine and Caroline’s—had an empty sound, like we were all starved for something to laugh about, and maybe we were. Maybe there was something I had in common with Caroline Wimbley Levine—some kind of starvation.
I saturated her hair with heavy conditioners and put her under the dryer for thirty minutes. That was to protect and prepare her hair for the process. I handed her the latest issues of Skirt, W, and Town & Country. She was oblivious to what we said under the hum of the hood.
It was just after six o’clock and most of the staff were ready to leave for the day. Brigitte was the first to say good night.
“How early can I get in here tomorrow?” she said.
“When’s your first appointment?” I said.
“Wedding party. They’d like to start at seven. Bride, six brides-maids, mother of the bride. Ugh. I hate wedding parties.”
“Want a hand?”
“Would you? Oh, God! Thanks, Anna. I owe you one.”
“No sweat. See you at seven! Bring doughnuts!”
“They need manicures, don’t they?”
“You bet!” I said.
“No problem!” she said and out the door she went.
I watched Brigitte leave, thinking to myself that she had worked constantly all week, one client after another, and that she was quietly bringing in tons of new business. On the aggravation meter, wedding parties only ranked slightly higher than prom girls. The stress of a bride and her mother were bad enough; add one pregnant bridesmaid, one cranky sister-in-law-to-be, and at least one other newly married-someone-cuter-and-with-more-promise-than-the-bride’s-intended to the lineup. It was enough nervous anxiety for a stylist to keep Zoloft in the drawer. It also meant that by ten in the morning we would all be fried for the rest of the day, but with a substantially fatter wallet. You’d have to be an idiot to turn away a wedding party, from a business point of view, and anyway, there was something really nice about being a part of someone’s wedding day.
Lucy did the bank deposit for the next day and turned to Emily.
“Y’all going out again tonight?”
“Yeah. We were gonna go eat Mexican food and then see a movie. You wanna come with us? David wants to see Star Wars.”
Lucy and I eyed each other. She was flattered. I knew better. For Emily to invite Lucy on her date carried meaning. Either Emily was trying to score points with Lucy for a reason beyond fathom or she didn’t like David anymore. She was crazy about David and didn’t care what Lucy thought. Everyone knew that. Or, and this one had the highest probability, it was that they intended to sneak off someplace after the movie but invited Lucy so Aunt Lucy and I would think, Aren’t they great kids, when they sneaked in the house at one in the morning.
“Emily, I want you in the house by eleven tonight. I’m gonna need you in the morning bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.”
“Damn it!” she said.
Did I know this kid or what? “David will understand. You have a job, right? We have a wedding party at seven. Put a buck in the box.”
“Damn it!” Emily repeated as she stomped to the back to get her purse. “Well, there goes the movie. That’s just great.”
“Two bucks!” I said.
“What does all that mean?” Lucy said, in a whisper to me.
“It means you don’t have to sit through Star Wars,” I said back, under my breath.
“Well, thank God. Em, honey, thanks for the invitation, but I think tonight I’m just gonna put my feet up. You and David go on and have a good time, okay? Come on, I’ll give you a lift home.”
I was checking Caroline’s timer when I heard the door open.
“Well, hel-looo!” said Lucy.
I looked up to see a very handsome man, late forties, with a bad haircut, looking all befuddled.
“Jack!” Caroline said from under the dryer. She lifted her hood and stood up to greet him. “Y’all! This is Jack!”
Bettina and I said hello to him. I caught Jack’s eye and something mildly electric passed between us.
Hustle your client’s boyfriend, Anna. That’s classy.
I averted my eyes immediately, hoping he would let it go.
“What kinda salon is this? Who owns this place? Tarzan?” He started laughing, thinking he was hilarious.
“Nope, it’s mine. You can call me Sheena. Can we get you something to drink?” I said. “Coffee?”
“Uh, no, thanks,” he said and turned to Caroline. “What are you doing? Spending the night? I thought we were going out for dinner.”
When the irate other shows up and begins to bark, the smart stylist steps away and makes herself busy doing anything so she won’t appear to be eavesdropping, even though she never misses a single solitary word.
“Oh, honey, I’m sorry,” Caroline said, “it’s just that I had a chance to straighten my hair and Anna had time, so I said okay. Why don’t we go out for dinner tomorrow night?”
“Tomorrow night I’m on call,” Jack said.
Hmm. Doctor. Not bad, I thought, and then quickly dismissed the thought of being Mrs. Doctor Jack. Besides, HMOs have ruined the lifestyle. It didn’t take much to push old Arthur aside. Still . . .
“Well, can we go late?”
“What time will you be done?”
She was standing on her tiptoes, which was entirely unnecessary, and kissing his cheek when I came back around the corner.
“She’ll be out of here by nine-thirty,” I said. “God, I’m sorry to have ruined your plans. I didn’t know.” Now, first of all, I meant what I said. I don’t know why I felt obligated to apologize to them, except that I didn’t want this Jack to think ill of me. “Unless you want to do this another time.”
“Oh, that’s okay, Anna. We go out to dinner all the time; don’t we, sweetheart?”
“Yeah, we do,” Jack said. “It’s true.”
“Jack? If you’d like, I have a nice bottle of wine in the back and some cheese in the refrigerator. Bettina? Why don’t you show him where it’s at and let’s make this whole process as painless as possible?”
Jack brightened a little so Bettina said, “Come with me, doll.”
Jack shrugged his shoulders and said, “Why not? I could use a glass of wine.” For a second we all seemed to be watching Bettina wiggle as she walked and grinned as Jack followed her.
“She’s a little number,” Caroline said, “is she married?”
“I wouldn’t worry about Bettina trying to snag Jack in the back room. She’s as safe as they come and very married.”
“Okay. If you say so.”
It occurred to me that if she was so worried about Jack why was she willing to throw away dinner with him?
I rinsed her hair, put her in my chair, combed her out, and blew it dry.
“Alright. Before we start this, I have to give you follow-up instructions. No ponytails, bobby pins or clips, or shampoo for forty-eight hours, okay? You can’t even put your hair behind your ears. Do we agree?” I stood there stirring the chemical soup in my mixing bowl like one of Macbeth’s witches.
“Okay. But why?”
“You’ll make marks in your hair with rubber bands and a shampoo will neutralize the whole deal, just like you’re not supposed to shampoo after a perm.”
“I’ll tell you, this is some world we live in, isn’t it? My momma used to always say, Pride knoweth no pain.”
“Your momma was right about pride and everything else too. I loved her to pieces.”
“I miss her so bad I could die.”
“Well, if you die, at least you’ll have great hair in the box,” I said, and bega
n to section her hair.
I applied the straightener section by section, waited ten minutes, and towel-dried her hair until it was bone dry. Then I ran the flattening iron across each section with the neutralizer to seal it, taking an occasional sip of wine while everyone chatted away. I couldn’t remember if this was the exact order of steps I was supposed to use, but it seemed okay since her hair wasn’t falling out on the floor. That was a relief. Bit by bit, Caroline’s hair began to shine like it was waxed and we all marveled at it.
“Amazing,” Bettina said. “Can you do mine too?”
“Yeah, but not tonight,” I said, “next week.”
Bettina had already talked Jack into a shampoo and a neck and shoulder massage on the house.
“Go tell everybody you know that Bettina gives the best massage you ever had,” she said, throwing all her weight into Jack’s muscles. “Man! You’re tight! Lotta stress?”
“Yeah, I guess. That feels so good!”
“Well, I guess I’ll have to learn how to do that too!” Caroline said.
I was trimming her now stick-straight hair into some layers to give it movement. If Jack had been mine, I would’ve known every muscle group he had by name. Some women had all the luck.
Her hair looked wonderful and even she agreed.
“Gosh, Anna! It’s a miracle!”
“Yes,” I said, “it’s rather stunning! I’m glad you like it.”
“You look gorgeous, Caroline. Let’s pay the bill and let these ladies have what’s left of their evening.”
Bettina cleaned up and was turning out the lights. I handed Caroline a bill for four hundred and twenty dollars. It was nearly ten o’clock and I was dead on my feet. She handed me her American Express card and when the machine accepted it and expelled the receipt for her to sign, she added a fat tip.
Bettina came up beside me and handed me my purse. She turned on the night-lights and turned off the coffeemaker. I just stood there watching him open the door of her car and making sure she was safely inside. I was jealous of her and ashamed of myself for it.
“That guy is adorable,” I said.
“That’s how life is with rich women,” Bettina said.
“How’s that?”
“They never suffer for anything, you know?”
“Her son is learning disabled.”
“And she’s really nice too?”
“She’s a doll.”
“Damn it!”
“Come on, Brooklyn, let’s call it a day. And tomorrow you owe the box a buck.”
All the way home, I wondered about happiness. What would it take to make me happy besides all the blessings I already had? What passion was I still hiding in my heart, not addressing? I knew the answer. A good, solid, long-term partner. And, what did I have? Arthur. Arthur, the Cheese Whiz, who didn’t want to get involved.
Twenty-five
Hello and Good-bye
SATURDAY, the salon was crazy. We took care of the wedding party and one client after another without a break. Over the groans of Emily, the aerobic workout of Bettina’s gum, phones ringing nonstop, blow dryers blasting, cell phones playing everything from “Claire de Lune” to “The Mexican Hat Dance”—these were the sounds of a viable, healthy business with great promise and if I hadn’t been so exhausted, I would have celebrated.
I remember at one point, Lucy stuffed a bit of a bagel with tuna salad in my mouth. At another point, someone delivered a plant—probably a gift from Daddy to wish us well, or from Bettina’s husband or an admirer of Brigitte. I could not have cared less who sent the thing. My legs were throbbing. By the time I got home that night, I was too tired to eat. It was seven-thirty and all I could think about was the bed. It wasn’t even dark and I was under the covers. I had to depend on Emily to be responsible and Jim to entertain himself. They never woke me up but I remember at some point I heard them talking.
“She’s worn out,” Emily said, “let’s let her sleep.”
“Maybe I should get her some vitamins,” Jim said.
It was the morning sun that finally roused me from dreams so deep that when I woke, I didn’t know where I was. Emily was sleeping next to me and the house was quiet. I slipped out of bed and washed my face, deciding to walk on the beach, something I had not done all week.
It wasn’t quite six o’clock, but the birds’ morning music and fevered conversation were in full swing. The air was thick and damp, almost wet. I crossed the dunes and looked over the scene before me. As always, it took my breath away with its sheer power. The tide was almost high and the ocean roared its way to the high watermarks of seaweed mounds and knocked aside the odd piece of driftwood without a care.
High tide on the Isle of Palms was so overwhelming that it could make you feel like something was coming to get you, pull you away and devour you. It seemed more appropriate to sit and watch than to try and walk the sinking sand of the water’s edge. I would only get drenched, so I walked a short way and settled down on a palmetto log.
Well, I told myself, I think my business is gonna be okay. We sure have enough clients and no one’s complaining about the pricing. That’s a huge load off my mind.
I was seeing Arthur late that afternoon. Arthur. Don’t get involved. And then I remembered Caroline and her boyfriend, Jack. Here was this gorgeous man and woman. How did he treat her? He made sure she got in her car safely and told her how beautiful she was and gave me the eyeball at the same time.
I kicked off my flip-flops and dug my feet into the sand. It was what we did in the Lowcountry when we found ourselves alone on the beach. We would sit, stare at the water, kick off our shoes, and dig our feet into the sand to stay cool. With the ocean rolling all around me, I could look at life from different angles.
The sky gradually gave up its blanket of deep gray to pale blue with golden edges of light, erasing the last traces of night. And over the next half hour or so, the sky would become brilliant blue again. The water changed from deep steel to sparkling navy as the morning sun climbed into position and another day began. On the turn of a tide, a new era had begun for me as well.
It looked as though I might be successful enough to remain independent. What I lacked was a love. Loving Emily was wonderful and all-consuming. The love I felt for Jim was special. But, Arthur had put his finger on it. What was my passion? I thought about this for a while and decided the real question should have been, Where or Who was my passion?
I was deeply troubled when I looked back at all the years gone. So many years had passed without an affair, or a passion. Suddenly, I was hungry for it. I wanted to make Arthur look at me the way Jack looked at Caroline. Jack burned for her in the way I wanted someone to burn for me. Maybe it was about making men feel like they were king, like Jim had said. Well, I would try it on Arthur and see how we fared.
By the time I walked home, Emily was up and in the kitchen making toast.
“Hey! Morning!” she said and gave me a peck on the cheek. “Where’d you go?”
“I went to the beach to watch the sun come up. It was beautiful,” I said and poured myself a cup of coffee. “Not much beach at high tide, though. Pretty wild looking. Jim sleeping?”
“Sawing logs. Man, can he snore or what?”
“Pretty impressive. Want some eggs or something?”
“Nah. Thanks. Mom?”
“Hmm?” I was peering into my refrigerator like the secret of life was on the second shelf.
“I gotta do something about my hair. I can’t stand it anymore.”
“David? Prefers blonds? Big surprise.”
She went from zero to one hundred in two seconds. “Mom! How can you say that?”
It’s too early, I thought, but here we go anyway. I hated hostility before breakfast.
“Sorry. Just a knee-jerk reaction.”
“If you think I would change my hair for some stupid boy, you just don’t know me at all, do you? I mean, how could you possibly think that? Uhhhhhhhhhh!”
“Lower your vo
ice, Emily. Your daddy’s sleeping.”
“And that’s another thing. Don’t you think it’s a little bit weird for you to be dating some guy while Dad’s here? Are you trying to make him feel like complete shit, or what?”
“Watch your language, young lady. Your father and I have been divorced for a million years and he actually wants me to find somebody. I have never had a better friend in my life than Jim and what goes on between us is nobody’s business but ours.” Now I don’t know why I threw that last comment into the mix—I guess I just didn’t feel like her jumping to the next topic, which, in the back of my mind, I knew would’ve been the nature of her birth.
“I have the most screwed up life of anybody I know. Did you ever think about that?”
“Emily? Do you think we could discuss your screwed-up life a little later? I just got up and haven’t even finished my first cup of coffee.”
“Fine. When you’re mentally ready to be a mother, email me. I’m going for a walk.”
“Don’t slam the door.”
SLAM!
“Whoever sold women on the idea of motherhood was one sadistic bastard,” I said to the empty kitchen.
I peeked out the back door and watched her cross the yard in the direction of Lucy’s. Good, I thought, take your anger to somebody else’s house for a while. You wear me out.
By the time I had made the bed and had a shower, Jim was up, whistling in the kitchen. I smelled bacon and thought to myself that a perfect world would be one where you could eat all the bacon you wanted and not raise your cholesterol.
“Morning! Whatcha cooking?”
“Omelet? Cheese and onions with bacon?”
“When you go back to San Francisco, I’m wearing black for a month.”
He smiled and turned a small perfect omelet onto a plate, handing it to me. “Go sit, I’ll be there in a minute.”
“You’ll get no argument from me. When did you learn to cook like this?”
“Ah! There are many things about me that you don’t know. That’s why I’m an international man of mystery.”
“Ah! The real Austin Powers at last!”
Isle of Palms Page 32