by Debby Mayne
Good thing I work for my uncle, or I might have found myself without a job, ’cause first thing she did when she got outta jail was call my boss and tell him she knew for a fact I’d been stealing from petty cash. Before I knew what she was like, I spent big bucks on dates with her. I mean, a guy’s gotta impress a girl these days or she won’t give him the time of day. I seen enough of them reality shows to know that. When she asked if I was rich, I joked around and said I had a hefty petty-cash fund. I didn’t think she’d take me seriously.
So when Zenith called Uncle Hugh and blabbed about me stealing from petty cash, he outright laughed in her face. Then he called and asked me what kinda girls I was seeing. I told him what happened, and he said never, ever do that again, or I might be standing on the unemployment line. I doubt he’d follow through with that kind of threat since we’re related and all, but I don’t wanna tick him off again. Of course I don’t say that ’cause he’s gotta think he’s making a point to keep me outta trouble.
“Find yourself a nice girl, and you won’t have to worry about impressing her,” he told me.
I did find a nice, girl—Priscilla—but she don’t love me back. That’s another thing I won’t tell him. “I’m workin’ on it,” I say.
If Sheila had her way, me and Priscilla would be married and have a kid or two by now—at least that’s what she says. Chester, on the other hand, don’t seem to like me much, if his sourpuss face every time I step into the Piney Point Cut ’n Curl salon is any indication. Last time I was there, I tried striking up a conversation with him, and he just snarled and walked off. Sheila told me not to pay him any mind . . . he’s just in a snit.
Priscilla says to wait until the weekend before the reunion before going to Piney Point. I look at the calendar and see that I still have to wait four more days, since I count Friday as the start of the weekend. Last time, I had no idea what I was getting myself into, but this time I know full well that I’ll be running myself all over town, picking up messes Laura starts. It’s hard to imagine her ever being called the organized one. That girl don’t finish much that she starts.
Me and Jimmy get along pretty well, until Pete’s in the picture. When that man drinks, hoo-boy, he has him some serious anger issues. I was worried he might get mean around Laura and the kids, but according to everyone I’ve talked to, he never lays a hand on his family. He’s more likely to wrap his truck around a pole, and I know that’s true ’cause I seen that firsthand.
I go over a mental list of things to do to get ready for my trip to Piney Point. I have all the clothes I need, and I just got a haircut last week. Then I remember the vocabulary book Priscilla gave me. After that last dinner we had together, I put it away, figuring I didn’t need it no more, but maybe I can show her what she’s been missing. Besides, even if I don’t stand a chance with her, I don’t want to make myself look stupid just ’cause I don’t talk smart.
18
Priscilla
On Monday morning, I get up and prepare for my day at the Piney Point salon. As I dress, I ponder the vulnerability I’ve recently seen on Mother, who has been my fortress ever since I can remember. When I got home on Saturday, I was surprised to see her sitting in the living room, staring at a blank TV screen, her jaw slack. I asked about the Classy Lassies, and she just silently shook her head, stood, and walked to her room, leaving me wondering if something terrible had happened. I had to cajole her into going to church with me yesterday—something that I’ve never had to do. She’s withering right before my eyes. The signs may have been there, creeping up as my parents’ relationship deteriorated, but until now all I noticed was how they seemed cool to each other.
I walk into the kitchen and prepare the coffee. Mother has either left without a cup, or she’s not up yet, which is strange. Once I hear the coffee brewing, I go to her room and lightly tap on the door. I hear rustling on the other side of the door.
“Mother,” I say softly. “I started the coffee. Would you like me to make you some breakfast?”
“No thanks, dear. I’ll be right out. Just give me a few minutes.” Her light tone sounds forced.
About fifteen minutes later, Mother and I sit across the table from each other, mugs of coffee and bowls of oatmeal in front of us. “You really didn’t have to do this,” she says. “I’m perfectly capable of fixing my own breakfast.”
I smile at her. “You’ve always done so much for me, I figured it was time to pamper you a little.”
“That’s sweet.” She stares at her oatmeal. “I’m really not all that hungry.”
“Just eat a few bites. You need it to start your day, remember?”
She nods as she lifts her half-filled spoon to her mouth. This role-reversal thing is rather frightening, and I wonder how long she’s been like this. Mother has always been slender, but now she’s getting downright skinny.
I’m so concerned about her I count the number of bites she takes—seven very small ones, not enough to get through the morning. She stands, carries her bowl to the sink, rinses it, and sticks it in the dishwasher, looking robotic and remaining silent.
“Why don’t you bring a banana or granola bar with you?” I ask. “I’m sure you’ll get hungry later on.” Did I just say that? I’m becoming my mother.
She smiles and nods. “Of course.”
Her compliance is unsettling. I’ve always been able to count on Mother being argumentative, regardless of the topic. I can’t wrap my mind around how to deal with her like this.
“What do you have on your agenda today?” she asks in a monotone.
“I have a few haircuts, and then I’m going to take Chester and Sheila over to a new location I’m considering for the salon.”
She lifts an eyebrow, the first sign of interest I’ve seen in her this morning. “New location? What’s wrong with the one you’re in now?”
“We’ve outgrown it.”
Mother’s jaw tightens, an expression I’m more familiar with and oddly feel more comfortable with. “Have you outgrown it, or do you just have the urge to change?”
“Mother, please.” I try to hide the joy of seeing Mother’s usual state of disapproval return. “It’s all about business, and without growth, some businesses wither and die.”
“Your father said the same thing when I told him you were adding to your holdings. He said in your field, change has to happen, or you become dated and stodgy.”
I suspect he was talking about more than just my business. At the risk of having to face her ire, I nod. “He’s right.”
“Maybe so, but I don’t see why you can’t update the space you’re in now.”
“Mother.” I tilt my head forward and look at her from beneath my recently shaped brows. “Please don’t do this.”
She waves her hands around. “All right, I’ll stay out of your business. What does an English professor know about beauty shops, anyway?” Her emphasis on beauty shops reminds me of her attitude toward what I’ve chosen to do for a living. Tim has called my parents intellectual snobs. I defended them, and he apologized, claiming it just “slipped out,” but deep down, I agree with him. If it’s not bookish or influential on the universe, they don’t see the value—especially my mother. Dad has never been nearly as emphatic about this view, which leads me to believe he either disagrees, or he hasn’t put as much thought into it and goes along with mother to keep from having to discuss it later.
I give her a hug and tell her I love her before I leave the house because you never know what might happen, and it wouldn’t be good to have negative comments be our last. She gives me an air kiss and says she loves me too.
Sheila and Chester are standing behind an empty chair when I arrive. “Hey, I’ve got a surprise for y’all.”
Chester looks down at my hands and leans around before straightening and looking me in the eye. “I don’t see anything. What is it?”
“When’s your next appointment?” I look back and forth between them.
“My first one’s not for
another hour and a half,” Sheila says.
“And my first appointment of the day called and canceled.” He glances at the clock. “So I have at least that long.”
“Okay, c’mon. We’re going for a ride.”
On the way to my car, I call Jackie and ask her if she can meet us at the old ice factory. “I’m on my way,” she says.
Chester has to sit in the front seat because I drive a sports car, and he’s over six feet tall. Sheila folds herself into the backseat and leans forward to make sure she doesn’t miss anything.
“This is excitin’.” She giggles. “I love surprises. Does it involve food?”
“No, it’s much better than food.”
Chester snorts. “All depends on who you’re talkin’ to. Sheila likes her doughnuts.” She playfully smacks him on the shoulder.
We pull into the parking lot that is even worse than I remember. I get out and wait for Chester and Sheila before fanning my arms out. “Well, what do y’all think?”
“About what?” Chester frowns and looks around, his gaze settling on the dilapidated building.
“If everything goes the way I hope it does, you’re looking at the new Piney Point location of Prissy’s Cut ’n Curl.”
“You have got to be kidding me,” Sheila says. “Have you lost your mind?”
I laugh. “Yes, but I think that’s what keeps me going— trying to find it.”
“I’ve heard this place is haunted.” Chester shudders. “I think I can feel the ghosts swooping around me now, letting me know they don’t like this a bit better than I do.”
“C’mon, y’all. Look at it this way. We can gut the place and make it like we want it.”
“It’s huge.” Sheila takes a tentative step toward the building and stops when Jackie pulls into the parking lot. “But won’t the renovations cost a fortune?”
“Probably. I’m going to call an inspector to find out if there are any structural problems before I make an offer.”
“I don’t know, Priscilla,” Chester says. “This isn’t what I had in mind.”
Sheila playfully punches him in the arm. “What did you have in mind?”
“Something newer.” He narrows his yes and juts his chin. “Something not quite so scary.”
I have to admit, when Sheila mentioned that we needed to expand, I envisioned something similar to what we already had, only larger. And my first reaction to this place was the same as Chester’s.
“Ready for the grand tour?” Jackie approaches with a face-splitting smile. “I hope our little buddies stay away this time.”
Chester’s eyebrows shoot up. “Little buddies?”
“Never mind the little buddies.” I cut a quick glance over to Jackie, and she winks. “Try to keep an open mind, okay?”
Sheila looks horrified. “Are there bugs in there?”
Jackie and I exchange a glance and smile about Sheila’s question. I say a silent prayer that all we see are bugs.
Chester walks up and stops to wait for the rest of us. “Scared?” Sheila asks.
“No, of course not. I was just waitin’ for y’all. You know, ladies first and all.”
“Sure,” Sheila pats him on the arm. “Don’t worry, Chester. I’ll protect you.”
Jackie unlocks the door and steps inside. We all follow close behind, no one veering far from the rest. With a wave of her arms, Jackie encourages us to explore. “Check it out and talk about it. I’ve contacted the owner, and he’s willing to work a sweet deal for the right buyer.”
“Oh, I’m sure he is,” Chester says as he nearly bumps into me when I stop. “This place is one hot mess—even worse than Celeste’s hair before Priscilla got hold of it before the last reunion.”
“Chester!” I can’t allow my hairdressers to talk about our clients like that, although he’d verbalized exactly what was on my mind.
He shrugs. “Just sayin’.” Something catches his attention, and he points. “Hey look over yonder. That is way cool.”
“Is that an elevator?” Sheila asks.
“Yup.” Looks like Chester’s fear has subsided as he steps away to inspect the antique elevator. When he gets directly in front of it, he looks up. “Where’s this thing go?”
“There used to be offices up there,” Jackie explains. “Back when it was an ice factory, they did most of the work in an open area, but half the building had a second floor.”
“We can do that here,” Chester says, clearly letting his enthusiasm for the elevator take over.
Jackie laughs. “I doubt that thing works. Even after the last owners stripped away the second floor, they kept the elevator for decoration.”
“It looks awful to me.” Sheila touches one of the beams in the center of the room. “But I can see the potential of the space.”
“Yeah, we can put the mud baths over there . . . ” Chester waves toward the back corner and sweeps his hand, pointing a few yards away. “And over there we can have showers and massage rooms—”
“We’re a hair salon, Chester,” Sheila reminds him. “Just because you’re doing a few facials every now and then don’t mean we have to get all carried away.”
Jackie turns to me. “What do you think?”
“I’d like to have an inspection as well as a survey of the lot and building so I can show it to the designer I used to build my Jackson salon and offices.”
“Right.” She jots down some notes. “We’ll also need to contact the historical society and find out what your restrictions are.”
Chester rolls his eyes. “Oh honey, this place is such an eyesore I would think the historical society would be happy about anything we do to it.”
“Not necessarily,” Jackie says. “They’ve been known to keep projects from moving forward. However, I think that if they know Priscilla is involved, and it’ll be for an existing successful business, they’re more likely to approve changes as long as they aren’t terribly intrusive.”
“One thing I know we’ll need is a massive plumbing overhaul.” I look at Sheila. “And I’m sort of on the same page as Chester. With all this space, we can make this into a day spa.”
Now that I say this, Sheila’s eyes light up, and she smiles. “Really? Are you serious? We’ll have one of them day spas where people go to get pampered, and they’re willin’ to pay a fortune for a good haircut?”
I can’t help laughing. “As long as I own it, we’ll always charge a fair price, but we have to take our expenses into account.”
Jackie drops her notebook into her bag. “Would you like me to get the ball rolling on this?”
I turn to Chester and then Sheila, who are both nodding like a couple of bobbleheads. I laugh. “Sure, sounds good. But for now, we need to get back. I have a few calls to make, and these two have appointments.”
All the way back to the salon, Chester and Sheila jabber over each other, talking about what kinds of things we can do in the new salon and day spa. I’m startled when Sheila gasps.
“We can’t keep callin’ it Prissy’s Cut ’n Curl—not if we have all that other stuff. I mean, no offense or anything, but the Cut ’n Curl name sounds a little . . . well, country, if you know what I mean.”
“We’ve always been that.” Chester sounds defensive. “Back when Dolly owned us, we were Dolly’s Cut ’n Curl. I’d hate to change the name to somethin’ all uppity, just because we offer more services.”
I let them discuss the name of my business as though I’m not even in the car. When it all comes down to the final decision, it’s mine and no one else’s. But I listen just in case they have ideas I might want to incorporate.
As they argue, I listen, and occasionally, I can’t help chuckling. They both make very good points, but in such a comical way. Sheila wants to call it Prissy’s Day Spa, but Chester wants to keep the Cut ’n Curl name.
I park my car in back of the salon, and we pile out to go inside. Chester holds the door for Sheila and me, but he stops me before I enter. “Why have you been so quie
t? Tell us what you think we should call it.”
It’s sweet that he’s using we, so I don’t call him out on it. Instead, I just smile and say, “I dunno. I’ll have to think about it. Why don’t you talk to the other hairdressers and come up with a list? Just remember, though, that we’re a long way off from finalizing this deal. We’ve just started looking, and as you said yourself, the place is a hot mess.”
Chester doesn’t just get the hairdressers involved, he has customers voicing their opinions. And one of Chester’s clients expresses her concern that I’m sure others have thought about but haven’t mentioned. “Don’t go gettin’ all fancy on us with the prices ’cause you know what they say about fancy, right?” She tilts her head up and bats her eyelashes. “Fancy is as fancy does.”
I have no idea how that saying applies, but I nod as I put the finishing touches on her daughter’s haircut. “Don’t worry. We’ll do our best to keep our prices in line. The last thing we want to do is lose our loyal clients.”
The woman’s shoulders relax. “Good ’cause I never had nobody do my hair like Chester here. He knows how I like it, and he don’t try to talk me into changin’ it.”
After she and her daughter leave, Chester blows out a deep breath. “I got no idea what that woman was talkin’ about. I been tryin’ to get her to change her hair for the past five years, but she insists on wearin’ it in that same dowdy style.”
“There are ways you can get her to change without upsetting her.” I spend the next fifteen minutes sharing some techniques for gradual changes that allow clients to get used to something new.
He nods in agreement. “See? That’s why you’re the business tycoon, and I’m the lowly stylist.”
“I wouldn’t say that, Chester. If you weren’t an excellent stylist, you wouldn’t be working here.” I pause to let that sink in. When I see him smile, I add, “All you need are a few psychology techniques, and your customers will allow you to do whatever you think will look good on them.”