Hair Calamities and Hot Cash.

by Gail Pallotta

  He motioned for me to go first along a stone walkway to the brown, wood-frame house.

  I brushed by a mountain laurel bush bursting with purple flowers beside the rock stoop.

  Corley Jacobsen had lived here for as long as I could remember. He graduated from Harvard with a degree in business and economic management and met Martha Greenwood while he was there. She traveled in high society in Boston, Massachusetts. My dad used to say old Corley had something goin’ none of us understood.

  As far as I knew, Mr. Jacobsen never ascribed to Martha’s social circles and remained a mountaineer in spirit. She often gave showers for brides-to-be as well as parties for Triville’s teens. Mine was lovely. She’d served dainty star-shaped pimento cheese and chicken salad sandwiches, and tea cakes. While Mrs. Jacobsen entertained, shopped in New York, and vacationed overseas, Mr. Jacobsen ran a successful lumber business from this mountain.

  Philip pressed the bell.

  Mr. Jacobsen pulled the door back immediately as though he’d been watching for us. He remained lanky and fit, but his salt and pepper colored hair had turned white since the last time I’d seen him.

  “Come in, come in.” He greeted us with a raspy voice as we strolled into a spacious living room with a huge glass window overlooking the hills. He adjusted the straps on his overalls then extended his right hand with large blood vessels showing underneath thin skin.

  Philip shook it.

  “How you doin’, son?”

  “Fine. I appreciate your seeing me today.”

  “Not a problem.” Mr. Jacobsen rubbed the white stubble on his chin. “If my Martha was here, she’d offer you some tea or coffee. In her honor, that’s what I’ll do. I’ve already brewed a pot of coffee. I figured a man wants a hearty drink, but when you said the missy was coming, I thought she might like tea.” He grinned a toothy smile at me. “I have that too.”

  He waved his arm for us to follow him to a large kitchen with brown granite counter tops and an oak trestle table. “Sit down here, missy.” He pulled out a chair facing a large window overlooking the mountainside. “Do you want the tea? It has a hint of peppermint.”

  Either was fine with me, but it appeared he’d gone to some trouble to make sure he had a special drink for our visit. Too, I imagined Martha used to drink it. “That would be lovely, Mr. Jacobsen. Could I help you fix it?”

  He shook his head. “No, no. You and Mr. Wells—”

  Philip put up his hand. “Please call me Philip.”

  “All right, Philip, you sit right there.” He pointed to a chair beside me then reached in a cupboard at the end of the counter and brought out a blue flowered creamer and sugar bowl. Taking slow steps that made me think he had arthritis, he went to the microwave and put in a cup. It dinged and he pulled out the hot water, stuck a tea bag in it, and set it on the table. Then he served coffee for Philip and him.

  Hazelnut and peppermint aromas gave the kitchen a cozy ambiance. The window let the outside in, and the sun-streaked azaleas, dogwoods, and mountains in the distance poured their splendor into the room.

  Mr. Jacobsen scooted up to the table across from Philip. “Son, how’s this investment going to work?”

  Philip pulled papers from his briefcase and spread them out. “In this economy I’m a strong believer in a little gold and silver. For diversity I’ve researched a few bonds and mutual funds I think will hold their own. All of this is in addition to your core blue chip stocks.”

  Philip’s voice sounded strained and much too formal for Mr. Jacobsen’s mountaineer spirit, but he peered at Philip with a twinkle in his eyes as though he saw something in him he liked.

  Mr. Jacobsen laid his hand on the table. “Now, that’s a good idea about gold and silver. Count me in with that. Leave those papers about the other stuff here. I’ll call and let you know. But, you can take ah, say, one million right now and invest one-fourth in gold and the rest in silver. I’ll get the money as soon as we’re through visiting.”

  Philip gulped and set down his cup. “Get it?”

  “Yeah, it’s out back in the freezer.”

  Philip looked as though he’d seen a purple elephant with six legs, but only for an instant.

  This didn’t surprise me a bit.

  Mr. Jacobsen either didn’t notice Philip’s shocked expression, or didn’t let on he did. “How’s that coffee, son? It’ll grow hair on your chest, won’t it?”

  Sounded like my tea had been a good choice.

  Philip looked Mr. Jacobsen right in the eyes. “I can feel the hair growing already.” He sipped the last of his coffee.

  Mr. Jacobsen slapped his knee, threw his head back, and his laugh boomed out loud.

  Philip smiled. “I’ll take good care of your investment.”

  “I know you will, son.” Mr. Jacobsen pushed back his chair and headed toward a small sun porch off the kitchen.

  We joined him as he touched a white wrought iron table. “Martha loved that thing. She used to sit there for hours and look out the glass wall.”

  My breath hitched in awe of this view of the massive towering mountains. Immovable and indestructible in this changing world. “I can see why.”

  “Yeah. I don’t come out here anymore except to get out a steak or a hot dog. If I stay and sit, in my mind I see her across from me.” His blue eyes grew misty.

  “I understand,” I said it softly.

  “Ahh. I bet you do. You got a raw deal with Jordan dying so young. If nobody else can relate to my pain, I bet you can.”

  Philip’s eyes snapped wide.

  Mr. Jacobsen trudged to a freezer and opened the lid. “It’s underneath these packages.” He leaned over and pushed several ice cream cartons and steaks aside. “I’ll count them off in hundreds for you. That way your bags won’t weigh too much.”

  Philip sucked in air as he whirled around and looked back at the trestle table where he’d left his briefcase.

  Mr. Jacobsen followed his gaze. “Son, I don’t believe we can get it all in there. I’ll be right back.”

  Philip grasped my hand and pulled me toward the kitchen. “We’ll wait in here.”

  “You can if you want too. I’m not worried about you takin’ any of it. It’s too cold.” Mr. Jacobsen chuckled. “Naw, I have a way of knowin’ people I can trust. Anyway, you want to invest it not steal it. Eve’s a God-fearin’ church person. She wouldn’t lay a hand on it.”

  “I appreciate your trust in us, but I’d feel better if I wait in here.”

  “That’s fine.” Mr. Jacobsen passed through the living room to the foyer and out of view.

  Philip and I stood beside the glass-top stove, our used coffee cups and saucers sitting on the granite counter next to it.

  “Jordan?”

  This wasn’t the place. “I’ll tell you later.”

  “No. Who was he?”

  “If you must know this instant, he was my husband.”

  Philip gasped then his eyes filled with compassion. “I’m sorry. How long were you married?”

  “Ten years. We knew each other our entire lives. We started dating in tenth grade and married after I finished my cosmetology course.” Thank goodness, the lump in my throat stayed put.

  “I understand now why we can only be friends.”

  “No. That’s not it. I believe Jordan would like for us to go out.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “He’d want me to be happy.”

  “Then what’s wrong?”

  “You know. We live seven hundred miles apart.”

  “Eve, I’ve told you...”

  Mr. Jacobsen’s footsteps sounded nearby.

  “You’re right. We’ll talk about this later.”

  Mr. Jacobsen appeared with one small duffle bag hanging from each arm and continued to the porch with us following.

  He gave Philip an empty carrying case and reached his long arm through the frost hovering around the top of the freezer. He brought up several stacks of bills and handed them t
o Philip. “This is cold, hard cash, son.” He rubbed his hands together and snickered at his joke.

  We laughed too.

  Philip turned toward the small white table and set down the sack. Mr. Jacobsen filled another.

  Philip grasped one in each hand and trod toward the front door. The weight of them made his arms appear a couple inches longer than they usually looked. His mind probably stretched even further, considering how this money transfer differed from those usually made in New York.

  “Let me know when you have my gold and silver investments. In the meantime I’ll read those papers. You can come up again, and we’ll talk.” He winked at me. “Bring missy with you.”

  I touched him on the arm. “Thank you for the tea. I enjoyed my visit.”

  Philip walked straight to the car, set the cash on the gravel drive while he opened the trunk, and then hoisted it in.

  I let myself into the passenger’s side and gazed at Mr. Jacobsen standing in the doorway peering at us. As he’d said, we shared a bond of sorrow, he and I. Had he risen above his and forgiven life for what it did to him? Or, did life close in on him like a straitjacket and keep him from reaching out for joy?

  Philip went back, said something to him, and shook his hand. Then he returned, got in the car, and poked his head out the window. “Thanks for the coffee and everything,” he hollered toward the house.

  Mr. Jacobsen moved outdoors, stood on the stoop, and waved as we pulled away.

  I returned his gesture until he and the azaleas and dogwood trees disappeared. He had to be awfully lonely on the mountain without Martha. But then, no matter where we were, we were all isolated unless someone loved us.

  Philip clenched his jaw. “I’m scared to death something will happen to that currency. People don’t drive around with a million dollars. We’ll get robbed.”

  “Who would break into a car that looks like this?”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right. I hadn’t considered that. At least it’s a smooth ride down the mountain.” He relaxed his hold on the wheel. “Everyone in Triville will be talking about this.”

  “How will they know?”

  “Beats me. I don’t understand how the population of Triville gathers information. Is there some sort of network, or do residents pick up people’s words like radio signals as they drift through the air?”

  I couldn’t help but chuckle. “No one knows about the money but you, Mr. Jacobsen, and me. He hardly ever comes off that mountain, and I certainly don’t think he talks about the bills he keeps in the freezer when he does. I won’t tell, and you won’t, so how could anyone find out?”

  “Everybody here knows everything.”

  “That’s true.”

  “I’ll book a flight to New York as soon as I return to the motel and take this investment to a bank.”

  “We have one.”

  “It’s not a five-star institution. I have to be very careful with Mr. Jacobsen’s cash until I make his purchases.”

  “You’re a good businessman, Philip. You know people too. If you’d told Mr. Jacobsen he had to put the money in any bank, including yours, he wouldn’t have done it. He doesn’t trust them.”

  Philip pulled into my driveway. “The freezer was my clue.” He reached over and hugged me tight. “Thanks for going with me. I’m staying with these bills until I deposit them tomorrow. If you don’t mind, I’d rather not leave the car until I go back to the motel room and take the cash inside.” He cast his gaze down. “I want to hear about Jordan, and I want to discuss us. I’ll return as soon as possible, and we’ll talk then.”

  I wasn’t sure if he looked guilty because he wasn’t walking me to the door, or because we weren’t discussing Jordan, but I was fine with both. “I understand.”

  “Thanks.”

  I got out of the car, and Philip backed out. Sure, he’d return this time. He wasn’t the kind of man to leave Lloyd’s car sitting at the airport in Merchantville, but how many more times after this would he come back? A cloud of sadness surrounded me.

  At least Pete and Charlie had come. I entered the shop and turned on the light. Wow! I loved the vanilla ice cream walls. Alice Newberry had said she wanted to come no matter what. I looked forward to fixing her hair, but would it be enough to take my mind off Philip? Whatever would I do when he left for good?

  13

  Tuesday morning the alarm jarred me. I slapped the button and knocked the clock over. “No need to scare a person half out of her wits.” My voice sounded as tired as I felt. I’d tossed and turned so much my comforter looked as if it’d been in the spin cycle in the washer. If only I’d told Philip to call when he arrived in New York.

  He was a smart man and a quick thinker. He’d only acted without reason that one time when he slogged through all those suds in the beauty shop. Well, also when we went to see Mr. Jacobsen, he didn’t seem to realize the road was hazardous, but since he’d never been there, he didn’t know that. Would he see disaster coming?

  I crawled out of bed, dressed in a pair of black pants and a white blouse, went to the kitchen, and cranked up the coffee pot. The drops falling into the glass container cut into the quiet morning, a hazelnut aroma wafting while I made toast. Finally, I poured a cup, sat down at the table, and munched breakfast.

  I’d never been to New York, but I’d seen pictures of the city. In my mind’s eye I watched Philip lug those two duffle bags down a busy street toward a bank. I shivered. He might not even make it into the building before someone mugged him.

  I snatched a key from the hook beside the refrigerator and headed outdoors. The sun warmed my shoulders as I unlocked the shop, but the cheeriness of the day failed to follow me indoors. I entered and the strong paint odor insulted my nostrils. Following Pete’s suggestion, I turned on the air conditioning and opened the window. Hoping to freshen the room before Alice arrived, I also mopped with pine-scented detergent.

  Alice entered, her powder blue eyes twinkling. “Good morning.”

  Her blonde hair had grown out of shape and unruly around the sides of her face. Thick bangs puffed over her forehead nearly to her eyebrows.

  “Hi, I’m airing out the place as best I can.”

  She waved her hand back and forth. “It’s fine. I’ve waited too long to come in. I’m just glad to get my hair fixed.”

  Alice’s husband, Jimbo, was a friendly, good old boy, but Alice, who’d made the dean’s list at Duke, was the brains behind their law firm. She was also a great mom to their twin teenaged girls. She had little time for beauty shop appointments.

  She inched down in the chair in front of the shampoo bowl and I draped a burgundy cape around her. I started scrubbing her hair, and she shut her eyes as though the shampooing relaxed her. She didn’t open them until I finished and raised her up.

  She pulled on a tendril. “I really need a cut. I’ve wanted to get in here for three weeks.”

  “I hear you. I’ll have you all pretty again in no time,” I said as she sank into the middle salon chair.

  I parted off her locks and started clipping.

  “Have you been dating someone? I’m in the office so much I don’t keep up with my friends as I should, but Ellie Ringgold mentioned seeing you in Bob’s Diner with a guy.”

  My day wouldn’t be complete if someone didn’t ask about Philip. “I’ve been showing the sights to a man from New York. Nothing serious.” Discussing Philip triggered thoughts of the danger he faced in New York with all that cash, and nausea hit me.

  Her lips turned down. “I hoped it was.”

  “He’ll leave soon. I’ll probably never see him again.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought maybe...” Alice stopped in mid-sentence. “Why look at that. This hairdo’s shaping up already. You’ve only finished the bangs, haven’t even gotten to the sides yet.”

  I was thankful she changed the subject. My head spun with everyone pushing me to enter a relationship with Philip. Too bad they couldn’t break the chains life had locked around my
heart when Jordan died. Even when I tried to put the sorrow behind me and think about Philip, my brain short-circuited. One second I was nervous because I hadn’t heard from him. The next instant anxiety rattled me because I dreaded him leaving Triville for good. “I’m glad you like it.” I twirled the chair around and gave her the hand mirror. “There.”

  “You’re a blessing.”

  I laughed, but her words sent warmth through me like a hug from one of the kids in Vacation Bible School. “I’m just a hairstylist.”

  “You’re a talent.” Alice stood and handed me her payment. “See you in a month before I look like one of those little, ungroomed Shih-tsu dogs.”

  I still grinned over Alice’s comment about the canine as my neighbor, Ralph Wisner, entered.

  He took big strides with his lanky legs to the first styling station and dropped down into the chair. He worked fifty miles away in the Mountaineer Paper Mill, but he also raised chickens. If I was up at five o’clock in the morning and the world was quiet, I heard him in the coop. “Here chickee, chickee, chickee.” As long as I’d known him, he’d liked birds. I had to give him credit though. He’d lived there for twelve years. So far not one chicken had gotten loose and ended up in my yard.

  “How’s it goin,’ Ralph?”

  He rubbed his hand across the top of his head. “Jane raves about a blond-haired model who advertises men’s deodorant on television. After twenty years of marriage, I don’t know what she’s doing looking at some man on TV, but I thought if you had time, you could dye my hair the same color as his.”

  “Sure. If you don’t mind the paint odor in here, I’ll do it now.”

  Ralph peered at the walls. “Looks nice. No, it won’t bother me. I’ll smooth out the tangles.” He leaned up, pulled a red comb from his back jeans pocket, and ran it through his hair.

  I lowered the chair to allow for Ralph’s height then touched him on the shoulder and handed him the color swatches. “Show me which one you want, and it’s yours.”

  He flashed me a wide smile then eyed the samples. “That’s it.” Excitement rang in his voice.

  I studied it for a moment. Confidence I could duplicate it exactly rippled over my skin. “I’ll mix a special formula for you.”