by T. D. Jakes
“Hey, Julie, it’s Dave.”
The two or three seconds of silence that followed were just enough to make him think this was a terrible mistake.
“Hi,” she said.
“Listen, uh, I was just wondering . . . how’d Bryson do at that meet ya’ll went to a couple of weekends ago? I never found out about that, and I was just wondering.”
Dave sounded pathetic, even to himself. He almost ended the call, but decided to hang on, just to see what she’d say.
“He did really well.”
She sounded like she was having to concentrate really hard just to remember how to form words. Dave closed his eyes. Why had he called? He knew better.
“He won both his events and his relay team won, too.”
“Is that right? Now that’s what I’m talking about!” He tried to dredge up some enthusiasm. He was trying to think of some way to end the call without embarrassing both of them.
“Yeah,” she said, “he was really happy with the way it all turned out. And his team placed first overall.”
“Fantastic. That’s really fantastic.”
There was another pause and he was just about to make some lame attempt at disengagement when she said, “I miss you, Dave.”
Dave felt like a very small, precise bomb had gone off in his chest—a laser-guided missile that honed in on cell phone signals.
“I know,” he said. “Me too.”
Damn! Why’d I say that?
After another few seconds, she said, “How are things at home?”
The pause before his answer was just long enough for Dave to have an internal shouting match with the voice, which he won. “Not great. We had our first counseling session last week, but you know . . . I guess we need to hang with it a while.”
“Back in therapy, huh?”
He gave a sound that was trying to be a laugh. “Yeah. Turns out there are things harder to heal than a busted leg.”
“Yeah. Wish I could help you there, but I can’t.”
“Oh, I don’t know, Julie. There’s help, and then there’s help.”
More silence.
“Yeah, well . . . I’d better get back to work, I guess.”
“Yeah . . . me too. Take care, awright?”
He heard a tiny chuckle but couldn’t figure out what he’d said that was funny.
“That’s your patented parting line, is it?” she said.
“What you talking about?”
“‘Take care.’ You said that the last time we talked. It was the last thing I heard you say.”
“Well . . . maybe it won’t be. The last thing, I mean.”
“Okay, I’ve really got to go,” she said after another pause.
“Yeah. Catch you later.”
“Bye.”
Dave disconnected. He sat for several seconds and stared at the phone in his palm. What had he just done? What had happened?
The bell clattered against the door as Julie came into the salon. She glanced at her watch to see it was a quarter past noon. There were women in two of the chairs but nobody in the small waiting area, so maybe she could get her trim and be on her way in time to grab a quick lunch before rushing back to work.
“Hi, welcome to Talk of the Town,” said the girl behind the cash register. She looked like she should be in school at this time of day, Julie thought.
“Hi. I’m here to see Kathy? Julie Sawyer?”
The girl studied the appointment book. “Oh, yeah . . . here you are. Kathy went to grab something to eat. She ought to be back any time now, though. You want to wait?”
Julie looked at her watch again, chewing her lip. “Yeah . . . I guess so.” She went to the table in the corner of the waiting area and sifted through the stacks of dog-eared magazines piled haphazardly there. She found a copy of Us that was less than a year out-of-date and sat down to flip through the pictures of beautiful people in expensive clothing.
After a few minutes, the bell clattered again. Julie looked up hoping to see Kathy, her favorite stylist, but instead she saw two African American women—one older and one younger. She went back to her magazine for an instant, then had a sudden sinking feeling. She stole another careful glance at the two women and confirmed her worst fear: it was Clarice and her mother.
“I’m here for Jacqueline,” Clarice was telling the young receptionist. “She assured me she’d work me in during the lunch hour.”
The girl was scanning the appointment book, slowly shaking her head. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I don’t see your name here anywhere.”
“She called yesterday,” Clarice’s mother said, leaning past Clarice. “I heard her.”
“Yes, ma’am, but I can’t find—”
Clarice made an impatient sound. “I’ve got a business appointment in forty-five minutes. I really need to get this done.”
“Well, I guess I can call Jacqueline,” the girl said. “She’s at lunch by now, but . . .”
“Doesn’t look to me like they take care of business around here,” Clarice’s mother said. “I heard you tell her specifically that you wouldn’t have much time.”
“Umm . . . would you ladies like to wait for a few minutes?” the receptionist said. Julie wanted to choke her.
“I guess we don’t have much choice,” Clarice said. “Call her, and please ask her to hurry.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The girl picked up the phone and Clarice and her mother sat down across from Julie.
Julie was doing her best to disappear. She held the magazine as close to eye level as possible, hoping desperately to avoid notice. But in the sudden quiet, she could practically feel Clarice’s mother staring at her.
Maybe she doesn’t know about me. Or maybe she’s forgotten who I am—
And then she heard a stage whisper from Clarice’s mother: “Well, would you take a look who’s here?”
Chapter Seventeen
Clarice leaned over and said something to her mother that sounded like a warning against making a scene.
“I’m just sitting here, Clarice,” her mother said, looking at her daughter as if she’d been insulted. “I don’t know what you mean by that.”
There was a period of quiet, punctuated by the flipping of pages on both sides of the waiting area. The receptionist was talking into her phone, and Julie hoped she was telling Jacqueline that if she hurried up and got here, she could prevent an ugly situation from getting uglier. Julie realized she was staring at the last page of her magazine. There was no way she was walking over to Clarice’s corner to pick up another one; she flipped back to the first page and started over.
“I’m glad you’re taking care of your appearance, Clarice,” her mother said in a voice that could probably be heard in the restrooms at the rear of the salon—with the doors closed. “You know, a woman can’t be too careful. She lets herself get lazy, stops worrying about the image she presents, pretty soon her man starts looking around.”
“Mama, stop it,” Clarice said in a low voice.
“Stop what? I’m just saying . . . you owe it to yourself to keep yourself looking nice, do things for yourself, that’s all.”
Julie felt her face getting hot. She stared at the center of her magazine, but the words on the page might as well have been in Sanskrit. Just sit still . . . don’t look up . . . pretend you’re not here . . .
“Of course, there are women out there who’ll do whatever they have to do, too. You can’t forget that.”
“Mama, this is not—”
“They just looking for someone to butter their bread, and don’t care about whose kitchen the knife came from.”
“Mama!”
“Don’t you look at me like that, Clarice! I can say whatever I’ve got a mind to say.”
Julie realized her teeth were grinding together; her jaw muscles ached from being clenched. The edges of the magazine were crumpled in her fists. Just breathe, Julie . . . in and out . . . in and out . . .
“And besides, if you’re not going to look out for
yourself, you need somebody to do it for you.”
That was it. Julie wasn’t going to make it, and she knew it. Moving as slowly and carefully as she could, she stood and put the crinkled copy of Us in her chair. She looked at the receptionist and said, “You know what, um, I’m . . . going to have to go.”
“I know that’s right,” Clarice’s mother spoke just loud enough for Julie to hear.
“Just tell Kathy I’ll reschedule, okay?”
“Well, um . . . sure.” The poor girl was looking back and forth from Julie to the two other women as if she was afraid a riot was about to break loose.
Blinking rapidly against tears of embarrassment and anger, Julie made for the door. Just as she was going out, she heard Clarice’s mother mutter something that sounded quite a bit like “Good riddance.”
She was almost to her car when she stopped in her tracks.
No!
She didn’t deserve this kind of abuse. That old biddy back there was talking about her like she was some kind of slut, and it just wasn’t true. Julie turned and walked back to Talk of the Town. She flung open the door and faced Clarice and her mother, who looked as if they’d just been going at it themselves.
“Mrs. Clark, I deeply resent the insinuation in your words. You make me sound like something I’m not, and I think you ought to apologize.”
The look on the older woman’s face slid from surprise to something close to murderous rage. But before she could say anything, Julie turned to Clarice.
“And speaking of apologies, Clarice, I owe you one. I’m sorry I did anything to let things get started the wrong way between Dave and me. But you need to know that absolutely nothing happened between us. We talked, and that’s it.”
“Oh, it is?” Clarice’s mother said, pushing herself up out of her chair. She leaned over in Julie’s face. “You think that’s all it takes to fix everything, missy? Just ‘I’m sorry’ and it’s all done, is that it? Well, let me tell you something, white bread—”
“Ma’am . . .” The girl behind the register was pale as a ghost.
“You don’t get off the hook that easy with me. My daughter may not have enough backbone to stand up to you, but if you think I’m just going to let you talk trash in my face, you can kiss my—”
“Mama, sit down,” Clarice said, grabbing at her mother’s elbow. “You’re not helping anything.”
“Oh, is that right?” she said, wheeling on her daughter. “And what are you doing to help? Just letting this little piece of angel food cake bat her big blue eyes at your husband when she comes to your house to work on that leg? I think something’s wrong with you, Clarice, and it’s not your leg.”
“I did not have sex with Dave!”
The girl behind the register was staring at Julie, openmouthed.
“Okay, I’ll admit I was vulnerable, and he probably picked up on that, but Dave is a good man. He’d never—”
“My daughter doesn’t need you to tell her what kind of man she’s married to, you little—”
Clarice stood up. “Mama, stop it right now! I’m a grown woman; I can speak for myself.”
“Well you better start doing some speaking, girl, ’cause this little tramp here doin’ all the talking right now.”
“Excuse me?” Julie said. “Did I just hear you call me a tramp?”
“Mama, that’s enough,” Clarice said.
“Enough what? Enough of me trying to defend my daughter? Well, all right then. I guess I can go somewhere else since you got things under control here and all.” And Clarice’s mother stomped to the door, flung it open, and left. The bell clanged against the glass so hard it was a wonder the pane didn’t crack.
Julie was staring at Clarice, trying to get her breathing under control. “Clarice, you’ve got to believe me—”
Clarice closed her eyes and turned her head away, holding up a hand in a stopping motion. “Don’t. I can’t listen to this right now, Julie.”
“What do you mean? You’d better listen, because I’m telling you the truth. Dave loves you. He’s devoted to you, whether you realize it or not.”
“I don’t think I need to hear from you—”
“You need to hear it from somebody, Clarice. You need to wake up and realize you’ve got a good husband who thinks you don’t care what’s important to him.”
“Julie, don’t start this with me. Not right now. I can’t handle it.”
“You’d better figure out a way to handle it, Clarice. You’d better get your head out of the real estate office long enough to pay some attention to—”
The door clanged open behind her and Julie spun around, half expecting Clarice’s mother to be coming at her with a hatchet. But it was Kathy, her stylist, along with another woman wearing the same smock as the receptionist and a name tag that said “Jacqueline.”
The two hairdressers stared at the two women standing like boxers in the middle of the reception area. Kathy found her voice first. “Hi, Julie. Um . . . you been waiting long?”
Julie shook her head and looked away.
“Clarice, you ready?” Jacqueline asked. Clarice gave her a tight nod and went back to the styling area.
Julie was about to walk out again, when she suddenly decided she had as much right to be here as this stubborn woman and her mother. “Kathy, I just need a quick trim. Can you take me now?”
Kathy looked from Julie to the catatonic receptionist. “Yeah . . . sure. Come on back.”
From her chair, Julie could look in the mirror and see Clarice and Jacqueline across the way. She was pretty sure Clarice was looking at her.
Clarice caught Julie looking at her in the mirror again. Jacqueline was chattering like she usually did, but today her voice was like static on the radio.
Mama might have been a little out of line, but what right does Julie have to tell me something about my marriage?
Clarice stared into the mirror, watching Julie and her stylist and fuming about the scene in the reception area. She needed to do something, needed to take control somehow.
She had a sudden idea and told Jacqueline to wait a minute. She got up out of the chair and walked back to the reception area. She batted the plastic drape out of her way and dug through a handful of magazines until she found the one she was looking for, the issue of Vogue with the picture of Naomi Campbell on the front. She carried it back to Jacqueline. She pointed to the picture.
“There. That. Give me that look.”
Jacqueline made a confused face. “Well . . . okay, but you usually go for something a little more conservative—”
“Not today. Just give me that.”
Jacqueline shrugged. “Whatever you say, Clarice. Have a seat.”
Julie watched as Clarice ordered her stylist around.
“Hang on a second, Kathy,” she said. “I just got an idea.”
She went to the reception area and found an issue of People with Meg Ryan on the cover. Meg was sporting a bushy down-in-front do that made her look like she’d just crawled out of bed. She showed the picture to Kathy. “Let’s go for that, okay?”
Kathy’s brow wrinkled. “But I thought you were just in for a trim.”
“I changed my mind. I want to shake things up a little.”
Kathy shrugged. “Okay . . . I guess.”
Jacqueline stood back from her work. “Well, what do you think?”
Clarice pulled her eyes away from what Julie’s stylist was doing and gave her hair a critical appraisal. “Can’t you do something a little more dramatic? Right in here, and right there?”
Jacqueline frowned. “I thought you had an appointment.”
“It’ll wait.”
Jacqueline blew out her cheeks. “I can try. More dramatic, you said?”
Clarice nodded. She settled back in her chair with her arms crossed.
Kathy spun Julie around to face the mirror. “How’s that?”
Julie saw Jacqueline crossing the floor toward Clarice with a handful of various products. She
looked at her own reflection in the mirror. “I don’t know. Can we make it a little dressier?”
“You want Meg Ryan and dressy?”
Julie glanced at Clarice again and nodded decisively. Kathy sighed and picked up her comb.
After an hour, Clarice had to admit to herself that it was time to go. But she didn’t have to admit defeat. “I think that’s what I’m looking for,” she said, looking into the mirror. She made sure her voice was loud enough to carry to where Julie was sitting, still fussing with her hair and giving her poor stylist impossible instructions. “Yeah, I like it.”
“You sure?” Jacqueline said. “It seems a little . . .”
“What?”
“Nothing. It’s just a different look for you. You’ll grow into it.”
“Yes, I think so.” Clarice gave herself one more leisurely inspection, then got up out of the chair and followed Jacqueline to the front. She paid her bill and gave a final hard stare back toward where Julie was sitting. She smiled sweetly at Jacqueline and handed the receptionist a five-dollar tip. “Sorry about all the fuss earlier,” she whispered, and patted the astonished girl’s hand.
She went out to the car. Mama was sitting in the front seat, waiting for her. Clarice braced herself for a tirade, but when she got in, all Mama did was stare at her for about ten seconds.
“Girl, what the hell happened to your hair?” she said.
Dave watched his team come in from the field to take their fourth at bat. Tonight they were playing the Boyd’s Pharmacy Bears, and everything was working. By the third inning, Jaylen had struck out half of the twelve batters he’d faced, and four of the others either grounded or popped out. George, James, and Marcus teamed up for one of the prettiest 6–4–3 double plays Dave had ever seen to end the inning. Dave was standing at the dugout, getting some skin from the boys as they ran in to get ready for their plate rotation, when he glanced up in the stands and saw Julie. There was something different about her; was it her hair? But it was Julie, no doubt about that—even if she did look like Meg Ryan on a bad day.
