Wrong Way Renee

by Wynter Daniels

  She clicked off the TV, afraid she'd vomit if she heard any more. Teller. How dare she say she knew what had happened?

  When the phone rang, she let the answering machine get it. She had no energy to speak to anyone.

  “Renee, honey, it's Mama. I'm reminding you we're having a family dinner tomorrow night. Your father will be very upset if you don't come. Your nail clients will understand if every now and then you don't stay until nine o'clock. So, be sure you make it. Love you.”

  The machine clicked off. “Yes, Mama.” She rolled her eyes.

  Stomach growling, she went to the fridge and searched for something good. One lonely low fat frozen dinner begged her to free it from its icy dungeon. She pulled the black tray from the box, and shoved it into the microwave. Turkey Tetrazzini gracefully spun and defrosted while she dragged into the bedroom.

  Her big empty bed sat unmade, accusing her. She vowed to turn over a new leaf by making it every day. After all, she could have died today at the bank. When her Mama would have come to her apartment to clean out her things, she'd have seen the unmade bed. And the nightshirt on the bathroom floor. And the breakfast dishes in the sink. Elizabeth Jackson Wright would have shaken her head, wondering where she'd gone wrong with her youngest.

  She crumpled onto her vanity stool and removed her jewelry. Leaning toward the mirror she noticed a couple dark spots visible through her foundation. Time for a makeover. She made a mental note to call Toy, her oldest, dearest friend to join her.

  When the microwave dinged, she headed for the kitchen to eat like one of Pavlov's famous dogs. She peeled back the plastic cover and mixed the congealed cream sauce, the dry turkey chunks and the steaming noodles. Her first bite was half cold, half burning hot.

  This was all Dan's fault. If he hadn't cheated on her with the underage nymph at his office, she'd be eating great food at a fine restaurant now, wearing a fabulous dress, sporting flawless makeup that didn't let any dark spots in her complexion show through.

  Dan had been so in love with her when they first started living together. He'd bought her flowers every week, cooked gourmet dinners and brought her stupid, sweet Hallmark cards for no particular reason. When had it all changed?

  Sometime after New Year's he'd started acting differently. He and the nymph must have hooked up at that damn office Christmas party where spouses and significant others weren't welcome.

  Younger, cuter girls were ruining her life. It hit her like an epiphany. It was a silent conspiracy.

  She pictured herself on stage, preening under colored spotlights in a beauty pageant. Only the judges at this event didn't find tall, thin nymphs the standard of beauty. No. They ranked older ladies with a little extra meat on their bones as the most beautiful. She walked the runway wearing a slimming black gown and a tiara, waving to her adoring fans.

  The guy in the front row looked familiar. That adorable cop from the bank.

  Reality sucker punched her right in the gut. Who was she kidding? She'd never see him again. She'd wake up tomorrow morning in the same pathetic life with the same extra fifteen pounds and the same mountain of debt.

  No! She pushed away from the table and stood. She was not a loser. First thing in the morning she'd begin her new non-pathetic life. A hot guy would ask her out—maybe two, even three.

  Renee Wright was no loser. At least, not anymore.

  * * * * *

  Renee booted up the computer at her salon the next morning then turned on the stereo. Soft jazz filled the room.

  The back door flew open seconds later and her partner, Becky, lumbered in, carrying a laundry basket full of towels. She huffed as she dropped the burden next to her station.

  “Morning. No coffee yet, huh?” She headed to the kitchenette area in the back of the shop. Her clothes looked disheveled, as always and her curly brown hair flew in every direction. Renee wondered why Becky didn't apply some of her very capable hairdressing skills to her own locks. She never seemed to care much about things like that. She hardly wore any makeup—only mascara and sometimes lipstick.

  “Sorry. I just got here,” Renee said from behind the desk. “How's your schedule today?”

  “Pretty full, as usual.” Becky switched on the coffee maker, returned to her station, and sat in her service chair. “Do anything fun yesterday?”

  “You wouldn't even believe it.” She wasn't ready to recount the details of the bank robbery yet. She'd probably tell the story twenty-five times before the end of the day, so she'd wait until the rest of the crew arrived. “I'll fill you in about it later. I've got a new client coming in a minute. Why don't you tell me about your days off while I get ready?”

  “I had dinner with Charles yesterday.” Becky stretched her arms over her head. “We're going out again on Friday night.” She squeezed her eyes shut, yawning. “You'll have to meet him. He's great.”

  “I'm happy for you, Beck.” And she was. But she couldn't help but wonder why Becky always had a man in her life. Becky was six years older than her and at least twenty pounds more overweight.

  Maybe white women just dated more. Or maybe Becky was more fun. After all, she was one of Renee's favorite people, with her take-me-as-I-am attitude. Maybe it was the fact that her mother was president of a temple and insisted on fixing up her only single daughter with every unattached Jewish man within fifty miles. Just by sheer volume, she was bound to find a good one every now and then.

  She wondered if she was somehow turning off prospective dates. Did she have bad breath? She didn't think so. She always carried mints. Did she come on too strong? Was she bitchy? Did she give a bad first impression? She shrugged. No time to psychoanalyze herself now. “I was thinking of a makeover and lunch on Sunday. I'm gonna see Toy this afternoon. I know she'll be up for it. Are you game?”

  Becky shifted on her enviably large derriere. “Hmm. I'll let you know. I'd love to join you guys for lunch, but I'm trying to watch my budget. I can't afford any makeup now.”

  Renee pushed the notion of not spending money to the back of her mind. You had to spend some money on shedding your pathetic loser persona. “I need the lift. How can I get a date if I don’t look a hundred percent?”

  Becky narrowed her eyes at her. “Have you heard from Dan lately?”

  She scowled. “He called a few weeks ago to ask if he'd left behind his thermal underwear when he moved out. Seems the nymph's family has a vacation home in Aspen so they're planning a Thanksgiving ski trip. What the hell kind of black folks ski? It’s not natural. I tried to be all nice and sweet to show him I didn't give a rat's ass about his new rich girlfriend and him.”

  “I can see you hide it well.”

  “He really should have been named Damien. I told him if I had my way he'd be going south to a much hotter place. Then I laughed like I was kidding. But I don't think he got it.”

  “You weren't dating him for his sense of humor, obviously.” Becky headed toward the coffee maker. “Want a cup?”

  “No, thanks.”

  The door chimed and a tall, thirtyish brunette entered the shop. She stopped at the front desk, resting her brown designer purse on it. Renee stepped behind the counter and glanced at the screen for the day's schedule. “May I help you?”

  “My name is Melissa Mayweather. I have an appointment with Renee for a manicure.” Her long brown hair was shiny and straight and her green eyes looked kind.

  “I'm Renee. Come on over.” She led the client to her station, nearly swooning over the woman's Jimmy Choo pumps.

  “French manicure today, please.” Melissa placed her hands on the towel covering most of the surface of the table. She slipped off a massive diamond ring and set it on the ring holder.

  Renee examined the woman's hands. Slightly tan, a little too wrinkled for someone her age. She spent too much time in the sun. The nails were short and neat and had traces of beige polish around the edges. “You like neutrals.” She ringed the nails on the right hand with cuticle softener then searched in her drawer for
a metal nail file.

  “Yes I do. What do you like?”

  “Kittens, puppies, pink frilly things and old disco songs.”

  The woman's smile faded. Renee looked up at her, laughing. “I'm joking. Well, I do like disco music. Way better than rap.”

  Melissa grinned. “So I have a funny manicurist.”

  “Yes, you do. Let's see… I like hot pink, electric purple and emerald green. I like cats, I'm afraid of dogs and I love being my own boss. I like Florida winters, North Carolina summers and in my college days, I liked boys who were a little bit bad.”

  She shaped her client's nails into squared ovals, or squovals, as she liked to call them. “Oh, yesterday at the bank, I was a bank robber's hostage for a few fleeting moments. My mama is bossy and controlling, my dad is only bossy and controlling on the job—he's a personal injury attorney. At home, he's a pussycat. My boyfriend dumped me six months ago, I'm half-owner of this place and I think all skinny women must die. Well, not you. You seem sweet, unlike the rest of them.” She pointed over her shoulder. “Becky over there is the other half. Now you know everything about me. Now your turn.”

  She loved to play this game with her new clients. It broke the ice right away so they would feel instantly comfortable and want to come back. Most did. They also confided their deepest, darkest secrets. She’d learned when she started in this business seven years ago that the key to success was thirty percent doing great nails, seventy percent being a great listener. Now it was a challenge to see how quickly she could win over new clients.

  Melissa stared at her hands and shrugged. “Where do I begin? Were you really a bank robber's hostage?”

  “I really was. It all happened so quickly I forgot to get frightened.”

  “Wow. So, where did you go to college?”

  “No, no, no. It's your turn. Questions later.” She squirted a blob of peach-scented lotion onto Melissa's right hand and began massaging.

  “Okay. I'm thirty-two years old. I own a little jewelry store up the road, my husband is an allergist, my sister is prettier and skinnier than I, but I'm younger. I once dated a guy with a tattoo and if you ever tell anyone, I'll kill you.” Melissa's gaze locked onto Renee's. Both women smiled.

  “Your secret's safe with me.” She considered the conversations she had with her clients as privileged as if she were a psychologist.

  “Now, where did you go to college and why did your boyfriend dump you?”

  “University of Florida. He started fooling around with a bimbo at the insurance agency where they both work. Turned out she was the owner's daughter. Her family is filthy rich. Apparently he's a gold digger as well as a cheat. Thankfully, I'm almost at the point where I can laugh about it. Almost. Where did you go to school?”

  “Auburn. I met Rich, my husband there. We graduated together, then moved to Miami where he went to medical school. He did his residency there, too.”

  “I feel like we're old friends already. We know all about each other.”

  “I like you, Renee. Do you have an opening every Tuesday at this time for a manicure?”

  “I do. I'll mark you down.” She polished her new client's nails, then led her to the drying station and turned on the fan to speed the process. Melissa waved her hands in front of the fan for thirty seconds before hurrying out the door.

  After two fills and another manicure, Renee washed her hands and set up for a pedicure in the tiny room next to the kitchenette. She was checking her supplies when Toy walked in and gave her a hug. Hugging Toy was like wrapping yourself around a twig. She was so thin and tall, it made Renee feel like a fat dwarf. But the friend time recharged her batteries like nothing else.

  “You have like no makeup on but you're still gorgeous.” Renee pointed to the seat. “You make me sick, girlfriend.”

  Toy slipped off her sandals and climbed up to the throne, pulling her sleek, shiny chestnut-colored hair into a ponytail with her fingers. “I am totally plain and blotchy. What are you talking about?” Toy only took up half the seat.

  Renee crinkled her nose at the thought. Disgusting. “I'm glad you think you're plain, even though it's not true and you're absolutely stunning, because I need a makeover. Becky and I are going to the mall Sunday for new makeup, if I can talk her into the splurge. What do you say? We'll have lunch after.”

  Toy squeezed the arms of the chair, slipping her feet into the bubbling water. “Ahhhh…that feels so good. Sure, I'll go. I need a lift. I'm feeling old.”

  “You're twenty-eight, Toy. That's not old.”

  “It is when you're a model and you've been doing it since you were fourteen.” She lifted one foot out of the water and placed it on a towel-covered ledge for Renee to work on her toenails. “Anyway, I'm all about finding husband number three right now. You know me, always the bride, never the bridesmaid.” Toy's second divorce had been finalized two months ago.

  Renee relayed her bank ordeal and the saga of the bimbo who stole her thunder. Toy shared details about her latest modeling job, her current boyfriend and the last fight she'd had with her father.

  “Ah, family. Gotta love 'em,” Renee said. “I'm doing the dinner thing with the Wrights tonight.”

  “Just the parental units or will Char and Gary and their heathens be there too?”

  “Heathens and all. The kids aren't as bad as my dad and Gary. They argue and fuss about work to the point that Mama and Char have to pull their respective husbands to opposite sides of the ring. Give me the other foot.” She massaged while Toy moaned with pleasure.

  “I thought they were in practice together.” Toy rolled her head back and closed her eyes. “Oh, God. Can you do that forever?”

  “They are. But they never agree on which cases to take or how to handle them when they do. At the Fourth of July barbeque, I thought my dad was going to have a heart attack while the two of them discussed work. The veins were popping on his neck and he was squeezing his arm. Really scary.”

  “Gary seemed so mild-mannered the few times I've been around him. I can't imagine him arguing with your dad.”

  “Gary's like a different person when it comes to his work. I guess you can't be mild mannered all the time and still be a successful trial lawyer.”

  “So how's Char? Every time I go to the mall, I'm amazed that she's left anything for the rest of us to buy.”

  “More and more like a clone of my mother every day.” A drop of lotion spilled onto the floor. She tore a paper towel off the roll and wiped it up, making a mental note to clean it better later. “She's taken to criticizing me, just like Mama does.”

  “That's what you need. My mom and I have become more like friends since her divorce. She now has a better understanding of failing at something.”

  “She was married for like thirty years. Your dad cheating wasn't her failure.”

  “She sees it that way, though. I can understand that. She feels like if she had done this or that, maybe he wouldn't have cheated. As many times as I tell her he's a bastard who doesn't deserve a backward glance, she still blames herself. He's obviously having some mid-life crisis. I mean, he and his new wife had a baby a few weeks ago. That's got to be the ultimate in humiliation.”

  “I can relate. God, I hate cheaters. When I first found out about Dan cheating on me, I racked my brain, trying to think of what I did wrong. I thought if I had only lost those fifteen pounds or been a better cook, a better lover, you know?”

  “Yeah. But it wasn't my mom's fault my dad strayed, nor was it yours that Damien did. You know that in your heart, don't you?”

  “Yes.” She blew out a long breath. “It's that damn little gremlin that keeps telling me how inferior I am.”

  “He speaks to me too. Let's kill him, okay?”

  “Deal.”

  Renee finished with Toy then did two more manicures. She washed her nail table down, checked the computer for Wednesday's schedule and cleaned out the coffee pot before gathering her things.

  “Are you leaving now?” Bec
ky hooked a perm rod on the new hairdresser's head.

  “Aren't you going to hang around and see what I look like with curly hair?” Zoey asked, tugging at a tight rod.

  “Sorry. I have a torture-by-family session now.”

  “Lucky you. Mrs. Cantrell's coming at six for a wash and set. But Zoey has a six-thirty haircut, so I won't be alone. Have a good night.”

  “Good night, Renee,” Zoey carefully turned her head to wave.

  “Night.” Renee left through the backdoor and drove toward Lake Henrietta Shores, dreading the evening ahead. Ten minutes later, her parents' white two story colonial came into view. She pulled around the circular drive as it started drizzling and parked her Jeep behind her sister Char's black Expedition.

  Thank God I'm not the first one here.

  The first arrival usually got the brunt of Elizabeth's list of disappointments in her daughters. For Renee, the list was endless: Why hadn't she pursued law like as she'd planned? Why did she have to do peoples' nails and (unthinkably) feet? Why wasn't she married yet? Why was she always broke? Why didn't she lose weight? Why didn't she come visit her parents more? She wanted to tell her it was because she didn't want to hear how she didn't measure up. But she couldn't say that. It would send Mama into an irritable bowel syndrome tailspin, so to speak.

  Char only got the short-term disappointment list. Why isn't Alyssa's dress ironed? Why didn't you and Gary join us for dinner at the club last night?

  She walked up the brick steps, opened the leaded glass door and stepped inside. The foyer was her favorite spot in this house with its pink marble floor and twin staircases along opposite walls. A round Louis XIV table stood directly in front of her with a huge vase of calla lilies. She threw her keys and purse on the table, then headed straight, through the formal dining room to the big kitchen.

  Char looked up from her task of making a salad. Brown eyes, identical to her own met her stare. “Hey. Mama's put me to work.” She cut tomatoes into wedges, then tossed them into the salad bowl. Her red plaid pleated skirt, white blouse and black velvet vest suited her petite frame and short brown bob perfectly.