Wrong Way Renee

by Wynter Daniels

  “You're lucky they'll do that.” She tried to smile.

  “Yeah.”

  She wanted to tell her about Melissa and her husband. How they were so prepared to be parents and trying to adopt a newborn. But Pam seemed too on edge, too willing to make Renee the object of her displeasure.

  After she finished with Pam, Renee ate salad for lunch. Zoey stormed into the kitchenette, hands planted on her hips.

  Renee looked around. “What? What did I do?”

  “It's not what you did. It's Susan. You have to talk to her before she chases my clientele right out the door. And I'll leave before I watch that happen.” One pink Converse hi-top sneaker tapped incessantly.

  Oh no. “Calm down and tell me what happened?”

  “You know my friend, Brianne? The punky chick with the spiky blonde hair?”

  She nodded.

  “Susan comes over to her in the reception area and asks her why she has the mark of the beast tattooed on her ankle. She's got a pentagram there. So Brianne tells her she's into Wicca. One of the symbols of that is the pentagram. So Susan breaks out into spontaneous prayer, asking God to save her from evil.”

  “She what?” A headache started between her eyes.

  “I'm telling you, she's a nutcase. She said 'Cast thee out, Satan.' Brianne stormed out the door and called me from her cell phone. She said to get the crazy bitch out of the waiting area. So, I set her up an appointment for tomorrow. You gotta get rid of her, Renee.”

  She buried her face in her hands. Becky was at a doctor’s appointment so she’d have to handle this on her own. “I'll talk to her. I can't just kick her out. What if she apologizes to Brianne?”

  Zoey shook her head. “She can't pull this crap with my clients. She sneers at them all the time. Antoine's too. She's out of control.”

  Renee tossed the rest of her salad into the trashcan. Her stomach was too upset to eat. If they lost Susan, they’d be right back in the financial hole they’d just climbed out of.

  She found Susan sitting in her service chair reading a magazine. “Susan, I need to speak with you. Now, please.” She headed into the pedicure room. After Susan was inside, she closed the door. “Okay. I can respect that you're a religious person. And that's fine. But we have a diverse clientele here. Zoey is very upset that you've chased one of her clients off.”

  “She had a satanic tattoo.” She scroll down the slowdown looked like she was about to cry.

  “It was a Wiccan tattoo. They're not devil worshipers. But you know what? Even if she was a devil worshiper, you have no right to upset one of Zoey's or Antoine's or anybody else's client. That's money out of her pocket.”

  Susan wrung her hands as she stared at the floor. “I understand.”

  Thank goodness Susan hadn’t argued about the situation. Instead, she left the room without saying another word. When had the salon become so difficult to manage? It seemed there was always something going wrong lately. And it usually fell squarely on Renee's lap.

  What next?

  * * * * *

  “You've gained a few since last year, Ms. Wright.” The nurse at her gynecologist office told her to step off the scale.

  “Thanks for the four-one-one.” As if her annual check-up wasn’t bad enough already.

  The nurse took her blood pressure and handed her a pink gown to change into. “It opens to the front,” she said as she left.

  Renee changed and sat on the table, trying not to dwell on the icky exam she was about to bear. Too bad there was no other way to get her birth control pills.

  Dr. Nielsen entered, chart in hand. “Gained a few pounds since last year, Renee.” The doctor’s glasses rested halfway down her nose.

  Renee rolled her eyes. “I've been trying to diet, but it's hard, you know?” Of course she didn’t know, she was thin as a lamppost.

  “Would you like a copy of a low Cal diet?”

  “No thanks. I know what I should be eating.”

  “Any problems lately?”

  “Nope. Nothing medical, anyway.”

  Dr. Nielsen glanced at her for the first time since entering the room. Her dark hair was pulled into a twist on top of her head and a few lines fanned out from the corners of her eyes. “Everything okay otherwise?”

  “My love life is a mess. But it'll be okay, I guess.”

  “Hmm. Okay, you know the drill. Scoot to the end of the table and put your feet in the stirrups.”

  Renee did as the doctor said. She stared at the poster taped to the ceiling, wondering why they always put the stupidest sayings on those things. Why not have an interesting poster of a maze or something that would keep you looking at it for more than twenty seconds?

  The doctor finished the pelvic exam and walked around the table to do a breast exam. “How long has this been here?” She pushed on the side of Renee's left breast.

  “What?”

  “This lump. Feel it.” The doctor guided Renee's hand to the spot.

  Her heart suddenly raced as she felt the tiny lump. “I…I don't know.”

  “Have you been doing your monthly self exam?”

  She gulped. “Not for a few months.”

  The doctor picked up her chart. “You've never had a mammogram, have you?”

  “I'm too young for that.” Her eyes welled with tears.

  “Now don't get yourself all freaked out. These things are usually nothing. But let's get you scheduled for the mammo and make an appointment with a surgeon.”

  Her mouth felt stuffed with cotton. “A surgeon? Why a surgeon?”

  She patted Renee's shoulder. “We have to see what it is. Dorothy will set up the appointments for you. Any questions?”

  “Yes.” A million. “What are the chances? I mean, how likely is it that this could be cancer or something?”

  The doctor smiled. “At your age, very small. But we need to investigate further to rule out cancer.”

  Her mind buzzed as she waited for the receptionist to set up her appointments. People raced past her, phones rang, but she was in such a fog, it all felt surreal. She drove to work and did two manicures and three fills, nodding and smiling at her clients as they told her about their job, their boyfriend, their mother.

  All she could think about was, what if? She wasn't ready to discuss the breast lump with anyone, at least until after her mammogram appointment next week. She fought to push it from her mind and concentrate on other things.

  Becky was washing the floor while Renee shut down the computer. They were the only ones left in the shop. She told Becky about the trouble between Susan and Zoey.

  “I thought something was going on, but I had no idea it was that bad or I would have intervened.”

  Renee shrugged. “It's okay. I mean, I can handle some of this stuff too. You're just better at it.”

  She'd been handling most of the problems at the salon by herself lately. And there had been more than usual. But Becky had so much going on between building a relationship with her son and planning a wedding. It couldn't go on forever. Could it?

  * * * * *

  Monday morning, Renee waited at the Women's Radiology Center wearing a hospital gown. After an eternity, a young woman came to the waiting area and called her name. “Right this way, Miss Wright.” She led Renee down a wide hallway to a sterile- looking room where her breasts were squeezed, pressed and poked. Finally the technician declared her finished.

  “Wait here,” the woman instructed as she left the room.

  Renee thumbed through an ancient copy of Better Homes and Gardens until the technician returned.

  “The mammo showed nothing, so we're going to have to do an ultrasound.” She took her to another room, this one dimly lit, with a paper lined exam table and a large machine which resembled one of the robots from Star Wars. The technician left the room and another entered, this one much older.

  “I'm Lynn. I'll be doing an ultrasound of your breasts. Lie back on the table.”

  When she did, Lynn squirted a lubrican
t over her chest then rolled a wand across the area as a picture came to life on the screen. It looked like lines and shadows.

  “I'm not seeing anything,” she said. “Let's see if the doctor wants to have a look. You can sit up now.” She handed Renee a towel to clean up, then she left the room.

  Five minutes later, she returned with a thin, middle-aged man in tow. “Dr. Grossman, this is Renee Wright.”

  The doctor shook her hand. “Well, Miss Wright, nothing showed up on the mammogram or the ultrasound. Do you have an appointment with a surgeon?”

  She nodded. “Next week.”

  “Good. Any questions? “

  A million. “What types of masses don't show up on mammograms?”

  “The cancerous kind,” he said matter-of-factly.

  Her head spun. She thought she might pass out.

  “But I don't think that's the case with you,” he continued.

  “Why not?”

  “Because you have more fatty tissue than breast tissue. Chances are it’s nothing.”

  She didn't quite understand what he was saying, but she got that it was better that she had more fat—for this one thing, at least.

  “Who’s your surgeon?” he asked.

  “Dr. Hillard. Do you know her?”

  “Yes. Excellent choice.”

  She dressed as the haze returned to her head. Desperately, she tried to think of other things, anything but the possibility of cancer. She was too young. She hadn't had children yet, hadn't achieved so many of the things she wanted. An intense clarity broke through the haze. She had to get on with her life – to live, to enjoy and savor every moment. Her days of coasting to the nearest rest stop on the highway of life were over.

  * * * * *

  “I think someone has love on her mind.” Char’s shrill voice instantly flared the headache Renee had been fighting for days. Although she'd told no one about her health issues, she felt that she had a better handle on it. She'd set up an appointment with the surgeon and tried to keep it in the back of her mind so it wouldn't drive her crazy.

  “The whole western world does, Char. It's Valentines Day.” Renee let her sister and Gary into Cleave’s house and led them out to the pool area where Cleave was setting up his grilling instruments like a surgeon would outfit an operating room.

  For the small Valentines Day party, Renee had set the table next to the pool with a red and white tablecloth, red candles and white China. Cleave had helped her string red heart garlands and Mylar heart-shaped balloons around the pool.

  “You two seem to be getting along great,” Char whispered. “Mama told me you’re going to Atlanta to meet his family soon.”

  “Yup.” Renee had agreed she would accompany him on a weekend trip to Atlanta in March. For now she was concentrating on getting to know the man. He deserved for her to give it her best shot. But she didn’t feel like discussing the state of her relationship with her sister. “How about some sangria?” She took a healthy swig from her glass.

  “Sure. I haven't had that since Gary and I were in Acapulco two years ago. Maybe next time we go you and Cleave can join us.”

  Renee rolled her eyes. Char was always bragging about all the fabulous vacations she and Gary took. “So, how are the kids, Char? Has Gary Junior bitten any playmates lately?”

  Char scowled. “We're working on it.”

  “If he keeps that up, there might be a partnership at the firm for him in a few years,” Cleave chimed in. Everyone but Char laughed.

  “You know, I've heard that if you bite them back, it cures them,” Cleave said.

  Renee gave her sister an I-told-you-so look.

  When the doorbell rang, Char volunteered to answer it. A moment later she returned with Becky and Charles. Renee made all the introductions, then got sangria for the couple.

  Charles squeezed his large frame into a plastic lawn chair. He looked older than Renee had imagined with a gray ring of hair around the bald top of his head. He had blue eyes and wore jeans with a red polo shirt.

  “Glad to see you're seasonally correct, Charles.” Renee offered him a stuffed mushroom from a glass platter.

  “That was my doing.” Becky rested her arm on his shoulder.

  “I hear congratulations are in order.” Char gave Becky a hug. Then she shook Charles's hand.

  Becky beamed. “We're just getting started on the wedding plans. They're just as stressful as I remember from the first time I took this trip.”

  Charles squeezed her hand. “This will be the last time, honey.”

  The women headed into the kitchen to bring the rest of the food outside as Becky told them about her wedding plans. Char had all kinds of suggestions for caterers, florists, photographers and the like. She always professed to know the best person for any job you could think of.

  Renee smirked. “If I told you I was run over by a car, you'd say you were hit by a Mack truck that backed up and ran over you again.”

  Char frowned.

  Becky cleared her throat. “So, I'm considering burgundy for bridesmaid dresses, Renee. What do you think?”

  “Oh, Becky, that's like my worst color. Can't it be pink or green or something I don't look dead in?”

  “I'll think about it. I haven't made my final decision yet.”

  Renee gave the women a tour of the house, pointing out the antiques she'd picked out for Cleave.

  “Isn't this a beautiful home, Becky?” Char stared at Renee. “It would be a perfect place to raise a family.”

  “My sister is so subtle, don't you think, Becky?”

  “Can I opt out of answering?” Becky ran ahead of the two sisters, making her way back to the pool area.

  “I hear wants you to move in,” Char whispered to Renee.

  “Old news.” Cleave must have told Gary. Renee headed toward the kitchen to escape.

  Char stayed right on her heels. “Don't you want to hear what else he said?”

  “Not really.”

  “Becky might not be the only bride-to-be here tonight.” She pursed her lips.

  “I think there has to be a proposal and an acceptance for there to be a bride-to-be.”

  “A certain little birdie might have told another little birdie about a big diamond ring that might have been purchased recently.”

  She froze in her tracks. “Are you serious?” Her whole body went rigid.

  Char pretended to zipper her lips and throw away the key.

  “Char, now is not the time for you to turn over a new leaf and keep your mouth shut. Do you know this for sure?” Her mouth went dry.

  She nodded then ran out to the patio. Renee squeezed her eyes shut for a moment then raced back upstairs and into the guest bathroom, her heart pounding. She couldn't marry Cleave, couldn't be engaged to him. Not as long as she was in love with someone else.

  Locking the door, she pulled her cell phone from her pocket. She mustered up all her nerve then called Joe's number.

  As usual, his voice mail picked up. She swallowed back the rush of disappointment. “Me again. I wish you could return at least one of my calls. I miss you terribly. I really need to talk to you. My doctor found a lump in my breast.”

  She’d kept her situation from everyone yet a man she hadn’t spoken to for weeks, a guy who wouldn’t even give her the time of day was the one person she chose to tell. She smacked her forehead. “I'm sorry. Forget I said that. I don't want you to pity me. I…I love you, Joe.”

  An electronic beep interrupted her confession, thank God. She held the phone to her chest. Something deep inside her ached and the sobs began. She felt awful for telling him about the lump. It was such an obvious, pathetic ploy.

  She clasped her hands in prayer. Please call me, Joe.

  Five minutes later, after splashing her face with water, she returned to the party and got herself another glass of sangria. Becky and Charles regaled the other guests about their wedding and honeymoon plans while Char winked at Renee every few minutes.

  After they'd fini
shed eating, the sound of thunder in the distance sent them inside. Everyone helped clean the kitchen as Cleave packed doggie bags for each couple to take as they left.

  “I'm not feeling well.” Renee rubbed her stomach. It was true, after all. Her insides were in knots after hearing Char's news about the diamond ring.

  “I was hoping we'd have a few minutes alone, sweetheart,” Cleave said. “I'd like to speak to you.”

  Warm fear washed over her. “I'm sorry. I'm tired from working all week and all the conflicts we seem to be having these days at the salon. I'm the one who's running interference all the time lately. Things didn't used to be so complicated there.”

  He wrapped his arms around her. “It doesn't matter. You don't have to deal with any of that garbage if you don't want to.”

  Every hair on her body stood on end. She disengaged herself from his grasp. “It's not garbage to me, Cleave. It's a business Becky and I have built into something. It's where six people work and hundreds of people get their hair and nails done and I’m proud of it.”

  He shook his head. “You're taking me all wrong. I mean…you don't have to work. Marry me, Renee. Sell your share of the salon to Becky. Or give it to her as a wedding gift. I love you and I want you to be my wife. When we go to Atlanta, I want to introduce you to my family as my fiancée. We could be planning a wedding and a honeymoon like Becky and Charles are right now.”

  Heart thudding, she turned her back on him. “I can't give you an answer right now.” How could she tell him she wasn't in love with him? He'd been so good to her. He was making such an effort to woo her friends and family.

  She spun around to face him. “We’ve known each other less than three months. How could you know you want to spend your life with me?”

  “I've never been more sure of anything my whole life. Please think about it.” He pulled her toward him. “Will you think about it?”

  She nodded. “But right now I need to go home.” Time to think was definitely what she needed. She drove home in the cold February drizzle, unable to concentrate on the road. As she turned into her complex, she took the curve too fast. The Jeep skidded and slammed into a light pole.