Color Me Dead

by Constance Barker

  They were becoming tight too. “Think Sarah can spare time from conquering life as we know it to chat with me?”

  “I think she’d like that. You know that kid is so delighted that her parents let you become her legal guardian. The girls were on my computer earlier and from what I could gather from their conversation I think she and Ginny were researching the possibility of Sarah adopting you as her official mom.”

  “Wow,” I said. The thought made me feel better than I had any right to. “Thanks for spilling the beans.”

  “No problem. And here is the girl herself now.”

  When Sarah came to the phone she sounded happy. “Are you having a good time in the city?” she asked.

  “Well it just so happens that I called to ask if you were having a good time. But, since you asked first, I sort of am. There are a lot of people here and it’s a big place, so it’s a little overwhelming. Pete is scared to death, and I think Nellie regrets coming along. And I miss you.”

  “You can deal with it, Ms. Jeffries. We will do fine here. Ginny and I are having fun and Finnegan is being excellent.”

  Finnegan was a blue tick hound that I’d had slightly longer than I’d had Sarah. Sarah and Finn considered themselves partners and now it was a trio.

  Sarah had more news. “And I talked to Aubrey today. He said his dad found where Ms. Phlint hid his ammunition.”

  “Uh oh.”

  “It’s okay. Mr. Phlint put it down to go weld something and Aubrey hid it again in a better place. Now his dad seems to have forgotten he’d found it. He’s building something in the back yard, so things should be fine.”

  “As long as what he’s building it isn’t anything with a nuclear warhead.”

  “I’m sure it isn’t. Aubrey would’ve mentioned anything radioactive. And Pete really needs both of you there so he can win.”

  “You make it sound so serious.”

  “Isn’t it? If It isn’t serious, why enter?”

  “A good question I suppose. I guess it is serious, but it’s supposed to be fun.”

  She could almost hear Sarah shrug. “Okay, then. If you just have fun the others all will too. Tell Nellie that Aubrey has me on speed dial.”

  The conspiracy of kidlets seemed to be widening. I wondered if she and Ginny had visions of the Phlint boys as their army. “You have fun too.”

  There was a pause. “Of course I will. Ginny and I… well, I’ll tell you when you get back.”

  “Why not now?”

  The little girl considered that for a moment. “I’m not sure it will be anything at all. It’s just a better idea if I wait to tell you then.”

  “Is this one of those things where it’s easier to ask forgiveness than permission?”

  She paused. “Why would I ask forgiveness? If it works, I mean.”

  Since I had no quick answer, that was the end of it, except for Sarah mentioning that she and Ginny were fixing dinner for Paula. “Hamburgers and oven fries,” she said. “We are giving her time to do those legal transcriptions. She’s enjoying doing the work.”

  “That’s a good thing.” And it was. As a single mom, Paula didn’t make enough at her job as a receptionist at the Mayor’s real estate company. When James Woodley found out the situation, he arranged for his office to hire her on a freelance basis to handle a backlog of legal transcriptions. Apparently it was working out well for all concerned.

  “The timer is going off for my fries, so I have to go,” Sarah said. “You know you don’t need to call every day. Ginny’s mom will call you if anything bad happens.”

  “I like to hear your voice,” I said. Calling was also a handy way of making sure that Paula could actually come to the phone, although I didn’t say that. The girls never did anything actually bad, but as Paula said, together they were quite a force. I shuddered thinking about how life would be when those two got to be teenagers.

  “Okay,” she said. “I like to hear yours too. Just don’t call too often. It can be annoying.”

  Dutifully admonished, I ended the call.

  “So everything is okay now?” Nellie was saying into her phone. Her eyes were wide. “Fine, then, I’ll let you get back to cleaning it up.”

  “Trouble?” I asked when Nellie hung up.

  “Nothing unusual actually… for my family. It’s just that I’m finding out that having a sixteen year old explain the current disaster to me over the phone is about ten times worse that being there in person. I mean, if I’m there, I can make my own independent assessment of the situation. Listening to Aubrey I have to keep in mind that he has a wonderful, almost frightening flair for the dramatic.” She frowned. “I have to keep that in mind and then I have to hope that’s all it is.” She shrugged. “So far they claim that the house is still standing.”

  “Rudy built it. I’m sure he’ll keep it that way.”

  “Unless he gets a better idea.”

  “A better idea?”

  “Something that required that he use the house for parts, for instance.”

  A picture of Rudy dismantling the house to make something else popped into my head. Oddly it didn’t seem that far out. And he was allegedly building something in the backyard. Welding with the barbecue, perhaps? “I don’t really need to know more.”

  “No, you don’t. Neither do I.”

  I decided not to tell her about the ammunition or Rudy’s backyard project. After all, it might be nothing at all.

  Right.

  “Let’s go downstairs get the lay of the land,” I said.

  Nellie grimaced but grabbed her purse and we went.

  # # #

  Clearly, Pete was feeling even more nervous now that the convention and his time in the spotlight was more real. He cranked his head around, staring at everything as we went in search of the place where the competition was to be held. I hoped that seeing the place, making it more tangible might calm him. The sight of his own tools at a chair might make him feel more at home.

  It didn’t seem to be working. “There are so many great professionals here,” he said. “I’m going to make a fool of myself.”

  “Nonsense,” Betina said. “You are as good as they come.”

  “But these people actually design hair styles. I just cut hair in a way I think looks good.” He opened the brochure. “Look at these bios. Some of them talk about doing hundreds of preliminary sketches before they make a cut.”

  Betina waved a hand. “That just tells me they can’t see the style in their heads or that they like to draw.”

  “Or that they want you to think they are that thorough,” Nellie added.

  Betina smiled. “Yeah. But, Pete, you work your own way and do great cuts. That’s a good thing.”

  “These work with suppliers to create special tools or chemicals.”

  “That’s because they hope something they develop will become a standard product,” I told him. “A lot of what goes on here is just business. It’s the business of salons, but not necessarily hair styling. They are looking at other commercial avenues.”

  Unfortunately, he wasn’t in a mood to be calmed.

  “We don’t even know where to go,” he said.

  Betina took his hand. “Pete, we don’t have to know. This place is chock full of people who are paid to know that,” she said reassuringly. “All we have to do is ask one of them.” She pointed to a woman in a blazer with the hotel name embroidered on the breast. She was at a desk labeled “concierge services.” “Someone like her,” she said.

  “That makes sense.” I was glad to hear a bit of relief in his voice. I knew the information and even floor plans were in the brochure Pete had been pointing to—he just wasn’t in a place to see it. Betina’s approach seemed to work better for him. Pete is a people person, as she is, so I decided to just stand by.

  “Of course asking makes sense,” Nellie said. “Besides, you meet people that way.”

  I waited as they walked up to the desk. When the woman looked up at them from some sort
of schedule, Betina gave her a big smile. “We are looking for the place where this silly competition is supposed to be held tomorrow. We are supposed to set up our station. Can you help?”

  The woman smiled through a tired expression. Clearly she wanted to help, but the job had to be a grind. It couldn’t be easy for the woman to stand there all day answering stupid questions and smiling.

  “The hairstyling competition is right through there,” she said pointing to several sets of closed double doors at the other side of the lobby. “Go through into our hotel ballroom.”

  Looking where she pointed I saw uniformed guards standing at the doors checking the ID of everyone who entered.

  “Wow. I thought it would be in the convention center,” Pete said. “Isn’t that where the Expo is?” He flashed her an embarrassed grin. “I’ve never been to one of these shows, in case you can’t guess. I’m kind of lost.”

  The smile she gave Pete struck me more as flirty than cheerful and businesslike, but it was understandable. Pete was a good looking guy and Betina wouldn’t be the only one who thought the weekend should include meeting guys. “It’s no trouble at all,” she said. “Here is the overall setup.” She put a map down in front of him. “We are here in the lobby. The displays are on the convention floor. That is the actual Expo where companies show their wares. But most of the events, the competition, the seminars, the press conferences are held in the hotel. Like I said, the competition and this afternoon’s demonstration are in the ballroom.” She pointed up to the next floor. “The meeting rooms are on the mezzanine level.”

  “That seems confusing,” Betina said.

  “Well, maybe it is, but as it turns out it’s convenient for the organizers and our hotel guests. It means that events can go on here at the hotel even outside of the expo show hours,” the woman said. “That makes it a lot easier for scheduling and for security.”

  “Well, thank you,” Betina said, taking Pete by the hand and leading him in that direction. As we walked toward the ballroom they saw workers setting up booths outside the doors in the lobby. Two men on ladders were putting up a sign that said MANUS. “I wonder what a Manus is?” Betina asked.

  “Scissors and combs and things,” Pete said. “They sell to professionals.”

  “I’ve never heard of them.”

  “The owner came around to the school I trained in,” Pete said. He glanced at me. “They carry a lot of the available brands and visit the big salons and schools.”

  “We buy what we need online,” I said. “It isn’t worth his time to come to Knockemstiff.”

  Pete nodded. “But in the city they go from place to place. He can visit a lot of salons in one day. They often have promotions, giving free scissors or combs to the students, or sell them at a huge discount—the manufacturers want to try to get you using their brands while you are in school. There are lots of wonderful brands and everybody has different preferences. Manus represents a bunch of the brands.”

  “Shouldn’t this booth be in the convention center then? Seems like it’s part of the expo, not the competition.”

  “Some companies are willing to sponsor the contest as a form of advertising, and to get space here,” a woman in a severe suit and holding a clipboard told them. “Sorry for eavesdropping.”

  “That’s fine… if you know what’s going on,” Betina said.

  “I do, because I arranged for this booth space. Manus Jenkins agreed to sponsor the competition in return for being here. He decided that instead of having a hospitality suite or a display on the floor, he’d prefer to have his booth right here where the competitors will be passing, as well as the audience. That way, if anyone gets the urge to buy… well he’s conveniently located. It’s just another approach to marketing their wares.”

  I looked at the woman. Her name tag said she was Gloria and worked for the Styling Association—the organization running the competition. I wondered about her job. I could imagine that if you enjoyed these events it might be an interesting sort of job, going around the country, maybe the world supervising these competitions. “So you run the competition?”

  “No. I’m an independent consultant for various expos and conferences. The Styling Association is a client. My company does all the logistics, arranging the spaces, booking blocks of rooms, and setting up transport and things. We also run the events. I’m the event coordinator.”

  “You must be a good person to know,” Nellie said.

  She smiled. “Sure, if you are interested in knowing overworked people who are rapidly going crazy. I have nothing to do with the actual competition beyond arranging the space, the storage space, and security.”

  Nellie nodded at the guards. “It looks like you need to be someone special to get in that ballroom, but we are supposed to set up Pete’s station. How do we do that?”

  The woman pointed to a long table over by the wall. A short line of people stood to one side and women who looked like models were talking to them. “If you are entered in the competition you need to go over there and register.”

  I held up my badge. “We registered in advance and they sent us our badges.”

  “Those are for the Expo and will get you into the competition as a spectator. If you are competing we need you to register again so we know you’ve arrived. Those women will give you the right badges and your space number.”

  “Thanks,” Pete said.

  “Well, good luck,” she said.

  “What happens if they don’t have my name on their list?” Pete asked as they made their way to the table.

  “Then we put it on their list,” Betina told him firmly, sounding more confident than I felt.

  The line moved quickly and soon we were at the front facing a cheerful dark-haired woman with boxes of name badges. She had a clipboard that did have his name on it and was happy to make him feel comfortable. “It says there are five of you for this entry?”

  Pete nodded. “Right. I’m the contestant, Betina is the model and the others are helping with the setup, not the competition.”

  She handed him an envelope. “The passes for the others are in here, but since you are the competitor you should wear this name tag,” she said. This one had his name, Pete Dawsen. Under that it read, TEASEN AND PLEASEN, KNOCKEMSTIFF, LA. A green ribbon hanging from the name tag said, “Styling Contestant” in gold lettering.

  “You spelled his name wrong,” Betina said. “It’s Dawson with an ‘o’.”

  “It’s okay,” Pete said. He handed her one that had a yellow ribbon that said MODEL. Mine didn’t have a ribbon and nether did Nellie’s or Leander’s. “Don’t worry about the spelling. I don’t think they’ll check it against my driver’s license.”

  “I was more interested in the name of the town,” the woman said. “Is that a real place?” she asked. “Knockemstiff?”

  “It’s real, and almost a town,” Pete said. “Knockemstiff has a population of less than 900 and getting closer to 800.” He looked at the green ribbon, running it through his fingers. “Does this get me a discount on something?”

  She pointed toward the ballroom. “No but it gets you in those doors and the admiration of the people who didn’t make it into the competition. The materials you sent ahead should be sitting in your location, which is…” she looked at her clipboard… “number fifteen. Good luck.”

  Betina caught the very friendly smile the woman gave Pete and quickly slipped her arm through his. Pete might be gay and have someone else in his life, but that never stopped her from acting a little jealous when other women flirted with him. “We should go in and get the things set up at your station, Pete.”

  “Thanks,” he said to the woman. I followed as Betina possessively dragged him toward the door. On the way, other women looked at them and Betina gritted her teeth. She liked Pete since she started at the salon. When she learned he was gay she admitted that she found that disappointing—for herself. His good looks and pleasant manner made him appear to have great potential as a boyfriend.
She accepted him for who he was and they became great friends. As far as Nellie or I knew she didn’t have a close girlfriend and Pete became her confidant.

  As they crossed the lobby, they saw Leander coming toward them. The two men hugged and out of the corner of her eye I saw the woman at the concierge desk looking. Betina glanced at me and grinned. “Let her look,” she said.

  “I didn’t know if you’d get here in time,” Pete said to Leander.

  “For you I got up early,” Leander said. “It had to be ten in the damn morning when I jumped out of bed to get here.”

  “Such sacrifices we make for love,” Betina said.

  Leander smiled and hugged her too, but I don’t know if the concierge was still watching. “You said it, girl,” Leander said.

  The throng of people in the lobby was building. “There is a lot of energy in this place,” I said. “Anticipation, I guess.”

  “And nerves,” Leander said. “It’s kind of interesting how people talk in a place like this with an important event being staged. I’d expect people talking themselves up. That’s what musicians do. These people are a little crazy.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked. “They are talking crazier than normal?”

  “They seem to be paying attention to the negative, the little things going wrong. Even though it makes sense, a lot of folks are saying they wished they didn’t have to set things up today.”

  “Going wrong? What sorts of things?” Betina asked.

  “Like I said, it’s about little things. Seems they’ve found that some of the things they shipped here didn’t make it, or they disappeared after it got here. Some things got broken. Nothing major but they are worrying about leaving things where they can’t watch them.”

  “Even with all this security?” I couldn’t imagine how that could happen.

  Nellie could. “They insisted that you send ahead the things you’d use in the contest, so some of it was in storage for a time. Maybe the security wasn’t as good there. It seems important to us, but it isn’t like it was valuable merchandise. They might not have expected anyone to bother with hair cutting stuff and just locked it up somewhere.”