by Ann DeFee
It was kitschy, it was fun and it had something for everyone. The blue-hairs loved the bath and beauty selection and the teens were hot for the trendy collection of jeans. Best of all, Maizie and PJ were known throughout the area for the exclusive line of French cosmetics they applied with a flourish. If you were in the market for a makeover, the Boudoir was definitely the place to go.
Under normal circumstances the boutique was a fantastic place to work, but this day had been a doozey and Maizie was dead on her feet.
“PJ, would you close the shop today?” she asked. “I need to run by the grocery store. We’re having a family football party at my house tomorrow.”
“No problem. It’s almost six o’clock anyway.”
“I won’t be in tomorrow. Bambi and Jerry Sue will be here to help you.”
“Gotcha. Don’t worry about a thing.”
MAIZIE PULLED INTO THE Piggly Wiggly parking lot. She was hoping to run in and out quickly but the chances of that happening in Magnolia Bluffs—where everyone knew everyone else’s business and loved to discuss it—were slim.
Before Maizie could make it to the cash register, Laverne Hightower, the town’s rumor maven, had managed to share a play-by-play of her gallbladder attack. Not to be outdone, Shirley Smith had launched into a full rundown on her daughter’s wedding preparations. And everyone wanted to talk about the commotion at the Boudoir. The next time Maizie needed food she’d go to the big box store out on the bypass.
By the time the groceries were bought, the errands were run and the day was over, she was ready to pull her hair out. No doubt about it—today had been one of those days.
Maizie breathed a sigh of relief as she pulled up to the detached garage behind her rambling white turn-of-the-century bungalow. Her home was typically Southern with green shutters, a wraparound veranda and a trellis of honeysuckle.
When things got too hectic, Maizie loved to sit on the porch swing with a frosty glass of sweet tea and watch the world go by. It was her way of sweeping out the mental cobwebs. However that was an indulgence for another day.
“Clay!” Maizie called as she dropped her purse and a bag of canned goods on the kitchen table. “I need some help.”
The television was blaring in the family room, and hubby dear was missing in action.
“Clay, where are you?” Maizie was perfectly capable of carrying in the rest of the food, but it was the principle of the thing.
“Clayton!”
That apparently got his attention. “What do you need, Babes?” he answered, not bothering to move away from the television.
“I want some help with the groceries.”
“Can you wait a minute? I’m watching something.”
Maizie stomped into the family room to see what was so important. Bass fishing? Clay wasn’t waiting for a touchdown to be scored or a home run to be hit. No—he was sitting in his favorite leather chair with his feet propped on the ottoman, watching some guy in an expensive boat troll for fish.
Maizie was normally even-tempered—except when she was in a snit, and she didn’t really count that—but she grabbed the remote, hit the Off button and marched out. Making a grand exit was a talent she’d learned at her mama’s knee, and she happened to be darned good at it.
CRAP. CLAY KNEW HE was in a mess of trouble, again. What had he done this time? All he’d wanted to do was see if Skeeter Jackson would win the tournament and the hundred-thousand-dollar prize. He could have used that kind of cash himself. It would go a long way toward solving at least one of his problems.
But immersing himself in that pipe dream had only irritated his sweetie, so clearly Clay had to make amends. Should he go with the “I’m so sorry, I’m an insensitive jerk” defense? That usually worked, especially if he followed up with some heavy necking—and a promise to do the dishes, take out the trash, clean the bathroom, yada, yada, yada.
“I’m sorry.” Clay was honestly remorseful. He hated upsetting Maizie.
“Why don’t you sit down and let me get you a Coke,” he suggested. Without waiting for an answer he retrieved a soft drink and handed it to her.
Clay was about to give himself a big pat on the back. Then he saw his wife’s face. Something was drastically wrong, and it had nothing to do with bringing in the groceries.
“Clay.” Maizie sat at the pine trestle table, rubbing the cold can against her face. “Is this all we have to look forward to?”
That question scared Clay silly. When your wife got philosophical, all hell was about to break loose.
Chapter Three
It was a beautiful October Saturday, the leaves had changed, the air was crisp, and the University of Georgia was in the hunt for a national football title. Everyone in town was infected by gridiron fever and the Walkers were usually no exception. Back in the dark ages, Maizie had been a UGA cheerleader and Clay had been a star linebacker on the team. Needless to say, they were huge fans.
Regardless of the hoopla, Maizie was having a hard time getting into the “rah rah” mood. In fact, she was in more of a “kick ’em in the knee” frame of mind. On that depressing thought she answered the annoying ring of the phone, hoping it was a telemarketer, not someone she’d actually have to talk to.
“What’s wrong?” Only her twin would pick up on trouble from a simple hello.
“Nothing. I’m just feeling out of sorts.” Maizie normally shared everything with her sister, but this situation felt different.
“Is Hannah okay?”
Maizie chuckled, thinking about her flower child. “She’s fine, but her dad almost flipped when she told him she was considering majoring in pottery.”
Maizie was inclined to be a bit zany. Liza, on the other hand, was a lawyer and practical to the max, so she probably didn’t understand the pottery thing, either.
“Well, uh.” Liza paused. “I didn’t know they offered that major at Emory.”
“It was news to me, too,” Maizie said. “That’s why I decided to worry about it later. Next week she’ll have changed her mind again.”
A fan of Gone With the Wind, Maizie had long ago adopted Scarlett’s fiddle-dee-dee attitude, and so far it had worked perfectly. “What time are you guys coming over?” She could segue at the drop of a hat.
“The game starts at six, so how does five or five-thirty sound?”
“That works. Kenni and Win won’t be here until around seven. He has to meet with a client.”
“The only thing they’ll miss is the pregame hype. What do you want me to bring?” Liza asked.
A casual observer might assume Liza had forgotten about her sister’s funk, but Maizie knew better.
“See you soon,” Liza said. “Oh, by the way, don’t get smug. We’re going to have a little chat when I get there.”
Darn, that girl was like a dog with a juicy bone. No wonder she was an attorney.
THE GUYS WERE BONDING over the pregame show and pigging out on chips and salsa. That allowed Liza carte blanche to start the inquisition. Before she pulled out the thumb screws, though, she grabbed two bottles of Heineken from the fridge and a couple of frosty mugs from the freezer.
“Sit.” Liza handed Maizie a beer as a peace offering. “Now spill your guts.”
Maizie was a smart girl so she could tell when it was time to surrender. Liza might be no bigger than gnat’s eyelash, but she could be real mean. Well, maybe determined would be a better description, but whatever—Liza almost always got her way.
Mama said their stubborn streak was the only thing the twins shared. Liza was petite and dark while Maizie looked more like a Viking goddess. They were so different it was sometimes hard to believe they’d actually shared a womb.
Maizie reluctantly sat down. “I honestly don’t know what my problem is, I wish I did. At first I thought it was empty-nest syndrome, but lately I’ve been wondering if it’s the twenty-two-year itch.” She shrugged. “All I know is that I’m feelin’ a bit blue.” Maizie didn’t mention her stale love life. Even for a tw
in that was too much information.
“Oh, honey. You need something to cheer you up. You’re simply having a hormonal crisis.” Liza raised a finger in her favorite “aha” signal. “I have an idea. We’ll talk Kenni into going with us to Lennox Square for a girls’ day out. We can rummage through Nordstrom’s shoe section and then indulge in some decadent chocolate. Think about it, imported chocolate and sexy sandals. What more could you want?”
Maizie couldn’t resist a grin. “Are we talking fattening and expensive?”
“Absolutely.” Liza held up her hand for a high five.
Although Maizie wasn’t sure a spending spree would do the trick, she was willing to try. Pessimism was new and rather unwelcome territory.
The party was a smashing success, partially because of the company, but equally because UGA won the Southeastern Conference championship. The next step was to wait for the football bowl selections to see if UGA would be fighting to be number one in the nation. For die-hard college football fans that was a huge deal.
The kitchen was clean, the family room had been tidied and the company had gone. Clay was on a football high and Maizie was feeling, well, to put it delicately, a bit amorous. Or to be blunt, she was ready to fool around.
A long bath, a flute of bubbly, a sexy teddy and a spray of perfume later, she was hot to trot. But was Clay?
“Honey, are you ready for bed?” Maizie channeled her inner seductress as she struck a pose in the door.
No response.
“Clayton. Did you hear me?”
When he didn’t respond Maizie decided it was time for more action and less talk. She walked slowly over to the couch and seductively nibbled on the back of his neck.
“Let me catch the rest of the news and I’ll be right with you,” he said, not taking his eyes off the screen.
“What?” Maizie couldn’t believe she’d been rebuffed. The moron would rather watch the weather than make love? If that didn’t beat all! She counted to ten and decided to give him one more chance.
All Southern belles had an arsenal of tricks, and Maizie was no exception. She treated her oblivious husband to a little swish, a more pronounced sashay and the coup de grace, a naughty hip grind, all done right in front of him for maximum effect.
Nothing. Absolutely nothing! This was war. Clay didn’t know it yet, but he would live to rue this day.
Maizie stalked to the bedroom and pulled on an oversize Atlanta Braves T-shirt and a pair of faded boxer shorts. To hell with sexy.
Then she had a brilliant idea. She’d make Clay pea-green jealous. Not that she’d ever do anything more than flirt, of course.
Clay was the only man for her, but a little flirtation couldn’t hurt. All she had to do was show him that other men found her attractive. It was a surefire way to jump start the passion.
It sounded simple, but could she really pull it off? Magnolia Bluff’s selection of single, desirable men was limited. Who was she kidding? It was almost nonexistent. Kenni and Liza had managed to find a couple of supersexy guys, but Zack and Win were imports. The pickin’s were slim when it came to the home-grown product.
So, where could she find a guy, preferably someone under sixty who still had his teeth? This would take some thought, but she’d never shied away from a challenge.
Once that was decided, Maizie padded to the kitchen for a snack. Clay was still glued to the TV in the family room. What she really wanted to do was to curl up in his lap and run her fingers through his hair, but that wasn’t on the agenda, not after the last rejection. They had to get some zing back in their life, and she knew just how to do it.
Pigging out on a glass of cold milk and a chocolate cookie seemed a good strategy to get some perspective. Unfortunately, the sugar rush gave way to a smidgen of doubt.
Was this jealousy scheme a flash of brilliance or was it one of the silliest ideas she’d ever dreamed up? Only time would tell.
CLAY TRIED TO IGNORE his sense of impending disaster, but the banging and muttering in the kitchen didn’t help. Once again, he’d made Maizie mad and that honestly hadn’t been his intention.
The party had been sheer hell. It had taken every ounce of energy Clay had to smile and prattle on about football and national championships. Especially since he hadn’t slept more than three hours a night for the past two weeks.
Every time he closed his eyes all he could envision was the bankruptcy court and what would happen to their employees if they went under. He should come clean with Maizie. They’d always shared everything, but he and his partner had made such stupid, naive mistakes, he was embarrassed to tell her.
It would all work out. It had to. God, he was exhausted. That was the last thought Clay had before he fell asleep in his chair.
Chapter Four
When Monday finally rolled around Maizie couldn’t wait for her workday to start. She needed some info and there was no better place to get it than her shop. The right guy for the jealousy gig was out there, all she had to do was find him.
Maizie fluffed her hair, put on her best Miss Georgia third runner-up smile and prepared to greet her customers. Jeannine Crabtree was scheduled for a makeover. The crazy old bat expected a miracle. Too bad miracles were in short supply.
The good news, if there was any, was that Jeannine was related to at least a quarter of the people in town. So if the perfect guy was around, she’d know about him. The only question was whether she’d share.
“Maizie? Are you here?” PJ called as she opened the front door. Hmm, that girl could charm anyone—even Jeannine Crabtree. She could interrogate the old witch without her even realizing what was happening.
“I’m here.” Maizie threw a smock over her dress. “I’ll be out in just a sec.”
“I stopped in at the bakery on my way to work. I brought beignets.” PJ displayed a white sack that had a slight smudge of grease on the bottom. “They’re hot.”
Maizie groaned. “You’re a wicked, wicked woman. You know I’m trying to lose a couple of pounds.”
“Fiddlesticks, you look fantastic. I wish I had a little more, um…” PJ made a bouncy motion with her hands in front of her chest. “Cleavage,” she finished with a giggle.
Maizie grabbed the bag, retrieved one of the New Orleans doughnuts and took a big bite. “Oh my God, this is better than sex.” She almost purred in ecstasy. “I think I’ll give you a raise.”
PJ arched one eyebrow. “Really?”
“No, not really. But if you do Jeannine Crabtree’s makeover I’ll be eternally grateful.”
Village legend had it that you could walk into Miss Scarlett’s Boudoir looking like Cinderella’s ugly step-sister and walk out as Carmen Electra. Maizie claimed it was all in the magic of a mascara wand. Whatever it was, women of all ages had turned into believers—even the crabby Ms. Crabtree.
PJ snorted. “I’ll just bet you would. That woman’s as mean as a junkyard dog. If I can stay out of her way, I do.” She graced Maizie with her best insincere smile. “Sorry, my schedule is completely booked.”
She didn’t look a bit contrite. “Oh, all right.” Maizie was a smart girl. She knew when to hold ’em and when to fold ’em.
“I almost forgot,” PJ said as she prepared the cash register for the day. “I saw Liza at the post office this morning. She wants to meet you for lunch. You’re supposed to call her at work.”
“Thanks.” Maizie picked up the cordless phone and punched in her twin’s number.
“Liza Hender…Maynard speaking.”
“Forget your name?”
“Up yours.”
“That’s not very lawyerly. You should try to be more professional.” Maizie broke into giggles. She was the elder by a mere ten minutes but had embraced the role of big sister.
“Seriously, PJ said you want to do lunch. Where and when?”
“Hold on a second.” Liza must have put her hand over the receiver because the voices were in the backyard muffled. Several seconds later she came back on the line. “
Okay, that’s taken care of. Don’t you hate Monday morning crises?”
“Yep,” Maizie said as she rummaged through her makeup kit. Multitasking was her specialty and spiffing up old lady Crabtree was going to require every trick she knew.
“Zack said there’s a new barbecue place out near the highway. Do you want to try it?”
Maizie laughed. Today was the first day of her new diet and she’d already gorged herself on a deep-fried doughnut and now she was booked for some down-home barbecue. She could almost feel the fat cells multiplying on her derriere.
“Sure, why not? How about one o’clock? The noon rush should be over by then.”
“I’ll see you there,” Liza said, and then almost as an afterthought she continued. “You might want to change into something old. I hear the food’s pretty greasy.”
Wonderful—big globs of grease, too. Just what she needed. On that cheerful note, the bell over the door heralded Ms. Crabtree’s entrance.
“Okay. I’ve gotta go. See you soon.” It was time to paste on a smile, pull out the white-glove manners and get on with life.
“Jeannine, how are you doin’? I haven’t seen you in a month of Sundays.” Maizie snapped a plastic cape open with a flourish. “Let’s get you seated.” She led her customer to a chair at the back of the boutique. “And make you beautiful.”
Maizie could’ve sworn she’d heard PJ giggle, but when she looked over, her friend wore a benign smile.
Jeannine’s face, on the other hand, was set in a perpetual scowl. Maybe there was something to the old wives’ tale about frowning.
“Tell you what, Ms. Crabtree.” Maizie smoothed some of the tension out of the older woman’s forehead. “I’m going to give you a complimentary refresher mask. It’ll make your skin as soft as a baby’s bottom.” And if she believed that, fish were going to start walking on their hind legs. Maizie slathered pink gel over her client’s face, knowing it wouldn’t do any good. In this case, she had to trust the placebo effect to get the job done.
