by Anna Jeffrey
I closed my eyes and sucked up the last of my energy drink, making a loud slurping sound. I nodded. “Thursday and Friday.”
Chad picked up the end of my pony tail. “Then before you do that, you need to go see Ashley, sweetie. Your ends are split. You need a trim and conditioning in the worst way.”
“I know. I’ve got an appointment at two.”
I went home, showered, put on my jeans and a sweater and threw a change of clothes, my sleep clothes and some toiletries in a weekend bag. Then I stashed my tip money in my purse and headed for the beauty salon owned by Ashley Harrison. She was more than my BFF. She was my go-to girl when it came to men and sex. Being seven years older than I, she was more like a big sister. I hadn’t seen her in a couple of weeks.
Ashley’s shop, Tangles, was located in a nondescript strip center, but on the inside, it looked like an elegant Grecian temple. It was small and intimate, with only three other stylists besides her. It had a spa in the back room. Hairstyles or nails or spa treatments from Tangles didn’t come at bargain basement prices.
Ashley greeted me with a hug. I took a seat in her chair and she draped me with a black plastic cape, giving me a big grin in the mirror. She was all Italian—deep brown eyes, full red lips, flawless olive skin and a cloud of black hair she wore in a long curly-all-over do. Everyone told her she looked like Cher. She had been transplanted in Texas as an infant when her parents moved here from New Jersey. She was the best hairdresser I had ever had.
“So what are we doing for you today, Miss Miranda?”
“Nothing exotic. I’m doing that infomercial on Thursday and Friday, you know, so I think simple is best. Also, I’m pressed for time. I’m driving to Roundup when I leave here. My little sister has lost control of Mom again.
“Uh-oh. Sounds dangerous.”
“Tell me about it.” We walked together to her shampoo room.
On Mondays, she didn’t have a shampoo girl. I took a seat at a shampoo bowl and she doused my head with warm water. I closed my eyes and drifted into my own little Nirvana as she proceeded to massage my tension away. I loved having my hair shampooed, especially by Ashley. Magic lived in her fingers.
“Can’t wait to hear what you think of that skin doctor’s product,” she said. “I looked it up online. It’s very expensive.”
“I know. He’s got it set up to sell on TV and the Internet with one of those subscription programs.”
“Find out if he’s going to market it in any shops. My ladies might be customers for something like that. For that matter, I’ve got guys inquiring about skin care. It’s a big thing with men now.”
I instantly thought of Gabe Mathison who was more concerned about his appearance than I was about mine.
“So what’s going on with your mom?” Ashley asked.
“Same old thing. She was almost okay taking pills every day, but she woke up one day in the last few weeks and decided not to. I just found out about it.”
“Lisa didn’t let you know?”
“No, but I can’t be mad at her. She doesn’t get it where Mom’s concerned. I don’t think she ever tries to learn anything about bipolar disorder. It’s like she’s in denial.”
“That is so sad, Miranda. I know you worry about her all of the time. What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know yet. I have to go out there and take a look at the situation. I have to think about Lisa, too.” Now Ashley was working her magic on my neck with strong fingers. “Oh, God, Ash, that feels so good.”
She rinsed my hair, then applied something that smelled like coconut. “Hm. That smells like we should be eating it instead of putting it on our hair. Listen, seems like ages since we’ve talked. Is Angelo still moving in with you?”
“Next week. It’ll be nice having a sexy guy who knows his ass from first base in my bed every night. At least he’s Italian.”
Angelo was a hot body and all male, all the time. He owned a successful restaurant construction business and traveled half the time. He had been trying to establish something more permanent with Ashley for several years.
Ashley continued. “But I haven’t shared living quarters with another human being since I was married to Josh Harrison, who wasn’t Italian, by the way. And that was a real long time ago.”
Ashley was a thirty-five-year-old independent woman with a fiery temperament. When it came to men, her BS tolerance quotient was at basement-level. She had a skepticism streak a mile wide.
“Now, Ash. You know Angelo loves you. You have to give him a chance.”
“Hah. It might not last a week. This is a very big deal for me. I’m going to have to kick Buffy Ann out of my bed, poor baby. Angie says he doesn’t like a large rat sleeping with us. I hope hurting Buffy Ann’s feelings turns out to be worth it.”
Buffy Ann was a demanding Yorkshire terrier that might weigh five pounds soaking wet. Ashley unrepentantly spoiled her. I smiled in the mirror. “And he’ll learn to love Buffy Ann, too.”
“We’ll see. How did the thing for Drake Lockhart go? I hear the real estate market is getting hot again. Lots of rich people coming from out of state and falling all over themselves to spend their money, am I right?”
From out of nowhere, tears flooded my eyes. My purse sat on my lap. I grabbed it and pawed inside for a Kleenex.
Ashley paused, her eyes wide with concern. “Miranda, what’s wrong?”
I shook my head. “I’m okay. Ignore me.”
I fell into a full-fledged wail, sopping tears from my eyes with a tattered Kleenex. “I screwed up so bad, Ashley. Saturday, I met this guy at Skyline. He’s a friend of Drake’s. He was just so damn good-looking and sexy. He came on to me hard. I thought we had a connection. Oh, Ash, I let myself be seduced. I spent the night with him at the Hilton. I did things with him I’ve never done with any man, not even Donald.”
“Oh, Donald Sloan. Phfft.” She flopped her hand at me. “If you hadn’t told me so, I wouldn’t have believed he even had a dick.”
Ashley had never been a big fan of Donald’s. She sat me upright in the chair and wrapped my head with a thick towel. “I thought you hated men these days.”
“I do.”
“So why are you crying? It didn’t go well or what?”
“It was wonderful. He was wonderful. He rocked my world all the way to my toes. I thought something clicked and I would hear from him again. But he hasn’t called me. I guess, to him, it was nothing more than a quick fuck while he was out of town.” I gave a deep sniff.
“Aww. Are you sure? But hey, I’m not surprised, Miranda. That’s the way a lot of guys are these days. Wham, bam, thank you ma’am.” She paused and frowned. “Well, a lot of them don’t even add the thank you. That’s why I say take no prisoners.”
“I usually don’t get drawn in like that. He caught me in a weak moment….Oh, Ashley, I really thought he’d call me.”
“Bad form not to call. Just goes to show you he’s a jerk. You did the safe sex routine, right?”
Inside, I winced. I hadn’t yet let myself think about that part of Saturday night.
Relieving me of that disturbing thought, Ashley said, “Where does he live?”
“Midland.”
I brought my tears under control and blew my nose. I didn’t know where this weeping was coming from. I rarely cried. I prided myself on a cast-iron constitution. I wiped my eyes. “This is ridiculous. Hell, he probably has a wife and ten kids. He’s too good-looking to be single.”
“Wow,” Ashley said, shaking her head. “How long has it been since you met a guy you liked?”
“A helluva long time. But I’ve learned my lesson. This won’t happen to me again.”
She led me back to her chair where I continued to unload my angst as she snipped my split ends away. She was the most patient listener I knew.
By the time she finished, my hair shone like a new penny. My mood still wasn’t the best, but I felt better. I visited her bathroom, bought a Diet Coke from her vending machine,
then left the salon and started west.
I reached Mom’s house at nine, the same house in which I had spent the first eighteen years of my life. I didn’t know exactly how old it was, but the floors and walls had old-fashioned linoleum and faded wallpaper, except for the kitchen and the one bathroom. Those two rooms had layers and layers of paint from years and years of re-dressing.
I was still in the driveway when Mom rushed out the front door and greeted me, her high heels sinking into the beige grass and weeds that passed for landscaping. No one ever cared for the yard. After it became so overgrown no one could stand to look at it, Lisa hired someone to mow. My grandmother would be sick if she saw it. She had always taken very good care of it.
Lisa trailed behind Mom, her posture showing a blasé resignation.
Mom looked frailer that the last time I had seen her several weeks back. And she looked uncharacteristically unkempt. She used to have deep red hair like mine, but now, due to her own attempts to maintain the color—and probably Lisa’s, too—it was a multitude of shades ranging from gray to burgundy.
She fawned over me, patted my hair and hugged me again. She smelled of alcohol and Red Door, her favorite fragrance. “I’m so glad you’re here, Miranda. I miss you so much. I wish you’d move back home.”
Home. Though I had grown up in this house, it wasn’t home to me without my grandmother in it.
Mom walked me toward the house with an arm around my waist. “Lisa doesn’t know what to do about things. You always knew.”
I had a lot of practice, Mom. “Lisa said you kicked Arnie out?” I said.
She gave a dismissive gesture. “Oh, he’s nothing but a drunk. He’s been getting on my nerves for a long time. I don’t know why I ever married him.”
She had said almost the same words about her previous husbands. We passed through the front doorway. The house had no designated entryway, so we walked directly into the living room.
“How was your drive?” Lisa asked. “You hungry?”
Startled by my surroundings, I turned in a circle, staring at the living room walls. The aged pastel green and blue floral wallpaper had been torn off in strips in some areas and patches in others. Two walls were sloppily half-covered with deep purple paint.
I didn’t have to be told this was the result of Mom getting off her meds. An example of one of her manic episodes, although a benign one compared to some in the past.
All of my woes over my one-night-fling with Tack Tackett flew out of my head. Compared to my mother’s issues that sooner or later became mine and Lisa’s, a one-night-stand with a self-centered asshole didn’t even hit the worthy-of-consideration mark.
The only words that came to me were, “What the hell happened here, Lisa?”
My sister came over and stood beside me. She and I were the same height, but that was where the similarities in our appearance ended. She was dark haired, dark eyed and square-built like her father.
She gestured at the purple wall. “Mom’s redecorating.” She turned to our mother who stood with her eyes downcast, toying with the hem of her floaty top. Mom had always worn soft floaty clothing.
I withheld a huge sigh. Mom wasn’t crazy. She knew right from wrong and she was usually contrite over the off-the-wall things she did. Without a doubt, she had known she shouldn’t do this to the living room walls, but she had done it anyway. The illness was like a demon inside her. No one living outside her head had ever been able to control it. All my grandmother and I had been able to do was a poor job of managing it. When I had lived here, even though I had been a kid, much of the time, I had been able to cajole and talk her out of some crazy antic—except for men and marriages.
“She was celebrating Arnie leaving,” Lisa said. “Covering up any sign that he had ever been here.” Lisa gave Mom an elbow to the ribs. Out with the old, in with the new, right Ma?”
“When did she do this?”
“A week or so ago….While Arnie was in jail.”
Mom lifted her chin. “You two please do not talk about me like I’m not here,” she said indignantly.
I turned to her. “Why did you stop that medication, Mom?”
“Miranda, I refuse to let that silly old fart of a doctor ruin my looks. And I told him so. Why, he’s not a doctor. He’s just a—an old fart.” An errant ringlet of red and gray fell across her eye. “I will not let him make me fat. You girls don’t know what it’s like.”
What what was like? Being fat or dealing with her state of mind? I turned back to Lisa. “Why didn’t you tell me about this sooner?”
“She seemed like she was gonna be okay. I didn’t see any point in bothering you.”
Mom looked down her nose at Lisa and drew a deep breath.
How many times had I been through situations like this? More talk failed me. “God. I need a drink of water.” I stalked toward the kitchen, saying as I went, “Y’all got any clean glasses?”
I found a glass in the rubber dish drainer on the counter, ran it full from the faucet at the sink and carried it to the table. Made of chrome and gray Formica, the kitchen dining set had belonged to our grandmother. It had been in this same spot since I was a child. I eased down onto a chair at the end of the table.
Having followed me, Lisa took a seat adjacent to me.
“Where’s Mom?” I asked her.
“She’s still watching her TV show. It’s one she likes. Nothing will keep her from watching it. How long are you staying, Miranda?”
“I’m going home tomorrow afternoon. I’ve got a couple of birthday parties booked and I’m filming an infomercial later this week.”
“You’re always so busy.”
“I do stay busy. That’s for sure.”
“Now that you’re here face-to-face, I need to talk to you about something. Remember Jessica Barlow from when I was in high school? She’s moving to Abilene. She wants me to move with her and share expenses.”
Crap! The day I’d been dreading was upon me. Lisa’s wanting to bail didn’t really come as a surprise. In the back of my mind, I had always known she wouldn’t, or couldn’t, hang in with Mom forever. I couldn’t criticize. I hadn’t been able to do it myself. I had tried to compensate for my absence by providing money.
“How are you going to do that? You don’t have a job.”
“I’ll get one.”
“Well…” I dragged out my reply, trying to come up with answers for all of us. “I guess you gotta do what you gotta do, Lisa.”
“You’re not mad?”
I shook my head. “How could I be mad? You’ve stayed here and taken care of her and put up with her husbands.”
“Husbands aren’t the only guys she drags in, you know.”
Mom had never had a problem attracting men. “I know how she is, Lisa. The point is you’re entitled to a life. And God knows, there isn’t much of one for a twenty-two year old single woman in Roundup. When do you want to move?”
“I’d like to go in the next couple of weeks. I want to get settled before the holidays. I’m gonna try to get on somewhere waiting tables.”
Lisa had no education beyond high school. At times I felt guilty about that. For all practical purposes, she’d had no guidance except from my grandmother and I’d had very few talks with her about her future. But that was a conversation for another day. Having no idea what her opportunities for work might be in Abilene, I simply nodded.
“What’s the deal with Arnie?” I asked. “Do you think he’s really gone for good?”
She nodded. “After Mom kicked him out, he hasn’t even tried to come back. She was driving him crazy. Just like she does everybody.”
“I suppose a divorce is next.”
Lisa shrugged. “You can do it online. A friend of mine did.”
“We’ll see.” Sighing, I stood. “I’m starving. What have you got to eat around here?” All I’d had all day was a protein bar, Chad’s energy drink and a couple of Cokes.
“Not much,” Lisa answered.
Inside the pantry, I found a can of Vienna Sausage. I carried it back to the table, opened it and dug the small sausages out with my fingers. I was so hungry for solid food they tasted like gourmet fare.
Lisa left the table and pulled a box of saltines out of the cabinet and brought it back. Pushing the box toward me, she watched me warily. “So what about Mom?
“What about her?”
“If I move, who’s gonna take care of her?”
“She isn’t helpless. If she stays on the medication and doesn’t drink, she gets along okay.”
“Who’s gonna keep her from drinking if she wants to? If she gets back on those pills, who’s gonna make her stay on them? She can’t work or anything, Miranda. You know that. She really can’t live by herself either. God, she’s been so crazy lately, it wouldn’t surprise me if she set the house on fire.”
In spite of understanding why Lisa wanted to leave, I couldn’t keep from blaming her for this latest episode. “Obviously not you,” I said.
“What was I supposed to do, Miranda? Force them down her throat?”
Our mother appeared in the doorway. “I probably should go to bed, Miranda. If you really think I should take those pills, I will.”
On some level that I or anyone else would never reach inside Mom’s head, she knew the uproar she had created and she was sorry. With her being off the meds altogether for a couple of weeks, I was reluctant to advise her to take them now without advice from the doctor. “Let’s wait another day, Mom. I’ll catch up with that doctor tomorrow morning and see what he says.”
***
I awoke the next morning more tired than when I had gone to bed. I had spent the night planning and making some decisions.
My first task was to reach Mom’s doctor, which I did easily. I had to wonder just how hard Lisa had tried. He wasn’t a psychiatrist. He was the local family doctor who took care of everybody in Roundup. He instructed me to bring Mom into his office as soon as possible. Once we were there, he prescribed a new and different drug regimen to combat the depression he concluded she had fallen into.
At the only drugstore in town, I picked up Mom’s new prescriptions and used some of the cash I had secreted in my purse to pay for them. I gave the rest of the money to Lisa as leaving-home-money.
