by Sharon Sala
•••
The women of Blessings were on a mission. All it had taken were a few phone calls to start the ball rolling in Patty June’s favor. They’d let down one of their own, and why? Because their husbands had suggested she was a feminist? So what? Southern women had been feminists a long time before that tag had become a buzzword. They’d hidden the iron in their backbones with a smile and a “bless your heart,” and not a man was the wiser.
Not only that, but they also were all taking stock of their own men, and a good many of them were falling short. The winds of discontent were rising. Women weren’t giving out the details, but it was obvious which families were having their own little crises. Hair colors were changing, hems were coming up, and necklines were going lower. Houses were getting new paint jobs, and there were a few places in town with new cars in the driveway. The ration of shit the men had dished out on Patty June’s behalf was coming back to haunt them.
•••
When Saturday rolled around and Patty June drove up to the community center, her eyes widened in disbelief. This wasn’t just a meeting of the Rose Garden Club. There were at least fifty cars here, maybe more.
She tapped the brakes and circled the parking lot until she found an empty spot, then parked and got out, smoothing down the front of her little pink dress as she headed inside.
As she started down the hall, she caught a glimpse of her reflection and almost stumbled. This look was going to take some getting used to.
It occurred to her that the last time she’d been here had been for a family dinner before a funeral. Conrad had preached the sermon. If she remembered correctly, it had been for Bobbette Paulson’s father. She wondered if Conrad had been screwing her then, or if it had all come later. Either way, the old man was dead, Conrad was gone, and last she’d heard, Bobbette was bald.
She followed the rumble of voices all the way to the dining area and then stopped in the doorway, stunned by the sight of so many women standing beneath a banner with her name on it.
“What on earth?” she muttered. Then Willa Dean saw her and she was swept up into the gala.
“What’s going on?” Patty asked.
Willa Dean grabbed her hand and pulled her into the room.
“This is in your honor. We all owe you a huge apology, and rather than do it one at a time in mutual embarrassment, we decided to make an event of it. Besides, you know how we like events.”
Patty June laughed. It was true. The women in Blessings did like their parties.
“Come with me. You’re sitting between me and Rachel, and I hope you went light on your breakfast. I promise this is going to be the best lunch you’ve ever had.”
Patty giggled. This was promising to be the best day she’d had in ages. Having the best lunch to go with it seemed only fair.
And Willa Dean was right. It was amazing, from the salad course through the entrée, all the way to the desserts, which held some of Patty June’s favorites. When she saw the key lime pie, she groaned aloud.
“I love key lime pie.”
“I made that,” Myra Franklin said, her smile a little too wide to be humble.
“I made the Coca-Cola cake,” Willa Dean added.
“I made the Mississippi mud cake,” Sue Beamon said.
Patty was overwhelmed to the point of tears, but she wouldn’t cry. This was a happy day.
“I’ll have a little bit of all three,” Patty said, and took her plate back to the table and dug in.
Coffee was being served when Willa Dean stood up and moved to the podium, tapping the microphone to make sure it was on.
“Can y’all hear me?” she asked, pointing to the back of the room. When they waved and nodded, she cleared her throat.
“All of you know why we’re here. The only one who doesn’t is Patty June. Patty, would you please come stand beside me?”
Patty resisted the urge to lick her fork as she laid it on the plate and got up and walked to the podium.
Willa Dean was still struggling with her own personal issues and was overly emotional, but such was life. She cleared her throat again and took Patty June’s hand.
“We are begging your forgiveness, Patty June. You are our sister, and when you needed us most, we let you down. We admit it, and we’re sorry and ashamed. Just so you know, your bravery prompted a lot of us to face our own personal issues. There are quite a few here who have had their own little revelations in the past few days, evidenced by new cars in the driveways and some new jewelry on our fingers.”
A nervous round of laughter moved through the room as the women all looked at each other and then quickly looked away.
Patty June was shocked. She’d been so wrapped up in her drama that she’d been unaware of the subtle changes going on in her little town.
“However, we’re not here to talk about us. We’re here to honor you. You did something very brave. You faced your devils and dehorned the both of them in as fine a fashion as I’ve ever seen. And we wanted you to have this little gift as a memento of your finest hour. I’m sure you’ll find a place for it in somewhere in your house.”
She handed the gaily wrapped box to Patty June and then stepped back, giving Patty June the podium to unwrap it.
Patty was already so overwhelmed by the personal backup and the fine dining that she could hardly speak. Her fingers were shaking as she pulled off the gold ribbon, then the shiny white paper, then finally the lid.
The women watched as she dug through the tissue paper and then saw the shock on her face as she froze. The room went silent, the women waiting to see her reaction.
Patty June grinned. It was Vesta Conklin’s clippers, spray-painted gold. She took them out and hit the Power button. When the sound system caught the buzz, the room erupted in laughter. And just like that, the last of Patty June’s humiliation was gone.
She stepped up to the microphone, still clutching the clippers against her breast.
“Thank you so much! You girls are the best, and if any of you ever need to borrow them, you know where I live.”
The room was filled with applause and laughter as Patty June went back to her table, but now the women were on their feet and heading to her table, wanting to talk to her personally.
Myra Franklin caught Willa Dean’s eye. She knew her good friend had a problem at home, but didn’t know what. What she did know was that Willa Dean was about to burst into tears. She wiggled her fingers, indicating she should slip out the back door now that it was over.
Willa Dean sighed and mouthed a quick thank-you as she began to gather up her things. She felt lighter, like a weight had come off her shoulders. A wrong had been righted with a public apology and good food. Unfortunately it was going to take a lot more than an apology from Harold to fix what was wrong under her roof.
He knew she was pissed, because she’d moved everything that was hers into the spare bedroom, but he wasn’t sure why. And she knew the reason he hadn’t confronted her was because he had secrets of his own to hide. Right now they were sharing a house and polite company, and she’d smiled just about all she could smile today without bursting into tears. Once she gathered up her things, she slipped out the back door.
CHAPTER 4
Howard Franklin typed in the bit of info into his computer and hit Send, then leaned back in his chair and rubbed his belly. He was hungry and there wasn’t a leftover in the house. It was almost time for Willa Dean to come home from her luncheon. Maybe she would bring leftovers, which she sometimes did.
He didn’t know what was going on with her, but he guessed it had something to do with Patty June Clymer. Every man in town knew the women were up in arms on behalf of the preacher’s wife, and the men were all treading easy, hoping the mass indignation soon passed.
He liked his life. He liked selling insurance, and he liked being married to Willa Dean. He had a few fantasies on the side that he indulged in now and then, but they were harmless. Certainly nothing like what Conrad Clymer had done. Still, h
e lived with a measure of both fear and guilt that Willa Dean might find out.
He got up to get himself a snack and, as he did, heard the front door slam. Willa Dean must be home. He walked out into the hall to meet her, but she sailed right past him, carrying her things into the kitchen. He followed, talking as he went.
“So how did the luncheon go? Did everyone make up and play nice?”
Willa Dean set her dirty dishes in the sink and then turned on him like a scalded cat.
“You’re a fine one to talk about makeup and play acting.”
The moment she said it, she wished she could take it back, but it was too late. She saw the shock on his face, and then fear.
“What do you mean?”
She sighed. His voice was shaking. Poor Harold. But then her instinct for survival kicked in. Poor Willa Dean, too.
“Do you really want to have this conversation?” she asked.
Harold felt sick. She knew! He didn’t know how it had happened, but she knew, which suddenly explained the move into the spare bedroom.
“Are you going to divorce me, too?” he whispered.
“Obviously not, or I wouldn’t have moved my things. You can rest assured your secret is safe. I don’t want anyone knowing this any more than you do.”
“I don’t mean anything by it. It’s just something I like to do now and then.”
“Yes, well, I bought a vibrator. If you hear it buzzing in my bedroom, you will know I, too, am enjoying a thing I like to do now and then. You will also leave my makeup and underwear the hell alone. It costs a fortune. If you want to play dress up, buy your own. Do you hear me, Harold Wayne?”
He nodded.
“I’m sorry, Willa Dean. It’s nothing against you. I love you.”
She sighed. “I suppose that you do. Unfortunately, I may never get over the sight of your fat butt in my panties.”
“Oh lord,” he muttered, and sat down with a thump. “I’ve ruined everything, haven’t I?”
She wanted to stay angry, but she was beginning to feel sorry for him.
“Not everything,” she said. “I’m still here. We’ll just have to see how it goes. Oddly enough, there is a bit of good that has come out of all this.”
“Like what?” he asked.
“I don’t have to pretend I’m done having sex when you are anymore. That vibrator lasts as long as I do, which is a hell of a lot longer than your pitiful forty-five seconds.”
He glared. “You never complained before.”
“That’s because you weigh two hundred and forty-five pounds and I couldn’t breathe.”
“Well seriously, Willa Dean. This is a hell of a time to be complaining. We’ve been married for twenty-three years and you never said a word.”
“Look at it this way, Harold. You had twenty-three years of wedded bliss before I blew your cover, so the next twenty-three are mine. We’re married. I’ll keep your secret and you can keep mine.”
His thoughts were racing. She hadn’t blown her top and she was still here. It was way better than he would have imagined.
“I guess I can live with that,” he mumbled.
“Good. I’m going to change clothes and then get back to the agency.”
“Did you bring any leftovers?”
“No.”
“I guess I could heat up a can of soup.”
“Look at it this way, Harold. You can do anything you want to now, so knock yourself out. I’m going back to work.”
He watched her stride out of the kitchen with her chin up and her shoulders back. He’d escaped public shame by less than a pubic hair and he knew it. The next time he went into Savannah he’d do a little shopping, something more in his size and style. In the meantime, he could certainly refrain from indulging himself in his little fantasies until the waters had calmed, so to speak.
•••
The following Tuesday, Ruby came in extra early to open The Curl Up and Dye. The beginning of her workweek wasn’t usually all that busy, but she had four haircuts this morning and a root touch-up and a permanent this afternoon. It made her back ache just thinking about how long she would be on her feet.
She was taking a load of towels out of the dryer when she caught movement out on the street. Alma Button was driving a new car. She knew the story behind the requests for new hairdos and new jewelry showing up on her customers’ hands and wondered what Alma’s husband had done that warranted buying Alma a new car. Whatever it was, Ruby just hoped none of the ramifications of their problems leaked into The Curl Up and Dye. She had enough on her hands without turning her shop into a version of The Jerry Springer Show.
THE END
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LilyAnn Bronte never has recaptured the glory of high school, when she was Peachy Keen Queen and sought after by the coolest guy in Blessings, Georgia. Those days are long past, and when a new guy arrives in town, LilyAnn embarks on a quest to remake herself from start to finish, with a little help from The Curl Up and Dye.
Ruby eyed the young woman, watching the way Lily looked everywhere but in the mirror at herself. If only there was a way to get her out of the rut she was in.
Ruby’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully as she combed some styling gel into Lily’s wet hair and then reached for the blow dryer.
“I don’t suppose you’re interested in a new hairstyle?” Ruby asked.
Lily frowned. “I wouldn’t know what to do with it.”
“No matter. One of these days we’ll figure something out,” Ruby said.
Her thumb was on the Power button when they all heard the sound of a hot rod passing by. Whatever the driver had done to that engine, it rumbled like a stereo with the bass set on high.
Lily’s eyes widened. It had to be the driver with the truck like Randy Joe’s. She swiveled her chair around so fast to get a look that Ruby got the round brush tangled up in her hair.
“I’m sorry. Did that pull?” Ruby asked, as she began trying to unwind it.
Lily was oblivious. “No, no, it didn’t hurt,” she muttered, still craning her neck to see the driver.
And then to everyone’s surprise, the truck pulled up to the curb in front of the salon and parked, the driver racking the pipes one last time before killing the engine.
Vesta and Vera Conklin, the twin fortysomething hairstylists, had been eating their lunch in the break room and came out to see what the noise was all about.
Mabel Jean Doolittle was the manicurist, a little blond with a scar on her forehead from having gone through the windshield of her boyfriend’s car. She called it her reminder to never date anyone that stupid again.
She was finishing off a polish for Willa Dean Miller, who ran the local travel agency, and all the women in the shop turned to look as the driver walked in.
He was a thirtysomething hunk in a tight, long-sleeved T-shirt tucked into a pair of fitted Wrangler jeans. He had wide shoulders, long legs, slim hips, and a face bordering on cute rather than handsome, but he was working with what he had just fine.
He immediately swept the dove-gray Stetson from his head, revealing dark wavy hair, and smiled at the room like a star granting an audience to his fans.
Even though Vesta had yet to meet a man worth her time, she wasn’t yet dead and buried. She handed Vera her bowl of salad and scooted toward the counter.
“Welcome to The Curl Up and Dye. Can I help you?” she asked.
“I sure hope so, darlin’. My name is T. J. Lachlan and I’m new in town. I inherited the old Bissler house from my great-uncle Gene and am staying there while I’m fixing it up to sell. I came in to get a haircut and learned the local barber is in the hospital. When I saw your Walk-Ins Welcome sign, I wondered if I might trouble one of you fine ladies for a trim.”
“Sure, I have time,” Vesta said.
Vera glared at her sister, then smirked. “No you don’t, V
esta. Sue Beamon is due any minute.” She set the bowls with their food back in the break room and sauntered to the front of the store and introduced herself.
“Welcome to Blessings, Mr. Lachlan. My name is Vera, and I’d be happy to cut your hair.”
“Y’all can call me T. J., and isn’t this something. Excuse me for saying this, but twins are truly a man’s finest fancy,” he said, and then flashed them both a wide grin.
They didn’t know whether to be insulted or impressed by the sexual inference, and Ruby could see it was about to get out of hand.
“Vesta, there comes Sue, so Vera can pick up the walk-in. Welcome to Blessings, T. J. Take a seat and we’ll get you fixed right up.”
She arched an eyebrow at the twins as a reminder that this was a place of business, then turned Lily’s chair around and the blow-dryer back on. Because LilyAnn’s hair was so long, it always took a while to dry. She began working the round vent brush through the lengths while keeping an eye on the clock. Lily only had a limited amount of time, and Ruby didn’t want to make her late.
It wasn’t until she was about through that she realized Lily was staring at the stranger as if she’d seen a ghost.
Ruby paused. “Hey. Are you okay?” she whispered.
Lily blinked, and when she met Ruby’s gaze in the mirror, her eyes were filled with tears.
“I’m fine, Sister. He just reminded me of someone.” Then she shook her head and looked away.
Ruby’s eyes narrowed. This was the first time she could remember the woman even showing an interest in another man. Even if it was a negative interest, it was better than nothing.
“How about we do something a little different with your hair? Maybe pull the sides away from your face and fasten them up here at the crown… or maybe at the nape of your neck? Hmm? What do you think?”
She pulled the sides back and held them up at the crown to show Lily what she was talking about.
