Vanity Insanity

by Mary Kay Leatherman

  A.C. knew that my creative talent went only as far as the hair on the head in my chair. For the past several months, I had been considering name upon name for the biggest risk I had taken in my life. Grandpa Mac had loaned me more money than I felt comfortable borrowing, and I hoped to pay him back sooner than later. I would, of course, have to put up a temporary sign, a quick sign made by Kinko’s. It would take weeks for the permanent sign to come in. The pressure to come up with a name was really hitting me hard, especially as I stood in the new place with all of the equipment that I had just bought. Sinks, hair dryers, furniture. If this place didn’t fly, I would be in debt for a long time. My goal of moving out of Mom’s house was either around the corner or a year out—dependent on the success of this venture. The name of the salon would need to bring in more clientele to cover my overhead. For a moment, I shifted all of the pressure toward A.C.—and without remorse, because of what he had just dumped on me.

  I stared at him, waiting with raised eyebrows.

  “You definitely need something catchy but not goofy…no more Marcia’s Beauty Box.” A.C. had never made fun of me working in the hair industry. He respected the work I did. “Curl Up ’N Dye is already taken.” He smiled.

  I frowned.

  “Sheer Pleasure…no, too erotic…Hairanoya? What do you think of that?”

  I crossed my arms.

  “Give me some time on this one. How much time do I have?” He sounded sincere.

  “Three days.” At least I had deflated some of his annoying energy. A.C. looked as though he were really working on something.

  The sound of the bell above the door announced the entrance of a candidate. The previous renter of the bay, who had managed a candy store that tanked, had put a bell above the door. Where Jolly Ranchers failed, I hoped that conditioner would succeed. I’d kept the bell but hoped the energy would shift as I moved in with my business.

  Toby Windsor, candidate number two, stood in the doorway and looked uncomfortable as he noticed A.C. and me. “You must be Toby.” I motioned for him to come in. My first candidate must have been running late. Jenae Tolliver should have been here ten minutes earlier, and Toby was about fifteen minutes early for his appointment. A business owner and manager only a few minutes, I was already learning to be flexible.

  Toby was a slightly overweight young man who was average in all other physical ways. Average height. Average style of dress with his khakis and white, button-down shirt. Average brown hair with average eyes framed by his average big glasses, which were average, at least in the eighties. The average façade lasted for thirty seconds until he took a deep breath and reached up to touch the top two corners of the door, each twice in a row before he walked to stand right in front of me with a folder in his hand. He said nothing. Behavior, not so average.

  “Take a seat.” I grabbed a chair from behind two boxes in the mess that was causing distress to Toby, whose eyes scanned the room, his cheeks red and his eyes rounder.

  “We just moved in today, Toby. The place will be cleaned up by opening.” It wasn’t that I cared what he thought; I just hoped that my comment would calm him down. Toby looked at the chair, and walked a full circle around it, and then sat down. I grabbed a stool for A.C. and sat down on two boxes, avoiding eye contact with A.C., who would probably be making a face about the interesting candidate and trying to throw off my attempts at being professional.

  “I’m Ben.” I held out my hand to shake Toby’s; he looked at it as though it were obscene. He nodded his head his head twice and looked down at the folder in his lap. I put my hand down.

  “From the resume you sent me, I can see you’ve established quite a long list of clients.”

  “Yes.” His first word was spoken in an average voice.

  “I actually called a few clients and your present boss. They all speak highly of you.”

  “Yes, they do.” As Toby spoke, his cheeks filled with redness, as if someone had just slapped him very hard on each cheek.

  “I guess, then, it would make sense if you let me know if you have any questions for me. Any comments? Anything?”

  Toby cleared his throat and offered the folder to me as he stood up. “This is a list of requests and special contingencies I have.” He cleared his throat following the word “special.” “I will know that you cannot concur with them if I do not hear from you.”

  “Great. I’ll just give the folder to my assistant,” I said, again without looking at A.C., handing him the folder. I didn’t offer my hand to say good-bye.

  Toby got up to leave as the bell above the door rang again, this time announcing the late candidate number one, Jenae Tolliver. A beautiful woman with what A.C. would call a naughty body rushed in past Toby, who avoided eye contact with the knockout. I yelled to Toby, “Thanks, Toby. Have a nice day.” A.C. snickered behind me.

  Jenae smiled at Toby, who disregarded her as he walked around her, touched the two top corners of the doorframe again, twice each, this time in the opposite order, and left the salon.

  “Wow. This place is awesome! I love the retro look.” Jenae took in every little detail as she walked toward A.C. and me. One side of her hair was a bright magenta, lying smoothly to that side, with a good portion of it covering one eye. The remaining side was an almost-black color. The ridiculous hairstyle could not hide her beauty. Jenae wore a black, fitted, short skirt and a tight, white, revealing blouse. Her large earrings and high-heeled shoes were the exact color of the magenta side of her hair. Three of her fingernails were without the magenta nail polished that coated the remaining seven nails as though she’d run out of time as she was getting ready for her interview.

  “I’m telling you. This place is soooo different from any other place I’ve worked in. I love it! Oh, look at the pink chair.”

  “I’m Ben. You must be Jenae.”

  “Ben!” Jenae squealed as she shook my hand with one hand and grabbed my other arm with her other hand. “You are too cute…and who is this guy?”

  “This is A.C., my assistant.” Not really.

  “A.C.? What does that stand for? Absolutely charming?”

  A.C. smiled a toothy smile that made him look goofy. “You got that right.”

  I gestured to Jenae to sit down, and she pounced down on the chair, crossing her legs in an angle, a well-rehearsed pose.

  “I got your letter, but I didn’t get your resume or references.” I began the interview.

  Jenae’s huge, dynamic, blue eyes were complimented by dramatic eye shadow. When you erased all of the magenta and most of her makeup, Jenae was stunning. Really stunning.

  “Oh, I brought them with me.” She pulled several papers out of her oversized purse. “You can call any of these people any time. Actually, call this guy late at night. It drives him crazy. So funny.” I looked over Jenae’s list of clients and then handed the papers to A.C.

  “I’ll get in touch with some of these people soon, but until then, do you have any questions?”

  “Questions? Uh, no, no questions.” Jenae seemed to sit up straighter with a serious expression. “I think I should let you know that doing hair is my life. It defines me. I have been doing other people’s hair for as long as I can remember. I love helping people feel good about themselves. Don’t you?”

  “Well, that’s a big part of the job, I guess…” My laugh sounded awkward. A.C. cleared his throat.

  “Sorry I was late. I hate being late.” Jenae looked over at A.C. and winked. “Why don’t you two call me if you have any questions? I think we would work well together. Just a feeling. I do get really strong feelings sometimes…Oh, great radio. It’s so fun!”

  Both A.C. and I rose to walk Jenae to the door. She glanced out at the parking lot and put her hand to her forehead. “No, no! Oh, gawd, am I really getting a parking ticket? Gotta go. Call me!” she screamed as she ran out the door.

  Neither A.C. nor I said a word as we watched Jenae run to her car. We both turned back to sit down when I heard an eruption of la
ughter from A.C. He was laughing so hard, he was crying.

  “Those were two major wackos! The girl was hot, though. Wait, you’ve got to hear this.” A.C. pulled out the folder that Toby had given me. “That Toby guy’s requests include the exact layout of his station, where he wants his combs and hair dryer…when he wants to take his breaks…And that Jenae, what a trip. She was a looker, though. So do you have to start over, or do have any more candidates tomorrow? You do open in three days.”

  “I think I’m done.”

  “Done?”

  “Yep. I only have two extra chairs and stations.”

  “You’re kiddin’ me. You are not hiring those two head cases.”

  I said nothing and started emptying boxes.

  “Benny, I won’t let you do it. You’ll bomb. You need to think clearly about the money you’ve put into—”

  “A.C., did you see the number of clients on Toby’s list? Did you see how long most have been coming to him? Following him each time he moved to a different salon? I called some of those people. One lady said she wouldn’t have anyone else do her hair. He has the clientele that will follow him to the Old Market. I have a business that can benefit from that. And don’t call me Benny.”

  “He is messed up!”

  “He’ll be to work early.”

  “Yeah, touching doors and ceilings and…”

  “I’m hiring both of them.”

  A.C. wrinkled his face and shook his head. “The girl? You haven’t even seen her resume. She was late…”

  “I liked her energy.”

  A.C. looked into my eyes with a serious expression. “Either you want to date her or you feel sorry for her…” He was shaking his head, trying to think which made more sense for me. “So glad I could help. You really listen to my advice.”

  “I didn’t really want your advice. I just wanted you here to help me feel better about the process, and pretend to be my assistant.”

  “Crazy House.”

  “Excuse me.”

  “Looney Bin. Dysfunction Junction. You did ask me for help with a name for this place. You choose to enter a whacky industry and you hire a bunch of…Vanity Insanity…Vanity Insanity. I like it!” A.C. stood up. “Seriously, what do you think? Vanity Insanity!”

  I started to laugh. “I actually kind of like it.”

  “Vanity Insanity.” A.C. stood up and smiled, repeating the name over and over. He was starting to annoy me again.

  A week later, on February 14, 1984, A.C. and Angel got married.

  The temporary sign went up the next day. A month and a half later, the permanent sign, which cost more than I’d paid for my first year of college, was hung above the bay in the Old Market.

  Vanity Insanity.

  17

  Lucy: Highlight for Graduation Party

  Wednesday, May 8

  1985

  Lucy squealed as she ran into the shop. “Looook! Look! Don’t you just love it?”

  She didn’t have to open the door to Vanity Insanity since I’d propped it open all afternoon on what was one the nicest days in May I can remember. Lucy, very tan and more bubbly than usual, ran in wearing yellow Bermuda shorts and a matching shirt. Flat pumps, purse, and jewelry matched as well. I’m pretty sure if you researched the origin of the name Lucy, you would discover that it translates to mean “tiny collector of many matching clothes.”

  “What? What should I love?” I pretended not to notice the ring she was waving in my face. “What am I looking for here?”

  “Not funny. My engagement ring. Do you love it or what?”

  “Wow.” I held her hand, looking as hard as I could. What did I know about rings? “It’s one of the nicest I’ve seen…Now who is the lucky guy?”

  “Don’t you know the rules of what you’re supposed to say to someone who has just gotten engaged?”

  “Rules?”

  “OK, I’ll help you. You first ask when the big day is.”

  “OK, when’s the big day, Lucy?”

  “Well, we’re getting married on Tom’s fall break in October.” Another squeal. “I have so much planning to do.”

  “Am I supposed to ask about the planning next?”

  “No. You’re supposed to ask what my colors are.”

  “Colors?”

  “The color theme I’m using for the wedding. Like bridesmaids’ dresses, napkins, decorations…colors!”

  “Color theme?”

  “I’m going with a jewel-toned fuchsia. And I’m accenting it with a cream color called moon shadow.”

  “Wouldn’t it just be easier to have a wimpy-rainbow wedding?”

  “OK, now you’re bugging me. No more questions.” Lucy marched over to my chair and plopped down, arms folded, a smirk hidden under her frustration.

  “Sorry, Lucy. It’s just I’m in graduation mode, thinking that your next big event was your graduation, and you threw me off with the whole wedding thing.” I stood behind her with my hands on her shoulders and looked straight in the eyes of the mirror Lucy. “Seriously, congratulations, Lucy. Great news for you and Tom.”

  Lucy frowned.

  “Was it something I said?”

  She shook her head. Her eyes started to water as Madonna sang about living in her material world from the radio.

  “Congratulations?” I guessed.

  “No…. graduation…you said graduation. I’m not graduating, Ben.”

  “Sure you are, I have the invitation to your graduation and party at your parents’ house on my counter at home. It says that unless it rains, the party will be in the backyard of your house on Maple Crest Circle.”

  “Nope. I just got my grades…I flunked meteorology. I bombed the final.” Lucy put her head in her hands, sobbing. I put my hands on her shoulders.

  “Hey, who really cares about the weather anyway? We can’t control it. We just have to live with it. Yet some guy gets paid to be wrong most of the time about what the weather will be tomorrow. Heck, that guy probably didn’t do very well on his final either…”

  “I haven’t told my parents, Ben.” Lucy sparked up. “But I have an idea. I was thinking that the party they planned for my graduation can be Tom’s and my engagement party. What do you think?”

  “Have you talked to Tom about it? Marty? Theresa?”

  “No. Nobody knows but you…about the class or the engagement. What do you think?”

  “Does Tom know you’re engaged?” I smiled and started combing out Lucy’s hair.

  “Of course he does. He proposed to me last night, outside on Creighton’s campus. Under the stars in Jesuit Gardens…He doesn’t know about the class.”

  The “class” was just one of many that Lucy had tolerated over the past four years. She’d started out at Kearney State College but missed Tom too much, so she came back after just one semester and enrolled at UNO in Omaha. With Tom at Creighton University, Lucy was just a five-minute ride away. I’d run into her several times on campus, and I can say this much: the girl never studied. Lucy loved everything about college except the classes. They were an inconvenience that she endured so that she could do what she did best, socialize. I had always suspected that her grades were not stellar. Louis Mangiamelli wanted each of his kids to have a college education, but as far as Lucy was concerned, what she would do with that degree was as much a mystery to Lucy as it was to me.

  Our secret discussion, packed with all sorts of things she had told no one else, was interrupted as Jenae got off the phone. “Hey, what did I miss, girlfriend? I had to make some stupid appointment for Toby. Where is he anyway?”

  “He ran to pick up supplies.” The running tension between Toby and Jenae was amusing more than intrusive in the daily interactions of Vanity Insanity. Jenae irritated Toby. Toby irritated Jenae. And for that reason alone, I positioned their stations right next to each other.

  “Jenae, I’m getting married!” Lucy shouted and thrust her hand out to Jenae, shrieking louder than before. So much for the big secret.

/>   “Married!” Jenae joined the shriek fest. “Lucy Lu, you will be the most beautiful bride.” Jena’s black ankle boots in May were a statement alone. She’d toned the look down with a deliberately ripped pin sweatshirt over her leather miniskirt. Her now-brown hair was pulled in a tight ponytail to the side and two chopsticks—at least that’s what they looked like—were poking out of her head as though they had been forced into the back of her neck, through her brain, and up and out of her head, perfectly poised like two antennae.

  “OK, now when is the big day?” Jenae asked with big, blue, sincere eyes.

  “Well, my fiancé,” Lucy started, “I can’t believe I can finally say F-I-A-N-C-E…” She dragged it out. “My fiancé is in law school, but neither of us wants to wait, so we’re getting married on Creighton’s campus at Saint John’s over his break in October.”

  “And the colors?”

  Jenae knew the questions? Jenae didn’t strike me as the type who would know the questions. Lucy couldn’t answer since Jenae’s next appointment was standing in the doorway. Jenae gave a congratulatory hug to Lucy and ran up to the small, older woman, smiling at her.

  “All right now, Miss Colleen, let’s go make you look fabulous.” She held the older lady’s hand all of the way to her chair.

  Once you could get past the latest Jenae getup, you were overwhelmed by her warmth and exuberant energy. I know this is why her clients were loyal to her, that and the fact that she was great with hair. Ironically, about 75 percent of her clients were woman over the age of fifty. They were not threatened by her effervescence, taste in clothing, or beauty. In fact, they might just have been hoping that some of her edgy looks would rub off on them as she shampooed them. The final look Jenae gave them as they walked out the door was usually conservative, but she would style it with some gel and extra hairspray so they walked out with an extra, little, zippy something-something.

  Lucy cleared her throat. “So, what do you think?”

  I had to be careful here. “Well, that depends. Are you asking me about your hair or the lies that you’re living?”