Truly Madly Yours

by Rachel Gibson

  “I believe Henry left that block of property at First and Main to you. Why?”

  “I want to reopen the salon.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” her mother said. “There are a lot of other things you can do.”

  Delaney ignored her. “How do I go about doing it?”

  “To get started, you’ll need a small business loan. The previous owner is dead, so you’ll need to contact the attorney representing her heirs to determine the value of the salon,” he began. When he was finished half an hour later, Delaney knew exactly what she had to do. First thing Monday, she’d pay a visit to the bank holding her money in trust and apply for a loan. As far as she could see, there was only one drawback to her plan. The salon was located next to Nick’s construction company. “Can I raise the rent on the building next door?” Maybe she could force him out.

  “Not until the current lease expires.”

  “When is that?”

  “Another year I believe.”

  “Damn.”

  “Please don’t swear,” her mother admonished while she reached across the table and placed her hand on top of Delaney’s. “If you want to open a little business, why don’t you think about a gift shop?”

  “I don’t want to open a gift shop.”

  “You could open up in time to sell Christmas Spode.”

  “I don’t want to sell Spode.”

  “I think it’s a wonderful idea.”

  “Then you do it. I’m a hairstylist, and I want to reopen the salon downtown.”

  Gwen sat back in her chair. “You’re just doing this to spite me.”

  She wasn’t, but she’d lived with her mother long enough to know that if she argued, she’d end up looking childish. Sometimes talking to Gwen was like wrestling with flypaper. The more you fought to get free, the more you got stuck.

  It took Delaney a little over three months to secure her loan and get the salon ready to open for business. While she waited, she did an unscientific study of the downtown business district, with emphasis on the number of customers who walked into Helen’s Hair Hut. With legal pad and pen in hand, she parked in alleys and spied on her childhood nemesis, Helen Markham. When Lisa wasn’t working or busy with wedding plans, Delaney had her report any activity she might notice as well. Delaney charted demographic statistics and visually gathered bad perm versus good perm data. She even went so far as concocting a phony English accent in case Helen recognized her when she called to ask what her competition charged for a color retouch. But it wasn’t until she found herself digging through Helen’s Dumpster one night to check out what kinds of cheap products Helen used that several thoughts struck her at the same time. As she’d stood there, up to her thighs in garbage, her foot sinking into a container of spoiled cottage cheese, she realized she’d gone a little overboard with her investigation. She also realized that the success of the salon had as much to do with fulfilling a dream as it did with kicking Helen to-the curb. She’d been away for ten years, only to come back and fall into the same patterns. However, this time she wasn’t going to lose anything to Helen.

  By the end of the unscientific study, she could see that Helen did a thriving business, but Delaney wasn’t worried. She’d seen Helen’s hair. She could steal her old rival’s clients-no problem.

  Once the loan went through, Delaney put away her legal pad and got busy on the shop itself. A grimy layer of dust covered everything, from the cash register to the perming rods. Everything had to be scrubbed down and sterilized. She pored over the previous owner’s books, but the numbers didn’t match the inventory. Either Gloria had been completely inept, or someone had come in after her death and stolen cases of hair products. Not that Delaney minded the theft all that much since she didn’t have to pay Gloria’s heirs for the missing supplies, and everything in the shop was at least three years behind the current trends anyway. Still, it left her a little uneasy to think that someone might have access to the salon. In her mind, the prime suspect was of course Helen. Helen was a thief from way back, and who else would have use for things like cotton strips, shampoo towels, and wig pins?

  Delaney had been assured that she had the only key to the front and rear entrances, as well as the only key to the apartment above. She wasn’t convinced and called the sole locksmith in town, who promised he’d be out in a week. But she was living in Truly, where a week could sometimes mean a month depending on hunting season.

  Nine days before she opened for business, she had the old name scraped from the front window, and the words the cutting edge applied in gold. She had new products sitting in the storage room and new black lacquer chairs in the reception area. The hardwood floors were refinished and the walls painted a bright white. She hung up trade show posters and had the old mirrors replaced with bigger ones. When she was finished she was very pleased and very proud. It wasn’t her dream salon. It wasn’t chrome and marble and filled with the best stylists, but she’d accomplished a lot in a short amount of time.

  She introduced herself to the owner of Bernard’s Deli on the corner and the T-shirt shop next door. And on a day when she didn’t see Nick’s Jeep parked in the lot out back, she marched into Allegrezza construction and introduced herself to his secretary, Hilda, and office manager, Ann Marie.

  Two nights before she opened, she gave a small party at the salon. She invited Lisa and Gwen and all of her mother’s friends. She sent invitations to business owners in the area. She excluded Allegrezza Construction but had an invitation hand delivered to Helen’s Hair Hut. For two hours her salon was packed with people eating her strawberries and drinking her champagne, but Helen didn’t show.

  Gwen did, but after half an hour she’d made up a dumb excuse about having a cold and left. It was just one more expression of her mother’s disapproval. But Delaney had stopped living for her mother’s approval a long time ago. She knew she would never get it anyway.

  That next day, Delaney moved into the apartment above the salon. She hired a few men with trucks to haul her furniture from the storage unit to the small one-bedroom. Gwen predicted Delaney would be back in no time, but Delaney knew she wouldn’t.

  From a small common parking lot behind the salon, a set of old wooden stairs climbed the back of the building to the emerald green door of her new home. The apartment was run-down and needed linoleum, new curtains, and a decent stove post-Brady Bunch era. Delaney loved it. She loved the window seats in the small living room and bedroom. She loved the old clawfoot bathtub, and the huge arching window that looked down on Main. She’d certainly lived in nicer apartments, and the shabby little place couldn’t begin to compete with the luxuries of her mother’s house. But maybe that’s why she loved it most of all. The things in it belonged to her. She hadn’t even realized how much she missed having her stuff around until her own dishes filled the cupboards. She slept in her own wrought-iron bed and sat on her own cream linen sofa, with the zebra print pillows, to watch her own television. The black coffee and end tables belonged to her, as well as the pedestal table in the small dining area at the far left of the living room. The dining room and kitchen were separated by a half wall, and a person could see most of the apartment all at once. Not that there was a lot to see.

  Delaney unpacked what she considered her business clothes and hung them in her closet. She bought a few groceries, a clear plastic shower curtain with big red hearts on it, and two braided rugs for the worn patches on the kitchen floor.

  Now all she needed was a phone and a few new locks.

  Three days after she opened for business, she had her phone, but she was still waiting for those locks. She was waiting for the stampede of customers, too.

  Delaney sat her first customer in the salon chair and took the towel from her head. “Are you sure you want finger waves, Mrs. Van Damme?” She hadn’t done finger waves since beauty school. Not only had it been four years, but a whole head of finger waves was a pain in the backside.

  “Yep. Just like I always get ‘em.
Last time I went to that shop around the corner,” she said, referring to Helen’s Hair Hut. “But she didn’t do a very good job. She made it look like I had worms laying on my head. I haven’t had a decent hairdo since Gloria passed on.”

  Delaney shrugged out of her short vinyl jacket, then shoved her arms through a green smock. The smock covered her raspberry Lycra shirt and vinyl skirt, leaving her knees and shinny black boots exposed. She thought of her old job at Valentina in Scottsdale and of her clients who knew a little something about fashion and trends. She reached for her shaping comb and began to remove the tangles from the old woman’s nape. She’d found some waving lotion in the storage room, left there by the former owner. Normally, she wouldn’t have agreed to style Mrs. Van Damme’s hair, especially after the woman had bartered the price down to ten dollars. Delaney’s intuitive talent lay in her ability to see nature’s flaws and fix them with cut and color. The right cut could make noses look smaller, eyes bigger, and chins stronger.

  But she was desperate. No one wanted to pay more than ten dollars for anything. In the three days she’d been open, Mrs. Van Damme was the only person who hadn’t taken one look at her prices and turned and run out. Of course, the woman could barely walk.

  “If you do a good wave, I’ll recommend you to my friends, but they won’t pay more than I do.”

  Oh goody, she thought, a whole year of frugal old ladies. A whole year of tight roller curls and back combing. “Do you part your hair on the right, Mrs. Van Damme?”

  “On the left. And since you have your fingers in my hair, you can call me Wannetta.”

  “How long have you worn your hair this way, Wannetta?”

  “Oh, for about forty years. Every since my late husband told me I looked like Mae West.”

  Delaney seriously doubted Wannetta had ever looked anything like Mae West. “Maybe it’s time for a change,” she suggested and snapped on a pair of rubber gloves like a surgeon.

  “Nope. I like to stick with what works.”

  Delaney snipped off the tip of the bottle, then applied the lotion to the right side of the woman’s head and began to shape the waves with her fingers and comb. It took her several tries to get the first ridge perfect so that she could move on to the second and third. While she worked, Wannetta chatted nonstop.

  “My good friend Dortha Miles lives in one of those retirement villages in Boise. She really likes it. Food’s good she says. I’ve thought about moving to one of those villages myself. Ever since my husband, Leroy, passed on last year.” She paused to slip her bony hand from beneath the cape and scratch her nose.

  “How’d your husband die?” Delaney asked as she formed a ridge with her comb.

  “Fell off the roof and landed on his head. I don’t know how many times I told that old fool not to climb up there. But he never listened to me, and look where he is now. He just had to get up there and fiddle with that TV antenna, so certain he could get channel two. Now I’m alone, and if it weren’t for my worthless grandson, Ronnie, who can’t keep a job and is always borrowing money, maybe I could afford to move into one of those retirement villages with Dortha. Only I’m not certain I would anyway being that her daughter is a”-she paused and lowered her voice-“lesbian. I tend to think that sort of thing is genetic. Now, I’m not saying Dortha is a”-again she paused and whispered the next word-“lesbian, but she always did have a tendency toward very short hair, and she wore comfortable shoes even before her arches fell. And I’d hate to live with someone and discover something like that. I’d be afraid to take a shower, and I’d be afraid she’d run around the apartment naked. Or maybe she’d try to get a peek at me when I’m naked.”

  The mental picture that flashed through Delaney’s head was frightening, and she had to bite her cheek to keep from laughing. The conversation moved from Wannetta’s fear of naked lesbians to the other disturbing worries in her life. “After that house out near Cow Creek was robbed last year,” she said, “I had to start locking my doors. Never had to do that before. But I live alone now, and I can’t be too careful I guess. Are you married?” she asked, peering at Delaney through the wall of mirrors in front of her.

  Delaney was getting sick of that question. “I haven’t found the right man yet.”

  “I have a grandson, Ronnie.”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Hmm. Do you live alone?”

  “Yes, I do,” Delaney answered as she finished the last ridge. “I live right upstairs.”

  “Up there?” Wannetta pointed toward the ceiling.

  “Yep.”

  “How come, when your mamma has such a nice place?”

  There were a million reasons. She’d hardly spoken to her mother since she’d moved out, and she couldn’t say she was all that upset about it. “I like living alone,” she answered and formed a row of tiny curls across the woman’s forehead.

  “Well, you just watch out for those crazy Basque Allegrezza boys next door. I dated a sheepherder once. They have mighty funny ways.”

  Delaney bit her cheek again. Before she’d opened the shop, running into Nick had been a concern of hers, but although she’d seen his Jeep in the common lot behind the two buildings, and their back doors where only a few feet apart, she hadn’t actually seen him. According to Lisa, she hadn’t seen much of Louie lately, either. Allegrezza Construction was working overtime to complete several big jobs before the first snow, which could come as early as the beginning of November.

  When Delaney was finished, Mrs. Van Damme was still old and wrinkled and looked nothing like Mae West. “What do you think?” she asked and handed the woman an oval mirror.

  “Hmm. Turn me.”

  Delaney turned the chair so Wannetta could see the back of her head.

  “Looks good, but I’m going to take off fifty cents for those little curls in the front. I never said I’d pay for extra curls.”

  Delaney frowned and removed the neck strip and silver plastic cape.

  “You give a senior citizen discount don’t you? Helen isn’t as good as you, but she gives a discount to seniors.”

  At this rate, she was going to be out of business in no time. As soon as Mrs. Van Damme left, Delaney locked up and put away her green smock. She reached for her vinyl jacket and headed out the back. Just as she stepped outside and turned to shut the door behind her, a dusty black Jeep rolled to a stop in the slot reserved for Allegrezza Construction. She looked over her shoulder and almost dropped her keys.

  Nick cut the Jeep’s engine and stuck his head out the window. “Hey, wild thing, where you headed dressed like a hooker?”

  Slowly she turned and shoved her arms into her jacket. “I am not dressed like a hooker.”

  As he got out of the four-wheel drive, he looked her over. His gaze started at her boots and worked upward. A lazy smile curved his lips. “Looks like somebody had a real good time wrapping you up in electrical tape.”

  She pulled her hair from the back of her collar and subjected him to the same scrutiny he’d just given her. His hair was slicked back in a ponytail, and the arms had been hacked out of his blue work shirt. His jeans were worn almost white in places and his boots were dusty. “Did you get that tattoo in prison?” she asked, pointing to the wreath of thorns circling his bare biceps.

  His smile flat lined and he didn’t answer.

  Delaney couldn’t remember a time when she’d gotten the best of Nick. He’d always been quicker and meaner. But that had been in the past with the old Delaney. The new Delaney stuck her nose in the air and pressed her luck. “What were you in the slammer for, exposing yourself in public?”

  “Strangling a smart-ass redhead who used to be blond.” He took several steps toward her and stopped close enough to touch. “It was worth it.”

  Delaney looked up at him and smiled. “Did you bend over and pick up the soap?” She expected his anger. She expected him to say something cruel. Something to make her wish she’d run the second she’d seen his Jeep, but he didn’t.

 
He rocked back on his heels and grinned. “That was a good one,” he said, then he laughed, and it was the deep confident laughter of a man who knew with certainty that no one would think to question his sexual preference.

  She couldn’t remember a time when she’d ever heard his laughter that it hadn’t been directed at her. Like the time her mother had made her dress up like a Smurf for the Halloween parade, and Nick and his hoodlum buddies had howled with laughter.

  This Nick was disarming. “Sounds like we’re both going to be in Louie’s wedding.”

  “Yeah, who would have thought my best friend would end up with crazy Louie Allegrezza.”

  His chuckle was deep and genuine. “How’s business?” he asked and really threw her off balance.

  “Okay,” she answered. The last time he’d been pleasant to her, she’d let him strip her naked while he’d remained fully clothed. “All I need is a few new locks and some deadbolts.”

  “Why? Did someone try to break in?”

  “I’m not sure.” She lowered her gaze to the folded papers sticking out of his breast pocket, anywhere but his tractor-beam eyes. “I was given only one key to the business and there have to be more somewhere. I called the locksmith, but he hasn’t made it over yet.”

  Nick reached for the door handle by Delaney’s waist and jiggled it. His wrist brushed her hip. “He probably won’t. Jerry is a damn good locksmith when he works, but he works just enough to pay his rent and buy booze. You won’t see him until he runs out of Black Velvet.”

  “That’s just great.” She looked down at the toes of her shiny boots. “Has your business ever been broken into?”

  “Nope, but I have steel doors and deadbolts.”