by Debby Mayne
Tickled Pink
Other books by Debby Mayne
Sweet Baklava
The Class Reunion Series
Pretty Is as Pretty Does
Bless Her Heart
Tickled Pink
The Class Reunion Series
Book 3
Debby Mayne
Tickled Pink
Copyright © 2013 by Debby Mayne
ISBN-13: 978-1-68299-814-4
Published by Abingdon Press, P.O. Box 801, Nashville, TN 37202
www.abingdonpress.com
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, posted on any website, or transmitted in any form or by any means—digital, electronic, scanning, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without written permission from the publisher, except for brief quotations in printed reviews and articles.
The persons and events portrayed in this work of fiction are the creations of the author, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Published in association with the Hartline Literary Agency.
Scripture quotation taken from the Common English Bible. Copyright © 2011 by the Common English Bible. All rights reserved. Used by permission. www.commonenglishbible.com
Printed in the United States of America
I’m dedicating this book to my pals
Cherie Burbach, Julie Pollitt, Sandie Bricker, Rhonda Gibson, Paige Dooly,Debra Collins, Trish Perry, Loree Lough,and Beth Teller.
Y’all are some of the coolest ladies ever!
Acknowledgments
Thanks to my agent, Tamela Hancock Murray, for believing in me and being my biggest cheerleader. I can’t imagine this journey without you.
Thanks also to the fabulous team at Abingdon, including Ramona Richards, Pamela Clements, Susan Cornell, Cat Hoort, and everyone else who has had anything to do with the Class Reunion series.
Happy are those who find wisdom,
and those who gain understanding.
Her profit is better than silver,
and her gain better than gold.
Proverbs 3:13-14
1
Priscilla Slater
Laura and Pete Moss are happy to announce
Piney Point High School’s
20-year reunion
on June 15, 2013, at 7:00 PM
in the brand-new Piney Point Community Center
Multipurpose Room.
Attire: Casual
RSVP: Laura or Pete Moss 601-555-1515
Note: There will be no preparty.
As soon as the microwave dings, I grab a pot holder and pull out the plastic tray with steam rising from the corner where I’ve vented the cellophane. I place it on the counter, lean over it, and inhale, trying to imagine it being a nutritious, home-cooked meal. But all I smell is preservative-laced gravy. Maybe I should go back to my old nightly salad from a bag.
I take a bite of the tasteless food and glance down at my twenty-year-reunion invitation before looking out my condo window at the Atlantic Ocean. Things sure have changed for me over the past five years. Not only have I become a household name among TV retail shoppers who desire to have the coveted Southern-woman big hair, I own townhomes and condos in several places along the path of my chain of hair salons. Sometimes I forget to thank the Lord for all my wonderful blessings, so I squeeze my eyes shut and send up a prayer of gratitude.
Ten minutes later the plastic tray is empty, and now I’m faced with nothing but a mountain of paperwork. You’d think that with all I’ve acquired over the past thirteen years I’d be on top of the world, kicking up my feet, celebrating my immense success. In my dreams.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m grateful that I’ve managed to accomplish so much. But there are times when certain aspects of a simple life in my hometown of Piney Point, Mississippi, appeals to me. Then I come to my senses.
I’ve never been one of those girls whose dreams consisted of getting married, having children, and settling for whatever came my way. Instead, I went after whatever I wanted with the focus and tenacity of a shark, until I got it. Then I set my sights on something else. Besides, after experiencing the realization that my parents’ marriage wasn’t what it appeared to be, I know that my image of home is just window dressing that disguises harsh realities. But that doesn’t stop some of the longing for a more normal life, whatever that is.
It takes me all of thirty seconds to clean my sparkling chrome-and-black kitchen before I pick up the class reunion invitation on my way back to the tone-on-tone white and ivory living room. A smile plays on my lips as a brief image of one of Pete and Laura’s children in one of my homes flits through my mind, and then I grimace. No telling what they’d do to my perfectly ordered life. Thoughts like that should make me happy I don’t have children, but lately . . . well, it’s simply not happening, so what’s the point of wondering what could’ve been. All the “what ifs” in the world won’t change a thing. And besides, this is what I’ve wanted all my adult life, so I order myself to stop with those thoughts and get back to the task at hand. I have less than a week to list and send the features and benefits of my newly updated hair volumizing system that includes everything a girl needs to have the Ms. Prissy Big Hair style. The TV Network Shopping channel has me on their regular schedule now, so even that has become so routine I can turn most of the preliminary work over to my long-time assistant, Mandy. But I need something relaxing to do right now, so I sit down with my laptop and tap out my list as I half-watch the second most dysfunctional family I’ve ever seen holler at each other on TV. I wonder if they do that when the cameras aren’t rolling. Too bad the network doesn’t know about Laura and Pete Moss’s family, or they’d likely be filming in Piney Point rather than LA.
Five years ago, Bonnie Sue, the third of Laura’s four children, got busted shoplifting a skirt from La Boutique in Hattiesburg. When I offered to go back to the store with Bonnie Sue, Laura accepted without a moment’s hesitation, glad for the support in spite of the fact that she’s never even pretended to like me. On the way to the shop, we stopped off at the post office, where I was stunned by the fact that the preteen girl was embarrassed to be seen with me. However, her tune quickly changed when the manager of the store immediately forgave her because of my slight celebrity status. I’m not sure what lesson Bonnie Sue learned that day, but I’m afraid my plan might have backfired if she came away with the idea that someone famous can get away with anything. Now Bonnie e-mails and texts me constantly, wanting advice on how to become a superstar. I’ve told her more than once to find her own passion, set goals, and work hard. Too bad her passion is for people to be in awe of her existence. In the last text I got from her, she wanted to know whether she should go to LA or New York after she graduates and which place would make her more famous. I need to talk to her mother before giving her advice, so I still haven’t gotten back with her.
The features and benefits of my product line are basically the same, only reworded to prevent sounding redundant. I’m about to click Send when my phone rings. It’s Laura.
“I was just thinking about you,” I tell her.
“Why are you answering your own phone?”
“Huh?”
“I thought famous people hired folks to answer their phone.”
I’ve heard that Laura Moss has grown into her own skin, but from what I can tell, that maturity ends when I’m involved. “So what do you need?”
“Just wanted to find out if you’re coming to the reunion.”
“Yes, I’ll be there.”
“Are you . . . will you be bringing Tim?”
I suspect that’s the purpose of the call, since my good friend, former ardent admirer, and favorite beau
ty supply salesman, Tim Puckett, has not just attended the previous class reunions with me, he’s singlehandedly moved mountains to make sure things ran smoothly. I don’t know what Laura would have done without Tim.
“I haven’t spoken with him in a few weeks, but I can ask.”
“Can you let me know what he says?” I detect a hint of desperation in her voice.
“Why don’t you call him?” I say.
Laura snickers. “I don’t have the same clout you have. In case you haven’t figured it out, that boy will still do anything you want him to.”
“Seems he takes orders from you quite well, Laura.” I have a hard time keeping the snarkiness from my voice. This woman brings out the worst in me, which is one excellent reason I don’t need to stay on the phone with her any longer than necessary.
“Just let me know what he says, okay? Oh, and while you’re at it, ask if he can come a week early.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
After I hang up, I have to take a couple deep breaths to calm down. Ever since I started building my business empire, I’ve managed to stay calm enough to buy and open nearly a hundred hair salons, including a couple that are full-service day spas. I’m one of the regulars on TVNS with a line of products that sell out every single time I’m on air. But one short conversation with Laura sends me into a dither that takes hours to recover from.
I get up and go to the kitchen for a glass of water, and my phone rings again. This time it’s Tim.
“Have you gotten your invitation yet?”
By now, I’m used to the fact that Tim gets my class news before me. He’s super connected through my Piney Point salon, which has turned into Prissy’s Cut ’n Curl and Ice Factory Day Spa. After Sheila and Chester confronted me about how we’d outgrown our old location, I made it my mission to find a better place. The historic Ice Factory had potential, so when I had the electricity turned on for the inspection, rodent-chewed wires caused a fire. I wound up paying more for the vacant lot than I would have if the building had been salvageable. But then I saved money on building from scratch rather than renovating to historical society regulations.
“Priscilla?” His voice has softened to practically a whisper. “Are you still there?”
“Um, yeah. I got the invitation. So do you want to go with me again? I mean, I can totally understand if you can’t, considering how busy you are with your new position and all.”
He laughs. “I’ve been regional sales manager for three years, so I can handle it. Besides, I’m due for some time off.”
“If you don’t mind wasting it on my class reunion, I’d love for you to attend as my guest.”
“You sure know how to sweet talk a guy, Priscilla. I’d be delighted to escort you to your class reunion. And I’ll get there a week early to help Laura.”
“Good. That was my next question. I’ll need to call her and let her know.”
“Tell you what,” he says. “I’ll call her to save the extra step. No point in everything going through you . . . that is, unless you want to be the middleman—er, woman.”
“No, that’s fine. Please feel free to call her. I’m sure she’ll have plenty for you to do.”
Again, he laughs. “Yeah, I’d pretty much bet my next paycheck on that.” He clears his throat. “Not that I’m a bettin’ man or anything. I don’t want you to think—”
“No, I know what you’re saying. Thanks, Tim.”
“Just makin’ sure. Let me know if you need anything else. I’ll be back in Jackson in a few days. Mind if I stop by and take you to breakfast?”
“Sounds good.” My phone beeps, letting me know I have another call. “It was great talking to you, Tim. Gotta run.”
I click over to the next call. It’s my mother, and she doesn’t even bother with a greeting.
“When are you arriving for your reunion?”
“I haven’t had much of a chance to think about it, with the TV work and all.”
I hear a low grunt, reminding me that my mother disapproves of my chosen career, in spite of my success. “You know you’re welcome to stay here, but I’ll need to know when to plan on your arrival.”
“Probably a week or two, depending on what all Laura needs from me.”
“You’ll have to give me an exact date, or I can’t guarantee your room will be ready.”
Rather than ask why I have to worry about my old room being ready since I’m the only person who ever stays in it, I agree to let her know. “If it’s not convenient, I can stay in a hotel. I really don’t mind.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Priscilla. How would it look for me to let my only child stay in a hotel?”
“I guess it wouldn’t look good.” I pause. “How’s Dad? Have you spoken to him lately?”
“Don’t go getting the notion that your father and I will ever get back together. Our divorce has been final a good two years, and we’ve been separated for six. There’s—”
“No, Mother, I don’t have any such notion. I was just asking a simple question.”
“Are you getting smart with me, Priscilla? Because if you are, I want you to know that even though you’re a big shot on that silly network, you’re still my daughter.”
My breath is ragged as I slowly inhale. “No, I just wondered if you’ve talked to Dad.”
“My answer is no, and I don’t intend to talk to him as long as he continues to see that bimbo he’s been dating.”
I shudder. The very thought of either of my parents dating other people seems so wrong. They’re my parents. They made it through more than thirty years of marriage, so why couldn’t they have worked things out? Of course, I don’t ask Mother that because now I realize it’s not all her fault.
“Call as soon as you know when you’re coming so I can have Teresa get your room ready.”
After we hang up, I lift my laptop, but before I strike the first key, my phone rings again. I glance at the caller ID and see that it’s Mandy.
“Yes, I know about the reunion, and no, I don’t know when I’m going to Piney Point.”
“Whoa. What’s got you in such a snit? I was just calling to see if you needed help with the features and benefits.”
“Sorry, Mandy. I just got off the phone with Mother.”
“Oh, no wonder. Anything I can do?”
“Just keep things running smoothly like you always do.”
“Oh, Vanessa just hired a new hairdresser. Will you be comin’ back to Jackson before the reunion so you can meet her?”
I pull up the calendar on my computer. “Looks like I might have a little time, so yes, I can slip in for a day or two.”
“Maybe while you’re here you can do something with my hair. Ever since you let Rosemary transfer to Raleigh, my color hasn’t been right.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” I hang up, lean back on the couch, and close my eyes. I’ve managed to get everything I thought I wanted, but now I don’t have time to enjoy any of it.
2
Laura Moss
Some nitwit left the milk out, and I think I know just who that is. Ever since Bubba signed up for the Army, you’d think he’d done saved the planet from aliens or somethin’. He’s too big for his britches, and he’s not about to lower himself to put stuff away. I won’t admit this to a single solitary soul, but I’ll be glad when he goes off to boot camp. Then I’ll be countin’ the days ’til the rest of the young’uns are old enough to get out on their own. I mean, I love all four of ’em, but enough’s enough. It’s time to enjoy life with my new husband.
Oh, I’m still married to Pete, but since the last reunion when our four little angels went on a joyride while we were supposed to be enjoyin’ ourselves with our former classmates, Pete has turned over a new leaf. He finally takes responsibility for his drinkin’, and he’s joined AA ’cause they make him accountable. I always figured I’d eventually nag him straight, but according to his sponsor, I was as big of an enabler as he’d ever seen. Who’da thought just because I
tried to make him comfortable and brought him a garbage can when he was tossin’ his cookies, I was just makin’ matters worse?
I glance up at the clock and mentally calculate how long I have to fix supper. Seems like as the young’uns get older time goes by faster.
“Mama!” I hear Bonnie Sue holler from the top of the stairs. “Telephone!”
“I didn’t even hear it ring.” I wipe my hands on the kitchen towel and turn to pick up the phone, but it’s not where it’s supposed to be. “Bonnie Sue, come down here right now and bring me back the phone!”
“You come here and get it,” she says.
My blood starts to simmer. “Do what I say right this minute, young lady. You have no business smartin’ off at me just ’cause you’re about to be a junior.”
The slow thumping sound as she trudges down the stairs grates my nerves to no end. I suck in a deep breath and try to slowly let it out, but it doesn’t work, so I stomp to the foot of the stairs and glare at Bonnie Sue who is still standing on the second to last step, holding the phone out with a sarcastic smirk on her face. “I told Lucy I’d call her right back, so don’t take too long.” She paused. “You could give me my cell phone back, and you can talk as long as you want.”
“Keep sassin’ me like that, young lady, and you won’t be gettin’ your phone back ’til you can pay your own bills.” I grab the house phone from her and lift it to my ear, givin’ her the meanest mama look I can manage the entire time. She rolls her eyes, making me want to yank her by the hair and toss her across the room, but as with all my thoughts of child abuse, I don’t act on it, and she knows I won’t.
As soon as I speak into the phone, my mother’s husband, who I refuse to call my stepfather after he called my cookin’ pig slop, started half talking, half sobbing. “Your mama . . . she’s . . . I don’t know if she’s gonna make it . . . Laura . . . ”
I go numb. “Randy, where are you? Where’s Mama?”
