by Debby Mayne
Her daddy, on the other hand, is southern through and through. He’s a gentleman and must love his wife immensely, but if I hadn’t met them together, I never would have seen him married to a woman like Mrs. Slater. If Priscilla would give me half a chance, I’m sure her daddy and I would hit it off just fine.
Priscilla claims to be more like her mother than her daddy. I don’t see it.
My cell phone rings, and before I answer, I see that it’s Uncle Hugh. I grimace and consider lettin’ it ring through to voice mail, but that wouldn’t be right.
“Hey Timothy. You’ll be happy to know I’m lettin’ you take that week you requested.”
“Oh.” I smile. “Thanks.”
“Yeah, I figured even though you won’t be workin’, you’ll be doin’ the company some good since you’ll be with Priscilla. That girl’s goin’ places, and I want to be on her radar. Don’t forget to put in a good word for me every chance you get.”
“I’ll do what I can.” No way will I put my relationship with Priscilla in jeopardy.
13
Priscilla
He’s so cute!” Janelle says. “You better grab him before someone else does.”
I should never have admitted to having a date for the reunion—especially one all my salon staff knows. I’m about to make one of my snippy comebacks when my client Violet giggles. “It’s not everyday a man like that comes along.”
I stand back and look her in the eye. “When did you see him?”
Violet grins. “Not much gets past me. Besides, what makes you think you can hide such a good-looking man in a town the size of Piney Point?”
“Oh.” I resume working on her hair.
“Some women don’t know a good thing when they see it,” Janelle says.
Violet looks over at me. “You can probably have any man you want right now, but that won’t always be the case. Pickins get mighty slim the older you get.”
I glance up in time to catch the knowing glances that pass between Sheila and Janelle. “You’ll be spending a whole week with him, so there’s no telling what song you’ll be singing by the time the reunion is over,” Janelle says.
Sheila winks. “Don’t forget us when you plan your wedding.”
Now I know they’re kidding around, so I laugh right along with them. Our clients start chatting about their own lives and relationships, so we give them our full attention. Violet enjoys telling her love story, so I prompt her with just enough questions to keep from having to say anything about my lack of one.
After Violet leaves, Sheila helps me sweep my station. “Have you decided what to do with your hair for the reunion?”
I stop and look at her. “My hair? I haven’t thought about it.”
She smiles. “That’s okay. My husband’s a plumber, and he can hear the toilet runnin’ all day and not do a thing about it.”
Sheila has always blurted what’s on her mind, so I don’t take offense. But each time I pass a mirror, I get a glimpse of myself and try to imagine different hairstyles I could try.
By the end of the day, I’m feeling better than I have in a long time, but I’m exhausted. It’s been a while since I’ve stood on my feet for so many hours. I kicked off my shoes mid-afternoon, but my feet are still killing me.
“Better drag one of those cushioned floor mats out from the back room,” Sheila advises, “or your back’ll give you fits.”
“I think I’ll do that tomorrow,” I say. “I just hope Mother doesn’t start in on me again about doing something important with my life.”
I’ve confided in Sheila before, so she’s not shocked. She clicks her tongue. “What could be more important than making women feel good about themselves?”
“I know, and I agree.”
“She’s your mama, so I can’t tell you not to listen to her, but remember where she came from. It couldn’t have been easy living in that tiny shack with her big family and all those chickens running around in the yard.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” Sheila would know all about growing up dirt poor because her upbringing was similar to my mother’s. Only to her family, becoming a hairdresser is an honorable profession and one that gave her a chance to make something of herself. “I appreciate you,” I tell her.
Sheila’s eyes mist over as she places a hand on my shoulder. “We all think you’re the smartest and best businesswoman in Mississippi, and we’re fortunate to have you for our boss.”
I’m so tired her words affect me more than they normally would, and tears sting the backs of my eyes. I can’t look at her anymore without blubbering.
“Well, look at us getting all mushy and gushy over each other.” She gives me a gentle shove toward the door. “Get yourself on back to your parents’ house, or they’ll start worrying about you. Tell ’em we said hey.”
Both Mother and Dad are in the kitchen when I get home. They’re talking in hushed tones as though they’re worried someone will overhear them. Mother nods her head toward me as I walk in.
“How was your day at the beauty shop?” she asks.
“Good,” I say as I lift a celery stick from the platter on the kitchen table. “But I’m exhausted.”
Mother pulls her lips between her teeth like she always does when she doesn’t want to say what she’s thinking. I can tell something’s going on between the two of them, but they’re not about to let me in on whatever it is.
Dad pushes a bowl of bean dip toward me. “Try this, it’s good.”
I run the celery stick across the bean dip and take a bite. My parents start chatting again, but they’ve obviously changed the subject. I can’t help worrying about them, and I have to admit the thought of them going separate ways has crossed my mind. But then I remember once long ago when Dad said couples go through phases and just because they don’t agree on things doesn’t mean they’re about to split up. If anything happens, I’ll remind him of that.
“Any chance you’ll be able to go to the college with us for our PPCC Literature Award event?” Dad asks.
“Oh, yes, Mother mentioned that last week. When is it?”
“Don’t try to make her feel guilty if she doesn’t want to go, George. She’s only here for a short while.”
“I’m not making her feel guilty!” Dad startles me with his raised voice. I’ve never heard him do that with Mother before. Me, yes, but not her. “I’m simply asking her a question.” He turns back to me. “It’s Friday night. We’re having a finger-food buffet at five, then we’ll start the awards around six.”
“I would love to go, Dad. I promised some friends from work I’d go out with them, but I can meet up with them afterward.”
Mother carried some plates over to the table. “You don’t have to change your plans for us, Priscilla.”
“She’s not changing her plans,” Dad says, his voice still tinged with annoyance.
“Oh come on, George. She’s a grown woman, and she has her own life to live.”
I don’t want to be the source of an argument between my parents, who obviously don’t need a reason to be at each other’s throats lately. “Of course I’ll go. This is important—”
“No, no, your mother’s right. I shouldn’t have sprung this on you at the last minute. Maybe next time.”
“It’s okay, Dad,” I say. “I want to go.” Good grief. It doesn’t take much to start an argument around here. Between Mother’s antagonism and Dad’s petulance, it’s a wonder they’re still sitting at the same table.
Mother carries the casserole over to the table and places it on the trivet before turning to Dad. “Why don’t you say the blessing, George?”
I listen to his voice and wonder why I hadn’t noticed how gravelly he was beginning to sound. He’s always had a deep voice, but it’s changing. When he’s finished and I open my eyes, I take a long, hard look at both of my parents and ponder how everything is changing. And I don’t like what I’m seeing.
“I’m glad you’re here, Priscilla,” Mother says as she scoops some of the
casserole onto her plate. “I know I haven’t exactly been the most gracious hostess, but I’ve had a lot on my mind.”
“I’m happy to be here too.” I reach out and touch her hand.
“You should come around more often,” Dad adds. “We miss our girl.”
Mother gives him the first tender look I’ve seen since I’ve been home. Maybe things aren’t as bad as they seem.
“I’ll try. I have a new assistant now, and she really wants more responsibility.”
“Mandy?” Mother asks.
“Yes, have I told you about her?”
Dad clears his throat and leans back. Mother gives him a cross look then turns to me. “She called right before you came in.”
A clanging sound goes off in my head. “Uh-oh. What happened?”
“Apparently she’s upset about something Rosemary did.” Mother gives me an apologetic look. “I was going to wait until after supper to tell you, since there’s nothing you can do about it now.” She cuts a sharp gaze over toward Dad, who pretends not to notice.
I groan. “Do I need to call her?”
“After supper. She said she’ll stay late.”
“Excuse me,” I say as I push my chair back from the table. “I should call her now.”
“Priscilla,” Mother says. I stop and look at her, and she waves me off. “Never mind. Go do whatever you need to do.”
I call the office and let the phone ring. When the voice mail picks up, I try the salon on the off chance someone is still there. After three rings, Rosemary answers.
“Hey Rosemary, this is Priscilla. What’s going on?”
“Huh? I was just sweeping up and getting ready to leave. What are you talking about?”
“I got a message that Mandy called. Has there been a problem?”
An exasperated grunt escapes Rosemary. “I told her not to bug you about it.”
“About what?”
“It’s no big deal. An out-of-town customer came in and gave the new hairdresser a hard time. Madison, you know. I told him no one deserves to be talked to like that, so he went straight upstairs and complained.” She pauses for a few seconds. “Mandy came down here and chewed Madison out.”
“Is Madison okay?”
“Yes, but I told Mandy she’s never to do that again. I’m in charge down here in the salon, and she needs to stay upstairs.”
“Oh, I agree.” I suck in a deep breath. “I’ll talk to her.”
“I’m so sorry, Priscilla. Mandy doesn’t need to run to you with everything that happens around here.”
“That’s okay. You did the right thing. I’ll talk to Mandy and remind her that she should only come down to the salon if you need her.”
After I get off the phone with Rosemary, I give myself some time to think about what to say to Mandy. She’s clearly misunderstood the limits of her authority. It feels like she wants some power to throw around. I’d really like to stick around Piney Point and handle all the appointments I’ve agreed to take, but I can’t very well ignore the problems at the office. An idea dawns on me.
I punch in Mandy’s cell phone number, and she answers right away. “Sorry it took me so long to get back with you. What do you need?” I figure it’s best to play ignorant than to light into her as soon as she answers her phone.
“Oh nothing,” she says. “I’ve got everything under control now.”
I’m so not in the mood for this game. “Are you sure? My mother said something happened with Rosemary.” So much for playing ignorant.
Mandy makes a hissing sound. “Do you trust me or not?”
“Give me a reason to.”
“Who’s in charge with you gone?”
Now’s the time to clarify something I thought I’d already said. “Rosemary is in charge of everything that happens in the salon. And you . . . You’re in charge of the office.”
“What if someone gets mad about something that happens in the salon and comes up to the office to complain?”
It’s time to tell her I already know, so I do. “Rosemary has been with me a very long time. She can handle it.”
“But I don’t want you to lose business.” Mandy huffs indignantly.
I sigh. “The business is doing just fine. If we lose a customer or two, I’m sorry, but that can’t be helped. It happens.”
“But—”
“Mandy,” I say. “Don’t worry about something you can’t do anything about. This will work itself out if we don’t let it snowball into something bigger.”
“What if a disgruntled customer threatens to go to the newspaper?”
“Is that what happened?” I ask.
“Well, sort of.”
I lower myself into the chair beside me. “Okay, tell me exactly what happened.”
After she finishes explaining her side of the story, I realize the problem escalated only because she overreacted. I don’t want to lecture her over the phone, so I ask if she wants me to come back to meet with her and Rosemary.
“No,” she says a little too quickly. “Stay there. I’ll try to do a better job.”
“Are you sure?” I ask. “I can move things around—”
“Look, I probably got too upset when that angry man came into the office. He had me worried when he made some threats.”
“But he didn’t personally threaten you, did he?” I ask. “Because if he did, you should call the cops.”
“No, he just said he’d make sure everyone knew how bad he was treated.”
“Did you get his name and number?”
“No.”
“Next time someone does something like that, please take down his information and tell the person you’ll have the owner get in touch with him.”
“Okay.” She sniffles. “I’m sorry, Priscilla. I really want to do a good job. Maybe I’m trying too hard?”
“Don’t worry. We all have to learn. I bet by the time I get back, you’ll be runnin’ that place with one hand tied behind your back.”
“I hope so.” She laughs. “Not that I’d want to, but it would be so cool if I actually knew what I was doing.”
At least she’s admitting something here, which gives me hope. Now I hope my supper isn’t cold.
14
Trudy
If you don’t keep your appointment at the Cut ’n Curl, everyone will talk,” Mama says. “And it won’t be pretty.”
“I don’t know what I was thinkin’ when I called. There’s no one there who can do my hair right,” I argue. “Besides, I have my own hairdresser here in Atlanta.” A hairdresser who charges nearly half a week’s salary, which is why I don’t go as often as I should.
“I hear Priscilla’s in town to help with the reunion, and she’s taking appointments. Maybe you can switch to her. She’s good.”
I know she’s good, but the very thought of Priscilla judging my failed, miserable life while doing my hair doesn’t sit well with me. “I don’t know. It’s bad enough I have to go to the reunion alone.”
“You don’t have to go,” she reminds me.
“You know if I don’t show up everyone will be talkin’—especially since he’ll be there with that little . . . whatever she is.” Mama hates when I call girls bimbos.
“She’s still a child of God,” Mama says. “Besides, it’s not her fault that man you chose to marry is a two-timer.”
“That’s true.” But I still don’t have to like the little whatever.
“You haven’t taken up with the notion there’s any hope with him, have you?”
“No, of course not.” Deep down, that’s exactly what I keep hoping.
“Then go have your hair done by Priscilla and act like you can’t wait to see everyone.”
“I don’t know,” I say.
“I’ll pay for whatever you need done,” Mama says.
As tempting as her offer is, I can’t very well show up looking like I do now. “I’ve been going to the same hairdresser since I’ve been here, so I’ll get everything done before I leave. M
aybe I’ll keep my appointment at the Cut ’n Curl for a touchup, but you don’t need to pay.”
“Are you sure?”
I hesitate. If I take her up on her offer, I won’t have to worry so much about money. But pride is more powerful than all the money in the world. “Positive.”
“Okay, but if you change your mind, let me know.”
I need to change the subject, so I tell her I’ll be in town the weekend before the reunion. “I’m taking a week of vacation so I can spend some time with you.”
“That’ll be nice, Trudy.”
Mama tells me good-bye and hangs up. I stand and stare at myself in the mirror. Goodness, look at all those tiny lines around my eyes! I have no idea how they got there. And the lines around my mouth. All my life, I’ve been smiling without crinkling the rest of my face.
I can’t very well stand back and not do something with the reunion coming up so soon. I rummage through all my handbags and find my hairdresser’s card. I used to have his number on speed dial, but I got a new phone when I downgraded cell phone plans. There it is.
“Joel can see you on Monday afternoon or Thursday morning,” the receptionist says. “What all do you need done?”
“Cut and color.” I check my work schedule. “Monday afternoon will be good.”
“Okay, see you then.”
I swallow hard. It’s been a long time since I’ve had my hair professionally colored, but I can’t very well go to the reunion with drugstore blonde on my hair.
On my way to work, I think about other aspects of my life that have been a disappointment. Although I’ve worked hard and gotten raises, I still don’t make enough to cover everything I thought I’d have by this point in my life. Like a good-looking car. I sold that sports car years ago, and I can’t very well drive up in a midsize family sedan. It’s fine for getting me to and from work, but it’s just not fitting for the former Miss Piney Point. Maybe I can rent a car.
Joel greets me at the door when I arrive at the salon. “Hey Trudy.” He turns me around and looks me over. “What have you done to your hair? It’s a hot mess.”
The heat of embarrassment floods my face, so I look away. “I’ve been so busy working, I didn’t have time.” I’m not about to mention my financial situation. Joel is one of those hairdressers who interviews prospective clients, and I don’t want him to think I’m not worthy of his services.
