by Debby Mayne
“Honey, you need to make time to look good. Come on back and let’s see what I can do, and trust me, this is gonna take some doin’.”
According to Joel, I need a deep conditioning treatment before he can color my hair. “You’ll have to come back next week,” he says. “I’m not about to do any more processing on this mess, or you just might wind up bald.”
I’m about to break down in tears, but lift my head and pretend I’m not fazed. He gives me several packets of deep conditioner to apply to my hair so it’ll be ready to take color without falling out.
“I’ll schedule you for a week from today. Plan on being here a while ’cause we need to take our time.”
After I get home, I pull up my bank balance on the computer and stare at the numbers. I’m not sure what the cut and color will cost, but I suspect I’m dangerously close to not having enough to cover it. Looks like I’ll be adding to my credit card balance. I’d hoped to pay it off sometime this year, but that won’t happen now.
The next day, I ask the store manager if there’s any chance of a raise. “Not this year, Trudy. In fact, we might have to lay some people off.” She pats my arm. “But don’t worry. I think your job is safe.”
By the time I have my appointment with Joel, I’m resigned to eating mac and cheese for a while after the reunion. I’ve had to do that before, and although I’ve sworn it’ll never happen again, I’ll do whatever I have to.
As Joel works on my hair, we talk about my reunion. “Weren’t you Miss Everything?”
I laugh. “Not exactly. Just Miss Piney Point, for what that’s worth.”
“Do you have your outfit yet?” he asks as he wraps another section of hair in foil.
“I have several.”
“Good thing you work in fashion. You should’ve seen what some girls wore to my reunion.” He rolls his eyes. “Looked like they raided their mamas’ closets.”
“I’m sure I’ll see plenty of that at my reunion.”
“How about your car?” he asks. “You want to show up in a car that screams success.”
I glance down at the tissue I’ve been shredding. “I’m thinking about renting a car.”
He laughs. “Yeah, and everyone will know since those car rental companies plaster the bumpers with advertising stickers.”
I hadn’t thought about that. “Hmm.”
“I take it you’re not ready to get a new car?” Joel pulls up another section of hair and studies it.
“Not any time soon,” I admit. “Maybe next year.”
“That won’t do you any good for the reunion.”
Oh dear.
After I leave Joel’s chair and hand over my credit card to charge half my week’s salary, I head on out to the parking lot and try to start my car. The engine makes a groaning sound . . . then nothing. I lean my head back against the headrest, close my eyes, and take a deep breath, and then I try again. Silence.
I go back into the salon and ask if anyone can help jump-start my car. Joel sends one of the younger hairdressers out. To my relief, the car starts, and he advises me to go straight to a mechanic. I nod, even though I don’t have enough money left in my bank account to pay for repairs. I’d really like to take his advice, but I can’t. All I can do now is go home and pray that my car starts enough times to get me through to the next paycheck.
15
Priscilla
I don’t know what to do about Mother and Dad. They’ve obviously had some problems since I’ve been gone. As tempting as it is to try to fix things for them during the time I’ve been with them, I’ve seen enough relationship issues to know it’s best to let them work it out for themselves. But still . . . They’re my parents. I pray they’re able to get through whatever it is. In the meantime, I’ll try to leave them alone as much as possible. Maybe my being there all the time has put pressure on them.
Still, I said I’d go to that awards banquet, so on Friday I knock off early to get showered and changed. Dad has a little more bounce in his step since I said I’d go. So I pull on the dress I think I’ll wear to the reunion, slip into some heels, and follow my parents’ car out to the college.
“Ah, there’s our honoree now!” A tall, elegant woman wearing her hair in a French twist heads our way. She looks vaguely familiar. “Suzanne, George!”
Mother smiles tightly. “Hello, Bonnie.” She looks around the room.
The woman turns to me. “Is this little Priscilla? Heavens, where does the time go?”
Now I remember. Bonnie Jergensen has the office next to my mother’s. I’m pretty sure she’s the one who introduced Mother to the first Classy Lassy group, but I can’t really picture her in a red hat.
“It’s so nice to see you,” Bonnie says. “What are you doing these days?”
I feel my mother tense beside me. This is not her favorite subject. “I’m a hairdresser,” I say, and she relaxes a little.
“Oh?”
Mother steps in between us. “My daughter is just being humble. She’s a businesswoman. She owns her own chain of salons.”
“I own three.”
Mother’s shoulders slump, and my heart aches for her. “But I’m working on buying more.” I glance at Mother, and she’s standing a little taller.
“You must be very proud of her,” Bonnie says to my parents and then turns to me. “Where are your salons, Priscilla?”
“One of them is here in town. Ever heard of Prissy’s Cut ’n Curl?”
“That’s yours?” Bonnie tugs me toward a corner and whispers, “I’ve been going there for years, and I had no idea.” She frowns for a moment. “But I should have figured it out since your name’s on it now instead of Dolly’s. Come on, I want to show you off to some of the newer folks. We’ve added on to the department.”
Mother is keeping her eye on us as we move around the room.
One of the younger teachers pumps my hand enthusiastically. “I just love your daddy,” she says. “Such a cool guy. Sometimes I forget he’s old enough to be my father.”
Another teacher comes up and takes me by the arm. “I just heard you’re a hairdresser. I hate to bother you right now, but I have one quick little question.”
“Sure.” I smile at her.
She pats the back of her hair. “I can’t seem to keep the frizzies away. I’ve tried everything in the drugstore, and nothing works.”
I look at her hair and give her some advice on how to angle the brush when she blows it dry. “It’s a common problem,” I add.
“I always wondered how my hairdresser could do things I never could after I got home. I assumed it was one of the secrets you people learn in cosmetology school.”
“Why don’t you stop by the Cut ’n Curl and ask for the frizz-control serum,” I say. “That should help, even in the most humid weather. It works wonders for most people, and we offer a money-back guarantee.”
Her eyes light up. “I’ll do that. Thank you so much. It’s not everyday I get a chance to talk with someone who really knows about hair.”
I look around the room and see my dad talking with some students. He winks when he sees me watching. Mother stands outside his circle, still watching me with a pained expression, so I excuse myself and walk over to her.
“Aren’t you the social butterfly,” she says, and it dawns on me that maybe my mother is just . . . jealous? I’d never thought of it that way before.
“Naw,” I say. “I’m just trying not to embarrass you and Dad.”
“Well.” Mother folds her hands. “You do look very nice tonight.”
The next morning I’m on my way to the salon when Rosemary calls, her voice tight and frantic. “I don’t know why Mandy’s on such a high horse . . .”
I let out a sigh of frustration. After not hearing anything for a few days, I assumed everything was copacetic. “What happened this time?”
“She’s still actin’ all bossy, like she owns the place. She just trotted down here in those high heels of hers, just to let me know she’s
in charge.”
“I’ve already told her otherwise,” I say.
“Apparently she didn’t hear you.”
“I’ll talk to her again,” I say.
“Good, ’cause you don’t want me talkin’ to her. Next time she comes down here actin’ all high and mighty, I won’t hold back.”
Rosemary is a good twenty years older than Mandy, and she’s been in the beauty business since she graduated from high school. I need to stay on top of things to prevent a disaster.
“Thanks for letting me know, Rosemary. I’ll remind her what I said last time and check in with you periodically to make sure she’s not interfering.”
“I appreciate that, Priscilla,” she says, her voice now slightly softer. “How’s Piney Point?”
“Interesting, to say the least.”
She giggles. “You’ll have some stories to tell when you get back.”
“Oh, I’m sure.”
Sheila’s first client is sitting in the chair with foil wraps all over her head, which lets me know my staff started early. “Good mornin’,” I say as I breeze past Sheila.
“Hey girl.” Chester motions for me to sit in his chair, and I do it. “I have a few minutes before my first client gets here.” He starts raking his fingers through my hair, lifts one side, holds it up, and studies it for a few seconds. “Have you thought about doing a side-sweep for the reunion?”
I laugh. “I haven’t thought about anything like that.”
“Let me do your hair for the big event,” he says. “Please?”
“We’ll see.” I wriggle out of the chair and head to the back to put my purse away. “In the meantime, I have to get set up for the day.”
“Who’s your first client?”
“Celeste.”
Chester is right on my heels, all the way to the office. “If you need any help with her, let me know. I’m sure she’ll be a handful.”
“I think I can handle her.”
“Have you seen those eyebrows? And I don’t think that girl has had a facial . . . like ever.”
“Maybe not,” I say, “but in case you haven’t noticed, she’s got some gorgeous eyes and a super healthy head of hair.”
Chester tilts his head back, grins, and chuckles. “See? That’s the difference between me and you, Priscilla. When I look at someone who’s never taken care of herself, I can’t get past what needs to be changed. But you see the potential.” His smile turns sheepish. “I reckon that’s why you’re the successful business owner, and I’m just a hairdresser.”
I lay my hand on his arm. “But without you and my other fabulous hairdressers, I would be nothing.”
He blushes. “So true.” He turns to leave, then stops. “I wish we could keep a full-time aesthetician, but I don’t know if one could make a living here in Piney Point.”
“That’s why I started doing facials,” I say.
“Maybe one of us should do that,” Chester says as he looks off in the distance. “We do get calls for it every now and then.”
“Let me know what you want to do. I’ll cover the cost of any classes you need.”
Some people say I’m driven—almost as though it’s a disease. But I still don’t understand other people’s satisfaction with the status quo. My personal goals continue to grow. Most people who know me are aware that I want to buy more salons. However, I haven’t told a soul about my desire to come up with a product I can sell on the TV Network Shopping channel. When I close my eyes, I can actually see myself standing alongside my favorite show host, Felicity, as she touts the benefits of my hair conditioners . . . or styling gel . . . or some apparatus I’ve come up with to enhance a woman’s beauty. I’ve gotten pretty carried away with this dream—just like I did when I first decided to go into the beauty business.
I make a deal with myself as I walk to the back of the salon. If I can make Celeste Boudreaux as beautiful as I think I can, and if she admits that she likes what she sees, I’ll get started working on something for TVNS right away. I figure if I can get her to admit she’s beautiful, I’ll be able to sell anything on air. This is the kind of thing that happened before I decided to go into business for myself. Shortly after I started working as a hairdresser at Dolly’s Cut ’n Curl, Mother and Dad had nearly convinced me I’d made a huge mistake and that I should head on back to college to prepare for a more meaningful career. I prayed to God that He’d show me the path I was meant to take and that if I was meant to stay in the beauty field, He’d make it obvious. The next day Dolly announced she was retiring. I figured that was what I was looking for. Without taking even a second to think about what I was getting myself into, I told her I wanted to buy the place. Maybe it was a sign from God, or maybe it wasn’t. Whatever the case, I wasn’t about to let the opportunity go. And since then, things kept opening up for me to expand, and they still are. I’ve recently heard from a small, privately owned chain of salons in Florida that they’re considering selling. The owner wants to take his profits and put them all into his New York salons.
I set everything out in the private room that I’ve reserved for Celeste. She didn’t request it, but I figure she’ll be more comfortable there since she hasn’t had much experience in the beautification department.
Back in high school, Celeste Boudreaux didn’t have many friends. I always said hi to her, but it never dawned on me to actually ask her to do something. Now I wonder why. It’s never been in my nature to snub people based on how they looked, their academic prowess, or anything else for that matter.
I’ve got everything laid out when Celeste appears at the doorway with a combination of fear and distrust written all over her—not just in her facial expression but in the way she’s slightly turned as though she might bolt at any minute. Now I remember why I never said more than a few words to her. She has seriously negative vibes.
“Come on in, Celeste,” I say with forced enthusiasm.
“Why are we back here?” she asks. “Are you still embarrassed to be seen with me?”
I want to smack her, but instead, I smile. “Of course not. I’ve never been embarrassed to be seen with you, Celeste. You know I’m not like that.”
She rolls her eyes. “Then answer my question. Why are we behind closed doors?”
“I thought you might be more comfortable back here in private. If you’re like me, you don’t want everyone in town to see you with goop all over your face.”
“What’s the point in any of this anyway?” she asks. “This whole thing seems silly.”
“I think you’ll change your mind after we’re done.”
She bobs her head and makes a face that makes me think she might not go through with this whole beauty thing. And quite frankly, if she doesn’t drop the attitude, I’m fine with her walking out. When I show her the products I’m going to use, she rolls her eyes.
“Look, Celeste, I want to help you, but only if you want me to.”
I hold my breath, half hoping she’ll turn and bolt. But she doesn’t. She just shrugs, says, “Whatever,” and plops her skinny rear into the chair across from me. “I don’t expect much, but I’m here, and my mama’s paying, so do with me what you want. Can’t be any worse than I already am.”
Great attitude. I continue with a forced smile as I explain proper cleansing, toning, and moisturizing.
“So you’re saying I have to do all this twice a day?” she asks, pointing to the jars of goop on the table.
“Ideally, yes,” I reply.
After cleansing, I pull out the tweezers. Her eyes widen, and she rears back. “You’re not gonna use that torture device on me, are you?”
I snicker and realize I sound like I enjoy torturing my clients, so I clear my throat and explain. “This is one of those things that might hurt for a second or two, but when you see the results, you’ll know it’s worth it.”
She waves her hand. “Then just do it.”
As I work on Celeste’s face, I start to see something I never expected: a beautiful arra
ngement of features. With some hair removed and enhanced with the right color, she’ll be a very pretty woman.
When I’m all done, I hold up a mirror so she can see how much better she looks. She holds it at different angles and studies her reflection without saying anything other than a few hmms and uhs.
“Well?” I stare at her until she lowers the mirror.
That’s when I see her glistening eyes. “I don’t know what to say, Priscilla. I would hug you, but that’s so not me.”
That’s all I need to hear. I smile back, stand up, and wander over toward the door. “Take your time, Celeste. I’ll be out front waiting for my next client.”
I’m all the way at the counter when I hear Sheila. “Why, Celeste Boudreaux, don’t you look like a hot mama?” she hollers out.
I turn around and see Celeste walking toward the front of the salon, looking baffled but smiling. She pauses at the counter still grinning, says, “I left your tip on the table,” then walks out the door.
Chester leaves his client to join me, staring out the door in obvious amazement. “How in the world did you do that? You are a miracle worker, Priscilla Slater.”
“It’s always been there,” I say. “I just had to uncover the beauty. Wait until I get ahold of her hair.”
16
Laura
Sometimes I feel like all I ever do is clean up other people’s messes. Once upon a time, I thought I’d have a happy husband and a houseful of happy young’uns like you see on TV, but reality is a different story. Kids make messes and they sap a lot of your energy. And I’m not sure if my husband is happy or not.
Some people wonder how Pete and I got together, and I have to admit, the question has haunted me on occasion. We couldn’t be any different. I used to like to go to church as a kid because it was one of the places that gave me a peaceful feeling. Pete, on the other hand, never stepped foot inside a house of worship until one of his teammates on the Piney Point Panthers football team invited him to a contemporary Christian band jam session my youth group sponsored when we were in high school.
