BestsellerBound Short Story Anthology Volume 4

by Darcia Helle

  Her madness continued, as that beautician sprayed my sister’s hairdo with a ton of stuff. “I rejected his idea to sell my memory commercially! Cajoling me, he explained our financial situation forced him to think about things that he’d never imagined before that day.” She added that she didn’t fully understand their ‘dire straits’ until, “He proved to me that all the proceeds paid our bills.” I wondered if the lack of personal payment remained her true concern. My sister’s beautician never explained how that stiff got away with never rewarding her for her poses. Maybe, he did feel he satisfied her on some level- already. Possibly, he tricked her into believing the same!

  As I wondered about how that relationship ended, her conversation rapidly moved on, “As a result of my misfortunate act, it happened. I became the star in many a young man’s eye. One guy dared approached me at a café bowing to my beauty while kissing my hand.”

  As she spoke, my scrawl probably gave away my thoughts; I couldn’t imagine that older woman as pretty or sexually desirable but the beautician’s autobiography begged to differ with my viewpoint. “The new fellow’s profession appealed to me. The man was a world traveler, which I found attractive as well as tempting. My goal was never to be trapped in a small town; achieving it felt possible with that guy. My second husband and father of my children became my spouse just before he shipped out to Korean War. To my dismay, he sent me to his hometown- a farm in a sprawling countryside- to live with his parents. In fact, each time his naval ship boarded; he suggested I go home, which meant his old stomping grounds. Our marriage succeeded because he was a good Christian man, and I kept getting pregnant every time his ship was in port. Once he retired and I lived with that man full time, our marriage waned.”

  She caught my attention with that last comment. I wondered why they couldn’t get along when in each other’s company- fulltime. “He drank coming home violently inebriated. His target switched from furniture tossing to me then the kids. I suggested counseling for his repressed emotions and anger exaggerated by his drinking. You know what he hollered?”

  I had no idea; neither did my sister, “What?”

  “You are the one that needs counseling; you won’t behave the way I want!”

  My mind tried to imagine what she did wrong to warrant a beating. She filled us in on the details but not all of them. “He wanted to move back to his small, country town and allow relatives to provide for us. I loved the big city of his last base; my goal of never being trapped in the provincial way of life drove him to more drinking and me to a counselor.” She rubbed her neck area while temporarily in a dream state before adding, “That therapist told me if I stayed in my situation then I’d need more counseling. That day, I made plans to leave starting with signing up for cosmetology courses and a new career in beauty.”

  “That’s how you got here,” My sister engaged her in further discussion. “Now, you help women stay beautiful!”

  “I left that man with our children in tow.” She exhaled deeply showing no regret for that decision. “He died of alcoholism a few years later. The saddest memory for me focuses on his last conversation about our marriage. Regretting his first love- the bottle- ripped our marriage to shreds, he vowed to love me until death did us part. It did! He died!”

  After a long breath in and out, she explained her position on relationships of women and men, “Mourning his loss due to the impact on my kids, I still felt good that my daughters knew not to allow men to run all over you. Women are humans that require a good loving man over a scoundrel like my first love that photographer and my second husband when he drank! If their father had stopped loving booze more than me, we’d have reunited.”

  “What happened?” My sister demanded.

  “Funny thing!” She smiled. “I went home to grieve. I broke my own vow and moved back to my roots. While there, I met my first husband. He found ‘the love of his life’ creating the kind of home life everyone should have.”

  “You regretted leaving him?” My sister felt the answer would be a resounding yes.

  “No, I used him to get out of my parents’ house; I never felt deeply involved with him.” Her face showed no remorse. “I was happy for him,” She smiled caressing her neck with her hand once again.

  Then, seemingly out of nowhere, her face looked bitter as if she doubted her own feelings. Quickly, the beautician revealed the cause of her frown, “One day, at The Penguin Ice Cream Parlor, I encountered trouble that should have been expected. His current wife didn’t notice me at the food bar enjoying a hotdog and soda because she was too busy tended to a birthday celebration. As the kids merrily and loudly made then ate sundaes of every type, she whispered to some of the other mothers present. She openly chatted with the other females about my unfortunate magazine debut and its impact on her life ever since I’d arrived.”

  “Did her spouse want you back?” My sister lured her into divulging more details of that encounter.

  “No, she called me the bad seed of my hometown. According to the local gossip, her friends assured her that her opinion of me was right on target. Evidently, all the locals debated my honor and blind ambitions; I was the hot topic of their discussions. I didn’t relish that kind of exposure and gossip. Plus, I feared that my children would become targets of their ‘over the top,’ judgmental behavior.”

  She wiped a tear from her eye adding, “My children came from a good family life before my sailor started drinking and swearing. He was basically a good man providing for all our needs before his desires took over and he drowned himself in liquor. My kids developed enough anxieties due to their dad’s demise; they didn’t need more doubt about a parent’s, bad judgments in their young lives.” Her facial expression showed her deep love for her offspring; that town’s clan obviously didn’t take in to account her maturity and life changes after her very public mistake. Their provincial ways drove her next decision, “My trip back home gave me new insight and direction.” She smiled dreamily into the mirror as she spun my sister into its view to admire the hairdo. “I moved back to this big city.”

  Brining us back to her love life, the beautician declared, “Over the years, I hated to admit this thought aloud but the closest I ever came to true love was that disloyal photographer. I yearned for the type of intense, emotional involvement and commitment from my partner but…” She quickly and poignantly added, “along with trust and honesty. That man seemed to lack those qualities!” As if convincing herself more than us, that woman added, “If you have a ‘deeply passionate’ connection with a partner empowering all your needs from physical to emotional and spiritual, your love life is great! Your life is wonderful!”

  Before I could speak my mind about independence and finding your satisfaction within, she added, “Without those basic needs being met, a person is better off single. I’m not saying you need a partner to fulfill you; however, if you’re going to make a deeper commitment, it should be on every level!” She added, “Soon after moving here, I met a man that satisfied my longing and desires. He’s compassionate as well as faithfully adoring.”

  “Cool!”

  “Yes, and debonair to boot!” She played off my sister’s word ‘cool’ while changing its meaning to really classy person. “He is the world traveler that I was looking for all these years as well as being a truly caring soul. We married after dating three years. I wanted my children raised and out of the house before tying the knot with him. I didn’t want their relationship to be ‘step’ this or that!”

  “So, it’s happily ever after?” My sister loved the triumph in that story.

  “Let’s just say that he has taken me places I never dreamed possible; I’m so swept away that I resigned this position. I’m going on the road with him until our journey is over!” After a short pause, the beautician added, “My life began at fifty!”

  Just as she finished her story about true love; a man entered the salon. Under his arm, he cuddled a f
ramed picture with the photo pressed gently at his rib. Pulling out the gold ribbon clad black and white memory, he proclaimed, “This picture never left my mind. From the moment I saw you including in this magazine pose, it was love at first sight. For decades, I clung to the notion that one day you’d be my wife.” He thrust the object into her view, “It’s the only shot I sold that day. I withheld the others because my heart couldn’t bear imagining other men seeing some of your more compromising poses. For years, my goal of redemption included purchasing every copy of this photo on the open market. I bought back all the old magazines being sold on E-bay and Craig’s List. Hopefully, now, you are solely my angel from this centerfold!”

  I caught a glimpse of her unfortunate pose. By today’s standards, it was benign. Nothing ‘earth shattering’ showed due to the focus of his lens. As she sat poised for the kill, her body slightly titled like a playful and naïve vixen. Meanwhile, her head leaned towards that camera overtaking the entire photograph as the focal point of that picture; her look pierced the soul especially from her eyes aimed towards the viewer. She appeared to be a good actress or very much in love with the man behind that lens.

  Her expression, posture, and ‘innocent but seductive’ appearance captivated multitudes including me. As I secretly studied that photo, it occurred to me that her spouse was right; the mystery of the unseen is more intriguing than reality- sometimes. However, he should never have compromised their innocent love by selling it to that publisher.

  Her partner’s next comments surprised me, “After you left me for distributing this photo and then disappeared from LA, I searched for you in every city my job took me. Serendipity brought us back together after all these years.”

  “I remember that day you walked back into my life!” She sighed with giddiness punctuating her breath.

  “Recognizing your laughter, I approached you from behind,” He moved in for the kill that day, too, cradling her in a temporary hug; his maneuver set the tone for their reunion encounter. “Pulling the magazine page from my pocket, I tapped your right shoulder asking, ‘Is this you?’”

  “I glared at the photo turning angrily to greet another, male fan!” She explained her initial thoughts. “Wondering how anyone recognized me all these years later and from behind, my eyes hit yours immediately; you sucked me in with your glossy, smooth stare.” She giggled, “After that initial and startling discovery that you arrived back in my life, my eyes studied that old, silken paper. I remember looking at the folded edges and blackened creases of that magazine page. Like us- age brought extra wrinkles as it yellowed and tainted that image. My first words were, ‘that picture looks hot and sweaty; how long has it been in your pocket?’”

  “From the day you left me!” He recounted his response.

  “After that exposure in the magazine, the realization that I wasn’t that kind of gal hit my soul. I moved out of your ‘den of iniquity’ and into my best friend’s apartment before leaving LA.”

  “You never returned my calls!” He looked at his feet as if sad feelings arrived fresh, “Your friend and I met on a plane a year later, and she told me your good news. It was good news, right?”

  “My marriage felt good. He had a steady income along with high morals and standards. Plus, he gave me two beautiful children. His drinking came later- much later. When remembering my deceased spouse, I try to focus on before his alcoholism days!”

  “After digesting that you really left me, I signed up with a new agency. I shot war scenes of mostly men and their conquering vehicles; some were their naval vessels.” He laughed expressing an internal joke before releasing his words, “I never photographed a female vessel- again- especially not her navel! BUT- that was the era before women became more common in the military. After that war ended, my photographic studies took me to emerging nations. I snapped shots for the history books meeting kings and other world leaders thru the eye of my camera’s lens.”

  “He became a near icon for high level, cultural magazines as well as producing coffee table books full of fascinating photography,” His true love bragged.

  “My third world nations’ series captured the heart and imagination of the masses while filling my own void that losing her caused. Many women chased after my fame and fortune. However, I never had my fill; no one could compare to her!” The beautician blushed.

  “I came across his work while helping my children do book reports and social studies projects but never took a moment to read the byline and discover it was him!” Their eyes lovingly met. “When he entered my life three years ago, I discovered all these things and more.”

  “My prayers were answered when I wandered into this little shop for grooming and found you, here! In that very moment, I fashioned a plan to win your heart, again, and forever.” I learned as they continued to chat that it took time to mend broken dreams and recapture their relationship. The world renowned photographer, the beautician’s new husband, captured her heart almost thirty years earlier. When they encountered each other on their life’s journey, he reigniting their flame before it was too late “Your capacity to forgive me for selling our love short on the market place is what amazes me.”

  I learned more than I expected that day. After parting ways with his young lover, in his current profession, that man took many photos of natural wonders. However, he never captured women on film, again, because as he put it, “I regretted selling you out. My shame kept me aloof from others especially women- for too many years. Even as I moved back and forth as well as in and out of the dating world, no one compared to you, which explains my confirmed bachelorhood until I became your groom.” He squeezed her hand gently with one hand while brushing her hair out of one of her eyes with the other. “I’m my happiest when we are making our artwork- privately- together.”

  I suspected his goal of buying back all those magazines that compromised their love helped prod ‘the love of his life’ into accepting him back into her life.

  “You were right though!” She giggled like a school girl with a crush, “You took a picture, and it lasted longer.” Somehow, I knew she meant their love endured. “Who would have imagined that we’d ever mend our relationship?”

  “I’m never going to break your heart, again,” His vow felt genuine.

  She took his best shot inserting it back in public as she placed it on her work area with the right side out. “By today’s standards, this was tame;” That beautician giggled pointing at the memorable shot.

  “That’s just because I was on the wrong end of that camera,” He chuckled referring to more modern fiascos with young, actress wannabes caught on film with ex-lovers.

  It felt as if that couple of love birds kissed and made up- daily- including in front of us. In that moment- my sister declared, “Get a room!”

  I learned a few things as my mind drifted in and out of the beautician’s autobiography. Maybe, my life outside the glitter and glam of Hollywood had been for the best. As we left that building, I pondered some questions or clichés. Is all fair in love and war? Or, is all well that ends well?

  ###

  About the Author:

  My favorite question during book interviews is: How did you get started? The short answer is that my mother died. Some people dream of being authors; my writing began as what could be described as a nightmare! HOWEVER- as she died, mom’s experiences ran the gamut from going through all the grieving steps a terminal soul follows to having what would be called a Christian Near Death Experience (NDE). When most of her messages from God panned out, people in my area buzzed with the story of my parent’s death. My witness became my first book entitled Mom’s on the Roof and I can’t Get Her Down. After that, I completed seven Christian based, inspirational nonfictions. Due to a genealogy study, after meeting with some cousins at a local graveyard, I wrote my first novel, Surreal- The Hell in the Family. To date, I’ve released four novels. While working for free at my daughter and her husband’s
Christmas tree lot, I blogged my experiences. My encounters that holiday led to my children’s book Frasier the Fir is Forever Green.

  https://mchanson714.weebly.com/

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