Bless Her Heart

by Debby Mayne

  “Ooh, gotta run,” Mama says. “Don’t forget to let me know if you need some Spanx. I’ll need to get them soon, since with the reunion comin’ up, there’ll probably be a run on ’em.”

  “Okay, Mama.” I’d rather get them myself than have Mama do it for me. If I resort to wearin’ that stuff, I certainly don’t want everyone to know. Mama said people talked about me, saying I had anorexia, but I really don’t, even though I did starve myself before the last reunion.

  I’m just about done getting ready for work when my phone rings. “Hey, Ms. Baynard, this is Marlene Vanderford.”

  No matter how many times I tell her to call me Trudy, she continues to say Ms. Baynard. “Hey Marlene. How are you?”

  “Still a little sad, but I’m sure everything happens for the best. The Lord knows what I need more than I do.”

  “Why are you sad?” I ask as I rummage through my purse to make sure I have everything.

  “Well, considering the situation, I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but if I were you, I’d want to know.”

  Alarm bells ring in my head. “Tell me.”

  She sighs. “I guess you know how much I liked Hank Starkey. He broke up with me a couple of weeks ago, saying he just wasn’t feeling it.”

  I know how she feels after my broken marriage, but I don’t get why she thinks I would want to know this. “I’m so sorry, Marlene, but that happens to the best of relationships.”

  “I know. He told me he’s always had a thing for you, and nothing I do can change that.”

  Whoa, wait a minute. Hank Starkey has always had a thing for me? I knew he had a crush on me back in high school, but fifteen years have passed, and he had a gorgeous—even prettier than me, I’m now willing to admit—woman falling all over him. I mean, why would he have a “thing” for me when he could have Marlene Vanderford, second runner-up for Miss Mississippi?

  “Ms. Baynard, are you still there?”

  “Y-yes, I’m here.”

  “Please be good to Hank. He’s a wonderful man with a lot of love to give. I’ve never met a smarter, kinder, committed Christian person who lives his faith.”

  “Will you be at the reunion?” I ask.

  She lets out a soft, sweet laugh. “No, I’m afraid not. After Hank broke up with me, I joined a mission group that’s going to Brazil next week. I have a lot to do before we leave.” She pauses. “Please pray for us. The conditions are terrible. There’s no running water or electricity to parts of the village, and the people are suffering.”

  I can’t imagine intentionally putting myself in the kind of conditions she’s talking about, but I know she loves doing stuff like that. “I’ll pray for you.” And I will when I have time later today.

  “Thank you, Ms. Baynard. I also want you to know I don’t hold any bad feelings toward you because I know you didn’t do anything to lead him on.”

  “Enjoy your trip, Marlene.” After we hang up, I realize how trite my closing words are, but there’s nothing I can do about it now.

  I have to think about Hank Starkey’s admission to Marlene. It never even dawned on me that he’d still hold a torch for me. And to think he’d let someone like Marlene go just because his feelings for her aren’t as strong as what he’s always felt for me. Maybe I should give him a chance. He was geeky back in high school, but according to all my magazines, geeky is the new “cool.” And if Marlene saw something special in him, maybe I haven’t looked hard enough.

  Of course, a lot of people liked me when I was Miss Piney Point. How can a person be so on top of the world and sought after and then fall into anonymous oblivion so fast? Oh, sure, the people I went to school with remember me and who I was, but even they aren’t as impressed as they used to be. Can’t say I blame ’em, since every time I think about the way I used act, I cringe.

  Crowds parted and chins dropped as Michael and I made our way toward our next class. I close my eyes and sigh.

  The soft ticking of the clock on my dresser reminds me I need to finish getting ready for work. It’s prom season, and we’ve been slammed. At least my customers know I’m the go-to person for formalwear. Mamas and older sisters refer daughters, siblings, and friends to me, knowing they’ll be in the best hands for style. I’d never put a fair-skinned girl in a cream-colored dress or a brunette with olive skin in peach. And since there will be pictures, I advise my customers to stay away from lemon yellow. It might look great in person, but it makes people look sickly in photos. Pictures are the highlight of every prom because they last forever. I understand the value of finding the perfect dress for each occasion—from proms to Junior League events. Then I send them over to the cosmetics counter to learn the fine art of hiding zits, dark circles, and under-eye bags.

  “It’s all smoke and mirrors,” I tell them, leaving out the fact that until the past few years, everything came natural to me. Now I have to resort to taking my own beauty advice.

  As soon as I walk into my area in one of the anchor department stores at the mall, my supervisor, Cynthia, approaches me. “Hey, Trudy, I know you’re busy today, but the regional manager is here, and she wants to have a talk with you.”

  I can’t read her face, so I ask, “Any idea what she wants?”

  She averts her gaze. “You better talk to her.”

  “When?”

  Cynthia glances at her watch. “In about fifteen minutes. I told her you’re expecting a crowd after school, so she said she’ll be brief.”

  “Okay.” I pause a moment, willing away the flood of worry, but I can’t stand it any longer. “Did I do something wrong?”

  “No,” she replies with a chuckle. “She’s just doing her regular one-on-ones with all the department managers.”

  I blow out a sigh of relief. “I hope she doesn’t mind that I’ll have to keep my meetin’ short.”

  Cynthia nods. “She understands. I’ll be back in about ten minutes to relieve you while you’re gone.”

  I go to the backroom and line up the boxes I need to empty. Then I roll the rack over to the steamer to get it ready. Before I started working in retail, I had no idea what all was involved in selling clothes, but now I pride myself in mastering every aspect, from merchandising to putting the right outfit on each girl or woman.

  “You’re so organized,” Cynthia says from the doorway, startling me. “Why don’t you go on up to the administrative offices now? I’ll keep an eye on the sales floor.”

  “Thanks,” I say as I move the rack another few inches.

  All the way up the elevator to the office, I think about things I can report on. Whenever anyone from the home office comes to visit, they generally like to hear what we’ve done to improve the bottom line and what we plan to do to make it even better. I’ve managed to increase business every quarter since I started, but I’m still concerned because there have been some rumblings about the economy lately. Even though I’ve been in my position more than six years, other managers have way more seniority and would likely be the last to lose their jobs.

  The door to the office is open, and I see the administrative assistant talking to someone on the phone. She glances up at me, smiles, and gestures to go on back. The sound of my heels clip-clopping on the tile floor echoes in my head, making me nervous. I take a deep breath and knock on the very last door on the right.

  “Come on in,” Sandy says. She smiles as I open the door and step inside. “I hear you’ve been a busy lady.”

  “Yes, very busy. But I like it.” I have to throw that in for good measure to make sure she knows I want to keep my job.

  She points to the chair closest to me. “Have a seat.”

  As I sit, she stands, and this confuses me. Then she goes behind me and closes the door. In the past, my meetings with regional people have been open door. My palms start to sweat, and my pulse quickens.

  “I told Cynthia we might be a while, so don’t worry about time.”

  That’s not what Cynthia said. “I have an appointment with the mother of twin
girls going to the prom,” I say. “She wants to help pick out some appropriate dresses before she brings them in.”

  Sandy smiles. “That’s a very smart mom.”

  “I started doing that the second season I was in this position. It averts a lot of sales floor disasters.”

  “And you are a very smart saleswoman, which is why I want to talk to you about something.”

  In spite of my nerves practically screaming from their roots, I’m curious. I swallow hard, nod, and look at her.

  “We’ve been looking for ways to increase our bottom line throughout this store as well as others in the region. What we’ve decided to do is choose the manager in each department who is thriving to go around and visit other stores in the region and show them how to improve their business.”

  I blink. I’m slightly confused. “So what does this mean for me?”

  “As soon as prom season is over, I would like to send you out to Macon, Chattanooga, Jackson, Hattiesburg, Birmingham, Montgomery, Raleigh, Charleston, and maybe even Charlotte to teach your techniques to other managers and their sales staff.” She glances down at something on the desk before looking back up at me with a smile. “All expenses paid, of course.”

  That sounds like fun, but I try not to show my excitement. “Who’ll be in charge of my area while I’m gone?”

  “Cynthia and I have been discussing it, and she thinks Darlene would be able to handle her department and yours quite nicely.”

  I can’t think of a worse person to take over my department. Darlene is the manager of plus-size women’s ready-to-wear, and she used to be in charge of formal wear before I came along. Ever since I got promoted and turned the department around, she’s held a grudge against me, even though she has less work for the same amount of money.

  “So I’m thinking we can start this thing in the smallest store first so you can get used to working with people you don’t know.” She studies a list of stores. “Hattiesburg, Mississippi, has a tremendous amount of potential, with the University of Southern Mississippi right there. Just the sororities alone should bring in double what they’re seeing. The manager is willing, but she doesn’t have your skills.”

  “Wh-when would you like me to go to Hattiesburg?”

  “How does the second week of June sound?”

  I glance up at the calendar on the wall and see that my class reunion is at the end of the second week of June. Since they’re paying for all my expenses, I can stay in a nice hotel in Hattiesburg and not have to face my family more than I want to. “That’s doable,” I say, trying to hold back my excitement.

  “Cynthia reminded me that your family is in that area, and we really need to be cautious with the bottom line. If it’s not too much trouble, maybe you can stay with your family . . . of course it would only be for that week.”

  There go my plans. “I’m sure they won’t mind.”

  “Good.” She stands. “That didn’t take long.” She walks me to the door. “Oh, and I almost forgot to tell you. We’re working up a compensation package for this new position. I’ll e-mail it to you after we have everything calculated.”

  “Compensation package? New position?”

  “Of course. This is a promotion, and we wouldn’t expect you to have all the added responsibility without being compensated. Of course, with the economy being what it is, the extra pay isn’t what we think you’re worth. Our goal is to increase that once the sales go up.”

  I shake her hand and thank her for her time. All the way back to my area on the sales floor, I hear the words to “Moving on Up” playing in my head. I might not still be with the high-school hero, but at least my career is doing just fine. The timing is good, too, because I’ll have something to brag about at the class reunion.

  Cynthia gives me a handshake and a hug when I join her. “Why didn’t you say something?” I ask.

  “Oh, trust me, I wanted to, but Sandy insisted on making it a formal offer. I hope you’re okay with Darlene filling in for you while you’re gone.”

  “Of course I am,” I say as I cross my fingers behind my back. I’m not about to ruin my happy day by grousing about how Darlene has tried to sabotage everything I’ve done since I started. It must really get her goat that I’m better with customers than she’ll ever be. I’ve tried to help her, but she just pushes me away, saying she has more experience than I have. “Does anyone else know?”

  “No, but I’m going to take care of that right now.” She takes a step back, waves, turns, and heads toward the women’s department.

  A few Junior Leaguers walk up, and I show them some dresses they might want to consider for their next function. One of them is the emcee at a charity auction, and the other is hosting a dinner party for the board. They both leave with smiles on their faces, and I feel good about being such an integral part of a good cause.

  I’ve just cleared a rolling rack to pull some prom dresses for the twins when I spot Darlene coming toward me. When I turn to face her, I see her nostrils flaring, reminding me of an angry bull.

  “So you’ve managed to fool the higher-ups into thinking you know what you’re doing? Well, I got your number, girlfriend, and it won’t be long before everyone else does too.”

  My chin drops, and my eyebrows shoot up, until I spot Cynthia coming around the corner looking madder than a hornet. “Darlene,” she says. “You and I need to have a talk.”

  I stand there dumbfounded—first from the fact that Darlene dared come at me in such a confrontational manner in the middle of the store and second from having Cynthia catch her in the act. Today is full of surprises.

  A sense of satisfaction washes over me as I watch them walk away. I know I’m not supposed to be happy about someone else’s misfortune, but seriously, Darlene asked for it.

  5

  Celeste Boudreaux

  Me and Jimmy have been dating for near about four years now. We could’ve started right after the ten-year reunion, but he’s a little slow when it comes to romance. I had to tell him we was meant for each other before he saw it for himself.

  Now I’m trying to figure out a way to get him to propose. The women’s magazines say there’s nothing wrong with the woman asking her guy to marry her, but somehow it won’t seem as real if he don’t get down on one knee to pop the question. I did manage to get him to the county health department for a blood test last week, just in case we might wanna have a quickie wedding while our friends are in town for the reunion. But the second we got to the door, he said no way was he gonna tie the knot any time soon. He just went to get me off his back, and now he couldn’t go through with it. The way he shivered made me wonder which he was more afraid of: getting married or having someone draw his blood.

  I finish putting on my mascara the way Priscilla taught me to do it. I start to turn away from the mirror when I notice a few stray hairs beneath my perfectly plucked eyebrows. Shoot. Keeping up with the facial hair is a time-consuming ordeal.

  I wince as I pluck each little hair. One of these days I think I might spring for another one of them wax jobs and get the pain over with all at once.

  Every day, Priscilla’s beauty advice rings through my head. I’ve never liked her all that much, but she does know how to make a woman look good.

  “Now that your face and hair are your best features,” Priscilla said, “you should call attention to them with a flattering neckline and jewelry.”

  So I open my jewelry armoire—the kind you can get at the mall for half-price during the after-holiday sales—and select what the magazines call a “statement necklace.” I’m wearing a universally flattering turquoise top, so I pick a chunky, coral-colored choker and some big wide hoop earrings. According to fashion experts, a girl don’t have to wear matching jewelry. In fact, matchy-matchy went out in the 1950s.

  In spite of all the fashion studying I’ve been doing over the past five years, I’m still a tad uncomfortable calling so much attention to myself. Standing in front of the mirror, I feel like a fraud. Hid
ing inside this pretty girl is a dorky wallflower. But I remember something else Priscilla said. “Lift your head a couple of inches, straighten your back, and smile. Everyone else will think you have confidence, and eventually you will too.”

  I wonder how long it’ll take for me to feel it. You’d think five years of looking like this would give me all the assurance I need, but I’m not sure I’ll ever get past my insecurities.

  Maybe staying in Piney Point held me back, but I reckon it’s too late to fix that. I know my place, and it’s right here. Besides, what I do is important, and most of the time I don’t mind my job. I like having folks depend on me and respect me for what I know.

  My job as a private-duty nurse changes, depending on the condition of my patient. The last man I sat with needed companionship and a little help with feeding. I was his day nurse. His night sitter was a man who helped him bathe and take care of more intimate details of grooming. Now I’m working with Liz, a younger woman who fell headfirst out of a three-story building in Hattiesburg. In my book, she’s fortunate to be alive, but she constantly complains about this and that, and sometimes she even says she wishes she was dead. If it weren’t for that, I would’ve asked more questions, like how the incident happened that put her in the wheelchair in the first place. There’s some conflicting talk. Some folks say she jumped when her boyfriend told her he was leaving her for someone else. Other people claim he pushed her before leaving and is covering his tracks. She’s such an angry person she won’t talk about it—not even in court with lawyers breathing down her neck. Whatever the case, she’s paralyzed from her neck down, and she needs round-the-clock help.

  Her mama sold their farm out near Columbia and moved to Piney Point after the incident so they could be near the hospital in Hattiesburg. Her mama reminds me of my own, and that’s not a good thing. Liz went from being independent in her own apartment to being treated like a child and stuck in the smallest bedroom of her mama’s house.