by Debby Mayne
I arrive at my job five minutes early. “You’re late,” Liz’s mama says as she flings the door open.
“I—”
She cuts me off. “Just go on back to Liz’s room. I have to leave now. They had a big party at the country club last night, and it’ll take all mornin’ to get the place back in shape.” Liz’s mama works on the cleaning crew at one of the country clubs in Hattiesburg. She don’t make a lot of money, but that don’t matter to me since the insurance company pays my salary.
When I get to Liz’s room, I pause and knock. Even in her condition, I think it’s important to let her keep a certain amount of dignity. I don’t like her much, but she’s one of God’s children, and I try real hard to be respectful of her personal space.
“Come in,” Liz hollers.
As I open the door, she eyes me up and down before settling her gaze on my necklace. I’m uncomfortable under such intense scrutiny, but I remember Priscilla’s words, and I lift my chin.
“Did you know you clash?” she asks.
I instantly reach up and grab hold of my necklace. “It’s a fashion statement piece.”
She cackles. “Whoever told you that?”
“It’s in all the magazines,” I reply. Why I’m letting this mean girl affect me so much, I don’t know, but what little confidence I had when I left my place has vanished.
“It doesn’t matter anyway, since you won’t see anyone important here.” She glances over her shoulder. “Get me my drink. I’m thirsty.”
Throughout the remainder of the day I wait on her hand and foot, and she doesn’t even bother to thank me. As the time to leave draws close, I start watching the clock. She notices.
“Got a date?” she asks.
I nod. “Jimmy and I are going out to dinner.”
“I hope you plan to go home and change clothes first.”
Of course I will, after what she’s said. But I don’t know why I even think about taking advice from someone who either tried to do herself in over a guy or was pushed. I’m not sure which is worse since they’re both so bad I can’t even comprehend.
The second her mama returns, I bolt out of the house, hop into my car, and head home. Jimmy don’t like to waste time picking me up. He says he’d rather meet me places. I’ve questioned that, and occasionally he gives in, but most of the time I drive to wherever he wants to go. Oh, and he likes to go Dutch . . . claims he’s a women’s libber. Funny that he is because I’m not, but oh well.
When I get home, I scroll through the caller ID and see that Laura has called. She has my cell number, but I told her not to bother me when I’m with a patient, since they’re paying me by the hour.
Instead of listening to my voice mail messages, I call Laura back. I’ve found it’s easier to go ahead and do that, since most likely the voice mail will tell me to call. I’m all for skipping unnecessary steps.
“What do you want, Laura?” I ask.
“Did you see the invitation?”
“No, why?”
“Don’t you ever open your mail?” Her voice sounds strange, but I’ve come to expect anything from Laura. I used to think she was weird. However, after witnessing what she has to put up with, I understand . . . and I’m glad Pete Moss only had eyes for her—even when I tried to get his attention back in high school and a few times after that, until I realized I was making a fool of myself.
“I open all my mail, and I didn’t get an invitation.”
She mumbles some words of frustration. “Come by later, and I’ll hand you one.”
“Why bother? I know when and where we’re having the parties.”
“I want you to see the invitation.”
“Why?”
Laura’s sigh echoes through the phone lines. “You sound like a three-year-old. Just come by this evenin’, and you can see for yourself.”
“I have a date with Jimmy,” I tell her.
“Yeah, I know. Just stop by on your way to the diner and get your invitation. I gotta run. The girls are hollerin’ at each other, and I best go intervene before one of ’em kills the other.”
After we hang up, I go change clothes, all the while fussing at myself for acting on one of Liz’s mean comments. But if I don’t, I know I’ll be self-conscious all through dinner, and it won’t be fun at all.
Before my makeover, I knew who I was, and I was okay with it. At least, I thought I was. Being a wallflower is a way of life that a girl accepts if she don’t know nothing else. After Priscilla got ahold of me, and I took one glance in the mirror, something inside me snapped.
I’d walked into the Cut ’n Curl an ugly duckling without hope, and I came out looking like a pretty woman who might stand a chance of getting what she wanted. At first, the feeling was liberating, but as time passes, I grow more and more insecure.
All sorts of self-doubting thoughts enter my head every morning before I leave the house. Does this skirt make my butt look huge? Is my top too low cut? Did I miss plucking a stray hair on my eyebrows, chin, or neck? Did I go too heavy on the blush?
Liz’s comment makes me realize that no matter how much I try or strive for outer beauty, I’m still the same ugly duckling on the inside. People know that about me, so the only person I might be fooling is myself, and even that’s not working anymore.
Clad in a gauzy white top that don’t clash with my coral-colored choker and a dark brown skirt, I head out the door to meet Jimmy. But first, I swing by the Mosses’ house to see why it’s so important that I see the invitation.
She greets me at the door before I have a chance to knock. Grinning, she thrusts an envelope at me. “Open it.”
“I don’t want to be late.” Even as I say those words, I rip into the invitation and pull it out. There’s my name in fancy letters, right beneath Laura’s. “Why’d you go and put my phone number on here for everyone to see?”
Her mouth flops open. “Are you kidding me? You griped about all the work you had to do last time without the recognition. I can’t do anything right with you, can I?”
The feeling is mutual. And that pretty much sums up Laura’s and my relationship.
I tell Jimmy all about it. He just shakes his head and says, “I thought you and Laura made up. I thought y’all was friends.”
“We are.”
“You have a strange way of showin’ it.”
6
Priscilla
This time I don’t have nearly as much to do to get ready for the class reunion. Now that my office manager has proven her ability to run the business, even if she can’t keep an assistant, all I have to think about is getting myself ready on a personal level and figuring out what’s going on with my parents. Mother has never been one to disclose anything she considers none of my business, but in my mind, it is my business. I mean, these are my parents—my family, my fortress, my protection. Even when we disagree, I know they’re always there. Five years ago, I thought things had changed, but during my few short visits between then and now, I realized that was temporary. For several years, the chasm seems to have grown.
Then there’s Maurice. Last time, I harbored some hope that Maurice and I would get together, but after that happened I realized it wasn’t a good thing. He was an opportunistic cad when we were teenagers, and he hasn’t changed a single bit. I cringe when I think about how Tim must have felt when I let him know that my feelings for my high school flame had been reignited. Why Tim would want to go back and put himself through the torment again is beyond me. I did apologize—profusely—but still . . .
I think he understands that although I love him to pieces, my feelings for him aren’t romantic. He was a humongous help at the ten-year reunion, running errands and doing the legwork no one else wanted to do. On top of all that, he’s sweet, and everyone from my high school class likes him. Whenever I go back to my Piney Point salon these days, people ask how he’s doing. They obviously assume we’re a couple.
Mother has actually offered to let him stay with them, but I tell her ev
eryone will be much more comfortable if he stays in a hotel. I know I’m being presumptuous by not extending the offer to him, but I also realize the talk that’ll spread like wildfire if people know how much my parents like him. At least Mother does. I’m not so sure about Daddy, who’s been keeping to himself a lot since I left town. Even Mother says she doesn’t have any idea what’s on his mind lately. When I start to offer advice, she reminds me I have very little experience with men because I’ve been working so hard at building my beauty shop business.
All I’ve ever really wanted from my parents, besides their love, of course, is for them to be proud of me. When I won the title of “Most Likely to Succeed” back in high school, I ran straight home and bragged to Mother and Daddy. They said they weren’t surprised in the least. In fact, they expected nothing less from me.
Then when I started college at Ole Miss, they let me know I could come back and finish my studies at the University of Southern Mississippi after I had a year away from home. Mother has always held to the belief that part of the college experience is having to do without the comforts and safety net of home. At first, I accepted that, even though I was burned out on traditional studies. But as the first semester progressed, I became increasingly agitated by doing something that went against what I’ve wanted to do since my middle school years when I started playing with fashion and hair, standing in front of the mirror and seeing what a cute hairstyle and fashionable clothes could do. Then that dream morphed into the desire to build a beauty business that would help thousands of women look their very best.
I’ll never forget that look on Mother’s face when I showed up on her doorstep announcing I’d dropped out of college and enrolled in the Pretty and Proud School of Cosmetology. Mother pulled me inside and looked around like she was worried one of the neighbors might have heard me. Then she pulled the typical parent trump card, railing about how they’d given up everything to make sure I had a proper education. I have no idea what they gave up because they pretty much had everything they said they wanted.
Daddy didn’t say a word. He simply turned around and walked out of the room, leaving me there alone with Mother ranting on and on about how she’d had such high hopes for me. At the time, I thought their disappointment was all directed toward me, but after the last reunion, I know better.
I walk into the Cut ’n Curl office and see a new person sitting at the reception desk. She’s on the phone, but she grins and motions for me to have a seat. She obviously doesn’t realize who I am, and I don’t want to embarrass her, so I try to mouth I’m Priscilla Slater as I continue walking past her and toward what used to be my office and is now where Mandy hangs out behind a closed door.
“Excuse me,” the receptionist says into the phone. “I have to deal with something here. Hold on.” She cups her hand over the mouthpiece and looks me in the eyes. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but the office manager is busy right now.”
I force a smile as I lean toward her. “I’m Priscilla Slater, and Mandy is expecting me.”
It takes a few seconds for my name to register. Suddenly, her eyes widen, and all the color drains from her face. She loosens her grip on the phone, says, “I’ll call you back,” and drops it into the cradle, all the while not taking her eyes off me. “I am so sorry. I had no idea.”
“Hey, don’t worry about it,” I say. “Honest mistake. I’ll just knock and let her know I’m here.”
She nods and watches with her eyes still wide as I walk past her. I knock on the door softly at first, then after Mandy doesn’t respond, I knock harder.
“I told you not to bother me,” she hollers. Then I hear the squeaking sound as she pushes her wheeled chair away from the desk. A few seconds later, the door opens, and she sees me. “Oh. I am so sorry, Priscilla. Come on in.”
I step into her office, leaving the door open. “So have—”
“Close the door,” she says.
I make a face. “But why?”
She shrugs. “I just like it that way. It’s easier to concentrate.”
This doesn’t sound like the Mandy I first hired. Back then, she needed constant social interaction, which was why I let her hire her first assistant, Becca. Together, they painted my eggshell walls hot pink and added cheap prints from the dollar store. I’ve noticed that each time I return, some of the garish décor has been toned down, and now it practically looks businesslike.
I shut the door and sit down across from Mandy. “How’s your new assistant working out?”
She shrugs. “I like Clarissa, but she can’t seem to stay off the phone.”
“Have you talked to her about it?”
“I shouldn’t have to.”
The girl looks awfully young. Even though the door is shut, the walls are thin, so I lower my voice to make sure it doesn’t carry to the reception area. “Sometimes you need to be direct with people to get what you want.” I remember when I first hired Mandy and how immature she was. And now look at her.
“I’m not so sure that always works. I was direct with Becca, and she got her feelings hurt and walked out.”
“Direct in a good way,” I say. “You don’t want to be confrontational. If you want to continue managing people, you’ll have to learn that skill.” I’m giving her an example right now, and I hope she reads between the lines.
Mandy tilts her head and gives a slight nod. “Yeah, I do remember you being that way with me. I’m just not sure how to handle Clarissa.”
“I’ll tell you what. I’ll see what I can do before I leave today. Make sure you pay attention, though, because I’m counting on you to handle everything while I go through my next phase of expansion.”
“Everything?” she asks, her eyes lighting up.
I level her with my gaze. “Everything that happens in this office. Nothing else.”
She chuckles. “You’re not lettin’ me get away with anything are you?”
“I just want things to run smoothly around here, and you do a good job as long as you don’t overstep.”
“Okay, I’ll keep everything here . . . in this office . . . ” She lifts one eyebrow and grins. “ . . . under control.”
The phone rings, and we both stare at it, until the light starts blinking and Mandy’s phone beeps. She smiles at me before picking up the phone. “Okay, I’ll take it.” She pauses with her finger over the blinking button and says, “It’s the accountant. I’ve been working on last quarter’s report for him.”
“Okay, go ahead and take the call. I’ll go out there and get to know Clarissa a little better. When you’re done, come out and join us.”
She nods and punches the button. “Hey, so what can I help you with?”
I marvel at how far Mandy has come and how she’s grown into the job. Since I’ve only heard about Clarissa, I’m not sure how to appeal to her, so I step into her area and smile. She nervously starts straightening her desk that is cluttered with an equal mix of business and personal items, which I’m fine with as long as she does her job.
“So how do you like working here so far?” I ask.
She shoves a few things into the top drawer, slams it shut, and looks up at me with an awkward half-grin. “So far I like it, but there’s really not all that much to do.”
“Would you like more work?”
“Um . . . I guess that would be okay, but not too much . . . I mean, it’s not like I’m getting paid a fortune or anything . . . well, that’s not what I mean either . . . ” The look of horror on her face betrays her nerves.
“That’s okay, Clarissa, I understand. You haven’t been here long, so Mandy doesn’t know what all you can do yet. One of the most important aspects of this job is to provide a professional but friendly front for anyone who walks in or calls.”
“Yes, ma’am.” She folds her hands on top of her desk and stiffens her back.
“But you don’t have to be too stuffy or anything. We’re in the beauty business, which is very personal and touchy-feely. We like getting to know people,
and we want them to be comfortable around us.”
She nods. “I understand.”
I see her eyes dart to something behind me, so I glance over my shoulder and spot Mandy standing in the doorway of her office, listening. Now is the ideal time to show how to be direct but in a nonconfrontational way.
“For example,” I add, “when you get a business call, you can ask about the other person’s family or something you know about them before you conduct business. By the same token, when you get a personal call, that’s fine, too. You can be short but sweet, letting them know you’re at work.”
Mandy takes a few steps forward and puts in her two cents. “And when you have personal visitor, I’m sure they’ll understand that you’re working, so they can’t hang out here all afternoon.”
Clarissa’s mouth opens for a moment, and I feel the tension. Before I have a chance to smooth things over, Clarissa jumps up from her seat and runs toward the restroom.
“Did I say the wrong thing?” Mandy asks.
“You didn’t say anything wrong, but I do think your timing needs work. I’m afraid she feels like we ganged up on her.”
“What would you have done if you were me?”
“I’m not sure, but it’s too late to worry about that now. Why don’t you have a heart-to-heart with her after I leave?”
“I hope she doesn’t walk out on me like the last girl . . . er, like the last several girls did,” Mandy says.
“If you really like Clarissa and want her to stay, let that be the first thing you tell her.” I pause to think. “Let’s come up with an employee handbook so this won’t happen again, okay?”
She chews on her lip then nods. “What a great idea. Want me to start working on that right away?”
“Yes, but don’t show it to anyone before I take a look at it. I might want to add some stuff.”
“I’ll get right on it.”
I nod toward the restroom. “I think I best leave now so you can talk to her privately.” I bend over, pull out a slip of scrap paper, and jot a note to Clarissa letting her know I’m happy to have her at the Cut ’n Curl. “Make sure she sees this.”
