by Debby Mayne
“All depends on how many temps we hire. I figure if we bring in four people, we can get it done quick enough. Eight people might go twice as fast, but the temp agency fees will wind up much higher than the daily rental on the warehouse.”
“Good thinking,” I say. “Wait until the closing to set it up, though. You never know what might happen at the last minute.”
“Yeah, I do know. I’ll tell my uncle what you said so he can have his friend pencil us in. I won’t sign anything yet.”
Mandy has turned out to have a better business mind than I ever would’ve thought. But I still have to keep an eye on her to make sure she remembers who owns the Cut ’n Curl.
9
Celeste
Sometimes I’d like to rearrange Laura Moss’s face, she makes me so mad. She put my name on the invitations without telling me, and now she’s acting like I should feel honored to have all this extra work flung at me.
Then I remember who I’m dealing with. Laura comes from a family that defines dysfunctional. Her mama left her and her worthless, dope-smoking brother with their ex-military daddy to run off with some pit-crew member from Daytona. When that didn’t work out, she tried to pry Laura’s daddy loose from that lady ROTC drill sergeant he didn’t waste no time getting involved with. I felt sorry for Laura when her mama settled for Randy Elmore, the owner of Save-a-Lot Used Cars, and somehow managed to get custody of Laura and her sorry, no-good brother, who wound up running away within the first month.
The whole town got rather excited when Mrs. Elmore went off the deep end and wound up at Whitfield, the state-run mental institution near Jackson. What I heard was Randy had her committed ’cause she’d go weeks without doin’ the laundry and fixin’ his supper. Instead, she sat around reading trashy magazines and nipping at the cooking sherry. Word on the street was there was all kinds of garbage all over the house, and it smelled to high heaven. I’m sure Randy made it sound worse than it was since what she was doing wasn’t enough on its own to have her committed. The one most of us pitied was Laura, who tried to pretend everything was just hunky-dory at home. That’s something you can’t hide in a town as small as Piney Point.
I once had the biggest crush on Pete Moss, but when I saw how he defended Laura during her family’s rockiest times, I knew I didn’t stand no chance at all. I still liked him, but I backed way off . . . not that I was ever all up in his face or anything. The most I ever did was stare at him during study hall, and when he looked right at me, I sometimes managed to smile, but I mostly just looked away ’cause my face got so hot I thought it might burst into flames. The eye-opener for me was when someone mentioned Laura’s mama being committed to the looney bin and how it might be in the genes, and Pete Moss went after that boy with both fists swinging. Good thing for him one of the teachers in the cafeteria could vouch for Pete when he said he wasn’t the one who started it.
Laura’s mama came home for a little while but relapsed and got sent back. When she finally made it home again, Laura was committed to keeping her there, and she took charge. Of everything. After a full day at school, she went home and cleaned the house and did laundry. She cooked meals, although I have to admit I heard they were atrocious. But at least she did it. And then the one time she talked back to her mama, she was sent to live with her daddy. There she wasn’t allowed to touch a thing. Her daddy and stepmother ran their house like a military institution. They never liked Pete, but Laura didn’t much care—not after all they’d been through together.
As time went on, most people forgot about Laura’s mama, including Laura, I think. Otherwise, why would she let a certified crazy woman watch her young’uns? Not that it happens all that often, since Mr. and Mrs. “Save-a-Lot” like to gallivant around, flying here and there or taking cruises, every chance they get. Randy obviously cared enough to stick around, but I still have an issue with the way he showed it in the beginning.
Even though I know better than to think Pete Moss would ever pay a bit of attention to me, my childhood crush has lingered way longer than it should have—even with all his drinking and carrying on. The crush has faded maybe, but I still feel it a tad every now and then.
Jimmy is the next best thing to Pete, although he’s not all that bright, and he don’t clean up quite as well. The one thing I like better about Jimmy, though, is he knows when to put down the booze. Pete don’t.
I’ve been getting one call after another, people asking questions about the reunion. Some folks call me first, and others call me after getting the run-around from Pete when Laura ain’t home. She thinks he don’t know much about what’s going on, but I seen that look in his eye when he’s pulling someone’s leg.
Jimmy’s supposed to stop over for dessert tonight after supper. He called earlier, obviously hoping I’d ask him to come for supper, but I promised my patient’s daughter I’d stick around so she could run a few errands after work. My new patient is Myra Chapman, a sweet but feeble old widow woman who thinks her husband is off at war. According to Miss Myra, Colonel Chapman is coming home soon. Her daughter asked me not to say anything about Colonel Chapman being dead for near about twenty years.
“Celeste, c’mere, girl!”
I hear Miss Myra hollering, and I’m on the other side of the house—a monstrosity of a mansion with seven bedrooms, a living room, den, and a library. The house is old, though, and it needs quite a bit of work. When Miss Myra got sick, the doctor recommended putting her in a nursing home, but her daughter refused, saying there’s no way she’d have her mama put in one of them places after all she’d done for the family.
I make my way down the hall to Miss Myra’s bedroom, where she’s on her side, trying to reach something on her nightstand. I rush to her side and steady her.
“You need to be careful, or you’ll fall,” I tell her.
“I need my chewing gum.”
“Your daughter took away your chewing gum, remember?”
Miss Myra mumbles a few obscenities as she rolls back over on her back and looks up at me with her faded blue eyes framed by barely visible white eyelashes. “Why does life have to end this way?”
I stand there and stare down at the woman. “Your life hasn’t ended yet.”
As she turns her head from side to side, I feel a tightening in my chest. Miss Myra grew up in this big old house, moved out when she got married, and after her parents passed away, she and her family moved back in. All but one of her children abandoned her when she stopped giving them the money they constantly had their hands out for, and now she’s very sad all the time. In some small and selfish way, that makes me feel better about my own pitiful existence, living in a tiny apartment. My mama helps me out once in a while, but I’d never do to her what Miss Myra’s young’uns have done to her.
Leaning over and taking her firmly by the arm, I slowly pull her to a sitting position. “Let’s get you sitting up for a while, Miss Myra. We don’t want you getting bedsores.”
“Bedsores? I’ve only been here since last night,” she says.
“That’s why you don’t have ’em yet.”
The wrinkles in her forehead grow deeper as she ponders my comment. Next thing I know she’s cackling.
“You’re a piece of work, Celeste. Anyone ever tell you that?”
“Just you.” As I help her out of the bed and into the chair beside it, I think about how most people never pay enough attention to me—or at least they never did until my makeover five years ago—to tell me anything they notice. Now people look at me with amazement and comment on how they never thought I could look so good. I’m not sure how to take it, but Jimmy says I should just say thank-you.
“The colonel should be home any day now,” she says as I set her tray of oatmeal and prune juice on the table. She grins up at me with that spark I see in her eye whenever she talks about her late husband. “We need to get the house ready for the biggest party Piney Point ever saw.”
“I’ll talk to your daughter about that.”
Miss Myra frowns. “She doesn’t like the idea of making such a to-do over the colonel’s homecoming. Says it’ll make him uncomfortable.” Her shoulders rise and fall as she lets out a long-suffering sigh. “I reckon she’s probably right. He’s always been such a quiet man. Strong and silent.”
I lift her bowl of oatmeal and hold it closer so she can at least attempt to feed herself. When she looks directly at me, I see tears forming.
“What’s wrong, Miss Myra?”
She dabs her eyes with the hanky she’s been holding. “He’s not coming home, is he?”
I feel a clenching sensation in my heart. This is the moment I prayed would never have to happen.
“I-I’m sure you’ll see him again . . . at least one of these days.” On the other side of the Pearly Gates.
She opens her mouth without reaching for the spoon, so I take it as my cue to feed her. After she swallows her first bite of oatmeal, she pushes my hand away. “I’ll see him in heaven. Lord, I pray that happens sooner than later.”
“It’ll happen in His own time,” I say. “In the meantime, we need to make sure you stay healthy. I’m sure the Lord has some reason to keep you here.”
Miss Myra ponders my comment and finally nods, obviously having a lucid moment. “You’re right, Celeste. Anyone ever tell you you’re a smart woman?”
I don’t think anyone has ever told me that. “Just you, Miss Myra. Just you.”
She remains in an alert state throughout the entire day. By the time her daughter gets home, I’ve fed Miss Myra her supper and tucked her in for the night.
“How’d Mama do?”
I tell her about our conversation about the colonel, how much her mama ate, and how she cooperated for her sponge bath. Instead of looking pleased, she frowns.
“Do you think it’s a sign?” she asks.
Now I’m confused. “A sign?”
“Yeah. I’ve heard people rally right before they die.”
I gasp. I hadn’t even thought of that. “I certainly hope not.”
Miss Myra’s daughter has always been a negative Nelly, so I don’t put much stock in her comments. However, after I leave the mansion, I have a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach.
Jimmy and I have just settled onto the sofa with our plates filled with chocolate cream pie when the phone rings. I stare at it, and he points.
“You gonna answer that or just let it ring?”
Without saying a word, I get up, go into the kitchen, and answer the phone. “She’s gone, Celeste. Mama’s gone.”
I mumble a few words as numbness creeps over me. When I return to the living room, Jimmy looks at me with concern. “What happened?”
“I’m unemployed. Again.”
10
Priscilla
All the way to Charlotte, I reflect on how my business has grown. And it keeps on growing.
I step off the plane in Charlotte and go straight to baggage claim. Then I hop into a cab to go to my hotel. Tomorrow I’ll own another chain of salons to bring my total number up to fifteen. It’ll be nice to head into the reunion with that behind me.
The closing goes off without more than a few minor complications. I have to write a check for the discrepancy in closing paperwork, but it’s not a deal-breaker. The former owner balks at signing the noncompete clause, even though this is the first I’ve heard about it. His agent pulls him aside, talks some sense into him, and he finally relents. One of the salons is in a flood zone, so I have to call my insurance agent to add more coverage on the building. By the end of the business day, all the papers are signed, and I have a bunch of new employees.
I spend the next couple of days going to the salons within driving distance. There are two more—one in Apex and another in Cary, both suburbs of Raleigh—but I decide to wait until another time to visit them. I’ve been in contact with the managers of those salons, and they seem perfectly content with the transfer of ownership. In fact, one of the managers swore me to secrecy before letting me know she was glad to be out of the hands of the former owner, who was a tyrant. “I hear you’re progressive and fun to work for,” she added.
I smile as I think about the excellent relationship I have with all my salon managers. We’re like family. I care about them and their families, and they know it. When they tell me about a new technique or process, I encourage them to take whatever classes they need, and the Cut ’n Curl office sends them a check to cover their expenses. Apparently, that’s not the norm, but no one has ever accused me of being normal.
Since my flight doesn’t leave for Jackson until tomorrow, I head back to my hotel room to prepare for my meeting with the TV Network Shopping Channel. The execs have granted me a one-hour meeting, and during that time, I have to demonstrate the product, show the value to customers, convince them I’m using high-quality materials, and show my on-air personality. Since I’ve never been on TV before, I’m nervous about it, but they’ve said they have coaches.
The only people who know the details of what I’m doing are Mandy and Tim. Other folks are aware I’m hoping to take my products to TVNS, but they don’t know I have a solid appointment. Just thinking about it gives me shivers.
I’ve made my notes and am getting ready to practice the first part of my presentation in front of the dresser mirror when my cell phone rings. It’s Tim.
“How’d it go at the closing?” he asks.
“It’s a done deal.”
“I’m proud of you, Priscilla.”
“Thanks. We had a few little glitches, but nothing we couldn’t take care of.”
“So what’s next on your bucket list?”
“TVNS.” I pause to let the tingles pass. “In fact, I was just workin’ on the proposal when you called.”
“You’ll knock ’em dead, Priscilla. You always do.”
I chuckle. “Well, let’s hope they don’t fall over dead before they offer me a spot. Did you know that they have annual sales of nearly a billion dollars?”
“Uh, yeah, I believe you might have mentioned that a time or two.”
“Or a dozen,” I say with a giggle. “I can’t believe the time is almost here for me to kick my career up to the next level.”
“Priscilla, honey, you done kicked your career up way higher’n anyone else I know in the beauty salon business.”
“You know what I ultimately want, though.”
“Yes, Priscilla, I know what you think you want.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He audibly exhales. “I probably shouldn’t be tellin’ you this, but I’ve never been one to keep my mouth shut, and that’s not gonna start now, so here goes. You think your goal in life is to be on some fancy TV show hawkin’ your hair products when you only want the same thing everyone in the whole entire world wants . . . ” His voice trails off.
“And what does everyone in the world want, Tim?” I can’t help the fact that my voice sounds mocking, even to my ears.
“Do you really wanna know? I mean are you ready for this?”
“Yes, of course I am. What do you think I really want?”
“Okay, you asked for it. All you really want is for people to accept and respect you. ’Specially them folks you went to school with. I got news for you, though. They respect you a whole lot more than you realize.”
“That’s not—”
“I’m not finished. Back when you was still in school? All them folks knew you’d be successful. And when you didn’t finish college, you assumed everyone else thought the same thing your mama and daddy did. But that’s not the case at all.”
“I think my classmates see the error of their decision now, though. Remember, I had to give Didi her award plaque for actually bein’ the most successful?”
“Yeah, but that don’t mean nothin’. Didn’t look to me like many people voted. I think it was just Laura Moss’s way of puttin’ you in your place. She’s not exactly the happiest person in Piney Point.”
He has a point. “Maybe you’re right,
Tim, but I really want to be on TVNS.”
“I know you do.” He drops his voice to where I can barely hear him. “Just remember that there’ll always be something you want that you don’t already have. It’s okay to go after it, as long as you know that’s not all there is to life. I hope you haven’t become so numb to real relationships that you wouldn’t know a good one if it bit—” He cuts himself off. “You know what I mean.”
“Yes, I think I do.” I smile. I’ve known Tim for about eight years now, and this is the most philosophizing I’ve ever heard from him. “You’ve been thinking about this quite a bit, haven’t you?”
“Yeah, Priscilla, I have.”
Why do I think there’s more behind what he’s already said? Perhaps it’s because I have a hunch I know what he’s referring to, so I don’t mention it. Tim still wants a romantic relationship with me, although every now and then, I can see some of his interest fading a tad.
We hang up, and I go back to rehearsing in front of the mirror. Only now, I’m not nearly as into it. Tim’s words echo in my head.
I know that my professional goals aren’t all there is, but I also realize I haven’t worked on any other part of my life. If someone were to ask me to describe myself, I could pretty much sum it all up by saying I’m a hair salon chain owner.
I live in a townhouse in Jackson, but lately I’ve been spending more time on the road than at home. During the day, I visit salons I own or might consider buying, and at night, I’ve been working hard on my hair system that I hope TVNS will let me sell on air. That’ll pretty much make me a household name, since Mandy has convinced me my name should be on the product. I have to admit she’s right.
My flight back to Jackson is short. I pull my luggage to my car in long-term parking and hoist it into the trunk. I drive home, still thinking about what Tim said. That man is a good friend, but sometimes his words get under my skin, and I can’t seem to shake them. What if Tim is right and I’ve become too numb to understand a personal relationship?
