Read Sullivans Island-Lowcountry 1 Online
Authors: Dorothea Benton Frank
Tags: #Fiction, #Domestic Fiction, #General, #Sagas, #Women - South Carolina, #South Carolina, #Mothers and Daughters, #Women, #Sisters, #Sullivan's Island (S.C. : Island), #Sullivan's Island (S.C.: Island)
“Hi, remember me?” he asked.
“Roger Dodds? Roger Dodds? Aren’t you a doctor or
something?”
“Ah, the brutal Ms. Hayes. Yes, I’m the foreign physician
from Aiken who put the kabosh on your daughter’s nightclub
and den of iniquity three weeks ago.”
“Oh, I remember you! How are you?”
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“Good, thanks. Um, I’m sorry I haven’t called sooner.When
the storm hit I had to go up to Aiken for a few days to help my
old aunt and uncle.Their house was completely demolished.”
“Oh.That’s awful. Sure you weren’t at the Indianapolis 500?”
I didn’t yawn in his ear, but I didn’t quite swallow the story either.
“Very funny. No, I’ve given up car racing. Anyway, Uncle
Richard’s eighty-two and Aunt Frieda’s eighty-something also.
You know how it is with old people, they get scared and con-
fused,” he said.
“Yeah, well, I’m twenty-seven and I get scared and confused
too,” I joked, figuring maybe it wasn’t a total line of bologna.“Can
you hold on a minute? I’m on the line with Maggie. I’ll tell her I’ll
call her back.” I clicked and reclicked and finally found Roger.
“Anyway, I’d like to see you again,” he said.“What’re you up
to this weekend?”
“Oh, the usual list of household stuff. Not much.”
“Want to have dinner?”
“Sure, sure. In fact, I’d love it.What night?”
“This Saturday?”
“Great.What time?”
“Eight, no, seven-thirty. I’ll pick you up?”
“Why don’t I drive this time?”
“Women.Why are you all always worrying?”
“Preservation of the species. Hey, I know what! I’ll have
Beth make cocktails.”
“What a night that was for you. Did everything work out
okay?”
“Well, aside from the fact that they trashed my house and my
daughter sullied her pristine reputation with the entire student
body, things worked out fine.”
“Kids.”
“Yeah, I’ll see you Saturday. Hey, Roger?”
“Yeah?”
“I can’t wait to see you. It’ll be fun.”
I called Maggie back right away.
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“Hey! Guess what?” I said. “That was Roger Dodds. We
have a date Saturday night.”
“No kidding, that’s great!”
“Yeah, I guess my life is finally moving on,” I said.
“Listen, Susan, if he wants to go to bed with you, do it,” she
said.
“What? Are you crazy? I hardly know the man!” Sometimes
Maggie was a little cracked. Seriously.
“No, listen, I read this article that said the first sexual
encounter after a marriage is the most nerve-wracking. The
sooner you get it over with, the better.”
“This might be the most hare-brained thing you’ve ever
said to me.”
“It’s the truth! I mean, if Grant and I got divorced, it would
be very hard for me to undress in front of someone else, let alone
get in the bed!”
“First of all, I haven’t used any birth control in a million
years. Secondly, oh, good grief, Maggie! I can’t think about this!”
“Well, think about it. He could be a good transition person.
But you’re right, you need to think about protection from dis-
ease.Who knows where he’s been?”
“Jesus,” I said,“thanks for the thought.”
I had two days to transform myself for my second date. Beth
and I decided to get new haircuts and manicures. We went out
to the Citadel Mall and found a new salon that had just opened.
A tiny, young, beautiful blond with an angular haircut and with-
out one freckle, wrinkle or chipped nail was at the front desk.
One look at her makeup and her pierced eyebrow and I knew
I was at least a thousand years old. Great.
“Can I help you?” she said. Her voice was pleasant and pro-
fessional.
“Yes, I’d like to make an appointment for a haircut and a
manicure for my daughter and the works for me,” I said.
“When would you like to come in?” she said.
“Well, we can shop until someone is free.”
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She checked the schedule book while I worried that—in
this excellent adventure into beauty—they would give me a
haircut like hers.
“Um,” I said,“do you have someone on your staff who cuts
hair for the aging?”
At least she had the intelligence to giggle.“Yes, ma’am. Kim.
From New York and very good. He’s also the owner. His fee is a
little higher than the other stylists, but I think you’d be happy
with him.”
I just loved when they called me “ma’am.” It reminded me
to eat roughage.
“We need this, don’t we?” I said to Beth.
“Oh, Mommy, in the worst way!”
“Okay, sign us up.”
“Manicure and pedicure for you?”
“Yes, please.”
“Wax?”
“What do you wax?” I asked.
“Legs, eyebrows, bikini line, just about anything that has
hair.” She giggled again.
Was I ever that silly? Sillier.“Sure, you can wax me too.Why
not?”
She told us to come back in an hour and we agreed.
We ambled into Dillard’s to shop for makeup. I roamed
around the counters until someone from my decade at the
Chanel counter asked if she could help me. Her black jacket had
a tag that said her name was Eva.
“Yes, you can,” I said,“I’d like a lipstick that will change my
life.” I was only half joking.
“Got just the thing,” she said.“Why don’t you sit right here?”
I climbed up in the chrome bar stool and she looked at my
face and then at my naked hands.
“Honey? You’ve got dry skin. Do you have about ten
minutes?”
“Sure.Yeah, I know, my skin’s sensitive.”
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“I’m gonna give you a new face.You ready?”
Eva held several different colors of makeup base next to my
skin and tried one on my chin.
“This looks good,” she said. “Good coverage. Do you sit in
the sun?”
“Not anymore, but I grew up on the beach. I’m from the
baby oil and iodine generation.”
“Me too.” She leaned back and looked at my face and said,
“Oh, yes, this is perfect for you.”
I stopped and looked in the mirror.All the little lines around
my mouth seemed to have disappeared.The crow’s-feet around
my eyes weren’t as noticeable.This was miraculous!
“Contact lenses?” she asked.
I nodded and she said,“Okay, I’ll be careful. Just look down
for me.”
I’d been wearing them full-time. Beth came wandering over
with her mouth hanging open.
“Wow, Mom! You look like a total babe!”
“You got a pretty momma,” Eva said. “Now let’s figure out
what you have to have here.”
I stared at my reflection. I had enough makeup on to be in
a Mardi Gras parade, but if I toned it down a little, it wasn’t all
that bad.
“Here, honey, I wrote down everything for you so you can
remember what to do with all this stuff. You look great, you
really do,” Eva said, taking my MasterCard. She reached under
the counter and put handfuls of samples in my shopping bag.“I
gave you some perfume samples too.”
“Thanks, Eva,” I said,“really.Thanks for all your help.”
It was time for our salon appointments so we hurried back.
I changed into a robe and was led to the waxing room.
When I came out of the room—hairless—twenty minutes
later, Beth was reading a magazine, with her hair in a towel,
waiting for her haircut. I must’ve been white as a sheet because
she got up and took my elbow to lead me to a seat.
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“You okay?” she said.“You want a glass of water?”
“I’m fine. Just a little sore.”
“It hurt? I can’t believe that, Momma. I mean, like, they say
it stings a little, but shoot, you look
reeeeeallly
bad.”
“Think about it. First they spread warm wax over your
bikini line and cover it with a strip of cotton and then, in a sin-
gle movement, they rip it off, pulling a patch of pubic hair out
by the roots. I almost fainted.”
“I don’t want to think about it,” Beth said.
“The legs weren’t bad and the eyebrows were nothing, but
the bikini line was a virtual religious experience. I saw Jesus,
Elvis and Jimmy Hoffa.”
“Man, what we women have to go through,” she said.
I was thoroughly amused that she classified herself as a
woman. She was growing up so quickly.
“See you later,” I said and left to get my pedicure.
The girl who did my pedicure was a heavenly creature who
massaged my feet until I was so happy and relaxed I forgot about
the waxing experience. After she was finished I hobbled to
a waiting area thinking that my toes looked like ten perfect
strawberries.
A very handsome man approached me.“Hi! Ms. Hayes? I’m
Kim.”
I got up, shook his hand and followed him. He was about fifty,
gray hair cut very short, diamond stud earring. He wore a black
cashmere turtleneck pushed up over his elbows and perfectly
creased black wool trousers. This was a very cool guy. Elegant, in
fact. I sat in the chair and looked at him in the mirror’s reflection.
“Great belt,” I said,“where’d you get it?”
“Thanks. Bergdorf ’s in New York—it’s Kieselstein,” he said.
“Well, no wonder!” I said, pretending to know who Kiesel-
stein was.The ornate silver buckle was molded in the shape of a
dog’s head.
“So, what are we looking for today?” he said.
I looked at his eyes and with the straightest face I could
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muster, I said,“I’m a woman of realistic expectations. If you could
make me look like Catherine Deneuve, that would be fine.”
“By the time I’m finished with you,” he said, “Catherine
Deneuve will want to go hide in a dark closet!” He picked
through my thick head of hair and walked all around the chair
fingering his chin.“Low lights,” he said.
“Well, at this stage, we all look better in low lights,” I said.
“No, no, no! You’re funny! What I meant was that your hair
needs low lights.We’re going to foil the frame of your face. It’s a
very subtle process, and it takes a little time, but the result is a
soft glow that will bring your face to life.”
“Oh.”
“Then we’re going to take away about three inches from the
bottom of your hair, give you a few layers to use the advantage
of all this fabulous body you have, and round brush the devil out
of it.You’re going to shine like patent leather!”
I began to fret. How much was this transformation going to
cost? He saw the concern on my face.
“Don’t worry,” he said,“just go with Fran and get shampooed.”
Not worry? Okay, I wouldn’t worry about it. I’d send the
bill to Tom. Fran massaged my head so beautifully that I almost
fell asleep. I had forgotten how good it felt to have someone
work my scalp. In minutes, I was back in Kim’s chair and having
my hair combed out.
“Are you from Charleston?” Kim said. He sectioned my hair
with the long end of a fine-tooth comb and pinned it up.
“Yep, for about a zillion years.”
“Married? Lean your head down a little, okay?”
“Okay. No, getting a divorce.”
“I just moved here,” he said.
At least four inches of hair from the nape of my neck fell to
the floor.“Oh, where are you from?” I said.
“New York. Used to manage the Sassoon Salon, finally
tucked away enough money to open a salon of my own. My
friend is an architect and has been nursing this insane dream of
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owning a plantation forever.We found a perfectly grand planta-
tion out Highway 17, almost in Walterboro, and snapped it up!
Of course, it needs everything done to it, but Jeremy, that’s my
friend, is so talented. Next thing you know
Architectural Digest
will be in there with cameras!”
“Gosh, it sounds wonderful.”
“Oh, it is, or it will be. So do you live in the city?”
“Yes, I have an old Victorian on Queen Street.”
“Aren’t you smart? That certainly makes life convenient.”
“Yes, I can walk to work. But I grew up on the beach. My
sister lives in that house.”
“Oh? And what does she do? Ms. Hayes, you need to keep
your head straight.”
“Sorry. Maggie does what a surgeon’s wife is supposed to do.
Manages the house, runs the Garden Club, volunteers her brains
out. She runs events for the wives at the Medical University. In
between all that, she has two teenage sons who keep her pretty
busy.”
“I’ll bet so. Oh, this is looking good. When’s the last time
you had a haircut?”
“When Nixon was president.”
“You are too funny.”
He looked at me and smiled. He had perfect teeth and two
dimples on either side of his mouth. Precious.
“Ms. Hayes?”
“Call me Susan.”
“Susan? I’m going to make you a proposition.”
“How wonderful!” I said.
“No, no,” he threw his head back and laughed. In a friendly
gesture he rested his hands on my shoulders and spoke to my
reflection.“Here’s my proposal: I am going to cut and color your
hair on the house. If you like it, I want you to tell your sister to