The Curl Up and Dye (20 page)

“Thank you, sir.”

LilyAnn flashed him a smile as they walked away.

All of a sudden they heard the sound of glass breaking.

“Keep walking,” Mike said.

“What happened?” LilyAnn asked.

“Holland just dropped his champagne. I think he caught sight of the back of your dress.”

“Then I have achieved success,” she said softly, then leaned over and kissed the spot right beneath his ear, knowing it made him want her. “In more ways than one.”

Mike groaned. It was going to be a long-ass night before he got her out of that dress and in his bed, but it was definitely something to look forward to.

It was fifteen minutes until midnight. The countdown to going home was about to become a reality, and none too soon for LilyAnn. Her grandma used to say that the best way to tell if a party was a success was how bad your feet hurt and how loud your belly growled. According to Grandma, a lady didn’t graze from the buffet table, she nibbled, and then never eating anything that could go bad. It was a Bronte rule, and one LilyAnn had conformed to from an early age. She’d guided Mike through the same rule all night, steering him away from the shrimp and smoked salmon appetizers, choosing bites of cheeses and savory crackers for him instead of pate, treating him with petit fours and fruit tarts, in lieu of mini-quiches with cream sauces.

She’d danced with Niles Holland, and then the mayor, and then the chief of police, who managed to whisper a quick aside about what a remarkably brave woman she was. She had thanked him kindly, while keeping an eye on all the pretty women who were hovering around Mike. After his heroic rescue, he had his own group of admirers, many of whom seemed to have him cornered.

The only thing that kept LilyAnn from getting green-eyed jealous was the ring on her finger and the looks he kept giving her. Tonight was a nice break from the reality of their lives. They were not quite in the same social structure as the movers and shakers of Blessings, but good enough to keep them respectable on this very special night.

As soon as the music stopped, LilyAnn smiled but waved away the next gentleman who’d walked up.

“I’m sorry, but my fiancé is looking far too comfortable in the midst of all those pretty ladies. I feel the need to remind them of his boundaries.”

She flashed them a smile to soften the turn-down as she walked away. She heard a faint wolf whistle behind her and smiled. God bless Mrs. Ling for the masterpiece she was wearing.

Mike saw her coming and was again struck by the change in her. It had very little to do with the weight that she’d lost, and more to do with how she’d come alive from inside.

“Sorry, ladies, but I have come to claim my one and only,” LilyAnn said.

They smiled and giggled and said all the right things, but LilyAnn knew women, and she knew when she walked away with Mike that they would not be admiring her dress so much as picking her apart at the seams, because it was what women did.

“You’re tired,” Mike said.

The smile she was wearing slipped, and her eyes got a little teary.

“But it’s a good kind of tired. I want to dance with you, Michael. I want you to put your arms around me. You center my world. You make me feel safe.”

A wave of emotions washed through him as he took her in his arms and swung into a waltz step.

LilyAnn let Mike’s strength flow through her, filling her heart and calming her soul, settling the chaos that came with memories of thinking she was going to die.

They circled the floor, over and over in a mindless daze, just happy to be here and with each other.

One moment they’d been moving in waltz time, and just as suddenly the music stopped.

LilyAnn glanced toward the clock at the top of the stairs. It was only seconds before midnight.

“I have always wanted to do this,” Mike said.

“Do what?” she asked.

“Kiss the woman I love at the stroke of midnight.”

She shivered with sudden longing.

“I’ve never done this either,” she whispered.

“Not with—”

She pressed a finger to his lips. “Not ever.”

A muscle jerked near his jaw.

She knew what that meant to him—being her first.

The crowd hushed, everyone’s eyes on the second hand as the bandleader began a countdown.

“Ten. Nine. Eight.”

The crowd was counting down with him now.

“Seven. Six. Five.”

Mike cupped her face.

“Four. Three. Two.”

The second hand swept past the one.

As the bandleader shouted, “Happy New Year!” the crowd erupted.

The notes of “Auld Lang Syne” swelled within the room as balloons began to fall. Party horns were blowing, little poppers spewing bursts of confetti, and then streamers and even more confetti began to rain down from the ceiling.

But LilyAnn didn’t see it. Her eyes were closed. Her arms were around Mike’s neck while she was held close in his embrace. Their kiss was a symbol of what they had laid to rest and of the years to come.

Someone bumped into them in the crowd, then mumbled a rather drunken “sorry” and staggered off.

Mike traced the shape of her cheek all the way to her chin, then tapped the center of her lower lip with his finger. It was still damp from his kiss.

“Happy New Year, my love.”

“Happy New Year, Michael, and for all of our years to come.”

***

They were still asleep when the first round of guests from the New Year’s Eve ball hit the ER with full-blown symptoms of food poisoning. If they weren’t throwing up, they were battling dysentery. It became obvious that there were nowhere near enough bathrooms in the hospital to accommodate the nearly one hundred victims in varying stages of distress.

Ruby Dye heard it straight from the banker’s wife that the police chief’s wife threw up in the mayor’s lap and then passed out on the floor at his feet. She said the orderlies couldn’t mop fast enough to keep up and that it was basically a fecal free-for-all.

When LilyAnn heard the news, she silently thanked her grandma’s wisdom and took Mike’s gratitude as her due.

***

The day in February when Mike and LilyAnn boarded the cruise ship for Jamaica, T. J. Lachlan was one of a bus full of prisoners unloading at the Georgia State Prison.

His hair was just beginning to grow back, although the scar on the side of his head would be a vivid reminder of a woman’s wrath, as were the scars on both cheeks, running perpendicular from his eyes to his chin.

His ear had healed to a funny-shaped knot where the lobe used to be, and he walked with a slight limp. He had but a shadow of his former bravado and was far from ready for what lay ahead. Unfortunately for T. J., the facial scars he abhorred only added to his sex appeal for the men who still thought him pretty.

Karma was a bitch.

***

The good thing about being on an island teeming with tourists is that when you don’t know another soul except your partner, it’s the same thing as being in exile. You are as alone as you want to be—with no phones to answer, no demands to be met—and that is how Mike and LilyAnn were welcomed to Jamaica.

The sun was setting on their second day in Jamaica when Mike and LilyAnn walked onto the beach. Mike was in a loose shirt and matching pants, and LilyAnn in a sheer summer dress with an empire waistline and a long, flowing skirt, garments as white as the sand between their bare toes.

A garland of red orchids around Mike’s neck hung midway down the front of his shirt.

LilyAnn had a matching orchid over her right ear and a bouquet of white ones in her hands.

They stood with a preacher before them, a photographer to his side, and their backs to the ocean as a bright yellow moon rose over their heads.

“Are you happy?” Mike whispered.

“Beyond measure,” she said.

And then the minister began.

“We are gathered here together, in the eyes of God…”

LilyAnn’s heart was pounding as she blinked away tears. Growing up, like every little girl, she had expected to be on her daddy’s arm on this day as he walked her down the aisle. She’d always pictured him standing before the altar as he gave her away.

But he was long gone and LilyAnn had come close to missing out on everything. It had taken an emotional shock and a physical assault to set her feet on the right path. That it had led to this island and this night, with this man, was nothing short of a miracle.

Mike’s fingers curled around her hand. She felt both strength and tenderness in the touch, and it was good. Then the minister commanded:

“Repeat after me. I, LilyAnn, take thee, Michael…”

Lily’s throat swelled with tears as she turned to face Mike and repeated the vow, knowing that with every word she spoke, her heart and soul were binding to him forever.

“Michael, please repeat after me. I, Michael, take thee, LilyAnn…”

And he did, repeating the vow word for word while he watched the reflection of the moon rise in her eyes and knew he had been bewitched.

The ceremony was brief, the vows straightforward. When they exchanged the rings, LilyAnn’s hands were as shaky as Mike’s were sure.

The photographer was snapping pictures all the while, but Mike was waiting for the magic words that legally bound them together in the eyes of God and of man.

And finally, they came.

“I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

With the path of moonlight across a dark ocean behind them and a big yellow ball of moonlight above them, he took her in his arms. He had a momentary flash on all the empty years they’d lost, and then let go of the regret. Good things come to those who wait.

He cupped her face with both hands and lowered his head.

LilyAnn lost track of everything but the kiss, letting her hand fall to her side, the bouquet of white orchids dangling loosely from her fingers.

And that’s when the photographer snapped the shot.

They emailed the picture to the local paper in Blessings. It made front-page news.

Ruby was at home having breakfast when she opened the paper and saw the picture. It was so beautiful that it made her cry. She liked things to be in their proper places, and the Lord knew those two were meant to be together.

Later, as she was opening up the shop, she saw a young girl walking past pushing a baby carriage. Ruby paused, eyeing the sadness on the girl’s face and the innocence of the child.

She knew the girl’s story and that the baby’s daddy was long gone. It was a shame how young men were these days: out for all the fun with none of the responsibilities.

Ruby watched until the girl turned the corner at the end of the block and walked out of sight. She glanced up at the clock. It was almost time to open.

The Conklin twins came in the back in their usual dark mood, needing caffeine and sugar before they could be civil.

Mabel Jean was on their heels and talking to someone on the phone. She waved hello as she headed for her manicure table.

Ruby turned the Closed sign to Open, and unlocked the front door.

The Curl Up and Dye was open for business.

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Ruby Dye showed up in Blessings, Georgia, twelve years earlier with nothing to her name but her divorce papers and a cosmetology license. She had just enough money from her divorce settlement to set up a beauty shop she called The Curl Up and Dye, with very little left over. It was a simple plan. If she didn’t cut enough hair, she wouldn’t eat. But as it turned out, she had arrived in Blessings to provide a service that had been missing. Before the first week was out, she was booked solid. Considering it was the first good thing that had happened to her in a long time, she was grateful.

She made it a practice to change her hair color and style on a biyearly basis as a means of advertising her own skill, and last night had been the night for another change. She’d gone home with shoulder-length brown hair and auburn highlights. This morning her hair was chin length and red. Audacious Red was the color on the box, and she considered it a good measure of her attitude. She came in the back door, unloaded the box of doughnuts fresh from the bakery, and started coffee.

Vesta and Vera Conklin, her fortysomething identical twin stylists would be here soon, and neither one of them was fit for conversation until they’d had something sweet and a cup of coffee in their bellies. Ruby loved the both of them, but they were the most opinionated women she’d ever met, and their confrontational attitude was probably why neither one of them was married.

At thirty-two, Mabel Jean Doolittle was the youngest employee. She did manicures and pedicures at The Curl Up and Dye and, when they were extra busy, helped out on shampoo duty, as well.

She was a feisty little blond with a scar on her forehead from going headfirst into the windshield of her boyfriend’s car when she was only sixteen. It was a daily reminder to never make stupid-ass choices in men again.

Ruby was proud of what she’d accomplished. The one thing she hadn’t expected was for the shop to become the local confessional, which it had. Eventually, every secret in town came out at The Curl Up and Dye.

She was running the dust mop over the black and white tiles when the back door opened. Vesta and Vera entered, both wearing pink smocks and the same pissy scowl on their faces.

“Morning, girls. Coffee is hot. Doughnuts are fresh. Help yourselves,” Ruby said.

“Morning, Sister,” they echoed, then stopped. “Nice hair color,” they added, and headed for the break room.

Ruby smiled as she headed for the register to count out the money for the till. Nearly everyone in town called her “Sister,” and she liked it. It made her feel like she was part of a great big family. Once the money was in the drawer, she moved to the front door. She was just about to turn the Closed sign to Open when she saw Alma Button pull up in front of the shop.

The fact that it was August 15 and Alma was driving the family van made Ruby wince. It must be time for back-to-school haircuts for Alma’s six boys. When she saw the side door open and boys spilling out like puppies turned loose in a barn full of chickens, she took a deep breath and yelled out, “Girls, grab your scissors! Here comes Alma and her boys.”

The twins stepped out of the break room. On a scale of one to ten, their tolerance for children was a three, and judging from their expressions, that had just plummeted to a one.

Vera was muttering beneath her breath as she brushed powdered-sugar crumbs off her smock.

Vesta frantically stirred a second packet of sugar into her coffee.

Ruby turned the sign to Open and unlocked the door.

“Morning, Alma. Y’all are here early.”

She smiled at the boys trailing in behind their mother.

From the looks on their faces, they were no happier to be here than Ruby and her girls were to see them coming.

“Morning, Ruby,” Alma echoed, and gave the boys a warning look. “You know Joe down at the barber shop is still in the hospital from his hip replacement, and I didn’t want to have to drive all the way to Savannah with six boys just to get their haircuts. I figured if we came early we could avail ourselves of your ‘walk-ins welcome’ offer.”

Ruby pointed to the three open stylist chairs. “Yes, I heard about Joe. They say he’ll be out of the hospital in another couple of weeks but won’t open back up for a while yet.”

“That’s what I heard, too,” Alma said.

Ruby pointed at the chairs. “Okay, boys, who’s first? Three of you grab yourselves a seat and we’ll get this over. My goodness, you all have grown. Looks like no more booster seats for the Button boys, right?”

“I’m six now and tall for my age,” Cooter announced.

Billy Joe punched his little brother on the arm.

“Big deal, Cooter. I’m almost eight.”

“Shut up, the both of you,” Larry muttered. At ten, he considered himself beyond that.

Ruby heard what sounded like a slight whistle, followed by the scent of an odorous fart. She turned on the ceiling fan and pretended not to notice, but was guessing it was either Jesse or James, the twelve-year-old twins, who were suddenly interested in the display of hair gel.

“
Madre
, someone farted!” Cooter yelled.

Alma glared at her son. “Hush your mouth,” she hissed. “He’s learning Spanish from
Sesame
Street
,” she added, hoping the use of a second language overrode her other child’s social faux pas.

Vesta’s nose wrinkled in disapproval, both for the smell and the task ahead.

Bobby Button, who had been nicknamed Belly before he started first grade, took a seat in Ruby’s chair, refusing to acknowledge the boys he’d come in with. He would turn fifteen in a week and eyed his hair with regret. He’d been growing it all summer and was pissed at having to give it up. When he saw his mother watching him, he glared.

She glared back. Whether they liked it or not, part of getting her six boys ready for a new year of school meant buzz cuts, and they had Belly’s entrance into second grade to blame. Before his first month in second grade was over, he had been infected with head lice and proceeded to share the infection with everyone else in the family before Alma knew that he had them.

By the time she had the scourge under control, she’d quit having sex with her husband, claiming it was partly his fault for giving her nothing but boys; burned every piece of bed linen she owned; and shaved the boys bald. Her skin had crawled for months afterward. Although it had never happened again and she finally went back to her wifely duties of submitting to her husband’s sexual advances, she was thoroughly convinced the scourge remained under control because of her due diligence to cleanliness and the removal of most of her sons’ hair.

The twins climbed up in the other two chairs, somewhat fascinated by the fact that the women who were about to cut their hair were also twins. They looked in the mirror, then at each other, and giggled. Then they looked at the expressions on the hairstylists’ faces and frowned. Obviously, Vera and Vesta were not as amused.

“The usual?” Vera asked, as she put the cape around a twin.

“How short?” Vesta asked.

Alma folded her arms across her bosom. “The usual. Very short.”

When the clippers began to buzz, Cooter covered his eyes. Billy Joe fell backward onto the floor, pretending he was dead, and Larry was picking his nose.

It was an auspicious beginning to what would turn out to be an eventful day.

***

By noon, the foot traffic in the salon was slowing down. Mabel Jean didn’t have another manicure until after 1:00 p.m. and had gone across the street to Granny’s Country Kitchen for lunch. Vesta and Vera were in the back eating lunch they’d brought from home, leaving Ruby up front to finish Patty June Clymer’s weekly hairdo.

Patty June’s husband, Conrad, was the preacher at the Freewill Baptist Church. Up until the last few weeks, he always had his hair trimmed when he brought Patty for her appointment. But for the past six weeks, Preacher Clymer had been a no-show.

The first trip Patty June made alone seemed of no consequence to anyone, especially Patty June. The second one she was a little bit miffed but made all kinds of excuses. After that, she hadn’t mentioned his name again.

But when she arrived alone today, Ruby could almost feel her anger. The little preacher’s wife hadn’t said a word to anyone from the time she walked in the front door. Ruby knew better than to ask what was wrong.

Then the bell jingled over the door.

“Hey, Patty, excuse me a sec,” Ruby said, and headed for the front of the shop as a tall, leggy redhead walked in.

“Bobbette. Long time no see,” Ruby said.

“Hi, Sister! I haven’t been here in a while. I moved to Chesterville after Daddy died.”

“Well, I’ll say! I didn’t know that,” Ruby said. “How can I help you?”

Bobbette batted her fake eyelashes in double time and held out her right hand.

“Can you believe it? One of my nails has popped off. Makes my finger looked naked. I was wondering if Mabel Jean had time to put on a new one.”

“That’s acrylic, right?” Ruby asked.

“Yes. I tried silk wrap once but I didn’t much like them. So can she fix it? I have a hot date and I don’t like to keep my honey waiting, if you know what I mean.”

“Ooh, so you’ve got yourself a fellow, do you? What’s

his name?”

Bobbette giggled. “I never kiss and tell. So can Mabel Jean work me in?”

“She’s across the street eating lunch at Granny’s. Why don’t you run over there and ask her?”

“Thanks, Ruby. See you in a bit.”

Bobbette Paulson made a quick exit as Ruby went back to Patty June.

“Sorry for the wait,” Ruby said and picked up the blow-dryer, then caught the pissed-off look on Patty June’s face.

“Is everything all right?” Ruby asked.

Patty countered with a question of her own. “Sister, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“How do you feel about fornication?”

Ruby blinked. “Excuse me?”

Patty lowered her voice. “How do you feel about people who fornicate with someone other than their spouse?”

“Oh. You mean cheat? Sleep around? You’re asking me? Girl, that’s why I’m not married. My old man cheated on me for a year and I didn’t know it. Might never have known it if it hadn’t been for our next-door neighbor’s kid. He asked me who the blond lady was who came to my house every Tuesday and Thursday, which happened to be the days I went in to work early. Can you imagine?”

Patty’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, I can imagine. What did you do?”

“I left him, that’s what.”

“But what did you do to
him
?”

Ruby frowned. “Nothing.”

Patty’s face turned a bright shade of pink.

Ruby blinked. “Is everything okay?”

Patty’s mouth pursed tighter than a miser’s fist. “Why, everything is just fine, and thank you for asking.”

“Okay, sure,” Ruby said. She grabbed the blow-dryer and the vent brush and started styling Patty June’s hair.

A few minutes later the door jingled again. Ruby looked over her shoulder, but it was just Mabel Jean coming back with Bobbette.

“So, Patty, is the economy affecting the collection plate on Sundays?” Ruby asked.

Patty didn’t answer. She was staring into the mirror, her gaze locked on the two women sitting at the manicure table behind her. Every time Bobbette tossed her long red hair and laughed at something Mabel Jean said, a nerve twitched at the corner of Patty’s eyes and her lips clenched a little tighter.

Ruby knew that look. It was pure, unadulterated hate, and that’s when it hit her. What if the reason the preacher had been absent for so long was because he was cheating on Patty? And what if Bobbette Paulson was the hussy he was banging, and Patty June knew it?

All the hair stood up at the back of Ruby’s neck. If this was so, the fact that they were, by accident, suddenly sitting in the same room was a recipe for disaster. The faster she got these two women separated, the better.

She turned the dryer up on high and finished off Patty’s hair in record time, grabbing the hair spray and blasting the style into the little brown helmet Patty June preferred. Ruby whisked the cape from around Patty’s shoulders and all but dragged her to the counter to pay.

“There you go, Patty June! Want me to put you down for the same time next week?”

Patty laid a twenty on the counter, set her purse down on the floor, and looked Ruby straight in the face.

“I’m not sure if I’ll be out of jail by then.”

Before Ruby could react, Patty made a run for the manicure table. Ruby gasped and tried to head her off, but Patty was faster.

Patty snatched the battery-powered clippers from Vesta’s work station as she passed, then grabbed a hunk of Bobbette’s long red hair and yanked down as hard as she could.

Bobbette screamed as her head popped back.

Mabel Jean jumped. The nail form on Bobbette’s finger popped off, and the liquid acrylic Mabel Jean was using turned over and began running off the table onto Bobbette’s shoe.

Vesta and Vera flew out of the break room, still holding their salad bowls and their forks, saw what was going on, looked at each other, and then took another bite, chewing faster as they watched what ensued.