Vanity Insanity (34 page)

“A.C.’s girlfriend is back from Sudan and still recovering from the malaria episodes,” I told her.

“Robin. Right? I heard you all like her.”

“She’s too good for him, so he’ll probably dump her. Kidding!”

“Fingers crossed. Did you hear that Tom Ducey is considering running for city council?”

“He only knows half the city. He’s got my vote.”

As Michele stood up, she turned to me. “So who’s this Fiona person that Lucy told me about?”

One of my clients had introduced me to Fiona a few months earlier. “She’s a sharp Irish woman who runs an Irish shop on the other side of the Old Market. We enjoy each other’s company.”

“Yikes, that sounds like a relationship with your sister.” Michele was savvy in the ways of sports and relationships.

“No, she’s really a great gal.”

“A great gal? I haven’t met your new girlfriend, and I already know why.”

“OK, so she’s not ‘the one,’ but we both have something to do on a Friday night,” I said as we walked to the UP desk.

Michele cleared her throat after she paid me. “I’m guessing you haven’t heard the news.” I put her check in the drawer and looked up. I thought we’d covered it all. “About Theresa.” She looked down.

Theresa hadn’t been in for a while. “I hear she’s pregnant. Does this make number four or five?”

“There’s something else. Lucy wasn’t sure if you knew yet.” Michele looked down. I hadn’t seen Lucy since before Christmas. “Theresa had some tests done. It looks like she has breast cancer.”

I heard Connor giggling in the back room. “But she’s pregnant.”

“And she refuses to start treatment until the baby is born…while the cancer is growing. Lucy wanted me to tell you since she can’t get in here for a while.”

I didn’t know what to say.

“Ben.” Jenae dropped a note on the desk in front of me. “Chatty Kathy needs to change her four o’clock appointment to four thirty. She needs you to call her back.”

Michele touched my arm. “I thought you’d want to know.”

30

C. Henning, Jenae’s client

Tuesday, April 30

1996

“I
’m not going. I’m a big fat elephant, so I won’t need to come in for my hair appointment.”

Lucy was pregnant again.

“You’re not going where?” I had been sitting at the UP desk going through mail when Lucy called.

“To this big political event for Tom. He’s going to announce that he’s running for city council.”

“Are you not coming in for your appointment because you’re an elephant, you’re sick, or you’re in a grumpy mood?” I asked as Jenae walked in from the alley in the infamous sweatpants, an oversized sweatshirt, and a Creighton Blue Jay baseball hat over uncombed hair. Kelly and I had our sneaking suspicions that Jenae was off her meds again based on the past two days.

“All three,” Lucy responded, pulling my attention back to the telephone.

“Not to sound judgmental, but isn’t the wife supposed to stand by her husband when he makes big announcements like this?”

“Not if she’s an elephant.”

I put the mail in the drawer and pulled out the schedule for the day as Lucy changed topics: “Did you hear about Johnny Madlin’s killer?” A call from Lucy was never quick. “They electrocuted him.” Nebraska had barely wiped the dust off the electric chair from Willie Otey’s execution and apparently felt the need to use it again. “And Theresa has another chemotherapy treatment today. What an awful day.”

Theresa’s baby, Mary Elizabeth, who was due in May, had been born by C-section in mid-March. The delicate balance between waiting for the baby to be “ready” to be born and rushing to have the baby born so that Theresa could start treatment weighed heavily on her friends and family. While waiting, the cancer in Theresa had thrived with the hormones that helped her baby grow. The very proud godmother of Mary Elizabeth was Lucy. No sooner had the water from the baptismal font dried on Mary Beth’s newly baptized head than Theresa was taken in to start an aggressive chemotherapy.

“OK, well, I guess I can’t force you to get your hair done,” I said.

“It’s against the law.”

“Hope you feel better soon.”

Jenae was sitting in her chair in her station staring at herself in the mirror.

I hurried over to her station, stood behind her chair, and looked at her in the mirror. “So I heard that your number eighteen is about to be drafted, Toots. Ya gonna miss him?” Announcements of the draft were coming up, and the state of Nebraska wondered where Brooke Berringer might end up.

Jenae didn’t answer, and then Toby and Virginia walked in from the alley with several coffee orders. They both looked at Jenae and then at me.

“I forgot to tell you something, Jenae,” I added.

Jenae looked at me in the mirror; her eyes without makeup made her look very young. Kelly and Katie walked in. Kelly ran up to the chair and stood next to me, looking worried as her eyes met Jenae’s in the mirror.

“I threw everyone’s name in a hat and pulled out your name. Jenae Tolliver!” I said loudly. Jenae blinked. “Don’t you want to know what you won?” Kelly put her hand on Jenae’s shoulder. “The day off, Toots.” Jenae started crying into her hands and then got up and hugged me. We had about fifteen minutes before the first appointments.

“I got your bag.” Kelly was holding Jenae’s purse. “You want me to drive you home?” Kelly had just gotten her license. Jenae nodded.

“You want to let us know what’s going on,” I asked Jenae as she pulled her head from my shoulder. She shook her head no.

Almost in a whisper, I said, “Jenae, you need to go home. I know you’re trying to see if you don’t need your medicine sometimes, but you do. I want you back here tomorrow in stilettos and sequins or whatever.”

Jenae pulled a Kleenex out of the pocket of her sweatpants and blew her nose. She nodded her head up and down as she hugged me again. “Sorry.”

“No problem. Stilettos, remember.”

Kelly walked Jenae to her car as I looked over the schedule with Toby and Virginia. Double booking was never fun, but no one complained, as we juggled appointments all day. By lunch, I was hoping that Jenae’s one o’clock appointment I was covering would be late so I could eat a sandwich in the back room. The bell over the door rang as an incredibly gorgeous woman walked into Vanity Insanity. I looked up at the petite blond in a gray, perfectly fitting professional blouse and skirt. She glanced at Jenae’s station and frowned.

I looked at the schedule. “Henning?” I asked.

“Yes, I’m looking for Jenae. I have an appointment with her.”

“Jenae went home sick, but I’m picking up some of her appointments. I’m Ben.”

Henning looked me over and then looked at the clock on the wall. “Sure. I guess that will work. Where do you want me?”

I was glad that A.C. wasn’t here because he would have seen that as an opportunity. All the possible answers to that question. I directed C. Henning to my chair and pulled out an apron. “What are we doing today?”

“Just a wash and style.” She smiled. “I’m going to an event tonight, and I’d like something fun and different. What do you think?”

Again with the interesting questions.

“I’m meeting an old friend tonight. I ran into him at the Holy Name Fish Fry. You ever been to one of those?”

I combed out the long locks before directing C. Henning to the sink to wash her hair. “Oh, yeah. Holy Name is the granddaddy of all fish fries. The beer, the fish, the way you smell when you leave. It’s all good.”

“Anyway, I ran into this friend, whom I haven’t seen in years and we just clicked. Just like that. We clicked.”

I stopped combing.

“Anyway, he and I kind of have a history… If you know what I mean.”

“History?”

“We go way back to grade school. I haven’t seen him in years. Then there he was, handing out flyers for his campaign at the fish fry.”

The word “campaign” hit me like a bad mythical creature in a poorly lit movie.

“He’s having some big party to kick off his campaign. He doesn’t know I’m coming. I thought I’d surprise him.”

“Are we cutting off your ends, uh, Carol?”

“Charlotte. My name is Charlotte.” Of course it is.

So the mythical creature did exit, and she was sitting in my chair. Charlotte the Harlot even had a real last name. I checked out her boob job as I started drying her hair. I felt a bit of that old guilt as I tried not to make C. Henning look too good.

While Charlotte Henning was paying for her services, Katie answered the phone. She was getting better at speaking English, so she was excited to grab the phone whenever it rang. Katie handed me the phone as I watched my one o’clock leave the salon.

“A.C. on the phone. He sound serious.”

“What’s up?” I answered the phone, wondering if he had news about Robin.

“Brook Berringer died. It’s on all the local channels. Plane crash.”

I couldn’t reply.

A.C. continued, “Not a great day in Nebraska. Sorry to have to be the one to give you the news.”

“I’m good.” I hung up and turned to Toby, who had been watching me on the phone with concern.

“Everything OK?” Toby asked quietly.

“Some pretty bad news.” I turned on our flat screen and turned to ESPN. A man reported, “Brook Berringer, former Nebraska Cornhusker, died in a private plane crash in a field in Raymond, Nebraska. A friend and brother to Berringer’s fiancée also died. Berringer was expected to be drafted in the NFL this coming week.”

I walked over and sat on the pew near the front door and watched ESPN. Toby came over and sat next to me. “I hope Jenae gets herself together before she hears.”

“I’ll go over and check on her later. I’ll let her know,” I said as I walked over to the desk and picked up the phone. I’d been double booked all day. I could juggle one more appointment. I dialed.

“I changed my mind, Lu,” I told the grumpy pregnant woman on the other end of the line.

“Changed your mind about what?”

“Your appointment. Get your little elephant butt in here. I’m going to make you beautiful. You have to go tonight, Lucy. Your husband is running for city council. You’re going to stand next to him.”

“But…”

“No buts except your elephant butt in my chair.”

Lucy arrived forty minutes later, still a little cranky.

Her hair looked great that night.

31

Theresa: Guido the Wig

Friday, November 1

1996

C
ra-zy, cra-zy, cra-zy.

On the drive back to Vanity Insanity from the Beauty Supply Warehouse, the rain attacked my windshield like an army of uninvited flying ants. A ripped wiper on the driver side was not doing its job as the wipers moved back and forth, making a creepy sound that pounded in my head.

Cra-zy, cra-zy, cra-zy.

I parked on the street side of the salon since after seven o’clock most of my staff had gone home. Toby was probably the only one still cleaning up now. I could see the back of Theresa’s head in the Vanity Insanity window as I got closer to the door. She was sitting on the pew across from the UP desk. Her hair, as long as it had even been to my recollection, flowed down her back.

“Are you ready for this?” I asked as I walked into the salon. I smiled as I pointed to the box I held in my hand.

“Is that my new friend?” she asked. Theresa and I had gone to the Beauty Supply Warehouse a few weeks earlier to see the selection of wigs. As soon as she’d found out she had cancer, she’d decided to shave her head, donate her hair to Locks for Love, and avoid having her hair come out gradually. She would wear hats around the house and save the wig for outings in public places. Together we found a color similar to her caramel hair, so Theresa ordered a shoulder-length wig, and we waited. I’d called her as soon as the warehouse let me know her wig was in.

“Yep, I say we call your little friend in this box Guido. Just a thought.”

Theresa smiled and tilted her head. “Guido? I like it.”

“Word on the street, you been lookin’ for Guido,” I said in scrappy Mafia accent. Toby came out of the back room with a box of supplies.

“Hi, Toby!” Theresa said as she started walking to my chair.

“Hey, Theresa.” Toby was always awkward when Theresa came in. I think he suffered from Beautiful Girl Syndrome. I knew that Toby liked Theresa, but his face would turn red and he came off rude whenever she was around. Theresa was always kind to him, though. For the past several months, Toby had been asking me for updates on Theresa’s health.

“Ben, I’m in Chicago until Tuesday. Remember,” Toby said as he wiped his station down, preparing to leave town for a conference on hairstyles.

“Yep. Come back with some new crazy ideas. I won’t let anyone touch your station when you’re gone.” I smiled. Toby cleared his throat and forced a smile back.

Theresa sat down in my
safe
chair and smiled at me in the mirror. She pulled a ponytail holder out of her purse and handed it to me.

“I guess I won’t be needing one of those for a while.”

As I combed out Theresa’s long hair, clumps began to fall into my hand. I knew I would get through this appointment, but I felt my hands start to shake.

“Bye.” Toby carried his box of supplies to the door and set it on the pew.

“Have fun in Chicago, Toby,” Theresa said.

“‘Have fun stormin’ the castle!’” I yelled to Toby.

Theresa’s laugh echoed against the walls, “I know this one. Sounds like
Princess Bride
, right? Billy Crystal is dressed up as a really ugly, old guy and he yells it to…Westley. Right?”

From my peripheral vision I saw Toby touch the upper casings of the door, rub the door handle, and dart out of Vanity Insanity. “You are good.”

“Dancing Queen” by Abba was playing on the sound system. Toby must have switched to an oldies station when everyone left.

Friday night and the lights are low
Looking out for a place to go…

Theresa watched me put her hair in a high ponytail. Her smile fell into a solemn expression. I rarely ever saw the beauty before me without a smile. Did Theresa really have cancer? Did the person in front of me really have something in her blood or her system or whatever that was trying to kill her? She didn’t look sick to me. Maybe there had been a mix-up in the lab. Maybe this was all just a terrible mistake we’d be talking about ten years from now. “Wow, wasn’t that crazy? We thought Theresa had cancer.” My hands started shaking again as I picked up the scissors.