Chapter Eleven
Amie heard voices. Her head was about to split and her nose ached. Shushed whispers abounded and everything silenced. “Amie,” came Mom’s voice, “are you okay, sweetie?”
She forced her eyes open and looked at an aged and cracked concrete ceiling. Mom leaned into view. “Amie, darling. You hit your head. How do you feel?”
She slowly sat up on the plastic vinyl sofa and glanced at her surroundings. Barbershop chairs sat in front of mirrors with people staring at her wide-eyed. Many females had rollers in their hair and some looked to have pieces of aluminum foil wrapped in. Then Amie realized she was in a beauty salon.
Her head pounded. “Except for my nose and headache, I’m fine. What happened?”
Each person looked at another. Mom said, “I think you saw Butch play one of his practical jokes and it scared you. You ran out screaming.”
The ladies nodded and agreed.
“Yes, that had to be it.”
“That ol’ Butch. Always joking around.”
“Yup, Butch is a jokester, all right.”
Yeah, okay. She got it. A lady with big blond hair handed her a Dixie cup of water. “Here, sugar. Drink this.”
She did as instructed and the women backed away, giving her breathing room. Amie remembered being in the meat shop and meeting Mrs. Hagerty, then it went blurry.
“Well, I don’t feel one bit sorry for her.” Amie turned to the voice that sounded like a mad nun in Catholic school scolding a student. Who else? Mrs. Hagerty. “Look at the shoes she’s wearing. Can’t nobody walk in those. And all that fandangled glitz she’s wearing will blind anyone in the street.”
The woman turned to Mom Dubois. “Whoever your guest is, Jean, she doesn’t belong here. I can tell she’s trouble. She’ll bring riffraff here.” The old woman walked out the door. “Trouble, I tell you. Mark my words.”
One of the ladies in the shop waved off the old woman. “Don’t worry about her. She’s a bitch.”
“Oh,” Amie cut in, “please don’t call her that on my behalf. I am a bit difficult.”
The lady smiled. “No, honey. She is a bitch. A wolf—”
“Amie, dear”—Mom Dubois stepped in front of her—“use this cold cloth to dab your face. It might help.”
“Thank you.” Amie wiped her forehead. “I’m sorry, everyone, for causing such commotion. I don’t know what came over me.” A young teen in one of the beauty chairs giggled. Someone, her mom maybe, gave her a look and she quieted.
“No, you’re fine, dear,” the big blonde said. “What’s your name?”
Amie put her hand out. “I’m Amie. I’m staying with Frank and his mom for a bit.”
The blonde shook Amie’s hand then hauled her up into a hug. “We’re glad you’re here, Amie. I’m Sherri Wolfe, beautician and owner of this here shop.” Sherri went on to rattle off the names of several other ladies Amie probably wouldn’t remember for a while.
The teen in the chair looked at Amie in the mirror. “You’re not from around here, are you?”
Amie raised a brow. “What gave that away?” She smiled to soften the harshness she didn’t intend.
Sherri turned to Mom Dubois. “Why don’t you two hang out for a bit? It’s been a while since we’ve seen each other.”
Mom looked at Amie. “Works for me.”
“Great,” Sherri said. One of the other ladies asked Mom a question while Sherri twirled the teen in the chair. “Okay, missy, what’ll we have this time?” The beautician brushed her fingers through the wild curly dark hair.
The girl said, “Something different. Something up to date in the cities—”
“Nothing too wild,” a different woman who looked a lot like the girl said. Probably her mom. “Your father will be upset if he has a purple-headed cub.” Cub? Was that what they called the kids here? Just like Grandpa Running Wind. She did a mental shrug. To each their own.
“Amie,” the teen called, “what do you think would look good?” Amie looked around for another Amie in the room. Someone wouldn’t possibly want her opinion. Sherri and the girl’s mom stared at her.
Amie cleared her throat and walked to the chair. She focused on the young visage in the mirror. “Well, your face shape lends well to short or long styles, so that’s good.” Amie lifted a handful to see how heavy it was. It was thick like animal fur. Had to be hot. “Most kids your age like long straight hair. If you want to be that group, then feather the sides with spikes around your face, let the rest fall behind your shoulders.”
They discussed it. Sherri pulled tendrils forward to get an idea. Didn’t look bad. “But,” Amie continued, “if you want to stand out and get noticed, I’d go with straight-cut bangs to the brows and the back really short to have it bob under at the ears. Tuck the sides behind the ears.”
Now the group stared at the teen with wide eyes. “Oh, one more thing,” Amie said. “It’s a bit old, but I still love it—have a strand on each side of the bangs that’s really long and white-blond. They would hang down to curve under your chin.”
The teen smiled. “I can see. Mom, can I?”
The mom chewed her lower lip. “Well, it doesn’t seem outlandish. It’s just a cut. If we don’t like it much it will grow out in a year.” She sighed. “Go for it.”
The teen squealed and gyrated in her chair. Sherri swiveled her around. “Okay, here we go.”
Over her shoulder, Sherri called Mom Dubois. “Hey, Jean. I have a spot open since Mrs. Hagerty left. You want a trim . . . or a city do?” She winked at Amie.
Jean slowly walked to the empty chair in front of the mirror. She let down the tight bun, revealing thick waves. Everyone in the shop stopped what they were doing to watch. Amie got the feeling this was a momentous event.
Mom stared into the mirror, finger-combing strands that hung below her waist. “My husband once told me that he loved my long hair. Gave him something to hold on to since I’m so scrawny.” Her cheeks reddened with that private detail. “I told myself I would never cut it. Keep it long just for him.” Mom paused, not moving, eyes locked on mirror. “But he’s been gone for so long. So long now.”
My god, Amie thought. Never had she seen such love or devotion for someone who’d been gone for so long. That was the kind of love she wanted. Someone she could love so much, even after death, she’d love no one else. Could Frank have been that man for her? If she hadn’t run from him, would he have loved her as much as his mom loved his dad?
Mom sighed. “But I’m sure he doesn’t care right now, so let’s chop it.”
Amie startled at the complete flip in tone while everyone else cheered. Never mind everything she just thought. Mom sat in the chair and one of the ladies swung a cape over her. Amie slinked back to the torn vinyl sofa. What had she done? Frank’s dad’s ghost would haunt her for life.
Letting the women do their thing, Amie looked at the layout of the shop. “Sherri, you have a great little space here.”
“Little is right,” Sherri said. “I don’t have any room to add any more spots, so some of my customers have to wait awhile to get in. Even though the building next door is empty.”
Amie thought about what she’d just said. “Do you share a wall with the empty space next door?”
“We do. I looked into buying some of the space, but the price was just too much. I’d need a sudden infusion of cash to make that happen. And with only a few customers each day, that won’t be happening.”
Amie nodded. “I see the problem.”
“Hey, city girl,” an older lady in the last slot called to her. “Come here, child.” The beautician removed the cape and shook off the hair. The lady had incredibly beautiful facial bone structure. Very Angelina Jolie–ish. She reached out a slightly withered hand and grabbed Amie’s arm with more strength than she thought possible for someone the lady’s age.
“What can I do for you, ma’am?” Amie asked.
The woman sat back in the chair and looked directly at Amie via the mirror. “Tell me what you think.”
Oh, shit. She was in trouble now. If she offended one of the older generation, who probably held a lot of influence in town, she’d be kicked out for being a bitch. Or a wolf, like the other lady called Hagerty.
Amie studied the woman’s face, the high cheekbones, arched but faded brows, full upper lip but thin lower one, large almond eyes. “Hey,” Amie started, “anybody got blush or an eye pencil on them?” Each of the ladies, except Mom Dubois, pulled out enough makeup to look like the cosmetic counter at Estée Lauder.
Amie chose a dark brown eyeliner and brow pencil. Two different shades of blush for the cheeks. Chocolate and leather eyeshadows went well with the natural liner and pencil. Lipstick she chose to balance out the eyes, extending the bottom lip to give it a fuller look.
Then she stood back, between the mirror and the woman, and studied what she’d done. Almost there, but one more thing. She unbuttoned her cardigan sweater, slid it off, then helped the lady put it on. Amie than pulled off her gold earrings and thick necklace and put them on the woman in front of her. Her fingers brushed bangs to the side, creating a lift at one spot.
Amie stood back and let the woman see herself. And the woman stared at herself. And stared, and stared. With no expression, Amie knew she hated it. She burst forward. “I’m so sorry. I’ll wipe it—” The woman grabbed her arm, tears in her eyes. Amie cringed, waiting for the tongue thrashing.
“Child,” the woman started, “all my long life, I’ve been a plain ugly duckling. A long time ago I gave up trying to be pretty like all the younger generations wearing the crazy black raccoon eyes and too-white faces, too-red on their lips.
“But what you’ve done has made me feel beautiful.” She turned to the mirror. “I see the changes. I know the makeup is there. But it looks so natural. Feels natural. I’m pretty for the first time in my life.”
Amie was a bit stunned by the opposite reaction; she’d expected to be yelled at. “That’s a good thing, right?” She needed to make sure she’d heard correctly.
Tears rolled down the elder’s cheeks. Amie grabbed a tissue from a nearby box. “No, no, no. You can’t cry. You’ll mess up the liner.” She dabbed at the woman’s tears as her own threatened. The lady laughed.
“Don’t worry, child. You’ve given me something no one else ever has. Confidence.” She started to take the cardigan off.
“No,” Amie said, pulling the sweater back onto the lady’s shoulders, “you keep all that. I don’t need it. Frank will be happy it’s one less thing to pack when I head home.” The elder held her hand and patted it. And Amie wanted the woman to never forget something. “One more thing, ma’am. Makeup or not, you are beautiful. I know by the way the people here relate to you that you’re a great person. That makes you good inside, which is far better than anything outside.” Then she added, “Plus, no one here has called you a ‘wolf,’ so you gotta be okay, then.”
The lady laughed. “Of course they wouldn’t call me a wolf. I’m a cougar.”
“Oh,” Amie said. Then it dawned on her. Cougar as in older woman, younger guy. “Oooooh.” The lady walked out the door with everyone still watching, speechless.
The woman on the far end of the aisle leaned forward. “Can you do that to me?”
A chorus of Me toos rang out. Amie laughed, her heart full of belonging and being wanted.
“I can run home and get all my stuff and we can have a fashion and makeup party,” Amie said.
Mom Dubois turned in her seat. “Sherri, do you still shut down for lunch?”
“Sure do,” Sherri replied. “No appointments between eleven thirty and twelve thirty. Gotta eat sometime.”
Amie looked at her watch: 11:35 a.m. Her excitement drained.
“Perfect,” Mom said. “Let’s finish up here, then we can tell everyone to come to my house at noon and we can have the party there.”
Sherri pulled her cell phone out. “Telling everyone will be a cinch. I have every woman’s number in this town in my phone. Mass text going out in thirty seconds. Oh, since it’s lunchtime, I’ll tell everyone to bring food to share with those who are taking their lunch break to attend.”
Amie couldn’t believe this was happening. People were coming to see her for advice. Never since college had anyone given a shit about her. She just played her part and acted like Uncle Giuseppe thought correct. These people truly wanted to share their lives with her. She didn’t have words to express the feelings in her heart.
Maybe she’d stay here forever.