A Dyeing Shame

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Myrtle was ready especially early for her hair appointment the next morning. Lured by the prospect of juicy gossip or, God-willing, a scene, Myrtle set aside her bowl of Grape Nuts, haphazardly applied lipstick while pulling on a pastel pantsuit, and grabbed her cane.

Before heading in the direction of the Beauty Box, she walked a couple of doors down to Miles’ house. She placed Elaine’s painting in a bag on Miles’ porch with a sticky note that said Thinking of You. Myrtle hurried off without knocking on his door.

She smiled with satisfaction as she approached the salon, always relieved that Tammy hadn’t yielded to hyperactive punning when naming the shop. The town already had a barber shop called Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow and a beauty parlor called Hair-raisers. Puns made Myrtle queasy.

The inside of the shop was just as satisfactory as the outside. The ancient window unit spat out ice-cold air with a determined drone, and the domed hairdryers noisily competed with it. Ladies hollered over the ruckus, and it required skill and concentration to selectively eavesdrop.

The salon’s décor was eclectic and, although Tammy had decorated it in her pre-drinking days, that fact wasn’t evident. Bulbous, multi-colored Christmas lights covered the walls year-round, and large posters prominently displayed unlikely-looking hair models. Red and yellow curtains clashed with avocado-colored vinyl drying chairs. Faux terra cotta walls completed the Spanish bordello look. The salon was designed as a duplex with the beauty parlor in one section and Tammy’s living quarters in the other. The manicurist also lived in one of the bedrooms in the other side of the duplex.

Myrtle immediately saw that Tammy was in rare form. She was gesticulating wildly with a liquor bottle and laughing hoarsely at a joke no one else apparently found funny. Instead of tranquil ladies settled in for their weekly soul baring and beautification, the shop was full of pinched faces. Agnes Walker looked grim as she got a manicure. The most anxious of the faces belonged to the victim of the moment, Bootsie Davenport. She sat stiffly in the chair with a martyred expression on her face. Judge Beauregard Davenport’s wife and local socialite, Bootsie had no desire to sacrifice her coif to Tammy’s binge-drinking.

“If y’all would loosen up and have a little cocktail, we’d all have a lot more fun.” Tammy knocked over a few bottles of hair product in accidental emphasis.

Making her grand entrance, Myrtle quoted dramatically, “I lived on rum, I tell you. It's been meat and drink, and man and wife, to me.” Resurrecting these quotations from the depths of her memory was actually very validating. Red thought she needed to be shipped to a retirement home. Pooh!

Her arrival was greeted by an unusual sigh of relief at the distraction. “Myrtle!” said Agnes in a fond voice before guessing, “Kipling?”

“Stevenson,” said Myrtle. “Treasure Island.”

Agnes smiled. “I’m so glad you escaped being locked away at Greener Pastures Retirement Home, Myrtle. Whatever would we have done without you?”

“I won’t be an inmate at their asylum,” answered Myrtle dryly.

Bootsie said, “Asylum? Greener Pastures is a wonderful Home, Miss Myrtle. My own dear Mama is out there and is happy as a clam.”

“I stand corrected.” As soon as Bootsie was distracted by her ringing cell phone, Myrtle muttered to Agnes, “She’s happy as a clam because she’s half-baked. She entered the dining hall in nightie and robe and commenced a vigorous tooth-brushing when I visited Mirabelle the other night.”

Prissy Daniels peered myopically into her tatty, cavernous handbag for her checkbook. Her just-styled hair looked pretty good, considering Tammy’s present state. Pretty good for Prissy, anyway. Myrtle suspected that Prissy was the prototype for Old-Maid cards. She fit the part, right down to her knobby knees. Prissy patted her just-permed hair gingerly, made a vague goodbye and left the shop.

“Bye, Pris!” Tammy hollered as the door closed. She gave a derisive snort. “That Prissy. Bless her heart. She sure isn’t what she seems.” She winked at a frowning Agnes and said, “Prissy looks all prim and proper with her pearls and twin-sets. But you wouldn’t believe the real Prissy if I told you.”

“Then don’t,” suggested Agnes in a frosty voice.

Myrtle glowered. She’d have to have a talk with Agnes about stifling Tammy. The whole point of going to the beauty parlor was to learn gossip. What could she be thinking?

“I won’t. I’m no blabbermouth. Never have been! Although I could tell some real tales on Miss Priss—”

Bootsie’s loud cough interrupted Tammy. Prissy stood in the doorway, gaping at Tammy.

“Forget your specs again, Prissy?” asked Tammy. “I was just explaining to Bootsie here that you’re not as demure as you make out. Isn’t that right?” She gave a raucous bellow of laughter.

Prissy bleated something unintelligible, her long face turning blotchy red as she snatched up her glasses and fumbled her way out the door.

“Tammy,” said Agnes in a stern voice, “I know you’ve been struggling with alcohol again—”

“Sure have!” interrupted Tammy cheerfully as she waved a comb in the direction of the bottle, standing in the midst of a colorful array of mousses, shampoos and hair sprays. “Want some? Never mind, I’m not sharing, anyway.”

Agnes glared at Tammy disapprovingly. “Why are you drinking like this when you and Connor seem so happy together? I just don’t understand what precipitated this.”

“Ah, Connor. Mama’s pride and joy, isn’t he?”

Agnes ignored the jab. “You should consider getting some help.”

“No thanks, Mrs. Walker. I’m getting plenty of help from the bottle.”

It did seem like a strange time for Tammy to fall off the wagon. She’d had an amicable divorce from former husband Bo. Her shop was doing well, her niece lived nearby, and she was dating a good guy. Did she weather the hard times easier than the good ones?

Myrtle turned a critical eye on Tammy. She’d been pretty, although lately she’d let herself go. Dark roots and straggling gray hairs replaced the blond highlights she usually sported. The neat smock she’d worn over her clothes was nowhere in evidence, probably because the ratty sweat suit she wore didn’t need protecting. A cigarette dangled out the corner of Tammy’s mouth. From time to time, a column of ash fell into Bootsie’s curls before disappearing.

The waiting area was full of old magazines that hadn’t been replaced by new ones in months. Tammy was really letting the place slide. Myrtle leafed through one magazine that she’d already read several times before tossing it back down. “Any excitement?” she asked the other women.

Tammy snickered. “There’s always something going on in Bradley. Isn’t that right, Bootsie?”

Bootsie gave Tammy a hard look through squinty eyes in the mirror before she answered brightly, “Absolutely! I’m on a committee to plan the next church fundraiser. It’s going to be a festival. It’ll be the third week in October, so mark your calendars now.”

Dina, the anxious-faced manicurist, nervously dabbed polish on Agnes’ nails. She said in her squeaky voice, “A festival. That sounds very nice.”

A church festival wasn’t the kind of excitement that Tammy was likely referring to.

Tammy’s assistant beautician and niece, Kat Roberts, walked in while everyone stared. Kat was a tattoo-sporting, pierced, pink-haired anomaly in the town. “We were just talking about Bradley,” said Bootsie to Kat. “Not quite as exciting here as it was in New York, is it?”

Kat shrugged. “No, but it doesn’t matter to me. I’ve had enough excitement.”

Myrtle remembered hearing that Kat’s move was precipitated by her mother’s arrest for dealing drugs. Her father ran off long ago, and Aunt Tammy was the only family Kat had left. Tammy had driven her to North Carolina and promptly enrolled her in beauty school.

But Bradley, North Carolina, might not be quite ready for Kat. Her style sense turned heads, but it hadn’t inspired confidence in the Beauty Box crowd. Kat didn’t seem to have any regulars yet.

Myrtle patted her hair. As usual, it was standing on end. Surely Kat couldn’t make it any worse than it already was. Or as bad as a drunken Tammy might make it. “Since Tammy is tied up with Bootsie, could you do a wash and set for me, Kat?”

Kat’s tough features brightened and she spun a chair around. “Have a seat!” Kat was actually pretty when she smiled. Was that a shiny pimple on her nose, though? Oh. A nose stud. Myrtle sighed.

Tammy stubbed out her cigarette, then stumbled and nearly stabbed the shrieking Bootsie with her clippers. “You’re fine, you’re fine,” she muttered to Bootsie. Kat shot her aunt a disapproving look, and Tammy put her hands on her hips. “What is this, the Ladies’ Temperance Society? You’re not some goody-two-shoes are you, Kat?”

Kat stayed stoically silent as she competently scrubbed Myrtle’s hair, but her hands shook with the effort of holding back.

The air in the room was heavy with disapproval. Tammy shrugged. “Shouldn’t matter what I do as long as I cut hair okay. I’m not breaking any laws.” She blanketed Bootsie’s hair with enough Aqua Net to annihilate the remainder of the ozone layer. “I’m a decent, good-hearted—would somebody get that phone?” She roared as the devil-possessed instrument rang and rang. Probably women canceling their appointments in droves. Dina, the mousy manicurist, obediently snatched up the receiver.

Tammy pieced together her scattered thoughts. “I’m a good Christian woman.” She whipped her head around in an unsuccessful attempt to pin down the source of the derisive snort behind her. “I’m giving Kat a fresh start.” Kat shot her a look that said where she could put the fresh start. “And I even put her up here with me until Kat got her own place.”

“And remember little Dina, too,” Tammy ordered, gesturing to the timid manicurist who had put down the phone and was again nervously filing Agnes’ nails. “She had to run away from that no-good cretin of a husband. When she needed a place to go, who took her in? Did y’all take her in? Give her a place to stay? Food to eat? Nope. It was me!”

Agnes gave a delicate cough. “Dina does have feelings, you know, Tammy. Don’t talk about her like she’s not in the room. She’s not some stray kitten.”

Dina pushed her glasses up her nose and shook her head, frizzy curls bobbing emphatically. “Oh, I don’t mind, Miss Agnes. Tammy’s been a lifesaver and I’m just so very grateful.”

“I’m sure you are, dear...”

“The point is,” interrupted Tammy loudly, “that Dina knows I’m a good person. Doing nails and being my roommate are much better than being bullied by your husband. I should know—I put up with Bo for so long. Dina, grab that hairspray for me.” Bootsie looked pained at the suggestion of more hairspray. Her hair might never move again.

Dina gave the bottle to Tammy, who glanced over at the manicure Dina was giving Agnes. Dina’s brow furrowed anxiously as she waited for Tammy’s approval. Tammy shrugged and started spraying another half bottle of hairspray on Bootsie’s head. Dina’s face fell. The poor thing had gone from one bully to another.

“Never mind,” said Tammy, slurring a little. “I don’t care who knows I’m a good person or not. I don’t care about any of you. I’m writing you out of my will.”

Agnes looked over at Myrtle and rolled her eyes. “Tammy, none of us are probably even in your will. We’re not worried.”

“Well, you sure aren’t. But Kat and Dina are...or were.” Tammy had that sly, trouble-making expression on her face again.

“Go ahead, Tammy. I’ve never asked for anything from you. Whatever you’ve done for me has been your idea,” said Kat in a grim voice.

Kat’s cheeks were flushed with anger. Myrtle cleared her throat, the smell of Aqua Net making her woozy. “Kat, how do you like Bradley so far?”

Kat relaxed a little and flashed the surprisingly pretty smile again. “So far, so good. It’s cool to have my own place. I’m renting a house and have a yard for the first time. Yards were tough to come by in the city.”

“You probably used public transportation in New York. Did you have to take Driver’s Ed. when you moved here?”

Kat said briskly, “Sure did. But I had to learn so I could drive over to the beauty school. The closest one was twenty miles away. Once I passed the driver’s test, I got my bike.”

Myrtle puzzled over this for a minute. “Why’d you get a license if you were biking everywhere?”

Kat frowned, then laughed. “It’s not a bicycle: it’s a motorcycle. A Harley. I’ve always wanted one, so I got a used one. Runs like a dream.”

A pink-haired Harley driver with a nose stud. Myrtle offered a belated supplication to the hair gods. But soon she noticed that her hair looked better than it had in years. Kat appraised her work with a critical eye and gently combed Myrtle’s hair for the finishing touch. “Okay?” asked Kat.

“Much better than okay,” said Myrtle. “I do believe you’ve won my business, Kat. Put me down on your calendar for next week.” Satisfaction gleamed in Kat’s eyes. Myrtle saw something else there, too: a little raw ambition. Tammy shot her niece a cold look. It sure didn’t look like Tammy was rooting for Kat to succeed.

Tammy dropped a mirror in Bootsie’s lap so she could look at the back of her head. “Here you go, sweetheart. Another Tammy masterpiece, just for you.”

Bootsie patted her hair gingerly. “Isn’t it poofier than it usually is?”

Tammy flushed blotchy red. “It’s the same way you always want it, Bootsie. What’s the problem?’

“I don’t know. It’s like an old-lady do today.”

Tammy hissed viciously. “Is it? Well, you’ve always been happy to look like an old lady before. Why is today any different? Let me guess. You’re wanting to impress your young man.”

Bootsie choked out a strangled laugh. “I don’t care at all about impressing Justin. He’s away at college and doesn’t care what his old Mama looks like.”

“I don’t mean Justin,” Tammy sneered.

Every ear in the Beauty Box strained to hear over the wall unit as Bootsie gritted through clenched teeth, “You’d better watch yourself, or I’ll prosecute you for libel.”

Tammy drawled, “Can’t be libel when it’s true.”

Whatever Bootsie planned to say was cut off as her cell phone, with a rapping ringtone that made Myrtle’s eyebrows rise, started ringing again. Bootsie dug a couple of bills out of her wallet and slammed them on the counter, answering her phone with a barking, “Hel-lo!” as she left.

“And y’all think I have a temper,” muttered Tammy, shaking her head. “Gotta get some air. Kat, you’ll manage things, right?”

“Better than you can, Tammy.”

Maybe it was the truth in that statement that so infuriated Tammy. Tammy picked up the mirror and hurled it down. The Beauty Box became silent as glass splintered across the floor. Tammy froze, superstitious fear giving her a sober moment. “Seven years of bad luck,” she grated. Shaking it off, she slouched unsteadily out the door. A collective sigh of relief wafted through the beauty parlor. Myrtle peered through the window to ensure that Tammy was walking and not driving. She asked, “When did Tammy turn into the Wicked Witch of the South?”

Agnes said, “Well, Connor says alcohol is something she’s always struggled with. Both her parents were hard drinkers.”

“In less than an hour, she managed to offend just about everyone here.”

Kat’s voice was studiously casual. “Sorry about the way she was acting today. I guess you know that Tammy isn’t usually this bad.”

“Of course she’s not! She wouldn’t have a customer left, if she were.”

Agnes checked her nails to see if they were dry. “She took some stabs at me too today. You’re the only one who escaped unscathed, Myrtle.”

“I’m too dull to give her any ammo,” said Myrtle. “We all used to treat her like our personal shrink. Tammy heard all the secrets.”

Agnes said morosely, “And now she’s a loose cannon. We’ll have to find our confidantes elsewhere.”

Dina spilled some nail polish on the table and started dabbing it up with a paper towel. She said unhappily, “Tammy will be okay soon. She’s just working through her problems.”

Kat snorted. “I know you’re trying to be a good friend, but we can’t excuse Tammy from acting out. Tammy doesn’t have real problems. Tammy is Tammy’s problem. The drinking will kill her, though. One way or another.”