The Sisterhood of the Queen Mamas (11 page)

“I am so glad you are my friend, Maxine, you know that?”

“Right back at ya, Odessa. I love you more than Hostess Queen partyware and a sparkly tiara combined.”

We drove for a few seconds before I asked, “Do you love me more than bacon?”

“Don’t push it.”

I laughed and exhaled hard, breathing out a lot of the self-doubt and sadness that the discussion had churned up inside me. We had a task at hand. “Okay. Back to finding Chloe. Where would you go if you lost your job, had a scary relationship and even scarier hair?”

“Jan went out onto the roof.”

“That’s entirely different.” I scanned the few open shops on the town square, knowing they were not the types of places Chloe would frequent.

It got real quiet then. And as you can imagine, real quiet is not the natural state between Maxine and me.

Finally, softly, with an almost reverent tone, Maxine whispered, “What was she doing up there? What did she go up there to see?”

“Or to avoid seeing?”

“You mean her husband?”

I raised my eyebrows and shrugged. “I used to think maybe he went up there the day he fell to get away from her.”

“No.”

“Well…yes. I wondered…You know what it says in Proverbs about living on a roof being better than living with a cantankerous woman.”

“In what translation do they use the term
cantankerous?
” She chuckled softly. “But I get your point.”

I nodded. “It’s not the kind of thing I would ever ask Jan about, but it did occur to me. Why
else
would a man go on the roof?”

“Doing repairs?”

“Let me rephrase that. Why would a
husband
go out onto the roof?”

Maxine laughed at the subtle difference. A man might have all manner of reasons to tackle big, unappealing chores, but a husband…?

“Speaking of husbands, I think it’s time I spoke to mine.” With that, I pulled over to the side of the street and parked in front of what used to be a dress shop but now sold used paperback novels.

“Speaking of husbands? That’s not why you want to call David. You want to call him because we were speaking of Morty Belmont and chores and you want to make sure your own man followed through on the assignment you set out for him.” She cranked the window down to let some air blow through while the engine was off. Maybe it was the prospect of the Texas heat that put a little bit of attitude into Maxine’s voice when she mumbled, “And here you haven’t even completed the task you set out to accomplish this morning.”

“You want to keep working on our task? Then scoot over here and take the wheel, big talker.” I popped out of the truck, walked around the front and opened the passenger-side door. “
I
am going to make this call.”

Never in my wildest dreams did I think Maxine would actually start up the truck, much less drive off without me in it!

Luckily, she noticed her error in leaving me standing in the streets of downtown Castlerock. She said she thought I had jumped in the seat, when in fact I had only just tossed my purse in and then stepped back to try to see the numbers on my cell phone. Tiny things. And on a gray-on-gray screen in brilliant daylight!

Anyway, Maxine backed up and allowed me to climb into my own truck and started driving while I made contact with my own husband, to whom I promptly told the whole story, including our stopover at the tattoo parlor.

“No, for the last time, we did not get tattoos, David!” I wasn’t cross with him, so much as curt. “Yes, I know. Go get your lunch and we’ll talk this evening. I love you, too.”

I squinted to find the minuscule red symbol on the but
ton that would end the call. Would that I could have cut the connection between Maxine and the steering wheel and gas pedal with so little effort.

Turns out Maxine was not a devotee of that smooth-driving school that I adhered to, or maybe she had never driven a beat-up old truck with bad shocks and mushy brakes and a steering wheel that tended to resist all attempts at using it for steering. So we’d gone bumping along for the whole five-minute cell-phone conversation. And not a sign of Chloe, to boot.

“Tattoos?” Maxine took a turn so fast my whole side flattened against the door. “David did
not
think that of us, did he?”

“I sort of think maybe he did.” I pushed myself away from the cold, unyielding door. “He says I am not myself lately, so he didn’t know what to expect.”

“Not yourself?”

“That I’m running around more, going places without him, driving a truck, chairing action committees, making friends with people it would seem I’d have nothing in common with…”

“Oh, that.” She waved her hand, and the truck veered slightly. “That’s not like you?”

“Well, I think it is.” My own hand shot out, as if it had a mind of its own, and grabbed the wheel to get us going straight again. “But I can see where he might think it’s a new development.”

“Because it
is
a new development, or because David hasn’t been paying attention to the real Odessa?” Her driving might be all over the road, but her thinking was right on track.

“A little of both. You know…ministers.” More than
once, I’d thought that if I were a total stranger who’d come in off the street, sat down in David’s office and told him the story of my life, I’d have gotten more empathy and understanding from him than I had sharing his home and life for more than forty years.

“Men.” Maxine sighed.

“Husbands!” We both said it at the same time, and instantly shared a laugh, as well.

“I don’t care what he says. I haven’t known you in person for all that long, Odessa, but I know you in my heart. I
am
you in many ways, and I have to say this—you are more like yourself than anyone I have ever met.”

“And that’s a good thing?” I asked.

“That’s a terrific thing!” She hit a speed bump without so much as tapping the brakes.

I covered my head, the way we had been taught to protect ourselves from tornadoes and nuclear blasts in grade school, and uttered a most sincere “Thank you, Maxine.”

“T’weren’t nothing. What did I do?”

“You liked me.”

“Oh, Odessa honey. I told you, I love you.”

“I love you, too, Maxine. But I also
like
you.”

“I get it,” she said softly.

“In fact, I like you
so
much, my friend, I am not even going to demand you pull this truck over and let someone who knows how to drive it take over.”

“Meaning?”

“I am going to let you drive us all the way to where we are going.”

“We’re going somewhere?”

“Yup. To find Chloe.”

“Where to?”

“Jan Belmont’s house.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. David said he didn’t get anywhere trying to talk to Morty, and had to leave when Jan threw him out because she was expecting her subcommittee any minute. They plan to go over all the letters of complaint about the flea market.”

Maxine sighed and pointed the truck toward the Belmont house. “Do you ever get the idea that the two halves of our action council are canceling each other out?”

“I do, and I am going to put a stop to it.”

“How?”

“I have a
plan.
”

A plan. Beauty might be skin-deep, but there was some thing more going on under this pretty hairdo of mine.

A distraction was what was called for, I figured. But not a distraction merely for the sake of distraction. This distraction had to serve a greater purpose. I didn’t discuss it with Maxine, or let myself dwell on what David might have to say about my solution and how unlike me it was. It was unlike me, I suppose, if you only looked at the skin-deep Odessa who al ways did what was expected. That hesitant young woman who wore rhinestones on her veil and let her husband give away her favorite wedding gifts and only wanted to be liked.

But to anyone who thought of me as the woman most like herself, a woman destined to rise above her fears and shortcomings, it would have made perfect sense when I hit Jan Belmont’s door, stepped inside and announced, “Hey,
y’all! Maxine and I think that since we have the collective knowledge of so many mamas here all at once, and we only want what’s best for our girl, we should perform an emergency makeover on Chloe!”

I
hope you’re not looking here for some opening remarks by Odessa, because she is indisposed right now. You see, she has totally lost her mind.

Not gone-around-the-bend lost her mind, but more gone-hog-wild-with-this-whole-making-over-Chloe-deal lost her mind. Lost track of time, and certainly lost control over her action council, which had gathered here to discuss complaints against the flea market and what actions we would recommend to address them. Unless we can slap some moisturizer on those complaints… (Odessa says, “This is Texas. We have big winds, bright sun and bad habits. If you want to have a dewy complexion here, you either got to sleep facedown in the grass or start moisturizer young!”) Now where was I? Oh, yes, unless you can slap some moisturizer or costume jewelry on those complaints and call them intriguing alternative impressions, they will stay pushed to the side for today. Just like some sad wall-flower that never had the benefit of what henceforth I shall call
Odessaizing.

I have to admit, last time I peeked in, our scary-haired Chloe had cleaned up pretty good. Not that she was dirty. Around here, “cleaned up” refers to what you do when you get out of your everyday work or play clothes and put on what we used to call your “Sunday best,” though people don’t even dress all that well for church anymore, have you noticed that? When I was a young woman, even social invites came with “Sunday dress acceptable” printed on them, right where they might otherwise have put “Black tie,” “Formal” or “Casual.”

Not that that has anything to do with what’s going on in the back bedroom of Jan Belmont’s home. Guess now you know why I don’t do these introduction bits. I tell y’all, if this story
were
a sandwich, this right here would be the cheesy part!

Now, I know Odessa tries to impart some wisdom or offer something to think about before just jumping into the next part of the story, but for the life of me I can’t imagine what we can learn from all that primping and pretty-making. Unless you need grooming and hair tips. I am in awe of what Odessa can do with a rattail comb and a can of Aqua Net. Guess it just took the challenge of taking a young girl’s look from havoc to, as Chloe puts it, hot.

Oh, there you go. That’s it.
Hot.

Sometimes you just don’t know what another person is capable of doing until you see them under fire.

“No open flames, Maxine!”

“You said you didn’t have time to do this, Odessa.”

“I don’t.”

“Then stay out of it, or get out here on this page and do it proper.”

“I can’t leave right now. It’s a crucial moment in completing the structure of the hairdo.”

“Why do I suddenly feel like that child is going to walk out here with her hair sculpted into a replica of the Alamo?”

“It won’t be the Alamo, but it will be worth remembering, I tell you what, Maxine. And in the meantime, no open flames. There’s so much combustible vapor saturating this room that one flicker or wayward flash and Jan’s house is liable to go up in a blaze like…well, like a house afire.”

Picture me rolling my eyes at that.

Okay, how about this for the introductory life lesson or thing you might not otherwise have considered?

Most folks are like a big ol’ can of hair spray. You never can tell what they’ll pull together until you put them under serious pressure!

“Ta-da!”

“Odessa?” Maxine sat dead center on Jan’s couch, looking for all the world like someone terrified of so much as denting a throw pillow.

“What?” I asked.

My dear friend tipped her head only slightly. “You’re tadaing an empty doorway.”

I spun around.

No Chloe. No ta-da!

To play up the big revelation of the brand-new Chloe, I had sent everyone out of the master bathroom while I put the finishing touches on the girl.

Before taking her place in a straight-backed chair by the white brick fireplace, Jan had tucked Morty and his ever-blaring TV in a back bedroom—heard but not seen, as it were.

That left his recliner open for Gallina Roja, and she snuggled down into her roost until she was all skinny legs and arms, with two beady, watchful eyes peering over her crooked nose.

Gloria Alvarez, who I thought would have put up the
most fuss about me throwing her meeting out of whack, had instead gotten right into the spirit of things. Maybe she had wished she could do the same kind of thing for her daughter, I don’t know. But I do know she had taken it upon herself to remove the full-length mirror from inside Jan’s closet, carry it into the front room and hold it up so that Chloe could enjoy the full effect of my—of
our
—efforts.

“If there’s one thing I hate, it’s having a ta-da moment go to pot,” I said. I leaned toward the door, careful in case the child should come hurrying down the hall and run head-on into me. I knew how stiff we’d made the hair on that particular head, and figured one wayward curl could probably put an eye out. “Chloe?

No answer.

Maxine shifted gingerly on the couch. “Maybe that hairdo is working like earmuffs and she can’t hear you.”

Jan blinked like a bored housecat.

Gallina Roja slapped the sides of her elevated feet together on the footrest and chirped something in Spanish about the girl not keeping us waiting. Or about time being fleeting, or maybe about time being a big girl. I’m not sure. The words are close, the woman was speaking fast.

Either way, Gloria glanced in the mirror as soon as she said it and prodded the soft pad of flesh under her chin and frowned.

From the looks of things around me, I could see if Chloe didn’t get out here soon, the moment could go downhill fast.

“Chloe?” I stretched my neck out, as if those few extra centimeters might make all the difference in her hearing me through the long hallway, two sets of doors and those carefully coiled curls. “You coming out, honey?”

“Not until you promise” came the terse reply.

I jerked up straight and pressed my lips tight.

“Promise what?” Maxine called out, when I failed to respond.

I glared at my friend, shaking my head and hoping she would get my message:
Do not negotiate with rogue makeover models. You know where this girl has worked and seen the tattoo ink and metal studs she has applied to lesser folks than us. Pipe down. She will eventually come out if we don’t say a word.

Even in my silent moments, I tend to say too much.

“Ms. Pepperdine?” Chloe called again.

“Come out, Chloe.” I said it all sugarcoated, too, and like I had never heard her request. “Everyone is so excited to see you. Don’t make them wait any longer. Why aren’t you coming out?”

“My hair is too poofy!”

I sighed real big, so everyone could see what all this was taking out of me—you know, like a regular tortured artist. Then I put the back of my hand to my forehead, extra-dramatic-like, and closed my eyes. “The poof, my dear, is the pièce de résistance.”

“It’s resisting my pushing down on it, if that’s what you mean” came the answer from the dark end of the long hallway.

“Oh, my dear! Don’t do that! Don’t push down on it.” I raised my hands and tried not to dwell on the image forming in my mind. All that time and work with the curling iron, reduced to a lopsided flop under the pressure of a sweaty, determined palm. “Smooth over it. Shake it out. Even compress gently, if you have to, but don’t
ever
push.”

Maxine broke out in a hearty laugh. “Don’t push?”

“What?” I said, snippy but dignified.

Still laughing, Maxine shook her head. “It’s just those words coming from you, Odessa. ‘Smooth over.’ ‘Shake it out.’ ‘Compress gently.’
That
might be advice we could politely overlook without a snicker, but ‘Don’t
push
’?”

I got her point. As I may have said before, Maxine is nothing if not a woman with a point. That kind of thing can really get on the nerves of those of us who, while not entirely point
less
, might embrace a less direct line of reasoning in forming our opinions and world views.

“‘Don’t push’ is not a term I associate with the woman who just marched into Jan’s home and strong-arm commandeered Gloria’s subcommittee.”

I glanced from Jan to Gloria. Both of them smiled to let on that they did not hold my actions against me.

Maxine was just being testy because she had signed on, and reluctantly so, only to help me give romance a little push where Bernadette was concerned. Now she suddenly found herself taking on Chloe, too, and Chloe was not cooperating.

“You came in here and ambushed that young girl.” Maxine silently tacked on “and me” with a stern glance. “Now you tell her that the last thing she should ever do is push?”

I tightened my lips against my teeth. It was not quite a pout, but it was certainly not a sign of concession, either. On the one hand, Maxine was dead right. No argument. No justification offered to try to sway things even the slightest bit in my favor. On the other hand…Maxine was right.

Yes, no matter how you looked at it, my friend was right.

That made me wrong. Or wrong-
ish
. A state made all the more irritating by the fact that the longer she looked at me, the closer Maxine got to busting out laughing about my getting all petulant and…well, downright pushy, even as I warned against it.

But what could I say? Maxine just wanted to remind me that this was a case of reaping what I had sown. And while I wouldn’t strictly compare Chloe to the whirlwind in the Bible passage she was causing something of a dustup where my plans were concerned.

“Well, thank you very much for your input, Maxine. I will certainly take that into account in my dealings with my action council and our little friend. Now, if you will excuse me…” I swiveled my head and hollered down the hall in a voice pulled from the depths of my gut, “Chloe, get out here!”

“Only if you promise,” she called again, matching my indomitable tone with every syllable.

I held my breath. On the one hand, God had given me this marvelous opportunity to witness to and show His love incarnate in the kindness of others to this hurting, seeking, fragile soul. On the other hand, the girl had worked in a tattoo parlor sticking metal rods in people for a living, when she wasn’t shoving compost-quality swill at them as a means of improving their health.

I
had
to ask. “Promise you what?”

“Promise if I come out there and pirouette and curtsy around for y’all that at some point you, Ms. Pepperdine, will let me take you shopping to get you a new outfit of
my
choice.”

Maxine pointed a finger at me and giggled silently.

“Can Maxine come, too?” I asked.

“Does Maxine want to come?” Chloe shot back, without missing a beat.

Maxine shook her head so violently I thought it would send her lipstick sliding off onto her earlobe.

“She’d love to,” I said, smiling in self-satisfied triumph.

“Okay.” The voice from down the hallway got louder, and I could only assume that Chloe had left the bathroom at last and was moving into the master bedroom.

The TV droned through the door across from the bottom of the stairs.

“As long as I don’t have to pay for anything, you can all come.” Chloe’s voice was moving closer to the hall.

Jan glowered, just daring me to try to include her in that expedition.

Gloria held her hand up in the universal sign for “Stop in the name of love,” only I don’t think love was her main motivator.

Gallina Roja alone clapped her hands together in delight and asked, “When do we leave?”

“All right, then.” I spoke with my eyes cast upward, just imagining what David would think about this new twist in my evolving personality. No, not evolving, growing. Growing was better. I was not turning into something altogether new and strange, something adverse to my customary nature. I was only becoming more like the me I truly always was, or wanted to be. I was growing to take up more space in the world, in my relationships and inside myself. Blossoming. “Yes. Yes, I promise, Chloe. Now come on out and show everyone how lovely you look.”

And she did look lovely. A bit retro, I suppose, given that
the last time I had done a young woman’s hair up like this, that young woman had been…
me.
Well, as we say at the flea market, everything old is new again, and Chloe looked fresh and new and just darling.

Everyone oohed and aahed, just as they should have. And just as she had assured me she would, Chloe spun around for all to see.

I played fashion commentator, of course. “We borrowed the top from Jan’s things. I can’t believe it. Even though she’s over forty, she still has the figure of a twenty-year-old.”

“Twenty-one,” Chloe corrected, stating her age proudly.

Maxine mouthed the number, rolled her eyes just a little, and rounded her lips to mimic an astonished whistle. “I don’t know which one of them to be more jealous of. Chloe for being so young, or Jan for being so trim. And after…how many children, Jan?”

“Three,” she held up her left hand and wriggled her fingers, making her heavy gold wedding band glow and her impressive diamond engagement ring wink in the afternoon sunlight. Then she turned her head toward the mantel and the photographs there, and the smile she had been wearing faded. She dropped her hand to her lap, curling her right hand around the three fingers she had raised before. “One right after the other. And that’s how they left when they moved off to college, one and then the next and then the next. It all happened so fast. So fast.”

“You look trim enough to be in college yourself,” Gloria said, and we all nodded as if we actually thought shallow compliments might actually cheer Jan up a little.

“When I was young, they told us you should count on
gaining a dress size with every child you had.” Gallina Roja patted her flat tummy and cackled. “What did they know?”

“You are not a fair example, Grandmother Alvarez.” Gloria shifted her expression and spoke with terse deference to her mother-in-law. “You only had the one baby.”