The Yellow Rose Beauty Shop (20 page)

C
HAPTER
F
IFTEEN

T
he temperature gauge on the dash of Nancy’s truck said that it was a hundred and one degrees, but until the air-conditioning kicked in, it felt like six degrees hotter than hell’s furnace. She’d barely cooled down when she parked in front of Violet’s house that Friday afternoon, quickly crossed the well-manicured lawn, and rang the doorbell.

Two weeks and the whole damn thing would be over. Well, two weeks and a day, since the ball was planned for the last Saturday in the month.

With eagle eyes, Heather scanned her from toes to head before she stepped aside and said, “Come in, Nancy. You are the last one. We went ahead and started the meeting without you but we’ve only had time to discuss one thing and we’ll fill you in.”

Nancy felt like a kid on the way to the principal’s office as she followed Heather down the short foyer and into the den. She’d worn her best slacks and ironed her shirt. Maybe the fact that it was sleeveless didn’t set well with Heather, who was dressed in a pink suit with short sleeves, a silk shell under it, and high-heeled shoes. And holy shit, the woman was wearing hose on a hot summer day.

Heather took her place behind her aunt’s massive desk, shuffled some papers, and motioned for Nancy to sit beside Floy on the sofa. “I was just telling Nancy that we discussed the mode of dress that will be acceptable to the barbecue ball. At our last meeting, we had voted that the gents must wear a coat and tie and the ladies have to wear a dress, and it was in the minutes for old business. Today we’ll talk about new business.”

“Coat and tie. They’ll suffocate,” Nancy gasped.

“We have ordered several commercial-size portable refrigerated air conditioners to keep things cool.” Heather did a little huff that said she didn’t really appreciate Nancy’s comments.

“Do all the dresses have to be white?” Nancy asked.

Annabel looked up from a chair right in front of the desk and frowned at her. “This is not a debutante ball but the first annual Yellow Rose Barbecue Ball. Heather has decided that we will use pastel blue, pink, and yellow for our colors. Yellow for the idea of the roses, blue since the Blue Ribbon Jalapeño Society is helping us out, and pink because it’s the signature color for the marriage ministry. I do believe that you already knew that, Nancy.”

“I suppose you’re going to change the name of the Angels to the Yellow Rose Prayer Ladies?” Nancy wondered how that thought had gone from her mind to right out in the room for everyone to hear, but once it was out there wasn’t a thing she could do about it.

“Of course not. I wish we would have given our ball a name other than the Yellow Rose, but since it is a popular Texas song and since this all started to find a husband for
your
daughter, it seemed appropriate.” Heather inhaled and let it out slowly. “And to answer your question, the ladies can wear whatever style dress they want in whatever color they wish. Hopefully the Angels will try to find something suitable in yellow. I have chosen a pink dress screen printed with Texas bluebells on the silk. The fabric and pattern is at my seamstress’s place of business even as we speak and”—she paused for effect—“I shall save each of my gowns from all the balls we’ll have through the years so that when my ministry is really big they can be auctioned off to make money for more elaborate balls in the future. I foresee a huge ballroom on the ground floor of a gorgeous hotel in Cadillac within the next ten years.”

Shit! What had Heather been smoking right before the meeting? They’d be lucky if one or two of the boarded-up buildings on Main Street had new life in them in the next ten years.

“So the color scheme is now formally decided?” Floy asked.

Heather put a finger next to her lips. “I think so. No, I know so. And for everyone’s information here, I want to tell you that Aunt Violet is doing very well after her surgery and that any mention of dementia is just gossip. Now that rumor is buried, we will go on. Annabel, will you please be in charge of the petits fours we will serve for dessert at the ball?”

Annabel glowed. No, that was understating the look on her face. She lit up the whole damned room with her smile.

Can I please kiss your fingernail for letting me work my fingers to the bone on little cakes for the first annual Yellow Rose Barbecue Ball?
Nancy didn’t say those words, but she could hear them rattling around in her head like marbles in an empty soup can.

She’d far rather be sitting in her daughter’s beauty shop basking in the glory of having their argument settled. But oh, no! Everett had told her that if he was going to be responsible for smoking enough brisket, turkey, chicken, and pork tenderloin to serve the whole town of Cadillac, then by damn she was going to every meeting between now and the ball.

“I want you damn good and tired of all that shit so you won’t back out when it comes time to quit,” he had said.

When she got home, she intended to kiss him smack on the lips for making her go. This was better than a circus.

“Nancy, are you listening to me?” Heather asked sternly.

“I’m so sorry. My mind drifted. Now what was it you were saying?”

Heather did one of her dramatic inhale-deeply-and-blow-it-out-slowly rituals, but this time she added a glare in the mix. “I said that we will need equal amounts of pork loin and brisket, half as much chicken and turkey.”

“That’s what Everett planned on,” Nancy said. “He wants to know if it’s going to be open bar or bring your own beer or bottle.”

“This is an Angels affair,” Annabel gasped. “There will be no liquor of any kind or shape at the barbecue ball.”

Oh, Everett is going to love that idea after cooking for days. Why couldn’t they at least have beer?

“That’s right,” Heather said. “This is a formal affair. We will offer lemon-infused water and sweet tea and of course there will be a punch bowl on the table with all of Annabel’s gorgeous petits fours. And a smaller bowl on a little round table for those of us who are allergic to red punch and prefer the kind made with white grape juice and lemon-lime soda. I shall be in charge of the smaller one since I’m the one who can’t abide red punch.”

Nancy made a mental note.
I’ll just bring a cooler and leave it in the car. Everett has one of those fancy can covers so no one will know. I’m not asking him to help me serve all night with nothing but lemon-infused water to drink.

“Now, on to the next item on the agenda. I’d like to get this all settled before we drive down to the barn and look it over. Ideas will just pop right out of our heads when we see the inside and figure out what we can do to make this the best affair in Cadillac. I can foresee people coming from miles away like they do for the jubilee.” Heather’s eyes actually went misty.

“Are you plannin’ on a carnival next year?” Nancy asked.

Annabel’s quick intake of breath said that Nancy was sure walking on thin ice. “Of course not! This will always be Cadillac’s formal affair. The jubilee is for families. The chili cook-off is to make money for the firemen’s fund and it’s also for families. But this is a holy affair.”

“Well put, Annabel.” Heather nodded.

A holy affair? Did that mean they would offer up a virgin on a hay bale at the end of the festivities? If that’s what Heather had in mind, she’d best start advertising for one real soon, because Nancy was pretty sure that none of the over-eighteen women in Cadillac would qualify.

Heather held a hand up toward heaven. “This will be Cadil
lac’s way of telling our Lord and savior that we appreciate his answering our prayers all year. The money that we take in will go straight into the church’s brand-new marriage ministry fund. I’ve talked to Reverend Jed about it and he said that we could keep whatever money we made for future projects for my ministry.”

“I’d like to see it used for a fund to help folks in need. Like broke people who have car trouble near Cadillac. Or young, single mothers who have trouble paying the rent,” Nancy asked.

“I’ve decided this is going into the MM fund, which stands for marriage ministry fund if you don’t understand the world of initials,” Heather said. “Why would you want such a fund, anyway? I asked you earlier if Stella was pregnant. Has that changed?”

Every eye in the room cut toward Nancy. “Not that I know about, but y’all remember that I asked you to pray for a husband first and then a baby. I don’t think God will get it backward. He’s pretty good at keepin’ things straight.”

Heather ignored her and shuffled a few more papers. “We will have music playing and the dance will go on from six to eight. I would like to be able to hire a harp and have a piano brought in, but it’s not possible this first year. So we have a sound system and CDs, but there will be none of that twangy country music. We’ll have true waltz instrumentals. That way there won’t be any of that sinful rubbing-all-over-each-other type of dancing.”

“Are you kidding me? Not a single one of the men in Cadillac will stay past the first dance,” Nancy said bluntly.

“Yes, they will, because the ladies will love it,” Heather protested.

“Have you got rocks for brains, woman?” Nancy asked.

She’d promised Everett she’d go to the damned old meetings. She had not promised to be good and not speak her mind.

“You are being contentious, Nancy Baxter, and you know what the Bible says about that. We are going to dance the waltz like civilized people, so get used to it.”

Before Nancy could answer that snide remark, Annabel raised her hand like a little first-grade girl in pigtails. “Miz Heather, I had a vision of all the single women being sent to the buyers’ balcony on one side and the single men to the other balcony. When you call out their names, then the guy . . . I mean, the gent . . . crosses the whole barn and offers his hand to the lady at the bottom step of her side.”

“That’s lovely.” Heather clapped her hands. “I’ll write that down and we’ll do it just like that. I knew you’d have some wonderful notions. Now shall we go to the barn and see what else we can come up with? Annabel, I’m just sure you’ll picture all kinds of scenarios. I’m eager to know how you think we should arrange the tables. Would you be in charge of that the day we set them up?”

“Oh, yes, ma’am. I’d be honored to take care of that. Would you like me to rent the tablecloths as well?” Annabel asked.

Heather left her throne behind the desk and looped her arm in Annabel’s. “That would be lovely. Dinner will be served at eight, then, and the couples will be announced right before that. They will have their first dance together and then sit together for their dinner and then dance some more. Oh, I could just swoon thinking about it. Just keep the receipts for the tablecloths, honey, and the ball fund will reimburse you for your expenses.”

“And the meat that Everett is cooking?” Nancy asked.

Heather threw a drop-dead-and-fall-in-fresh-cow-poop look over her shoulder. “I thought that was your donation. It is tax deductible since it’s for the church. But if you are too poor to buy it, then by all means keep the receipts.”

“Thank you. I will bring them to you the day we buy the meat. The Fannin sisters and I will be donating the potato salad, the baked beans, and the coleslaw. You might want to ask someone else to volunteer for the condiments,” Nancy said.

A rooster crowed and Agnes fetched her phone from the bibbed pocket of her hospital gown. “Got to take this one, Stella,” she said.

She listened for so long that Stella was sure she’d forgotten to hang up when the call ended. But finally she hit a button and shoved it back into her pocket.

The rehab room was nicer than the hospital room that Agnes had been in for less than a week. And over there hanging on the front of the closet door were her brand-new fancy overalls. The sunlight filtering in through the miniblinds caught the stones and flashed spots of color on the walls.

“They’re downright beautiful, ain’t they? Alma Grace brought them yesterday and said that they was supposed to help me get well. I done took them to the therapy session so Violet could see them. I’m going to remake my will and be buried in either them or the dress that Carlene is making for me to wear to the ball. I hope to hell Violet and Heather wear something that requires a corset and a girdle and they’re miserable all night,” Agnes said when she tucked the phone back into her pocket.